Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  “It’ll put me out of my misery. The land of the dead may be cold, but it doesn’t smell of dirty feet, does it?”

  “Fine. Fine. But Pesola will blame me, too. And I’d like my skin to remain whole, thank you.”

  Nels said, “Jarvi and I can handle this alone.”

  “And pass up this wonderful opportunity to be taller than you? Not on your life.”

  “Oh, swiving hells, when was the last time you washed your stockings?”

  “The more you wiggle around, the longer this is going to take,” Viktor said.

  “You sound like my nurse,” Nels said.

  “She must have been a wise woman,” Viktor said. “The very model of female pulchritude, in fact.”

  “She was sixty years old, balding, warty, and farted continuously,” Nels said. It was a lie, of course, but that wasn’t the point. “Come to think of it, you might have something in common after all. In the stench department, at least.” Glancing at Jarvi, Nels caught an amused expression tracing a path across the master sergeant’s face.

  He isn’t thinking about the future, Nels thought. I can do that much.

  “Spoilsport,” Viktor said.

  “Are you quite done?” Nels asked. “You’re killing me.”

  He felt Viktor’s weight shift again. The sound of fuse cord slapping stone indicated that he’d just tossed the remaining fuse length up onto the bridge.

  “Yes, yes. Fine. We’re done with this side, at least,” Viktor said. “Let me down.”

  “Now?” Nels asked.

  “Yes, now,” Viktor said.

  “Are you quite sure?”

  “Damn it—”

  Nels hopped backward and then yanked on Viktor’s ankles. Unprepared and unbalanced, Viktor fell face first into the freezing water with a shout.

  Viktor surfaced and spluttered. Water-darkened brown hair was plastered to his face. “That was the most immature—”

  Nels said, “You need a bath anyway.”

  “So do you,” Viktor said, shoving wet hair out of his eyes. “Care to give me a hand?”

  “Get yourself out,” Nels said, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust you for a moment.”

  Viktor slapped the water, sending a great splash in Nels’s direction. “You tried to drown me!”

  “In hip-deep water?” Nels asked. “Had I tried, I’d have succeeded.”

  Jarvi gazed up at the underside of the stone bridge.

  Trusting that Viktor was far enough away, Nels risked a look at Viktor’s handiwork himself. Ten holes had been chiseled into the mortar across the width of the bridge. Each hole had been filled with gunpowder and set with a loop of fuse like a chain.

  “Neatly done, sir,” Jarvi said.

  Viktor retrieved his hat from the water before it could escape into the deepest part of the river. “Thank you, sergeant.”

  “Time to see to the other side,” Jarvi said, and began to make his way to the bridge with loud, crunching steps up the stony river­bank, leaving them to their childish games. “Water is deeper over there.”

  “How deep?” Nels asked.

  “We’ll need a boat,” Jarvi said.

  “Is there any possibility of this working with only one side finished? This is the side the enemy will be coming from, after all,” Nels said.

  A doubtful expression settled onto Jarvi’s craggy face. “Not reliably.”

  “Shit,” Nels said and sighed. “All right. Let’s acquire a swiving boat.”

  Jarvi jogged up the pebble-strewn riverbank.

  “Remind me again as to why I’m the one acting the ladder while Jarvi oversees the work?” Nels asked.

  “Because Jarvi knows what the hell he’s doing with the explosives, and you don’t,” Viktor said.

  “Then why weren’t you holding Jarvi on your shoulders?” Nels asked, wading to shore.

  “Because Jarvi isn’t tall enough and weighs twice what I do?” Viktor asked. He gathered his boots from the shore and began walking barefoot up the steep incline.

  Nels said, “Right.”

  Viktor asked, “Did you or did you not say something to the effect of ‘Viktor, you’re better with a chisel than I am’?”

  Boots in hand, Nels staggered across the bridge in question, three or so steps behind Viktor. Lifting his face to meet the sun for warmth, Nels attempted to devise a clever retort and failed. His bare feet made wet slapping noises as cold river water runneled out of his soggy clothes, down his legs, and onto the stone surface of the bridge. He remained three steps behind Viktor to keep an eye on him. It was safest. Viktor had a passion for retaliation when it came to practical jokes.

  Jarvi was already on the other side, waiting.

  “If I’d known the water was going to be that cold, I’d have had you do it,” Nels said, enjoying a halfhearted sulk. “My balls have frozen solid.”

  “Consider it a better excuse for running out on your next courtesan,” Viktor said. He cast a crooked smile over his shoulder. “Helmi told me you left her friend unattended.”

  “Not by choice,” Nels said. His teeth were chattering.

  “You weren’t intimidated, then?” Viktor asked.” Helmi said that she set you up with—”

  “For a courtesan, Helmi talks too much,” Nels said.

  “And your blond doesn’t talk at all. And after I made sure you two had all the privacy.”

  Nels wrung water out of his soggy queue one-handed, sighed, and changed the subject. “Gods, my shoulders are going to hurt tomorrow.”

  “If Pesola has his way, you’ll be too dead to care.” Viktor scampered down the opposite bank to the water’s edge.

  “This is easy enough for you,” Nels said. “You’re not the one facing another half hour of stinking feet perched under your nose.”

  “Stop complaining,” Viktor said, lifting one bare foot and wiggling muddy toes. “I washed them off for you, didn’t I?”

  Viktor located a rowboat upstream from the manor house. Nels found an excuse to let Jarvi row back to the bridge with Viktor aboard and then walked the river’s length alone. The second set of gunpowder charges proved to be more difficult than the first. In spite of the fact that Jarvi had anchored the boat to the bridge, the vessel wasn’t nearly stable enough. Nels held on to the stone arch and kept his eyes firmly closed. Every time he opened them, the boat violently wobbled. He bit down on an urge to vomit. If he got sick, Viktor would never stop teasing him. So, Nels focused with all his might on the stones beneath his palms to prevent tipping and attempted to keep breathing. Uncharacteristically, Viktor had mercy upon him and kept his comments to himself. Nels didn’t know if Jarvi could swim or not, but Nels had no wish to find out.

  And that was the smaller of the two bridges.

  As luck would have it, Jarvi was a powerful swimmer. Nels upended the rowboat twice. With Jarvi there to save Viktor, Nels was able to keep afloat long enough to grab the boat and hold on. The second time it happened, Jarvi had to swim for the oars. Eventually, they got the job done. Relieved, Nels staggered up the riverbank. His shoulders and back were aching, and he was colder than he’d ever been in his life. He lay on the grass next to the bridge, closed his eyes, and attempted to get some control over the shivering.

  “I’m starving,” Viktor said.

  Nels didn’t move or open his eyes. “You fetch dinner, then.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Viktor asked.

  “If I show my face, Pesola is sure to hear I didn’t drown. Who knows what new punishment he’ll devise? Stale crispbread, cheese, and a bit of soup aren’t worth the trouble.”

  Jarvi’s belly let out a loud protest.

  “Now that Sergeant Jarvi has said his piece, I’ll be back as soon as I can. With food for everyone,” Viktor said.

  “I’ll go, sir,” Jarvi said.

  “And leave the captain within reach of a body of water? He’s likely to throw himself in just by standing next to it,” Viktor said.

  “Keep
it up,” Nels said. “You’ll go in with me.”

  “Stay, Jarvi,” Viktor said. “I’ll go.”

  Viktor would grab some more supplies while he was at it. Meanwhile, Nels and Jarvi would set up camp low enough on the bank to be out of sight. The plan was to take turns sleeping. No campfire. Soaked through as he was, Nels had a miserable night ahead of him. He’d forgotten to ask Viktor to bring a change of clothes. The shivering was getting worse. He already ached with it. He inched as close as he could to Jarvi’s iron kettle of burning coals—pyrotechnics required a source of fire—and rubbed his hands together.

  Jarvi dug through his pack and produced some whiskey. He uncorked the bottle and held it out. “For warmth, sir.”

  Nels accepted the bottle, took several swallows, and then returned it. “Thanks.”

  “I’ve a blanket, if you’ve the need.”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ve my own,” Nels said. “I’ll dry soon enough.”

  Jarvi nodded and gazed out into the darkening sky. There was a glow to the south. Nels could see it.

  “Those are Acrasian campfires, aren’t they, sir?”

  It was Nels’s turn to nod.

  “They’ll be on us in the morning.”

  “I suppose they will.”

  “How do you think we’ll do?”

  Nels paused. “A lot depends on General Laine, how much of his brigade survived, and whether or not they’ll be in shape enough to fight. As for us, I think we can hold.” Gazing at the brightly glowing horizon, he did his best to hide his doubts from Jarvi.

  “How many would you say are out there?”

  Nels drowned a growing sense of unease with the next swallow of whiskey. “I don’t know.”

  “At least we’ll be taking a few of them with us.”

  “Do you have family?”

  “I do.”

  “Are they with the brigade?”

  Jarvi shook his head. “My wife is in Jalokivi with my daughters. I didn’t want them to risk it. What about you, sir?”

  Nels smiled. “We aren’t bound yet. Her name is Ilta.”

  “Is she here, sir?”

  “I sent her to Jalokivi. Yesterday.”

  “Should I come back later? I think I’m going to cry,” Viktor said. “And I don’t want to get tear stains on my uniform.”

  Rolling his eyes, Nels said, “That would be about the only stain not on it at the moment.” The scent of boiled beef and vegetables made his mouth water.

  “Do you want your dinner and dry clothes or not?” Viktor asked, somehow managing to sit down on the riverbank without spilling the contents of either of the two steaming bowls in his hands.

  “Hand over the food,” Nels said.

  “Please?” Viktor asked, giving Jarvi his bowl first.

  Nels gave Viktor a toothy grin. “Don’t make me wish I had drowned you.”

  Viktor handed over the bowl, and Nels shoved spoonfuls of salted beef and potatoes in his mouth so fast, he could hardly taste it. Viktor shared out the crispbread and cheese as well.

  “Did you bring the whiskey, too?” Nels asked.

  “Has the cold affected your brain?” Viktor asked, and then returned to his ryggsack where he’d hidden the crispbread and cheese. Producing three brown bottles, he handed them out. Then he produced the change of clothes.

  “Any news?” Nels asked. He crammed several spoonfuls into his mouth at once before shucking the wet shirt.

  Viktor glanced at Jarvi, took a long swallow of whiskey, and then answered, “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Jarvi can handle it,” Nels said. “I trust him not to panic the others with whatever you say. Spill.”

  Viktor said, “I shouldn’t be telling you, and you damned well know it.”

  “Sergeant Jarvi,” Nels said. “Do you swear by the Great Father that you won’t breathe a word of what you’re about to hear? No matter what?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s enough for me,” Nels said. “Talk.”

  “The Acrasians arrive at dawn,” Viktor said. “Two brigades. Almost eleven thousand troops.”

  Eleven thousand? “We’ll number just short of five thousand after Laine arrives.”

  “So we hope,” Viktor said.

  “Outnumbered, but not by an extreme,” Nels said. “They don’t know we’re here. We’re prepared. It’s workable.”

  “They’ve also got sixty cannon.”

  “Traveling that fast?” Nels asked. “How’s that possible? They don’t have magic—”

  “The cannon look lighter. Smaller,” Viktor said. “They’re a type no one’s seen before. Kauranen seems to think they won’t be as powerful. But … if they’re preparing to take on Merta’s walls, they’ll not do that with peashooters.”

  “Shit,” Nels said, feeling the alcohol fight for a fast path up his throat. He forced it back down with a swallow. It tasted of bile. “Do you know who is at the head of the Acrasian forces?”

  “Someone named Lucrosia Marcellus. The second brigade is led by a General Lucrosia Pera. Acrasians sure like the name Lucrosia.”

  “Lucrosia is one of the five greater gens that run Acrasia,” Nels said. “And the Lucrosia control the military.”

  “I thought the Acrasians had an emperor,” Viktor said.

  Nels said, “They do.”

  “What is a gens, sir?” Jarvi asked.

  “Think of them as clans, only you buy membership,” Nels said, “if you’re not born to one. You can also switch gens, if another is more favorable. You can buy anything in Acrasia, provided you have the money.” Suddenly, he remembered the Acrasian tactics manual in his ryggsack, and the ground beneath him seemed to fall away. “Viktor. Did you say Lucrosia Marcellus?”

  “I did,” Viktor said.

  “Lucrosia Marcellus Domitia?”

  “I think that was it,” Viktor said. “Is there a problem?”

  Setting down the half-empty bowl, Nels gripped the grass with his fingers and attempted to keep his dinner from making another appearance. “And Laine? Any news? Is he still being pursued?”

  Viktor blinked. “They weren’t as of the last report. But none of the korva sent to meet them in the past few days have returned. Kauranen seems to think that this only means they’re too rushed and undermanned to get an answer back. They’re in bad shape. But they haven’t abandoned the artillery, I hear. They probably need every hand they can get. Laine doesn’t like relying on message birds. He’s notorious for it.”

  “Damn it,” Nels said, looking behind them and to the west. “If Lucrosia Marcellus is here, we’ll be attacked from two sides.”

  “How do you know?” Viktor asked.

  “I’ve been studying him. And trust me, he’s been studying us,” Nels said. He reached for his ryggsack, fished the tactics manual out, and tossed it on the grass next to Viktor. “The General that wrote that book is camped down that road. And he’s their best.”

  “It’s written in Acrasian,” Viktor said.

  “Of course it is,” Nels said.

  Viktor stared. “You can read Acrasian?”

  “Don’t you hear what I’m saying? They intend to pinch Laine between two flanks. From both sides of the mountains. We’re sitting in the middle of a swiving trap just like Virens!” Nels staggered to his feet. The steep embankment didn’t help his sense of balance nor did the soreness in his calves. “I have to tell Kauranen. Now.”

  “You can’t leave here,” Viktor said. “Pesola will have you drawn and quartered. He’ll take the time to do it even if the Acrasians are here to watch.”

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Nels staggered up the riverbank to the road.

  “Be quiet! And get down, will you?” Viktor hissed. “We aren’t the only ones with scouts, you know.”

  Nels scrambled back down the bank. “Kauranen has to know. Will she listen to you?”

  “She’ll want to know how I know,” Viktor said.

  “Shit.”

  “What if I
tell her Prince Nels, the Savior of Eledore, had a vision?” Viktor said.

  “Don’t be stu—”

  “It’ll sound more convincing than you read a damned book,” Viktor said. “In Acrasian.”

  “You’d lie to Kauranen?” Nels asked.

  “If you’re sure,” Viktor said.

  “I am.”

  “Then I’d do whatever it takes,” Viktor said.

  Glancing at Jarvi’s taut expression and back to Viktor’s, Nels paused. The Savior of Eledore. Jarvi didn’t know it’d originally been a jibe—a mocking slap at the uppity royal brat who’d fallen low, but Viktor certainly did. Only sixteen, Nels had told his bunkmate about what he’d overheard that day at Saara Korpela’s estate. The next day, the whole company knew. There’d been a number of hard lessons that first year; learning to tolerate the taste of whiskey had been the second. Understanding that commoners played the same sorts of brutal games royals did but for lesser stakes was the first.

  Viktor got to his feet.

  Nels said, “You said I was being paranoid and childish about the Acrasians. Everyone did.”

  “We should’ve listened,” Viktor said. “I’m listening now.” He paused. “If Kauranen won’t see me, what do we do?”

  Nels knew the real question Viktor was asking but was afraid to utter. Do we stay and die? Or do we desert while we can? “Get to Kauranen. Make her listen. Do whatever you have to. She’ll figure out something, if anyone can.”

  Viktor grabbed his whiskey ration from the grass, downed it all at once, and then said, “Don’t touch off the fireworks without me. I want to see if Acrasians can fly.”

  “Before you go,” Nels said, “I’d like you to do something for me.” He walked with Viktor as far as the woods and gave him a second set of instructions—just in case. Then Nels rejoined Jarvi.

  Laine isn’t answering, because he’s fighting for his life.

  Eleven thousand troops to the south. Five thousand more in hot pursuit of Laine in the west. It’ll be at least that, based on what I saw at Virens.

  We’re going to die tomorrow. And if that happens, who will save Jalokivi? What will happen to Father? Where is Suvi? Has she been captured? Or is she staying with the Waterborne? Or is Ilta wrong? What if she’s dead?

  Jarvi pointed at Nels’s abandoned field rations. “You going to eat that?”