Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  “All right, Lieutenant Noronen,” Suvi said, “tell Commodore Björnstjerna to stay put. And get a healer up here. Then I want the casualty list.”

  Of course, they were aboard a ship in the middle of an ocean. There was no guarantee the healer’s powers would be reliable, but unlike army surgeons, naval surgeons were trained in how to treat patients without magic. It wasn’t nearly as effective. However, it was better than the alternatives.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The second mate arrived. “We got lucky, sir,” she said. “Other than the foremast, the damage isn’t terrible. All hits were above the waterline. Replacing the bowsprit I can manage, but the foremast we’ll have to jury-rig. Repairs are already under way.”

  Hansen grinned. “Very good, Duiri. Carry on.”

  Suvi gazed at the wreck left behind by Winter Rose’s cannon. “Somehow, I thought the news would be a lot worse.”

  “Ha! Otter is a Mehrinna girl,” Hansen said, an edge in her voice. “And Mehrinna girls are harder than ironwood.”

  With a smile, Suvi recalled that Hansen was also from Mehrinna. “We’ll still get home.”

  “We’ll have to go a bit slow and careful. But yes. Otter and I will get you home, all right,” Hansen said. “I don’t care if I have to stand in for the foremast myself and hold her sails up with my teeth.”

  NELS

  ONE

  With the cool, solid texture of limestone and mortar against his back, Nels inched closer to the end of the farmhouse’s front wall. He and his platoons had to reach the barn before those hidden inside understood that they had been spotted. In the distance, Eledorean cannon thundered against the ranks of Acrasians lined up in orderly rows among the waist-high corn, while equally tidy rows of Eledorean infantry advanced. Drums echoed off the hills.

  Nels knew his place was artillery support—with the other half of his company. It wasn’t here, sneaking around in an attempt to expose an Acrasian ambush. That was the job of a korva, not an infantry captain in hobnail boots.

  You’ve watched Viktor. You’ve learned a few things. You can do this. In truth, Nels was relieved. Even though Viktor was in trouble, at least he wasn’t in the middle of this mess.

  Unease had nested in the pit of Nels’s stomach since before daybreak. No matter what he did, he couldn’t shake the sense that his worst nightmare was about to come true. He knew it was unreasonable, this terror of the Acrasian army, but it was buried deep in his bones. The nightmares hadn’t let up from the day he’d packed his ryggsack and left the barracks house in Gardemeister. He told himself over and over that the sense of wrongness wasn’t significant. The Royal Eledorean Army had managed to shove the Acrasians as far south and east as the Acrasian city called Virens. Spirits were high. Many felt now that Kauranen’s army had at last joined the fight, the end of the war was near. Rumor had it that they outnumbered the Acrasians three to one. Some had already begun celebrating. So much so that the morning’s muster had been noticeably depleted and quite a few soldiers had to be put on report.

  Nels hadn’t been in the mood for celebrations. He’d hardly slept at all the night before, and this morning, the lingering dread was worse than ever. If he weren’t certain that he had no useful magic—the incident outside of the Commons Hospital had been a fluke, he was sure of it now—the feeling in his gut might actually mean something. His gaze had kept drifting to the line of hills to the north of Virens. The hills bothered him. He’d recommended sending scouts that direction, but Major Lindström had dismissed the idea. The area had been thoroughly searched by Laine’s troops. Lindström had said that if Nels was so certain there was a problem, perhaps he should take a couple of platoons and check the farm at the southern edge of the battlefield himself?

  Nels knew he’d used up the last of Lindström’s faith with what had happened in Gardemeister. Therefore, he swallowed the last of his pride and kept his mouth shut. If Viktor had been present, Nels would have sent the korva to investigate the hills regardless and then paid the price with Lindström later.

  However, Viktor is languishing in a detention barracks. No thanks to me.

  At least, I hope he’s still in the detention barracks.

  There’d been unmistakable signs of enemy troop movement as Nels and his platoons made their way south. He had no idea how many or their most likely location. The one person he relied upon to interpret such information wasn’t there.

  Signaling to a newly promoted Overlieutenant Larsson, Nels directed his second platoon to circle the farmhouse where the Acrasian troops were hiding. There, Larsson and her platoon would make their way to the back of the barn and quietly set it on fire. Then he signaled Lieutenant Saarinen orders to have his platoon take up a position behind the abandoned wagon in the dooryard. If the private Nels had sent to Lindström hadn’t survived the journey back, then an exploding barn would have to serve.

  Nels listened to every thump of a wooden musket stock, every clink and clatter as his troops moved into position. With each footfall, each breath, he was certain the element of surprise would be lost.

  Make your weaknesses your strengths. It’d been something that Captain Karpanen had taught him long ago. We can do this. I can do this.

  Horses inside the barn made nervous sounds. He spotted the smoke first. Then the scent of burning wood, hay, and dung. Flames climbed the edge of the barn. It was time to act. He motioned to the first platoon, indicating they should cock their preloaded muskets, and held his breath. With his hand in the air, he waited for the enemy to make a move for safety.

  In the distance, trumpets sounded a charge. Cannon fire thundered through the hills. Drums clattered. Horses pounded the earth in the corn fields, and the roar of thousands of soldiers echoed back to Nels’s ears. Everything was taking too long. He had an instant’s self-doubt before he heard muffled coughing from the barn. Someone kicked open the doors. The heavy wooden things creaked on rusty hinges and slammed against the front wall, making the whole barn shudder. Four squealing horses bolted for freedom.

  Everything became sharply focused. Nels glimpsed Acrasian gray uniforms.

  They’re using the horses for cover. He dropped his hand. The troops stationed behind the wagon fired their muskets. One of the horses was struck in the shoulder. It reared back, knocking an Acrasian into the dirt and trampling him. The Acrasian troops paused to return fire. Then they charged Lieutenant Saarinen’s platoon. Nels signaled again. The remainder of the first platoon positioned against the front of the farmhouse made for the barn’s dooryard, shouting a war cry. Nels joined them. Startled, half of the Acrasians turned back and retreated to the shelter of the barn. Nels stopped, brought up his musket, and took aim at the first Acrasian to climb the wagon. The bullet took off the top of the Acrasian’s skull. He fell over into the dirt on his back in a shower of gore. Musket balls smashed into the wall behind Nels, but the sound was far away like the trumpet calls. To his right, Private Linna let out a small noise. Turning, Nels saw she’d been shot in the throat and the chest. Blood gushed down the front of her uniform. She dropped before he had a chance to think or act.

  Thank Hasta that wasn’t me. As always, the terrible relief was followed by shame. Nels hated that that was his first thought. It was always his first thought. Not now. Survive.

  Lieutenant Saarinen ordered another volley into the dooryard. The last of the Acrasians who hadn’t taken shelter fell. Smoke poured out of the barn. Coughing came from inside. Larsson’s platoon moved toward the barn doors along the sides of the building. Lieutenant Saarinen’s platoon reloaded. Nels and the rest made for the barn. An Acrasian stepped out long enough to tug at the barn door. Overlieutenant Larsson clubbed him with her musket. The Acrasian went down with a face full of blood and a flattened nose. A bullet knocked Larsson off her feet. Inside, someone screamed. Their cries became increasingly panicked until a gunshot cut it off. A second Acrasian made an attempt at the big barn door. Throwing himself against it to keep it from swinging shut, Nels spied Co
rporal Kallela on the opposite side of the doorway. Kallela took aim with a pistol and shot the Acrasian struggling with the door. Then Kallela leapt backward, flattening himself against the barn. He’d lost his tricorne somewhere. His bright red hair stood out against the barn’s dull weathered wood.

  The corporal grinned and winked.

  Nels called to those inside the barn in Acrasian. “Come out with your hands up. You’re surrounded.”

  “You’ll only shoot us down, you sorcerous demon.”

  “Perhaps I should put it this way,” Nels said. “You’ve a choice between us and the fire.”

  “All we have to do is survive until—”

  The farmhouse exploded. The concussion threw Nels against the barn and then down. He reached for his musket and struggled to get up. Large stones from the destroyed walls dropped from the sky, bounced, and rolled. Several punched through the barn walls and roof. Smoke was everywhere. The farmhouse, what was left of it, was in flames, and the wall where he’d hidden was now gone.

  Nels swallowed. If I were still there, I’d have been killed.

  The wagon was in flames. At least two were dead, hit by falling debris. He saw Private Horn peer from under the wagon and snatch up muskets from his fallen comrades. The fire took a firmer hold on the wagon.

  Corporal Kallela launched himself at an Acrasian emerging from the barn’s doorway. Both rolled across the ground, struggling over a knife blade. Nels got to his feet on the second attempt and drew his saber. He felt unsteady. A cluster of Acrasians exited the barn at a run. There wasn’t time to count them. He swung his saber and slashed an Acrasian sergeant across the chest. The Acrasian turned, pointed a pistol at him. Nels’s heart stopped. The Acrasian sergeant pulled the trigger. The gun didn’t go off. Misfire. The Acrasian dropped the weapon and went for his sword. Nels lunged. His saber plunged deep into the Acrasian’s belly. A surprised expression spread across the Acrasian’s soot-darkened face. His blue eyes were wide. At that moment, Nels was glad he’d trained to keep a barrier between himself, the water steel saber, and those he killed.

  He yanked his blade free with a twist. Larsson dropped the last Acrasian with a knife throw.

  Nels edged into the burning barn and coughed. Thick smoke made it impossible to see. Flames had spread throughout the building. He didn’t think anyone else was inside. If they were, they would’ve been overcome by the smoke. Finally, the heat drove him back. His coat was smoking, and he thought for certain his hair and eyebrows were singeing.

  “Captain? We checked the shed and the outhouse. No one inside,” Overlieutenant Larsson said. Blood oozed from a bullet graze on her forehead. “They must’ve seen us coming. The house was where they were keeping their powder stores. Some of them, anyway. They lit the fuse and …” She shrugged.

  If I hadn’t moved everyone away from the house when I did … Nels nodded. “And the bill?”

  “We lost Lieutenant Saarinen and Privates Ruutu and Linna. Corporal Kallela was cut bad. Lost a lot of blood. Sergeant Wiberg patched him, but it’s deep. Wiberg has limited healing powers, but he won’t be able to do much after that. Corporal Kalastaja was shot in the leg. Thigh. The rest is related to the explosion. It tore us up. Private Paiva caught a splinter in the side. Wiberg says it’s not too bad. Privates Larsson and Ketola were hit hard too. The rest is small stuff. A few burns and bumps. Wiberg says everyone is good to march, but we’ll have to get to a real healer soon.”

  “We’ve done all we can here,” Nels said. “We bury our dead first. I don’t know when we’ll be back. Do it quick. Use stones and a dog tent tarp. Got it? Leave the Acrasians where they are. We’ll do the rituals later. Get to it, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  By the time they’d finished and had reached the broken fence where they’d originally entered the property, they could see the situation had changed for the worse. Nels felt a chill as all the blood in his body seemed to drain into the earth. The Acrasians had more than quadrupled their forces with an ambush and were attacking from the north and the south as well as the east. The Eledorean armies were pinned. Brigadier General Ahlgren’s army and Nels’s direct link to the Eledorean forces had been overrun. An overwhelming number of Acrasian troops swarmed the corn fields between themselves and their own troops.

  “What are we going to do, Captain?” Corporal Kallela asked.

  Nels searched for a safe path to Field Marshal Kauranen’s banner. Ahlgren had been the Eledoreans’ southernmost flank. Brigadier General Näränen had been next, and now his troops were struggling to keep the Acrasians back while Grand Marshal Valk and Field Marshal Kauranen attempted a fighting retreat. To the north, Laine and Moilanen did their best to provide cover, but the Acrasian trap was closing. Moilanen’s lines were collapsing.

  “We’ll circle to the south. Move behind the Acrasians. Go as far west as we can. Then we’ll head north and join with Kauranen,” Nels said.

  Overlieutenant Larsson said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Go back and grab all the guns and ammunition you can carry,” Nels said. “We’ll need it.”

  TWO

  Quietly running through the stone-riddled countryside, Nels fought the feeling he wasn’t quite up to the task of getting his troops through the Acrasian lines safely. He told himself over and over that he’d seen worse, but it proved to be a useless litany. Evening was fast approaching. Activity in the battlefield would be winding down, he knew. He tried not to imagine what was going on at that moment and prayed that enough of the Eledorean army had escaped, that he’d been able to warn Major Lindström in time, that they’d done something to help. Nels didn’t want to think it was all for nothing.

  At least we’ve managed to successfully avoid discovery.

  So far.

  Overlieutenant Larsson jogged to his side. She was breathing heavy but seemed otherwise fine. “Captain, we need to stop,” she whispered. “Kalastaja has to rest.”

  Nels glanced over his shoulder. Corporal Kalastaja was being supported by two others. All three were at the rear, struggling to keep up. “We’ll find a place to stop, then. It won’t be for long. We must get out of here before morning. The Acrasians will be all over these hills, searching for survivors.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They located a suitable area with excellent cover of trees and boulders on the side of a large hill. The moon would rise soon. Nels knew it’d be full. That was both good and bad. It meant they’d have some light, but the same illumination that kept them from breaking ankles on the uneven ground would also give the Acrasians a better chance of spotting them. Tracking would be difficult. The ground was too hard to harbor much of a trace. He counted that as a point in their favor. Short, bushy trees with splintery trunks sprouted in clumps over the surrounding hills. There was a creek below, and uncertain of when they’d next see a water source, he had everyone refill their canteens. Sleeping wouldn’t be comfortable among the rocks, but they had a good view of anyone or anything approaching the area.

  “You’ve one hour, Lieutenant,” Nels said. “No fire.” It would be cold, but they couldn’t risk it. “Set a watch. Everyone else sleeps, including you.”

  Some of the troops were already asleep. Others were whispering among themselves, performing soldiers’ rituals required to keep them clear-headed. Nels had Overlieutenant Larsson check on the injured once more before putting her own head down. Sergeant Wiberg was doing the best he could with what little magical power he had. While he didn’t have much talent for healing, he could patch fabric. That wouldn’t heal anyone near death, but he could create a sturdy bandage, and he had the knowledge to know how best to apply one. So far, it’d been enough to keep the wounded on their feet.

  I should sleep too, Nels thought. He sat on a flattened boulder and searched for answers in the smoke-filled valley below.

  Where will Kauranen go next?

  You’re assuming Kauranen survived. What if she’s dead like Private Linna? An overwhelming sense of relief washe
d over him again. Thank Hasta that wasn’t me. He felt his cheeks heat in the cooling air.

  It’s normal to think that. You know this. He couldn’t afford to indulge in the cleansing rituals with one of the others. Confiding in someone of lesser rank would mean damaging the troops’ faith in him, and he didn’t have much of that faith to spare. Think about it later. Take care of the others. You’ve decisions to make now. He gazed to the north, beyond the battlefield.

  He knew where he wanted to go, but the problem was he couldn’t be sure of where Kauranen and the rest of his company would be headed.

  We need a real healer. And he knew where to find one. Going anywhere else meant a chance of guessing wrong, and guessing wrong meant condemning his wounded. “Larsson?”

  Curled inside her coat on her side on the ground nearby, Over­lieutenant Larsson had her back to him. She sounded half asleep. “Yes, sir?”

  “We’re going to Gardemeister.”

  ILTA

  ONE

  Deep in grief, Ilta hadn’t given day-to-day upkeep such as the external wards much thought until she gazed out the front window and spotted the brown bear. It loped toward the apiary in lumbering yet graceful strides.

  Her teacup clattered on its saucer. “Oh, shit!”

  She abandoned her breakfast at once. Dashing up to her room, she jammed her feet into boots and grabbed her coat. At the front door, she snatched Gran’s walking staff from the old butter churn barrel she’d long used to store umbrellas, canes, and walking sticks. Ilta had run out onto the porch before common sense set in.