by Gav Thorpe
The general looked for Anasind, and saw the First Captain of the Thirteenth running towards him, his staff officers trailing after.
"What the fuck is going on?" Ullsaard demanded once Anasind was in earshot.
"I don't know, General," the First Captain confessed. "The men are just ignoring the order. They don't look too happy. Should I have the company officers make a few examples?"
"That won't be needed," said Ullsaard, dismounting. He handed Blackfang's reins to an orderly and his spear to another. The ailur turned her head towards him, apparently confused by his absence. She sniffed the air and twitched her tail, sensing battle.
"What are you going to do?" asked Anasind, following behind Ullsaard as he strode towards the front rank of the Thirteenth.
"This isn't mutiny, it's uncertainty," Ullsaard said. "Let's just show the boys that we mean business."
The worried eyes of the legionnaires followed Ullsaard as he walked along the line just in front of the Thirteenth legion's front rank. He came to a stop a few paces from the first company, whose captain, Venuid, held the legion icon.
"I know you are not sure why you must fight today," Ullsaard said, his voice a shout that could be heard by the distant companies. "You wonder why we raise our spears against our fellow Askhans. The reasons are many and tedious. All you need know is that today we fight for our rights as soldiers and men. The king has refused to treat with us as the law demands, and he seeks to quell our spirit with threats of violence.
"It is not we that start this war, but King Lutaar, who refuses to acknowledge my rights, and through me, your rights. He would have us waste our time choking on dust and sand while his favourites earn rich spoils elsewhere. No more! I came here to demand what we are entitled to, but he will not even see me. Today we do not fight against the soldiers of a just ruler, but against the lackeys of a tyrant who ignores his own laws."
Ullsaard paced back and forth and saw anger on the faces of some of the men, but most were still confused. He would need to give them something more to fight for. He strode up to Venuid and took the Askhan icon from the captain's grasp. He held it up so that all of the Thirteenth could see it.
"This is the symbol of the Thirteenth!" Ullsaard roared. "I gave it to you when I raised you. On it, you swore oaths of loyalty, and you took the coin from my hand and the wisdom from my lips. You are my Thirteenth, who have been like brothers and sons to me. You have fought for me, bled for me, and died for me. Today I ask you to do that again."
Ullsaard stalked away from the line, still holding up the icon. He stopped about twenty paces from the front rank.
"Are you going to let your icon fall to this bunch of boys and dogs?" Ullsaard bellowed. "Are you going to let this rabble of pigfuckers kill your general?"
With that he turned away and marched along the road towards the gatehouse. He heard shouts of dismay and anger behind him.
"Thirteen!" a voice cried out. He recognised it as Anasind.
"Thirteen!" several thousand throats roared in response.
The legion advanced as one, splashing through the rain after their leader and standard. To their left and right, the other legions followed suit, none wanting to be shamed by the enthusiasm of their rivals.
Ullsaard heard a splash of sandaled feet behind. Venuid caught up with him, his round face split by a wide grin.
"I think I could carry that for you, General," said the captain.
Ullsaard thrust the icon back into Venuid's hands with a wink. The general stepped to one side to allow the first company to catch up with their captain. As they reached him, Ullsaard raised his shield above his head.
"Thirteen!" he cried and received the answering call.
"Thirteen!"
XI
About a quarter of a mile from the Wall, the spear throwers hurled their bolts down into the Thirteenth. Their shields gave little protection against the heavy missiles and men were flung back through the ranks with harsh cries. Ullsaard had joined the front rank of the first company at the head of the attack.
"Keep moving! Fast advance!" bellowed Ullsaard as a spear flashed past him only a few paces away, punching through a legionnaire's shoulder to send him spinning to the ground. The other soldiers quickly stepped in to fill the gap. Speed would be their best defence.
Drummers sounded the order and the legion, company by company, broke into a trot, spears on their shoulders. More bolts crashed through the ranks but the legionnaires ignored their dead and wounded and pressed onwards with their general.
A cloud of arrows flew up from the rampart ahead. The second captains bellowed commands to form a shield wall and the legionnaires closed in around Ullsaard. The front rank held their shields to the front, while the men further back created a roof with theirs. Though this provided greater protection against the arrows, it slowed down their advance. Ullsaard winced as shafts thudded around and above him, a few finding gaps to bite into flesh. Volley after volley descended on them as they tramped towards the gatehouse, leaving a trail of injured men.
An arrowhead split the wood of Ullsaard's shield and cut his forearm. Blood dribbled from the slight wound, dripping down the inside of his shield onto his leg. He ignored it and glanced around the side of his shield to see how far they were from the gatehouse.
Less than two hundred paces.
"Sound the charge!" he roared. Around him, the shield wall fell apart and the company broke into a run.
The horns sounded the order. This was no barbaric sprint into combat, but a controlled increase of speed. The legionnaires loped along at an easy pace, mud churning up beneath their feet, keeping to their ranks while more arrows whistled overhead.
The first company angled their run towards the gate tower to the right, while the second company split to the left. Ullsaard kept his focus on the archway at the base of the tower. He could see crates and timber had been piled onto the stairs within. More arrows fell on them as they reached the foot of the wall and burst towards the open archway.
"Clear this shit out of the way," rasped Anasind, a little to Ullsaard's right. The First Captain turned to shout at the third company who were following behind. "Shields up!"
They hefted up their shields to form a protective barrier over the heads of the first company, while those legionnaires began to pull apart the impromptu barricade. Planks and barrels were passed from man to man beneath the shield roof, to be thrown out to each side to keep the path clear. Archers stationed inside the tower loosed their shafts into the men clearing the debris, but those that were injured quickly withdrew to allow others to continue, while the bodies of the dead were tossed out of the way like any other junk.
Behind the assaulting companies, others were defending the lava-throwers. Protected by the shields of their covering companies, the crews worked their machines and unleashed gouts of black and red fire at the ramparts above the gates. The charred corpses of bowmen fell from the Wall to crash into the mud while the hideous shrieking of the survivors rang down the tower steps.
"Push on!" Ullsaard ordered, clambering over pieces of broken furniture and bundles of ragged bedding. "No duties for ten days for the company that takes the tower!"
Though the path was not fully clear, the first company surged into the tower, the second company eagerly on their heels. Ullsaard raced up the steps, flanked by two legionnaires. They were met halfway by soldiers coming down, spears jabbing at the attackers.
Ullsaard used his spear to batter away the weapons of his opponents and leaped up the steps two at a time, crashing into the opponents ahead with his shield as a battering ram. He dropped his spear and pulled his sword out to blindly hack left and right. Caught between the swordsman in their midst and the spears of the first company, the Wall garrison were forced to retreat up the steps, but Ullsaard would not let them create the space they needed, following up with hacking swings that shattered the shafts of their spears and left rents in their shields.
Ullsaard could see the sky behind the p
ress of men ahead and knew he was not far from the rampart. He took another step but the enemy came towards him, pushed down the stairs by more men pouring into the tower from above.
Ullsaard was forced back two steps, and his foot slipped from under him in a puddle of blood. He swung his sword wildly as he fell, catching one of his foes across the chin with its tip before he rolled down into the feet of his own men. Two legionnaires helped to him his feet as the rest pressed ahead, forming a solid wall of shields across the narrow stairway.
Panting, Ullsaard leaned back against the wall and let more men rush past to take up the fight. In the scrum of the melee he spied Anasind. The First Captain looked worried, but Ullsaard raised his sword to show that he was unhurt. Anasind nodded his understanding and disappeared into the throng of legionnaires, bellowing encouragement.
Shouts of alarm echoed from the top of the tower and Ullsaard guessed that Donar's men had reached the rampart to coldwards or the other gate tower had been taken. Whatever the cause, the defenders' resistance collapsed as they turned to run.
With triumphant shouts, the Thirteenth boiled up the stairwell onto the rampart, stabbing anyone left in their path. Ullsaard pushed through the crowd of soldiers as they spread coldwards along the Wall, finishing off the wounded their enemies had left behind. Ullsaard stepped to the inner edge of the rampart and looked hotwards to see the second company were fighting hard but had gained the rampart. Beyond them, further along the Wall, Jutiil's men advanced towards the gatehouse with spears ready.
Some of the defenders threw down their shields and weapons in surrender, but they were cut down mercilessly. A great many jumped from the Wall to escape, most of them landing with bone-cracking impacts. They too were swiftly despatched by the rear companies; the few lucky men that survived the jump were allowed to limp away with laughs and jeers ringing in their ears. Ullsaard could imagine his men thought it bad form to cut down a man who had survived such a death-defying leap.
XII
As pairs of legionnaires tossed the bodies of the dead off the rampart, Ullsaard called for Luamid and Rondin. The two First Captains shouldered their way through the press of soldiers occupying the gatehouse.
"Raid two towers cold- and hotwards and see what supplies you can get. Don't take too long. And remind Anasind that First Company took the gatehouse. They'll appreciate ten days of soft duties!"
The captains saluted and left, leaving Ullsaard alone amidst the maelstrom.
"General?"
He turned to see a legionnaire holding Ullsaard's goldenheaded spear. The man's face was streaked with grime and sweat, his left eye closed by a vicious bruise. His good eye was wide with reverence. "You left this behind, General."
"What's your name?" Ullsaard said, taking the weapon. "Which company?"
"Cobiunnin, General," replied the legionnaire. "Third Company. Thirteenth."
"Thank you, Cobiunnin. Tell Captain Anasind that Third Company is excused camp duties for the next two days. Make sure you tell your friends why."
"Thanks, General!" Cobiunnin replied with a broad grin. He headed back towards his company, shouting the names of his friends. Ullsaard watched as Cobiunnin announced the news. The other legionnaires clapped their comrade on the back and raised their spears to Ullsaard in thanks.
Ullsaard felt tired. He took off his helmet and rubbed a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the golden-threaded banner of Aalun. The prince rode through the Askhan dead with Noran by his side, a bodyguard of kolubrid riders in a circle around him. The two men tugged hard on the reins of their mounts when they stopped to sniff or paw the corpses.
Ullsaard turned his back to Aalun, to Askh, and looked out across the hills to duskwards, pushing everything else from his mind. The rain fell steadily, obscuring the distant mountains in murk, and nothing could be seen of the Greenwater and Narun.
It didn't matter. Out there was open country. Nemtun would never catch them before winter. Ullsaard was pleased. Victory in the first battle of a war was always a good omen. He took a deep breath, savouring the air, tinged with blood and sweat and all the sweeter for it.
After allowing himself this moment, he put on his helmet and bellowed for Anasind. There was a march to be organised.
ENAIR
Early Winter, 209th Year of Askh
I
Though Noonwatch approached, the ground was covered with frost that crackled under the wheels of the abada cart as it trundled along the rutted road. The branches and needles of the surrounding forest were equally rimed with ice. Above the treetops smoke rose in thin columns from a small cluster of buildings.
The village stood on the bank of a narrow river, the water's edge laced with fronds of ice. The single storey cottages were constructed from hewn logs, sealed with muddy mortar, roofed with several layers of branches tightly woven together. The road petered out into a muddy open area where swine and fowl wandered freely under the watch of several children, sitting on a low stone wall beside the river. A brick bridge was the only sign that the Askhans had ever come to this backwater, everything else was unchanged from the way the Enairian tribes had lived for centuries.
This was Ullsaard's home.
He clambered down from the first of three wagons and stomped his feet to get some feeling into his chilled toes. Wrapped in a heavy coat of goatskin lined with fur, boots of the same, his beard unclipped for several weeks, the broad-shouldered general looked like a beast of the forests. His breath came in clouds as he clapped together his gloved hands and grinned at his wives, who sat on the second wagon.
"This place is so much nicer in winter," Ullsaard declared.
"If you say so," said Luia, little more than a cold-reddened nose poking out of a thick fur shawl and woollen blankets. "I think I prefer it in the summer."
One of the cottage doors opened and an elderly, rotund woman in a plain red dress and high boots emerged. Her generous cheeks were flushed from effort and steam billowed out of the door behind her.
"Lord Ullsaard!" she exclaimed as she trotted across the mud and frost. "Ain't never expected to see you at this time of year."
"Hello, Freyna," the general replied. "How about some hot drinks?"
Freyna, the local loremother, looked past Ullsaard and saw the three women bundled up on the back of the cart. She scowled at the general.
"Shame on you for bringing your lovely ladies out in this weather," said Freyna. She hurried over to the wives' cart. "Come on, dears, let's get you warmed up inside."
One by one, the Askhan women lowered themselves from the wagon and waddled after Freyna, swathed in their cloaks and blankets. Freyna was chattering away, asking after their health and news of their families. Ullsaard was content to leave them to their gossiping for the moment and wandered over to the river. Behind him the third wagon trundled onwards, carrying four servants and the luggage, heading through the village towards Ullsaard's house a mile further up the road.
Ullsaard took a deep, cold breath and grinned to himself. He remembered a dozen winters here in Stykhaag, chopping trees, fishing through ice holes in the lake a couple of miles to duskwards, hanging the holly wreaths from the trees to keep the frost spirit at bay. There was nothing like it in Askhor, where the ancient, misguided tribal beliefs that had held sway before Askhos had risen to power had been purged by the Brotherhood.
He looked around and saw the telltale signs of the old wards around the village: the crossed nails on the lintels; holly ropes threaded into the branch roofs; the rune charms carved into the logs of the cottages. It didn't matter how many times the Brotherhood came here and chastised the people for their superstitions, the old ways still remained in some fashion.
To coldwards the bald hill known as the Crow Mound loomed out of the forest, the snow and ice covering the burnt earth and charred timbers on its summit. Not in Ullsaard's lifetime had anyone gone up there, but in generations past every equinox and solstice had seen the flames danc
ing high as the loremothers and the lorefathers had led the people in their rituals of sacrifice to appease the spirits of sky and earth and forest.
Yes, Ullsaard thought, it was misguided nonsense. A life in the legions had taught him that well-placed bronze and a bit of luck had more sway over people's destiny than imaginary spirit folk. But for all his pragmatism, there was something real, something genuine about the old celebrations and ceremonies which Askhan pomp could never capture.
"Here you go."
Ullsaard found Allenya behind him with a steaming mug in her hand. Ullsaard took it with a smile and sniffed: chicken broth. He took a gulp, enjoying the warmth of the soup as it flowed down into his gut.
"Why did we stop here?" Allenya asked. "We are only a mile from your mother's house."
Ullsaard nodded towards the river wall, where there was one less child than before.
"To give my mother some warning," he said. "She's a stickler for certain things and she'll be annoyed that I didn't send word that we were coming. This way she can get everything in order before we turn up."
