The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War)

by Aaron Pogue

  Corin chewed his lip a moment, considering his answer, before settling for the truth. “It’s not gladiators and wizards I want dead. It never was. Win or lose, this is not the fight I’m looking for.”

  “Not the Godlanders? Then who—”

  “It’s the gods I want. I need you and your men to bring me Ephitel. What good have we accomplished if you kill a dozen soldiers?”

  Auric’s jaw dropped. “You mean that?”

  “Every word of it.”

  “You’re not a soldier, are you?”

  Corin frowned. “I have been many things—”

  “But not a soldier.”

  “No,” Corin admitted. “I’ve never been a soldier.”

  “It shows,” Auric said. “You’re still talking about the war you planned for, blind to the battle raging around us.”

  “I’m not blind! I’m suggesting a better strategy.”

  “For your war,” Auric said. “You’re staring into the distance and dreaming how to use today’s victory, oblivious to the certainty of defeat.”

  The certainty of defeat? From Auric, who could do the impossible? The sentiment shook Corin to his core. He couldn’t let this man give up.

  So he invested his voice with all the scorn he could manage. “Surrender, Auric? Before the fight has even been engaged? That is no noble sentiment.”

  “And I do not mean to surrender. I mean to fight.”

  “But you have said—”

  “I’ve said we cannot win. You said it too. Your best plan is to slink away and buy some time.”

  “But if you don’t hope to win, why fight at all?”

  “To save the others.”

  Corin frowned. “What others?”

  “The refugees. The women and the children. Your Nimble Fingers. All those who came here for your dream, not for my war.”Corin sighed. “There are good souls among them, but none of those will decide this war. Would you really throw away our fighting men for the sake of our civilians?”

  “Every time. Every single time.”

  Corin gaped. “But why?”

  “That’s what fighting men are for, Corin. We sacrifice ourselves to the horrors of war so that the rest of you won’t have to. We pay a price in blood—our own and the stain of others’—to preserve the lives of men whose hands are clean.”

  Corin shook his head. “That does not explain your objection to my plan. If we delay the enemy forces and slip away—”

  “Deeper into the Wildlands! One man in seven would be lucky to survive.”

  “You’ve survived there.”

  “And I’m a soldier. Every man I brought with me here was battle trained before he ever crossed the Dividing Line, and even so we’ve had our losses. Your Nimble Fingers might live like kings on the darker streets of their great cities, but they would freeze in terror at a wyvern raid. They would turn and fight beside a manticore against my men. I will not take civilians on a desperate flight into the Wildlands.”

  “But if they stay here—”

  “If they stay here and fight, they’ll die. If we wait for the Godlanders to come into the camp, they’ll slaughter everyone here. But if the fighting men go out to face them, if we send a sally and they cut us down, the Godlanders will show mercy to our noncombatants.”

  Corin gaped. “That’s your entire plan? You’ll go off to die and let the Godlanders make prisoners and slaves of those you leave behind?”

  “If it means they survive, I will. But it will not be as grim as that. They will most likely escort the survivors back to Raentz; perhaps some officer will question them, and then they will be free to go.”

  A brusque laugh escaped from Corin. “Ephitel is not known for his mercy.”

  “But Ephitel will not decide this matter. Soldiers will.”

  “And Godlander soldiers show such honor?”

  “In this matter, they will. Out of selfishness, if nothing else.”

  “Oh?”

  Auric nodded. “You see? If you were a soldier, you would already know this. Every camp has its followers—often wives among them, sometimes children, always friends. A soldier might slaughter his foes to the man, but they will show mercy to the camp followers, if only because next time, it might be their own.”

  Corin shook his head. “You’ve given up. You’ve given up completely.”

  Auric gave a laugh, though there was no joy in it. “I never thought we’d win a war against the gods. Did you?”

  “Aye! And I still think we can. If you didn’t believe, why in Fortune’s fickle name would you have brought all these people here? Why welcome me against all Sera’s admonitions?”

  Auric cocked his head, confused. “Because it needed doing.”

  “But if you thought you’d die—”

  “I know I’ll die. All men die. If I can strike a blow before I fall, if I can go out fighting for what’s right, I’ll count it all a victory.”’

  “But you could do so much more! You have a talent such as I have never seen before. Men follow you, Auric. They believe in you! Don’t waste that for some noble gesture. Escape this massacre, and we can change the world. We can fix it for the better—not just buy a miserable escape for this little crowd of refugees, but for all mankind. For ages yet to come.”

  Auric rested a hand on Corin’s shoulder. “With or without Ephitel, there will still be wars. There will still be tyranny. There will always be some injustice to battle, Corin. It’s not a soldier’s duty to change the world, but to do everything he can today.”

  “But you are more than a soldier, Auric!”

  “No. You want me to be more, but that doesn’t mean I am. I know how to be an honorable soldier . . . I cannot fathom how to be the creature you want me to be.”

  “I can see it in you, even if you can’t. Trust in me.”

  For a long time Auric was silent, but then he shook his head. “If you weren’t asking me to sacrifice civilians, perhaps I could. But this is who I am. This is what I do. You’re not a soldier, Corin. Hide among the other refugees, and I will buy your life with mine. It cannot be that hard for you to find another general to support your cause.”

  “You’re more than a general! You’re born to be a king.”

  Auric laughed incredulously. “A king? Me? I’m as common as they come, Corin. If you could make a king of me, you can make a king of anyone.”

  “You’re a hero. For all your modesty, you don’t deny that.”

  “I’ve seen too much evidence.”

  “Then embrace it! Forget this mad plan to die in glorious battle, and start devising some scheme to survive.”

  “If I can do it with only soldiers, I will. But if it brings the civilians into play, I’ll die instead.”

  Corin nodded. “I understand. Give me half an hour, and I’ll come up with something.”

  “To defy the gods? To overcome an army such as this?”

  Corin smirked. “It’s better odds than I could have hoped for. But wait for me. I need some time to think.”

  “I never meant to ride before tomorrow’s dawn. I have yet to explain the truth to Sera, and she will want to offer her good-byes.”“Twelve hours, then.” Corin shook his head. “Go to her, but tell her there’s still hope. I will buy you years of happiness together, out from underneath the thumbs of Ephitel and of Sera’s wretched family. That’s what we’re fighting for.”

  “And you think we can win?”

  “I will not stop until it’s done.”

  Again, Auric considered him for a long while. Then he shrugged one shoulder and put on a genuine grin. “I can’t wait to see what you imagine, Corin Hugh. No matter what, it will be fun to try.”

  “We’ll crush them,” Corin said. “We’ll force their god to show himself, and then I’ll strike him down. And that will change the world.”

  “As I said, I’ll try. Now you go to your planning, and I’ll go to my wife.”

  “She won’t want you to die, Auric.”

  “No. But she lo
ves me for my honor. She won’t want me to buy my life with another’s blood either. You have my conditions, Corin. Devise a plan within them, or take advantage of my offer. Aught else would be a great betrayal.”

  “Have faith. I’ll use you as you want me to.”

  Auric shared a smile before he left. “I suppose that counts as honor for a pirate.”

  Corin watched the farmboy climb the hill toward the battered stone building he used for a war room. When Auric disappeared within, Corin turned back to the fog and heaved a weary sigh. “I don’t want honor, Auric. I want vengeance. Fortune favor me with both, or tomorrow we will bleed.”

  Corin wasted half an hour searching for some plan that might satisfy the farmboy, but he found nothing. When sunset cast her long red rays into the dancing fog, Corin shook his head and set off walking instead.

  He headed up into the city and caught the shoulder of the first refugee he spotted. “Where are the druids? I must speak with them.”

  The stranger gave him a shrug in answer, and Corin found the same from two more refugees before a man in chainmail answered in a broken Ithalian. Up the hill and right at the crumbled tower. Half a mile down.

  Corin had to ask a dozen times more and double back more than once, but sometime after sunset he poked his head in at the open door of some ancient storeroom and found Jeff himself stuffing dirty clothes into a linen bag.

  The room was large enough to house at least a dozen men in comfort, and by the scuffs in the thick dust that coated the floor, Corin would guess it had seen recent use by at least half so many. But only one bedroll remained, and even as Corin watched, Jeff knelt and began packing that as well.

  Corin slipped into the room and eased the door shut behind him. Then he turned to the druid. “Leaving? I guess you’ve heard, then.”

  Jeff raised his head at the sound of Corin’s voice, but he didn’t turn.

  Corin went on. “I have seen the power of those silly trinkets your people use for weapons. You could make a difference.”

  Jeff shook his head. “We have our orders.”

  “Do you know how Auric means to save the innocents here? Do you understand exactly what it is your Council has decided to sacrifice?”

  “We couldn’t win this war for you,” Jeff said, his voice strained. “You can’t possibly believe a few tranquilizers would make such a difference.”

  “They have gladiators,” Corin said. “They have wizards. We need anything we can get.”

  Jeff nodded, still unwilling to face Corin. “Yep. You’re right. And you can’t get any druids.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Not even me.” He climbed to his feet and slung the heavy linen bag over his shoulder. Then he turned to face Corin with his chin held high. “I have my orders.”

  “This is Jessamine,” Corin said, accusing. “She’s one of your own. How can you possibly pretend the druids have no responsibility here?”

  Jeff ground his teeth and glared at Corin, but he gave no other answer.

  Corin nodded. “Aye. You know. She has come here to reclaim the sword and destroy the only credible threat Ephitel has ever faced. In the process she’ll carve a path through Auric and Princess Sera and countless other noble souls. And your Council believes their best choice is to stand aside and watch?”

  “We cannot win this!” Jeff said. “You’re right. Of course she’s our responsibility. But so is everything else! All of Hurope depends on the druids, and if we threw ourselves away in some reckless battle—”

  “You might just fix Hurope,” Corin shouted. “It’s broken, Jeff. It has been broken for centuries, and for all your efforts, you’ve never made it any better. It’s time to fight! Fix it or end it.”

  The druid clenched his hands in fists and bounced on his toes, wrestling with Corin’s plea, but in the end he shook his head. “I have my orders. You can’t imagine how difficult it will be to repair what you’ve done here.”

  Corin answered with a sneer. “Oh, you have my deepest sympathy. I hope it doesn’t trouble you too much.” He spun on his heel and ripped the door open.

  Behind him, Jeff called, “Corin, wait!”

  Corin hesitated. “Aye?”

  “I found one of the answers you were looking for. The dwarf Strunk. He’s in a prison outside Pri, on the road toward Rauchel.”

  Corin’s shoulders tensed. He’d heard how Jessamine treated her prisoners. “The justicar found him?”

  “Nope,” Jeff said. “Way I understand it, he propositioned the wife of a maréchal. He’s missed all the excitement. If you want, I can probably make arrangements to get him sprung.”

  Corin didn’t even answer. Breaking Ben out of a country prison wouldn’t take him half a day. Fortune favor, old Ben would probably talk his own way free any moment this. That was all the druids had to offer?

  Corin had no more patience for them. He slammed the door behind him as he left. Then he found a kitchen and consumed a bowl of stew, without tasting a single spoonful. He visited the tavern keeper, Jacob, and he very nearly buckled the ancient sword on his belt. But Ephitel would not be here, not on this field, and the sword was still too precious a thing to risk.

  So instead, he gave special instructions to the tavern keeper and left him to his rest. He found a modest rapier instead, a simple and familiar weapon to complement the dagger and the knife he always carried. He armed himself by starlight, and then he went back to the city gates, to the same place Auric had left him, and he spent the hours left him trying in vain to find some way to win.

  The morrow dawned gray and chill, and sunrise showed the heavy fog now pressed right up against the city’s walls. From his place beneath the city wall, Corin could hardly make out the orange glow of campfires among the enemy forces. He could feel them, though, like a blight upon the dream. If he closed his eyes, he could almost sense the circling snare of his enemies outside the camp.

  How many wizards did they have? That was what Corin had to know. How many, and where were they? And could they see through Corin’s glamours the way he saw through others’?

  He wore no glamour now, but he would need one before this day was done, and if the wizards had any talent there, it could prove his undoing. The druids could have told him yea or nay. Aemilia could have. Why had he never asked her?

  He tamped down the bitter flare of anger and regret. Aemilia was gone. She was reason enough to do what needed doing now, but dwelling on it wouldn’t bring her back.

  He clenched his fists and strained his eyes against the fog, searching for some last-minute flaws in his designs. He could not see any yet, but they would come once swords were crossed. They would come.

  He heaved a sigh and turned away. “They’ll be coming soon,” he said. “If you’re going to go, then go.”

  Auric sat astride his warhorse with two dozen men arrayed behind him. He looked down on Corin with a sympathetic gravity. “You have found no scheme to save us?”

  There was no self-pity in the question, no remorse for the sacrifice he meant to make. There was only sympathy for the pain and frustration he knew he was causing Corin.

  Corin hadn’t found a scheme that would satisfy the farmboy, but he did have a plan. It wasn’t one he dared reveal, though. So he painted his face with mock chagrin and shook his head.

  “Gods preserve us, then,” Auric said. “You have your part to play, and I have mine. I’ll see you in another world.”

  The farmboy had never looked more a hero than he did this day. He nodded his good-bye to Corin, then raised up in his stirrups to better signal his commanders. He wore plate armor like a second skin, steel polished so it shone like silver. He shouted, “For honor!” as he raised his broadsword overhead. “For glory!” The blade caught the bronze light of a fog-shrouded sunrise, then flashed copper as he stabbed it forward to signal the charge. “For freedom!”

  His golden hair ruffled in the wind as he spurred his horse toward the fray. The fool wouldn’t wear a helmet. He meant to be a
target on the field.

  Corin couldn’t deny the effect, though. A hundred fighting men swarmed after him, pounding hard across the ground, whether they were mounted or on foot, and every man among them seemed just as eager as the farmboy for a fight they couldn’t hope to survive.

  It was foolishness. But for all his craftiness, Corin had found no way to stop it. He did have a plan, but it was a risky one. And it would earn him enemies almost as terrible as those he already fought.

  He planned to steal the farmboy from the fight. That was the best he could do. He’d wait until the fight was well engaged, until Auric had shown himself on the field and committed all his fighting men as he intended. Then Corin would conceal himself in a glamour, steal to Auric’s side, and drag him off through dream while the others fell in battle.

  He suspected it would serve the farmboy’s goals. He’d have the rout he wanted, and Corin would have the farmboy alive and safe. He’d have preferred a victory, of course. He’d even have preferred to risk the Wildlands with all the people they’d already gathered. But Auric had denied him that, and the farmboy was too precious a resource to let slip away.

  That still left a rocky course for Corin. If he stole Auric from the fight before it was truly engaged, before he was seen in the heat of battle, his own ploy wouldn’t work. Auric’s soldiers wouldn’t charge to their slaughter without the farmboy in the lead, and without that, the civilians would be doomed.

  That meant Corin had to wait. He had to time his strike. He had to keep much closer than he ever would have wished, watching for the perfect opportunity to snatch his prize away. And all the while, he and Auric both would be treading the fine line between life and death.

  He bounced on the balls of his feet, trembling with nervous energy while he stared east toward the looming fight. Somewhere out there in the fog, trumpets sounded. The Godlanders were roused to battle.

  Corin cursed. This was no place for him. He was no soldier. But he had need of one. He cursed again, touched the handles of his blades for comfort, then started forward, following the charging soldiers.