by Gav Thorpe
Gelthius tugged at Lepiris's jacket and the two of them melted away towards the closest cave entrance. Others were doing the same, Anglhan's old crew and bands of hillmen mostly; the line thinned as the chieftains raised their open palms and ordered their followers to stand back. With their numbers growing smaller by the moment, most of the ex-slaves and Salphor brigands threw down their clubs and spears, hurling insults and disgust at those that had backed down.
Calm descended. Ullsaard wiped his sword on Lubrianati's jerkin and sheathed the weapon. He passed his shield to Urikh and placed his fists on his hips, regarding the rebels and hillmen impassively. The general's gaze turned on Gelthius, who froze, gripping Lepiris's arm tightly.
"You!" barked Ullsaard, pointing at Gelthius. "Are you prepared to swear an oath of loyalty to me? Will you become a legionnaire of Greater Askhor?"
Gelthius looked along the two lines of men. To his right stood the rebels, with their leather jerkins and mauls, their ragged trousers and bent-shaft spears; to the left waited the Askhan legionnaires, with their broad shields, their bronze-tipped pikes, their polished armour and their gleaming standards.
"It's the legions for me, right enough," Gelthius replied in a quailing voice.
"Good man!" Ullsaard replied with a grin. Still smiling, he took a deep breath and spoke to the others. "Any man not willing to join me will not be forced to. Those that wish to leave, step forward and make yourselves known."
There was no movement at first, but then Barias strode up to Ullsaard and spat at his feet. In ones and twos, half of the chieftain's warriors joined him. Others drifted from the crowd, alone or in small groups, until there were several hundred men in the dissident group. Ullsaard nodded and walked back to his army, where his officers met him and they spoke for a short while. At the shout of "Split column!" the legionnaires divided their line, opening up a space down the middle of the valley.
"Off you go!" Ullsaard shouted cheerfully, waving Barias and the others towards the mouth of the pass.
With glances back to those they were leaving behind, the dissenters walked down the valley, passing between the lines of legionnaires. A few more men broke from those that had stayed behind, running to catch up with those that were leaving. When the last of them had caught up, Ullsaard turned to his army and raised his fist.
At this unspoken command, the captains bellowed the order to attack.
Like the jaws of an ailur closing, the legionnaires turned on the men in their midst, bearing down on them with shield and spear. Realising their plight, Barias and a few others drew their weapons, but it was too late; line after line of bronze spearpoints surrounded them, rank after rank of soldiers bore down on them.
The clash of weapons and shouts lasted for only a brief time; all along the valley silence fell. The rebels were dead, only the legions of Ullsaard remained.
MAGILNADA
Midwinter, 209th Year of Askh
I
The only traffic on the road leading to Magilnada was a solitary two-wheeled cart drawn by a plodding abada. Cold sleet rained down on the wagon, whose driver and companion sat huddled in their cloaks beneath an improvised awning of stretched canvas. Water caused the sheet to bow, so that now and then the driver reached up with a stick to poke the awning, sending icecold water sloshing over the sides.
"Still, better than snow, eh?" said Gelthius. His passenger, the Askhan noble called Noran, replied with a doubtful look.
"I like snow, in moderation."
"What's 'moderation' mean?" asked Gelthius.
"Not too much," Noran told him with a sigh. Gelthius absorbed this piece of knowledge with a nod, and stored it with the other long words he had learnt on the journey from the camp.
They carried on, the cart rocking slowly from side to side, the wind bringing gusts of spray into their faces.
"Ever seen Magilnada before?" Gelthius asked. Noran shook his head.
"Not in person," said the noble. "I have seen drawings."
"It's a mighty city, right enough," said Gelthius. "A mighty city indeed."
"I was born in Askh, the greatest city in the world," said Noran. "It takes a lot to impress me."
They rode on for a while longer, until Gelthius spoke again. It had been the same for the whole journey; Gelthius trying to pass the time with chat, Noran answering only reluctantly.
"Pardon my saying, but you don't seem all that happy to be here," said Gelthius.
Noran didn't reply straightaway. He drew his hood tighter to his face and stared up at the mountains. Gelthius thought the noble was going to ignore him, but then Noran spoke. His voice was quiet, his mood sombre.
"Bearing all things in mind, I would rather be in Askh. I have a large house there, and a lodge in the hills I can visit if I fancy some mountain air. I would travel in a covered carriage, out of the wind and rain. Servants would attend me at my slightest word, bringing me good food and splendid wine.
"Instead, here I am on the board of an open wagon, in the pissing rain, my belly half-empty, my clothes soaking to the skin. And what am I about to do? Ride into the city my friend, your general, is about to attack, at no small risk to myself."
Gelthius pondered this for a moment.
"So, why are you here?"
"Because I am an idiot, my odious companion. An idiot who thought he could help a friend."
Gelthius decided not to ask what 'odious' meant, though he might guess at its meaning. The cart hit a particularly deep rut in the road and sent the pair lurching to one side. Gelthius grabbed the wagon seat to stop from toppling from the board. Noran reached over and hauled him upright.
"Careful there. There is no point getting hurt before we even reach Magilnada." Noran directed a sour look at the wagon and the beast pulling it. "Besides, I have no idea how to drive this thing."
The abada had almost stopped at the commotion. Gelthius prodded it with his long stick and it lumbered on again, the traces tightening as it picked up speed. Soon the cart was rumbling and swaying.
"Seems to be you don't want to be here, right enough," said Gelthius. "Me, I can't go nowhere else. I been a cattle thief, a shoemaker, a farmer, a debtor, a rebel and now I'm an Askhan legionnaire. I got food in my belly and clothes that ain't full of holes. I reckon I'm doing all right at the moment. If you've lost so much, why don't you just go back to Askh? Putting aside friendship with the general and all that."
"Go back to what?" Noran's wistfulness grew into bitterness. "The king has exiled me. My family has probably disowned me. My estates are no longer mine."
Noran grew even quieter. Gelthius struggled to hear his words over the noise of the cart's axle, the splashing of the wheels and the pattering of rain on the awning.
"Nothing to go back to; nothing to take back. Neerita's gone. No son. I have nothing left."
Noran stared bleakly ahead, eyes fixed on something else. Gelthius said nothing. He recognised a foul mood when he saw it, and knew that any attempt to cheer up his companion was likely to end in anger. They rode on in silence until the walls of Magilnada could be seen through the rain.
Grey and brown like the mountains from which its stones had been carved, the semi-circular outer wall curved from a cliff face that rose far above the plain. Square towers broke the wall every quarter of a mile, and there was only one gate, protected by fortifications twice as high as the rest of the wall. In the summer, when Gelthius had seen the city before on his three visits as one of Anglhan's turncranks, there had been a second city of tents outside, filled with traders, craftsmen and other visitors. Now the city was surrounded by a flat stretch of muddy grass, in places turned to bog by the rain. Little could be seen of the city within; a haze of smoke from forges and hearths hung over the city.
The stone-strengthened track they were on curved around to coldwards and joined a straighter road; paved with giant slabs, though now much cracked and overgrown with plants. To either side stretched the fields that fed the city, the flat expanse broken by clusters of
low farmhouses and long barns. The landscape was still, the only movement the empty branches of scattered trees swayed by the strengthening wind.
Weighed on by such dismal surrounds and Noran's sombre mood, Gelthius tried his best to be happy. He was a free man, in reality and by the law of Salphoria. He had talked to his new comrades in the Thirteenth, and Gelthius had come to the conclusion that life in an Askhan legion was certainly not the worst thing that could have happened to him. And this current job, meeting others in Ullsaard's army that had sneaked into Magilnada, looked to be safer than what the future had in store for his fellow crewmates and rebels.
II
A group of twenty or so warriors stood guard at the gates, which were open. Obviously bored, they waved to Gelthius to stop the wagon and quickly surrounded it, peering into the bundles on the back and looking at the two men aboard with suspicion.
"What's your business here?" one guard asked. He was of typical Magilnadan stock, with the wiry frame and dark hair of a Salphor, and the flat nose and wide chin of a hillman.
"Trade," Noran replied quickly. He made no attempt to mask his accent; such a thing would have been pointless considering his narrow features, fair hair and long limbs easily identified him as Askhan to the bone.
"It's still winter," the guard replied. He walked to the back of the cart and prodded around for a while. He would find nothing other than Noran's personal belongings. The guard came back to the front of the cart. "You ain't got nothing to sell, and you couldn't carry much out of here in this, if you're buying."
"Contracts," said Noran. The man frowned and he continued. "You know, an agreement for a sale? There has been fierce competition for the grain come trading season again, what with everything that has been going on. While my rivals are warming their feet by their fires, I will be getting one step ahead of them."
"There's been some strange folk coming to the city of late," said another guard. "Never seen so many visitors at this time of year. What's going on out dawnwards?"
Gelthius felt his stomach tighten at so many questions. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the hindquarters of the abada and let Noran do the talking.
"Oh, the usual sort of thing," said the noble. "Generals falling out with each other, governors trying to wriggle for position and power. Nothing to be worried about. Say, I hear there has been some trouble with rebels around here. Is that true?"
"Trouble?" said the first guard. "Nah, not so much. A few caravans get attacked and suddenly every merchant and his son thinks there's an army in the mountains waiting to pounce on them. "
"They've been quiet since the weather set in," added the third warrior , stroking grimy fingers through his forked ginger beard.
"Another good reason to get my business concluded as quickly as possible," said Noran.
"No need to hurry away too soon," said a fourth man. "We're always happy to welcome visitors with some coin in their pouches. If you're looking for lodgings, there's rooms at my cousin's place in the tanners' district. Good price too. Ask around for Helghrin."
"I will be sure to look into it," said Noran.
The guards stood around for a while longer. When they were convinced that this fancy Askhan merchant would provide no more entertainment, they waved the cart through the gate. Gelthius gratefully prodded the abada into motion and they passed into the city of Magilnada.
III
The shrine gardens had become the regular haunt of Noran and the rest of Ullsaard's infiltrators. Most days, the noble could be found sitting in the overgrown park at the centre of Magilnada, talking to one or more of his conspirators. While they swapped information regarding the city, the people of Magilnada went about their business, leaving small sacrifices or paying homage at the small altars dotted around the gardens, each dedicated to one spirit or another.
Thirty days had passed since Noran had entered the city, and he was now one of a hundred and fifty of Ullsaard's followers tasked with spying on the Magilnadans. Every few days, one of them would leave with a short report penned by Noran and another would return several days later with requests and questions from the general: asking about the dispositions of the guards; their numbers and equipment; names of prominent locals and chieftains; locations of barracks and armouries; sentry rotations; standards of alertness and discipline. Noran gathered all of this through the network of followers in the city, and through the odd bribe or conversation with locals.
On this particular day, Noran met with Gelthius again. The ex-debtor had secured himself a position in the craftsmen's league, on the back of his experience as a cobbler. In the short time he had been in the city, Gelthius had learnt the names of the most important tradesmen and the supplies they provided to Magilnada's chieftains and warriors. Today he had nothing new to report, and was about to leave when Noran told him to stay.
"What do you think our chances are?" said Noran. "You are a Salphor, you know how these people are likely to react once we take over."
"The men I talk to won't care one way or other," said Gelthius, sitting on the wooden bench beside Noran. He kept his voice low, nervous of the people walking past just a few paces away. "In fact, if the general comes in and starts buying up gear and such, they'll be happy. Magilnada's always been a strange place. These people are from all over – Ersuans, Salphors, hill folk, Anrairians. It's a place unto itself and I don't think they're bothered by who sits in the lord's hall."
He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder towards the artificial hill that rose up beneath the cliff behind Magilnada, where the largest houses and richest inhabitants of the city could be found.
"Salphoria ain't one people, besides," Gelthius continued. "I'm Linghar, then there's the Hadril, the Cannin, the Vestil, the Hannaghian, all sorts. You call us all Salphors, but Salphoria's just the land we live in, it ain't who we are. The king's just the most powerful chieftain, nobody special."
"What are you talking about?" asked Noran.
"I heard things in the camp," admitted Gelthius. "This ain't about Magilnada. The general's promised his men the chance to have a go at Salphoria. They're all excited about it, which is why they've stayed. All I'm saying is, even if you beat the king, it don't mean all the Salphorian tribes'll just fall into line. Same's true here. If you get the chiefs on your side, the city's yours. If they decide to make a fight of it, it could get dirty.
"The tribes fight amongst themselves three days out of four, but if you lot march in and start telling everyone what to do, that's a sure way to get them to join forces. I hope the general's got plenty of gold to throw around, that's all, cause that'll get him the city surer than any number of spears."
Noran smiled.
"Gold that is offered at spearpoint tends to have a brighter gleam, though," he said. "It will be harder for these chieftains of yours to negotiate with a few thousand legionnaires staring at them."
Gelthius shook his head and sighed.
"What?" asked Noran. "What is the matter with that?"
"You ain't heard what I said," Gelthius told him. "If rebels take over Magilnada, or some rival chieftain gets rich enough to stake his claim, the tribes wouldn't give two rotten apples for it. But if you Askhans start sticking your golden faces all over the walls and prancing about like you own the place, that's the best way to get them angry and fighting together. Magilnada's part of the Free Country, which means it's fair game for any Salphorian tribe – for everyone 'cept the Askhans. Your kings made an agreement, and breaking promises is a sure way to make the tribes hate you even more."
Noran considered this opinion with a frown.
"We cannot start a war in Salphoria," he said. "Not until everything back in Askh has been smoothed out."
He stood up, and Gelthius did likewise. Noran was clearly agitated and he glanced around the gardens with a faint look of distaste.
"I think I have to make some suggestions to your general. If he comes in here with his full legions, he will be starting something he cannot finish yet." Noran clasped Ge
lthius's shoulder briefly. "Thank you. You have been a great help."
As he watched the Askhan stride off through the gardens, Gelthius was left wondering just how much help he wanted to be. It had been one thing to join up with the rebels; he had never really believed they had a chance of taking the city. It was another matter to hand the city over to Askhans. Askhans, he thought, that wanted to use the city as a position to launch attacks on the Salphorian tribes.
Troubled by his conflicting allegiances and expectations, he wandered through the long grass and leafless bushes until he found the shrine to the spirit of justice. It was a low, broad slab underneath the naked branches of a short, twisted tree. The stone was covered with coins of low value, stubs of candles and dishes of smouldering leaves that gave off a sweet odour. Thin strips of material hung from the tree limbs, covered with writing that Gelthius could not read – the invocations of petitioners scrawled by the shrine's priestess. She sat on one of the tree's roots, an old woman, her eyes bound with rags. She turned her craggy face towards Gelthius as he walked across the mat of rotting leaves.
