“I’ll tell it all once,” Captain Frigyes answered. “That way, I won’t have to go over pieces of it three or four different times. You’ll hear soon enough, Sergeant—I promise you that.” Istvan nodded. What the company commander said made good sense. Even if it hadn’t, of course, he couldn’t have done anything about it.
A lieutenant, another sergeant, two corporals, and even a cheeky common soldier asked Frigyes more or less the same question as they came up. He gave them the same answer, or lack of answer. Istvan felt better to find out he wasn’t the only nosy one in the company.
When just about everyone had gathered in front of Frigyes, he nodded to his soldiers and said, “Men, it’s time to stop beating around the bush. Nobody talks about it much, but we all know the war isn’t going as well for Gyongyos as it ought to be. We’ve got two foes, and we can’t hit either one so hard as we’d like.” Istvan preened in front of Szonyi and Kun. He’d said the same thing. Maybe he really did deserve a job in the foreign ministry.
Frigyes went on, “Most of you fought in the forests of Unkerlant. Some of you remember how, summer before last, we were on the edge of breaking out of the forest and into the open country beyond, and the magic the Unkerlanters made to help halt us.”
Not likely I’d ever forget that, Istvan thought. The other longtimers in the company were nodding. Kun had a look of something close to horror on his face. Having at least a small fragment of a mage’s talent, he’d not only felt the spell, he’d understood how the Unkerlanters had done what they’d done.
For those who didn’t, Frigyes spelled it out: “King Swemmel’s mages slay their own folk—the ones they reckon useless—to fuel that magecraft. The Algarvians use the same spell, but power it with the life energy of those they’ve conquered. Neither of those is, or could ever be, the proper Gyongyosian path.”
“Stars be praised!” Kun murmured beside Istvan.
But Frigyes went on, “Still, we need to use that spell if we are to hold back the grinning dwarfs of Kuusamo.”
Kun gasped. “No!”
“Aye,” Frigyes said, though Istvan didn’t think he could possibly have heard Kun. “We need it, for it has proved itself far stronger than any sorcery we have. But the essence of the spell is its use of life energy, not the murder of those who have done nothing to deserve it to gain that life energy.”
“What’s he talking about?” Kun whispered to Istvan.
Istvan looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you know?” Kun was a city man. If this was what being a city man meant, Istvan was just as well pleased to come from a mountain valley. He understood how a proper Gyongyosian was supposed to think.
For Kun and any others who didn’t, Captain Frigyes spelled it out again: “We are seeking volunteers among the warriors of Gyongyos. If you say aye, your name will go on a list to be held against time of need. Should the need arise, you will serve Gyongyos one last time, and the glorious stars above will remember your name and your heroism forevermore. Who now will step forward to show you are willing— no, to show you are eager—to serve Gyongyos in her time of need?”
“Madness,” Kun said, though still quietly.
“No,” Istvan said. “Our duty.” His hand shot into the air. He wasn’t the first, but he wasn’t far behind, either. More and more hands went up after his, Szonyi’s among them, till about two thirds of the company had volunteered.
“Stout fellows. I expected nothing less,” Frigyes said. “Hold those hands high while I write down your names. I knew I could rely on you. I knew Gyongyos could rely on you. All through our army, officers are asking this question today. All through our army, I’m sure they’re finding heroes.”
Muttering under his breath, Kun raised his hand, too. “There you are!” Istvan said. “I knew you had a warrior’s spirit in you.”
“Warrior’s spirit, my arse,” Kun said. “If all you fools say aye, you’ll hate me for saying no. That’s the long and short of it.”
He probably wasn’t the only one to think like that; either, and he probably wasn’t wrong. More and more hands went up, till only a few stubborn or fearful soldiers refused to volunteer. Frigyes had been no fool to ask all the men at the same time. They shamed one another forward.
When at last no more hands rose, the company commander nodded approval. “I knew you were warriors,” he said. “If the stars be kind, as I hope they will, your names on this list will be only names and nothing more. But should the need arise to give of ourselves for Ekrekek Arpad, I know we will go bravely, and of our own free will. And I want you men to know one thing.” He held up the list of names he’d taken. “My own name is here among yours. I am willing to give my life for Gyongyos, too. Dismissed!”
“That’s a brave man, by the stars,” Szonyi said as he and Kun and Istvan walked off together. “He put his name right down with ours.”
Kun gave him a pitying look. Then the city man glanced over to Istvan. “You see it, don’t you, Sergeant?”
“See what?” Istvan asked. “Szonyi’s right—Captain Frigyes is brave.”
“He’s brave in battle. Nobody could say anything about that,” Kun admitted. “But volunteering to be sacrificed doesn’t prove anything about him one way or the other.”
“No?” Szonyi asked. “You want your throat cut if Gyongyos gets in trouble? I don’t, and I don’t suppose the captain does, either.”
Kun sighed, as if wondering why he met all the stupidity in the world. Szonyi started to get angry. Istvan sympathized with Szonyi. “What are you going on about?” he asked Kun. “Do you think the captain didn’t put his name down on the list when he said he did? You’d better not think that.” He started to get angry, too: angry at Kun, because he didn’t want to be angry at the man who led them into battle.
“I don’t think that, not for a minute,” Kun said. “Don’t you see, though? It doesn’t matter.”
“You keep saying it doesn’t matter. I see that,” Istvan answered. “The more you say it, the more I want to give you a clout in the eye. I see that, too. So either start talking sense or else shut up.”
“All right, by the stars, I’ll make sense.” Now Kun sounded angry, too, and spoke with savage irony: “There’s one captain for every hundred common soldiers, more or less. It’s harder to be a captain than a common soldier. You have to do and know everything a common soldier does and knows, and a lot more besides. So when the time comes for the mages to start cutting throats, if it ever does, are they going to start cutting common soldiers’ throats, or captains’? Which can they replace easier if they have to use them up?”
“Oh.” Istvan walked on for a few paces. He felt foolish. He felt worse than foolish—he felt stupid. He glanced over at Szonyi. Szonyi wasn’t saying anything, just tramping along with his head down and a half glum, half furious expression on his face. With a sigh, Istvan nodded to Kun. “Well, you’re right.”
That made Szonyi speak up: “I still want to give you a set of lumps. Maybe now more than ever.”
“Why? For being right?” Kun asked. “Where’s the justice there?”
“For being right in the wrong tone of voice,” Istvan said. “You do that a lot.”
“No, that’s not it, not this time.” Szonyi shook his big head Water flew from the brim of his cap. “For making me see Captain Frigyes was talking sly himself. I don’t want anybody saying one thing when he means something else, or when he doesn’t mean anything at all.”
“Clouds hide the truth,” Kun said. “The stars shine down on it. They send out their light for us to see by.”
Like everything Kun said, that sounded wise. Szonyi grunted and finally, reluctantly, nodded. Istvan wasn’t so sure. Even as a sergeant, he’d seen that the tricks by which men led other men weren’t so simple. Casting light on those tricks made leading harder. Considering the way the war was going, maybe Kun should have kept his mouth shut.
Garivald had never seen so many Unkerlanter soldiers in all his born days. They swarmed through
the forest west of Herborn and clogged the roads north and south of the woods. With every passing day, the band of irregulars he led looked less and less important. In fact, it hardly seemed his band at all any more. Tantris gave more orders than he did, and seemed happier doing it.
No matter how happy Tantris seemed, people started slipping away from the band under cover of night. A couple of years before, they’d slipped into the woods the same way to join the irregulars. The first couple of inspectors—or were they impressers?—joined Tantris not long after Herborn fell to King Swemmel’s soldiers. Garivald didn’t like the way they huddled with the regular. He didn’t like the way they looked at him, either.
After darkness fell that night, he spoke to Obilot in a low whisper: “I’m going to get away while I still have the chance.”
She nodded. “You think they mean to shove a uniform tunic on you.” It wasn’t a question.
“I think they mean to shove a uniform tunic on me and send me wherever it’s hottest and get me killed,” Garivald answered. “After all, I’ve led fighters who weren’t taking orders straight from King Swemmel’s men.”
“You’re going to slide off?” Obilot said.
“I already said so,” he answered. “I’m not going to waste a minute, either—I don’t intend to be here when the sun comes up tomorrow.” He took her hand. “This isn’t the way I wanted to say goodbye, but …”
“I’ll come with you, if you want,” she said.
Garivald stared. “But—” he said again.
“But I’m a woman?” Obilot asked. “But they won’t shove a uniform tunic on me? So what? I wish they would. It’d let me go on killing Algarvians. But you’re right; they won’t. And so I’ll come with you. If you want.”
“You know where I’ll be going,” Garivald said slowly.
“Back to Zossen,” Obilot answered. “Back to your wife and your children. Aye, I know. That’s why I said what I said the way I said it.”
“What will you do once I get there?” he asked.
Obilot shrugged. “I don’t know. That’ll be partly up to you, anyhow. But maybe you could use somebody to watch your back on the way—and we’ll have another few days together, anyhow. Past that …” She shrugged again. “I never have worried much about what happens next. When it happens, I’ll worry about it.”
“All right.” Garivald kissed her. Part of him was ashamed of himself: he might lie with her a couple of more times on the way back to Annore, his wife. But another part of him eagerly looked forward to that. And yet another part warned he might well need a companion, and maybe a fellow fighter, before he got to Zossen. “Let’s wait till midnight or so, and then we’ll see if we can sneak off.”
Getting out of camp, going from leader of the band of irregulars to fugitive, proved easier than he’d expected. No one challenged him as he slipped away. Tantris and the inspectors snored drunkenly by a fire. So much for efficiency, Garivald thought. Obilot joined him a few minutes after he left his hut. “If they really want to, they’ll be able to follow our tracks in the snow,” she said.
“I know.” Garivald grimaced. “The Algarvians and the Grelzers could do the same thing in wintertime.” Now he was worried about pursuit from his own side, from the side he still preferred to the expelled enemy and their puppets. He started away from the encampment. “Let’s get to a road. Then our tracks won’t be the only ones.”
“How far is Zossen?” Obilot asked as they slipped through the trees.
“I don’t know. Forty, fifty, sixty miles—something like that,” Garivald answered with a shrug. “I was never more than a day’s walk away from it till the redheads grabbed and and took me off to Herborn. They were going to boil me the way King Swemmel boiled Raniero, but Munderic waylaid’em when they cut through the woods instead of going around. So I’ve seen Zossen and I’ve seen the forest and what’s around it, but I haven’t hardly seen whatever’s in between, if you know what I mean.”
Obilot nodded. “I hadn’t been far from my village before the Algarvians came, either. Just to the market town. I don’t think anything’s left of either one of them. Our army fought there, but we didn’t win.”
“They were going to make a stand in Zossen, too,” Garivald said. “But before they could, they heard the redheads had outflanked them, and so they fell back.”
An icy breeze blew out of the west. Garivald steered by it. It was all he had, with clouds covering the stars. Somewhere not far away, an owl hooted. “I’d rather hear that than wolves,” Obilot remarked.
“Aye.” Garivald was carrying his stick, but his head went up and down anyway. A few paces later, he added, “Some of the wolves in these woods go on two legs, not four.” Obilot laughed, not that he’d been joking. She had her stick, too.
They were both yawning when they emerged from the forest a couple of hours later. But they kept going till they struck the road. Even in the middle of the night, it had plenty of traffic: wagons and unicorns and behemoths and columns of marching men, all heading east. Garivald had to spring off to the side of the road again and again to keep from being trampled.
At sunrise, they came to a tent city that hadn’t been there a few days before and probably wouldn’t be there in another few days. “Can you spare us any bread?” Obilot called to the soldiers.
Had Garivald asked, the troopers likely would have cursed him or worse. But a woman’s voice worked wonders. They got black bread and ham and butter and pickled onions. “Go on back to your farm, if there’s anything left of it,” one of the soldiers said in a northern accent. “Here’s hoping you find some pieces worth picking up.”
“Thanks,” Garivald said. “Powers above keep you safe.”
“Same to you,” the soldier answered. “I may see you again one of these days. Wherever your farm’s at, the inspectors and impressers’ll be paying you a call sooner or later. They want everybody to join the fun—that’s how things work.”
“That’s how things work,” Garivald repeated bitterly as he and Obilot walked west against the flow of military traffic. “The worst of it is, he’s right. Some locusts have two legs, too. Don’t they know they have to leave some people on the land to keep everybody from starving?”
“Nobody from Cottbus knows anything.” Now that Obilot was back under King Swemmel’s rule, she mocked his officials, too.
They slept for a few hours in a wrecked peasant hut, lying in each other’s arms under both their cloaks. When they woke and went back to the road, they couldn’t go down it for quite a while: a great column of Algarvian captives filled it. Some of the redheads looked glum. Some seemed relieved just to be alive. And a few, with the lighthearted Algarvian arrogance Garivald had seen before, were doing their best to make a lark of it, singing and grinning and acting the fool.
“What’ll happen to these bastards?” he called to one of the Unkerlanters herding the captives along.
“Oh, they’re for the mines, every stinking one of’em,” the soldier answered. “Let’em grub out brimstone and quicksilver and coal, so we get some use out of’em. A short life and a not so merry one.”
“Even that’s too good for them,” Obilot said. “I wish they had just one neck, so we could take off all their heads at once.” The guard laughed and nodded. Any of the redheads who understood were probably less amused.
Garivald and Obilot fell in behind the column. They walked at whatever pace they chose. The Algarvians walked at the faster pace the guards set. Every so often, one wouldn’t be able to keep up anymore. Garivald and Obilot walked past redheaded corpses in the roadway. Obilot kicked the first couple they passed. After that, she didn’t bother.
A strange cracking noise made Garivald turn around to see what it was. Another, smaller, column of captives was gaining on him. These weren’t Algarvians. They were men who looked a lot like him. They looked a lot like their captors, too. But their uniform tunics weren’t rock-gray. They were dark green. Some of the Grelzers who’d been fighting for Raniero still
lived, then.
Their guards hustled them forward, driving them even faster than the Unkerlanters in charge of the Algarvian captives. Garivald and Obilot scrambled out of the roadway to let them pass. And Garivald discovered what that cracking noise was: one of the guards carried not a stick but a whip, which he brought down again and again on the back of a Grelzer captive.
“Mercy!” the captive cried, in accents much like Garivald’s.
“Mercy? For you?” His tormentor laughed. “By the time we’re finished with you and your pals, filth, you’ll end up envying Raniero, you will.” The whip came down.
The Grelzer dashed forward, not in a run for freedom but straight toward an oncoming behemoth. As the beast raised a great foot, he dove under it. Red smeared the road when the behemoth took another step. The Unkerlanter guardsman cursed. Someone had escaped him.
Toward evening, Obilot again begged food from soldiers. “Here,” one of the men said. “We can spare you and your man a tent for the night, too.” To their own, they could be kindly. To their own who’d turned against them … Garivald fought to forget the sound the behemoth’s foot had made as it crushed the life from the Grelzer captive.
Only a few peasants were left in the villages by the side of the road. Garivald asked an old man, “How far to Zossen?”
“Never heard of it,” the fellow answered.
A couple of hours later, another old man said, “Zossen? A day, I think—maybe not even.”
“No, a day and a half, easy,” a woman insisted. They started to argue.
She turned out to be closer to right. Early the following morning, Garivald began recognizing the countryside. He might have done it sooner, but the fighting looked to have been heavy in these parts. He and Obilot walked on. Some time in the middle of the afternoon, he said, “Around that next bend, there’ll be Zossen.”
Obilot stopped. She looked at him. “You’ll want to go on by yourself,” she said. Rather miserably, Garivald nodded. He’d fought for his life with Obilot as well as lain beside her, but all his life before the Algarvians snatched him lay ahead. He wouldn’t have come back if he hadn’t wanted that. “Go on, then,” Obilot told him. “I’ll come along in a little while. We’ll see how things are when I get there.” When he still hesitated, she pushed him “Go on, I told you. I knew how things were when we left the woods.”
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