by Duncan Lay
‘Not quite. The wounded men must convert to Zorva first. But to a man who is dying, that is surely not too much to ask.’
Gello hesitated. He wanted the nobles dead. The thought of people talking behind his back, laughing as they remembered his humiliation, was too much for him. But having his men worshipping Zorva…
‘These men will be restored to full strength, and become fanatically loyal to you.’
‘They already are!’
‘They will become more so,’ Prent insisted. ‘Nothing will appear to change, it is just that you will gain all the benefits of having a god on our side. Believe me, sire, this is the path for you. My life has not been the same since I converted!’
Gello still hesitated, for his life was feeling pretty good now. He was King of Norstalos, he was about to destroy his cousin once and for all and then begin on his conquest of the rest of the continent. Why did he need a god’s help when he could do it all himself? Silencing the nobles was one thing, introducing the worship of Zorva in pious, conservative Norstalos was another…
‘Are you finished? Only I’m gettin’ cold out ’ere!’ Lahra called from the sleeping area of the tent.
Gello swore. He did not have time for this! He wanted to finish with Lahra, then meet with his captains and finalise a strategy for tomorrow. Tomorrow! He had to be sure he would win.
‘Do what you want, priest. But if it causes problems, I’ll have you killed,’ he growled. ‘Now leave me!’
‘As you wish, sire. You will not regret this.’ Prent smiled.
‘We will need the cavalry for the invasion of the south,’ Gello said. ‘A charge up the hill will be useless, so we shall hold them in reserve for pursuing the beaten rabble and riding them into bloody shreds. So what is our plan of attack?’
Feld gestured towards the rough map drawn by a pair of scribes, using a long stick to illustrate his words.
‘Similar to the planned assault on the pass: We send the archers up first, to soften the Ralloran line, then a massive assault led by our conscript regiments, so they take the brunt of the casualties,’ he explained. ‘Our line will be both wider and deeper than their shield wall, so it should be a simple matter to wrap around and crush them.’
Gello nodded with satisfaction. That was exactly what he wanted to hear—but he looked around when there was a hiss of disapproval.
‘What?’ he demanded.
Ezok smiled, almost apologetically.
‘I am sorry, sire, but I do have my concerns about this plan.’
‘Well, tell me!’
‘There was a similar battle in the Ralloran Wars, one at which Captain Martil commanded a regiment. Mount Shadar, it was called, and he used a hill such as this one to great effect to hold up our men. Firstly, your archers will be outranged, by forty or even fifty paces. You will find they will do little damage to the Ralloran lines. Then, when you get close to their shield wall, a second force will strike from the flank, to disrupt your lines and cramp your advance, so you cannot use numbers to overlap them. As we found to our cost, attacks can be broken up and pushed back down the hill with surprising ease.’
‘Mount Shadar! Of course! That is why they have chosen this place, rather than face us in the pass!’ Gello exclaimed. His studies had included all the major battles of the Ralloran Wars, and the memory of the battle leaped out, now it had been pointed out to him. He felt a surge of relief—then a flare of anger that nobody else had realised what the Rallorans planned. ‘Ambassador, again you have proved your worth to me! And does anyone want to suggest why the combined intelligence of my best men was not able to detect the trap the Rallorans had laid for us?’
There was a deathly silence.
Ezok just enjoyed it. He had been debating whether or not to reveal what he knew about Mount Shadar. He had recognised the similarities at once. If he said nothing, Gello’s men would be hurt by one surprise attack, before their superior numbers ensured victory. If he told all, Gello would win a little easier, albeit still with heavy losses. But Ezok would supplant Gello’s captains completely.
Onzalez would be happier with the first result but Ezok was starting to think about his future, as well. The more powerful he was, the harder it would be for the Fearpriest to decide his usefulness was over.
‘There is no excuse, sire. We should have realised what the Rallorans intended. Our scouts reported no other forces at the back of the hill, although they were unable to get close to a wooded valley that comes out halfway up the hill,’ Feld finally said, breaking Ezok’s thoughts.
Gello smiled wolfishly. ‘You are correct, Feld. There is no excuse. Tomorrow, you will all command your regiments, rather than stay with me. How your men perform tomorrow will then tell me whether you can still be trusted to give me the best advice.’
Several of the captains looked horrified at the prospect, but none was prepared to say anything.
‘And the battle plan, sire?’ Feld’s face was impassive but inside he was seething.
‘The archers will advance, as before. Beq, Grissum, I want you to lead those men in personally. I don’t want them staying safe and wasting arrows on the grass. Take them close, take your losses and keep going, understand?’
‘Yes, sire,’ they chorused.
Beq glanced at Grissum, who nodded almost imperceptibly. They both knew walking those forty or fifty paces would probably see them dead. But refusing would see them killed now.
‘We will need a force out on our right flank to face a cavalry charge, take some losses and protect our main attack. So we shall put the conscripts out there. Who cares if they are torn apart? Then our regulars will lead the main attack. Ezok, what think you of that plan?’
Ezok bowed his head. Gello’s archers would be slaughtered and his best men would be decimated by fighting veteran Rallorans before achieving victory. Perfect.
‘I could not have thought of a better plan myself, sire. Only divine intervention can save your cousin.’
Gello sank back in his chair. There it was again! At least he had Prent working for him. And, judging by the lack of complaints he was being presented with, Zorva was happy with noble blood. But he did not want to rely on that for victory—he wanted the triumph to be his alone! Still, better to be safe than sorry…
‘Captains, to your regiments. Ambassador, would you like to dine with me tonight? And of course I will require your company by my side for the battle tomorrow.’
‘It will be a pleasure, sire.’ Ezok watched the captains file out of the tent and bowed again, so Gello would not see the fierce triumph on his face.
‘Halt! What are you men doing over there?’ Kay had been at turns infuriated and humiliated by guard duty at the latrines but he was also determined to do the best job possible. It was not easy. The latrines were some distance from the camp, and sparsely lit. He had already been distracted once this night, by no less than the Archbishop, who had wanted to talk to Kay and his men about how Aroaril had betrayed them and let them down. It had been quite the strangest sermon he had ever heard from a priest but, out of respect, he had listened politely as the man rambled on about Aroaril’s mistakes. Then, seemingly without reaching a conclusion, the Archbishop had turned and walked away. It had been most mysterious and, worryingly, had prevented him from completing his patrol of the area.
So when he saw a small group of men creeping furtively towards the latrines, he ran over with his squad of men.
‘Identify yourselves or we’ll cut you down!’ he demanded.
‘Calm down, soldier. I’m Sergeant Hutter, First King’s Conscripts. Who’re you?’
‘First Lieutenant Kay of the Que—I mean, King’s Rangers. And I’m asking the questions here. What are you doing?’
‘Here, I’ll show you.’ Hutter gestured to one of his men, a tall, gangly youth, who held up a torch, waving it over the trench.
‘Sarge, look at this. Here’s another one.’
Kay peered reluctantly into the foul-smelling trench, and recoiled in surprise and hor
ror.
‘There’s two naked bodies in there! What do you know about this?’
Hutter smiled grimly. ‘I’m a militiaman. It’s my job—or at least it was—to investigate this sort of thing. We’ve noticed that there aren’t as many nobles about as there were. We wanted to know why—and I think we have just found our answer.’
Kay stared at him.
‘What do you mean? Are you saying someone is killing our nobles?’
Hutter gestured at the bodies. ‘Well, I don’t think they just choked to death on the smell out here. Turen, turn one over.’
The youth with the torch handed it to another, then leaned in and grabbed an arm. Grunting with the effort, he managed to flip the body over, releasing a fresh stench into the air.
‘That looks like Baron Wells! But his heart’s been cut out!’ Kay gasped. His mind seemed unable to grasp what was going on. He knew the southern town of Wells—his uncle lived there. Why was its ruler lying dead in a latrine trench, with his heart cut out?
‘What is happening here?’
It was a question Kay would have liked to ask, if he could have thought of it, but instead a lean man with fierce eyes and long hair tied back in a ponytail had said it. He and his companions, a scruffy-looking bunch, all carrying shovels, were wandering over.
‘And who are you?’ Kay felt his grasp of the situation had slipped badly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Private Kettering, Second King’s Conscripts. We’re here to fill in the latrine trench and dig another.’
‘Yeah, we always get the shit jobs,’ one of Kettering’s companions, a big, bearded man, rumbled.
‘What’s happening here?’ Kettering ignored his companion, as well as Kay, and addressed Hutter, instead.
‘We’d noticed the nobles seemed to be disappearing. This seemed to be the obvious hiding place, so we decided to come and have a look,’ Hutter explained. ‘We found these two, then the soldiers turned up.’
‘Why would you bother looking? Who cares if the nobles live or die?’ Kettering spat.
‘I don’t care for the nobility myself, but I do care when people try to lie to me. There are dark forces at work here. This is the sort of thing you associate with worshipping Zorva. Something smells—and not just this trench.’ Hutter straightened up.
Kay had the feeling he was just irrelevant here; nobody seemed to be worried by the fact he had a squad of armed men with him. He wanted to take control of the situation—but he was also interested to hear what was going on.
‘We’re all being lied to. The Berellians with the King are the ones that set me up for a murder I did not commit. They are the real power in this army,’ Kettering said coldly.
‘Is that a fact?’ Hutter exclaimed.
‘He’s right!’ Kay blurted, then gulped as everyone turned towards him. ‘My own captain took orders from the Berellian Champion, I saw it. And, just before I noticed you, the Archbishop kept me talking and away from this area!’
Hutter took a torch and stepped closer to Kay.
‘That adds up to a right unpleasant conclusion: that we’re about to fight for Zorva.’
‘But that’s monstrous! The people won’t stand for that! We should go to the remaining nobles, go to the senior officers—warn them, tell them what is going on!’ Kay exclaimed.
Hutter turned a world-weary eye on him.
‘And you think that’ll do any good? We’ll just end up in a shit pit with our hearts cut out. The King’s obviously the one behind all this. Do you think he’ll listen to us over his archbishop and his friends?’
‘But we can’t just sit here and do nothing!’ Kay argued.
‘Never said we would,’ Hutter sniffed, then turned away from the soldier. ‘Kettering, wasn’t it? How many of your fellows think the way you do?’
‘We all do. Killer Kettering is the real power in our regiment,’ a lean youth declared.
‘But how about you, Hutter? Are the militia still interested only in getting free beer and locking up innocent men?’ Kettering asked.
‘The officers are. But all the sergeants are with me.’ Hutter assessed Kettering with a careful eye. ‘We’ve been told we will be posted out on the right flank, to watch the main advance. How about you?’
‘The same.’ Kettering nodded.
‘I’m thinking we could work together.’
‘Are you mad, you militia shit-slinger? We’d walk a mile just to spit in your face!’ a bearded criminal rumbled, stepping forwards. Instantly the atmosphere tensed.
Kettering held up his hand and his companions subsided.
‘Two regiments would be better than one. We should see to it that we can speak to each other, perhaps even work together,’ Kettering said calmly.
‘Wait! But what about these bodies!’ Kay cried.
‘Go away, soldier boy. Don’t meddle in what you don’t understand. We’re going to fill in this trench, like we were ordered, then we’re all going to go back to our camps,’ Kettering said.
‘What about him? Won’t he just go running to the King? Maybe we should make sure he and his men are deep in this trench before we go,’ the bearded criminal warned.
‘I have never betrayed anyone in my life!’ Kay growled. ‘What can I do to help you?’
‘You can help us dig the trench, if you want,’ the lean criminal offered.
‘I meant about the Berellians infesting our country!’
‘What makes you think we need your help? You don’t control your regiment, or you wouldn’t be patrolling a latrine the night before the biggest battle Norstalos has seen in centuries. Now get going, before I find myself agreeing with the criminals over there that we need to silence you,’ Hutter said with contempt.
Kay stood for a moment, torn by indecision, but when the criminals and militiamen picked up shovels and got to work, turning their backs on him, he abruptly walked away, followed by his men.
He only stopped when he was safely in the darkness again. He would never betray anyone, but what of his men?
‘Don’t worry, sir. We all think like you—and most of the regiment does as well,’ his sergeant said, echoing his unspoken worries.
Kay glanced at the man. Sergeant Ryder had been part of the Royal Guard as well.
‘What should we do then, Ryder?’ he asked.
‘Well, we can’t desert. We’d be ridden down and killed. We can’t not fight, because we’d be killed. We’re in a tight corner here, sir. That’s why they pay you extra to be an officer.’
Kay tried to smile. The truth was, he had no idea what to do. He had been so blinded by his disgrace, and his desire to redeem his career, that he had committed a terrible mistake by agreeing to support the King.
‘I’ll have to think about it. Perhaps there will be a way we can avoid fighting against the Queen,’ he said, more in hope than anything.
‘I need a knife,’ Tiera said.
‘Why? We don’t use our energy fighting, we use it in magic’ Barrett smiled.
He was trying to show her how to heal, using magic. It was relatively simple, just a matter of imagining a person as they should be, not cut open by a sword or axe or spear. And if she could help that way, she could save a few lives.
‘No, I mean if the worst happens tomorrow, and we lose, I don’t want to be taken alive by Gello’s men. Apart from what they would do, I dread being dragged in front of Prent again…’ her voice trailed off, and Barrett had to restrain an impulse to offer her a hug.
‘It won’t come to that,’ he promised.
‘You don’t know that!’
Barrett hesitated, then settled for holding her hand. ‘If the worst happens, I’ll get you to safety. I promise, on my life.’
She smiled wanly. ‘Thank you. You must think me foolish…’
‘Don’t talk about it. You are safe now. And soon you will be a qualified wizard, allowed to set up your own business wherever you want!’
In truth, her skills were developing slowly. He doubt
ed anyone would be prepared to pay much for her work. But she was responding well to his praise, even if she could not complete all the tasks he set.
‘I know I will never see him again but, still, I can’t get the memories out of my head. I wake sometimes, at nights. That must sound ridiculous to you. You are probably wondering why you bother to teach me magic. I’ve seen Karia at work, and she can do things I can only dream of—and she’s just a little girl! Sometimes I worry that you’re only doing this because you think I might sleep with you—’
‘That’s not true!’ he said hotly. ‘I have a duty to magic, to help teach it to others. You are a brave woman who went through a terrible ordeal, yet still had the courage to help us. And I am not looking for a partner, or a companion. In truth, I bear my own hurts.’
‘You? I thought women would be falling over each other to throw themselves at you! A rich, powerful, young wizard! Many of the women I grew up with could only dream of snaring a husband like that!’
Barrett smiled ruefully. Partly because he wanted her to trust him, partly because he wanted to speak about it, he decided to share a secret with her. ‘In truth, I always dreamed of the Queen. I cherished a secret love for her, for many years. But when I tried to confess it, she told me she could never love me back.’ He shrugged.
‘Truly?’
‘Truly.’
She smiled. ‘More fool her, then. Why don’t you show me that healing trick again?’
Karia woke up first, and her moving made Martil wake up—then groan as blood flowed back into the arm she had been resting on. He moved, and she grasped him around the neck.
‘Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’ she begged.
Martil blinked the sleep out of his eyes. It was before dawn.
‘I’m not going away yet. You can stay with me. How about we get something to eat, together?’ he suggested.
She decided not to mention anything about last night. She thought that if she said nothing, but made sure she did not let him out of her sight, then she could protect him. Because, without him, who was going to look after her? She could not let him go.
