Chapter Thirty-Two
“THE DEATH SENTENCE ON WILBUR, SON of Lagos, has been confirmed,” Sir Roger said, as soon as he gaveled the command meeting to order. “I trust none of you have objections?”
Emily kept her face impassive, somehow. Wilbur, Son of Lagos, was a soldier, caught in the act of raping one of the village women. His commander had dragged him off to face a brief inquest, which had ended with a death sentence. Emily wasn’t sure which aspect of the whole affair bothered her the most: The fact that Wilbur had thought he could get away with raping someone, his superiors trying and convicting him within a few short hours, or the village’s apparent lack of concern over the whole affair. They hadn’t protested, let alone turned on the occupation force. She had the feeling it might have gone completely unmentioned if Wilbur hadn’t been caught in the act.
“None whatsoever.” Crown Prince Dater managed to look and sound remarkably pompous as he addressed the table. “Discipline must be maintained.”
It helps Wilbur is a commoner, Emily thought, sardonically. It would be a different story if he were nobility.
“I’m glad to have your support,” Sir Roger said. “We’ll hang the bastard this evening, before sundown. The men can watch and learn.”
“Perhaps we should just dispose of him now,” Crown Prince Dater said. “Given time, his former comrades will start feeling he was unjustly accused.”
“We were not gentle,” Master Lucknow said. “We knocked him about, Your Highness, and used truth spells and potions unmercifully. He saw the girl, decided he wanted her and took her. There is no room for ambiguity, no room to so much as hint he was lured into a trap or seduced or anything. He’s guilty. Common sense alone...”
“The troops have no common sense,” Crown Prince Dater insisted. “They’re commoners.”
Sir Roger cleared his throat. “Discipline must be maintained, as you said,” he pointed out. “Wilbur, Son of Lagos, was told the rules. He was warned that looting, raping and other breaches of military discipline would result in death. He was warned, as were his former comrades. There will be no trouble, beyond grumbling, when we hang him.”
“We cannot afford to show weakness,” Sergeant Miles said, sternly. “Not with an enemy army breathing down our necks.”
“True.” Sir Roger tapped the table. “I assume you’ve all had a chance to consider my plan?”
Emily nodded, curtly. The scouts had reported a sizable enemy army - orcs, overseers and monsters - heading directly towards the unnamed plantation. There’d been some hints of more enemy infighting, but not enough to keep the necromancers from dispatching forces to wipe the invading army off the face of the planet. She shuddered at the scale of the carnage to come, even if the enemy hadn’t learnt anything from the previous engagements. And she suspected they had. They were probably planning how to work around the new weapons and tactics right now.
“It should be workable,” Crown Prince Dater said. “But it leaves little room for my men.”
“You’ll have your chance, when we break the charge,” Sir Roger assured him. “You’ve rearmed your troops with poisoned arrows?”
“They’ve been primed to strike at the foe,” Crown Prince Dater said. “A single hit will be enough to kill a dozen orcs.”
Assuming the dead body is torn to pieces and eaten, Emily added, silently. If they’ve realized we’re poisoning the bodies...
She listened, quietly, as Master Lucknow outlined how his sorcerers would help the defenders, from supercharged spells to powerful wards that might stop the enemy force in their tracks. The plan sounded good, although she had no idea how well it would work against a real enemy. She contemplated her own plan, drawing up spells that might allow her to use her most dangerous magics without ever revealing what she’d done. The fake ritual would be tricky to use, particularly if one of the others insisted on accompanying her, but it could be done. And, given the size of the army approaching them, it might be necessary.
“I’ll be holding my orcs in reserve,” Cat said, when Sir Roger looked at him. “I don’t want them taking the field until we’ve broken the charge and scattered their orcs.”
“They’d probably be targeted, quite by accident,” Sir Roger agreed. “Keep them out of sight, if not mind.”
Cat nodded. Emily understood. The orcs were supposed to be firmly under Cat’s control, but no one - absolutely no one - had any real confidence in them. She’d heard too much grumbling over the past few days, ranging from suggestions the orcs should be left outside the walls to demands they be immediately poisoned before they turned into a threat. Emily shared the concerns. The fort’s walls were incredibly flimsy. The orcs could do a great deal of damage before they were shot down. And it wouldn’t take much to trigger a fight.
“We’ll be ready when their army arrives,” Sir Roger said. “It’ll be here just before sundown.”
“They might fight in the dark,” Cat pointed out. “That’ll give them some advantages.”
“Probably,” Sir Roger agreed. “But we’ll be ready for them.”
His eyes swept the table. “We’ve already done more than any other army. We’ve taken the offensive into the Blighted Lands and scored a series of victories. Our names will live on, in story and song, for the rest of time. We’re going to keep winning. We’re going to meet that army and destroy it. And then we’re going to push on and finish the job.”
Emily felt cold. There was a necromancer lurking nearby. She was sure of it. The necromancers understood the threat, now. They hadn’t turned on each other. They’d hurl everything they had at the invading army, desperate to destroy it before time ran out. The army could do a lot of damage if it rampaged through the plantations, killing and burning indiscriminately until the slaves and serfs were dead and gone. The necromancers would be deprived of their power.
And they’ll expect us to do just that, she thought. It’s what they’d do, if they were in our place.
“Lady Emily, a word,” Sir Roger said. “The rest of you, dismissed.”
Emily waited, watching as the others stood and hurried off. Cat and Lady Barb lingered, waiting for Emily. Sir Roger motioned them away irritably. Emily nodded to them, then turned her attention to Sir Roger. He looked tired and worn. She wondered, suddenly, if he was getting enough sleep. He’d spent the last few days hastily preparing the new fort for the coming attack.
“Lady Emily.” Sir Roger sounded hesitant, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Wilbur, Son of Lagos, has requested that you intercede on his behalf.”
“What?” Emily rubbed her forehead in disbelief. “That I... intercede?”
“That you cancel the death sentence and set him free,” Sir Roger said. “He is one of your people.”
From Cockatrice, Emily translated, mentally. She tried not to groan out loud. She’d never liked being an aristocrat. She’d never really believed she literally owned thousands of people. And she’d certainly never been comfortable claiming them as her chattels. It was fundamentally wrong. What the fuck do I do now?
The question hung in her thoughts, mocking her. She’d never been comfortable with her feudal obligations either. She certainly had never internalized the attitude of the born aristocrats, of the ones who treated their people like animals. Worse than animals. Aristos who lavished care on their dogs or horses treated their serfs like... like scum. They’d steal everything they could, barely leaving the peasants enough to keep them alive; they’d rape and kill for kicks and... she shook her head. That wasn’t the problem, not now. Wilbur was the problem. And he’d appealed to her.
She looked him in the eyes. “Is there any doubt of his guilt, any at all?”
“No.” Sir Roger looked back at her, evenly. “We did everything in our power to confirm his guilt.”
“Master Lucknow said as much,” Emily reminded herself. “I...”
She stared down at her hands for a long, chilling moment. She had no sympathy for rapists. She still recalled her stepfath
er’s wandering eyes. She still recalled the village lout who’d tried to rape her, years ago... her stomach heaved. She tasted bile in her throat. She had no sympathy for a rapist. And yet, if he was one of her people...
He doesn’t have an excuse, she told herself, firmly. And it’s no favor to anyone else to pretend he does.
Emily looked up, allowing her voice to harden. “I have no intention of interceding,” she said, coldly. Something inside her clenched, but she ignored it. “Tell him” - she thought, briefly, of other punishments before dismissing them - “tell him he made his own bed. He can sleep in it.”
“As you wish,” Sir Roger said. “I trust you’ll attend the execution.”
“If I must.” Emily stood. “And, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
She felt sick as she walked away from the table, pushing the flap open and stepping out of the command tent. A low stench hung in the air, an eerie mist drifting across the battlefield. It was harmless, the sorcerers insisted, but it still felt wrong. The distant mountains were lost in the haze. Anything could be hiding within the mist, anything at all.
Lady Barb stood outside their tent, arms folded over her chest. “Did you intercede?”
Emily blinked. “Were you listening?”
“I didn’t have to,” Lady Barb said. “Sir Roger wouldn’t have asked you to stay behind if the bastard hadn’t pleaded for your help.”
“I said no.” Emily reached for the flap, then stopped. “Did I do the right thing?”
“You’re a grown woman now,” Lady Barb said. “Apprentice or no apprentice, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Some of them, at least.”
Emily made a face. “Did I do the right thing?”
“You tell me.” Lady Barb shrugged. “Like I said, you’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
“I just condemned a man to death,” Emily said. It wasn’t the first time she’d killed, but... she swallowed, hard. There was something so... casual about the way the sentence had been issued and confirmed. “I condemned him...”
“He condemned himself,” Lady Barb said, sharply. “A place like this” - she waved a hand towards the ever-growing wall and the village beyond - “is dirt poor. A man with a few bronze coins shouldn’t have any trouble finding a willing partner, if he makes a show of... wealth. Or... he could have saved his money and gone to the brothel when the army finally returned to camp. It wouldn’t have been that hard. What’s he going to spend the money on here?”
She shrugged. “He chose to rape, Emily. He chose to force himself on someone. He knew it would get him killed, if he were caught. And he was caught.”
“There are other punishments,” Emily said. “I...”
“Not here.” Lady Barb’s voice was unyielding. “Back home, yes. He could be enslaved or changed into an animal and hunted mercilessly or... back home, there are all sorts of options for punishing the guilty. Not here. He knew the rules. He knew what would happen if he broke them. And he broke them anyway.”
Emily bowed her head. “Is it wrong to feel... compassion?”
“No,” Lady Barb said. “But it is wrong to feel bad for the bad guy.”
She let out a breath. “You know what villagers can be like. That girl might have gotten pregnant - and found herself shunned by the rest of them. Or she might have been blamed for getting raped, as if she’d had a choice in the matter, and brutally killed. Her husband or father or whatever might have beaten her to death, for the crime of being raped. This isn’t Whitehall, Emily. Sex outside marriage can have consequences here. And even if the villagers did nothing to her, she’d still have to live with the memories for the rest of her life.
“That’s what that bastard did, Emily. He didn’t just rape her. He destroyed her life.”
Emily swallowed. “Is she pregnant?”
“I have no idea,” Lady Barb said. “And if she is, she’ll just have to live with it.”
“Fuck,” Emily said. She swayed on unsteady legs. “I... fuck.”
“Quite.” Lady Barb turned away, then stopped. “Cat wanted to speak to you. He’s on the far side of the wall.”
Emily hesitated. She was in no mood to speak to Cat. Or anyone, really. She wanted to go into the tent and... and what? She felt too out of it to do anything. A hundred ideas for using the batteries ran through her mind... none of which would be remotely practical without a great deal of work. She sighed, heavily. She might as well go speak to Cat.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Lady Barb said. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“I know,” Emily said. “But... why don’t I believe it?”
“You tell me,” Lady Barb said.
Emily shook her head, then turned and walked towards the far side of the wall. Soldiers were working frantically to shore them up, emplacing metal stakes and makeshift landmines to give anyone who tried to break into the fort a very nasty surprise. Emily wasn’t sure the gunpowder traps would work as well as the soldiers hoped - they could only detonate once - but they might buy the defenders some time to throw in the reserves and kick the invaders back out. Or win time to evacuate, if the battle went wrong. The portal was being used to ship troops and supplies into the camp, but it could be used to evacuate...
She walked through the safe zone and out onto the ashy ground. Cat was sitting there, keeping a stern eye on his army. The orcish horde seemed to have doubled or tripled in size, although it was hard to be sure. They pushed and prodded at each other, casually exchanging blows that would have killed a man. Cat grinned up at her, then motioned for her to sit. His studied lack of concern was a subtle warning to his new servants. He was so far above them that he wasn’t even bothering to protect himself.
Which might end badly, if one of the orcs decides to challenge him, she thought, as she sat on the ash. It felt slightly oily. But he has enough magic to handle them.
“They’ll be here tonight,” Cat said. “Are you ready?”
Emily winced. “I wish I felt ready,” she said. “We’ve done everything we can...”
“Perhaps,” Cat said. “Win or lose, we’ve changed everything.”
“Perhaps,” Emily echoed.
Cat snorted. “Emily, we broke an orcish charge,” he said. “We pioneered gunpowder weapons and poisoned arrows and... and everything. Right now, kings and princes and whatever will be throwing money at everyone who claims they can forge muskets, cannons and cannonballs. They’ll be able to stop the invasion when - if - the necromancers cut through the mountains. They might even be able to launch another invasion of the Blighted Lands. Even if we lose, we’ve won.”
“Until the necromancers get involved themselves,” Emily warned. “I think they’ll just shrug off bullets.”
“We can charm bullets,” Cat pointed out. “Wasn’t that what you did in Heart’s Eye?”
Emily scowled, wondering who’d written to Cat and why. There wasn’t anyone in the school who should have been writing to him... she shook her head. The charmed bullets hadn’t really been a secret. One of the artificers or craftsmen could have mentioned them in a letter to his peers, allowing the secret to spread into the wider world. And besides, it was fairly obvious. Carving runes into a bullet might just work.
“Something like that,” she said. The thought nagged at her mind. A rune wouldn’t carry much magic, but... if she shot a necromancer with a charmed bullet, it might tap into the necromancer’s own magic and blow him to hell. Might. She scowled as she considered the possibilities. It might be more dangerous to a regular sorcerer than a necromancer. The necromancers didn’t need spells to keep their magic under control. “I wonder...”
“I was thinking,” Cat said. “After the war, I might settle here.”
Emily blinked. “What?”
Cat waved a hand towards the distant mountains. “If we reignite the nexus point, we can start dealing with the rest of the necromancers. We know how to do it now, don’t we? What happens afterwards? The lands are going to be littered with
people and orcs and monsters and all sorts of things... we could claim it. Bring in people who want to live elsewhere, turn it into a whole new country. It might be something great.”
“You’d have to deal with the locals first,” Emily pointed out. “The orcs...”
“We can tame the orcs.” Cat nodded to his army. “And we can bring in help for the locals. Let them build for themselves, instead of serving mad masters. They’ll be very loyal to their new rulers.”
Emily had to smile. “Are you serious?”
“It’s a possibility,” Cat said. “If we don’t grab the Blighted Lands, Emily, who will?”
“I think we’ll have to get rid of the necromancers first,” Emily said. She considered it for a moment. There were thousands upon thousands of people who’d move, if they could. “And then worry about the future.”
“As long as we know we have one,” Cat agreed. “Are you going to help?”
“Ask me afterwards,” Emily said. She stared into the distance. There was no sign of the enemy army, but she knew it was out there. “We haven’t won yet.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“THEY’RE COMING,” SIR ROGER SAID. “ARCHERS, take aim.”
Emily stood beside him, ice trickling down her spine as the enemy army came into view. Thousands upon thousands of orcs, hundreds of overseers... she couldn’t see any monsters, but she was grimly certain they were out there somewhere. The haze was moving forward, flickers of tainted magic sparkling through the air. A shudder ran through her as she remembered how Dua Kepala had used something similar, a few years ago. It was a chilling reminder that the necromancers - sometimes - learnt from each other.
And if they’d learnt to work together, just long enough to win, she thought grimly, they’d have won the war a long time before I was born.
She glanced down into the fort, at the rows of musketmen, cannoneers and infantry awaiting the enemy charge. There’d been no trouble when Wilbur had been marched to the gallows and executed, killed without even being allowed to make the traditional speech. She wondered, sourly, what his former comrades thought. Did they think he’d deserved to die? Did they understand he could have made their lives a great deal harder? Or had the simple fact an enemy army was bearing down on the fort convinced them to keep their anger and resentment under control? She had no idea. The urge to close ranks around their comrade - and unite against an outsider - would have been very strong.
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 30
