Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  The major scratched his quill to paper again. “I’ll see that you get this information before sunset,” Metvani promised.

  “Now, what’s the situation regarding food stocks and water within the city? We’ll need to make sure we can pull as much in from the countryside as we can in the next two weeks.”

  “We are due to begin our harvest of the Field of Storms next week.”

  Bergnon noted the furrow of Thaskil’s brow at mention of the once poppy-filled expanse before Apula. “Ah, yes, a sea of wheat where once a sea of poppies stood. The decision must have been hard on the Apulan people.”

  “No more hard than the second winter of hunger and delayed imports from the Cannan’s,” Metvani replied in a weary voice. “Colonel Albasi and the Council made the decision with great reluctance. We weren’t sure if the crop would take, but take it did, and in spectacular form.”

  “Well the harvest had better be quick. There could well be a force of Solansian raiders on their way here as we speak, and I’m in no mood to offer them a feast on the plains. Get it harvested and in store. Start tomorrow.”

  “Major.” Metvani nodded, scribbling his orders.

  “What of water. How many wells are there within the walls?”

  “The city has eight wells including a major one within the inner castle walls itself. It should be sound for some time,” Metvani replied, seeming to be more at ease.

  “Good. We’ll need to ensure that livestock is brought into the city. I want platoons dispatched to the hamlets to ensure the provisions are secured.”

  *

  Thaskil whispered to Arrlun as they walked behind Major Bergnon, who was engaged in discussion with Major Metvani. “You got your head straight?”

  “Aye, don’t worry. My imagination was just running away with me. Feel like an idiot. Forget I mentioned it.”

  They carried on toward the stables where their horses awaited them. “Thaskil.” Bergnon turned and spoke to the young lieutenant, “Perhaps now would be a fitting time to visit your family, don’t you think?”

  Thaskil fizzed with excitement, but kept his emotion in place. “Sir, what about my duties tonight? What about the men?”

  “Fear not about the men tonight, lad. The sergeants can more than handle them. It’s been a long few weeks for you. Go and see your family. And for goodness sake, will you take Arrlun with you! He looks like he could do with a home-cooked meal.” Bergnon laughed at the raw northern youth as he looked awkwardly towards his friend.

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude upon Thaskil, Major Bergnon, sir,” Arrlun stuttered.

  “Nonsense! There’ll be no intrusion at all,” Thaskil said.

  “There, it’s settled.” Bergnon clapped. “Make sure you’re back at the camp for sunrise tomorrow.” With that, Major Bergnon put his heels to his horse and rode down the cobbled streets and out of Apula.

  Arrlun turned towards his friend. “Perhaps Major Bergnon is right. Maybe a good home-cooked meal is what I need.”

  “Well, you’ll eat like a king.” Thaskil smiled and slapped his stomach. “Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

  “Do you think your sister will be home?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Grunnxe’s wrath was terrible. He panted as he bent over and grabbed a fistful of the unconscious officer’s jerkin, drawing the broken and bloodied face of the man towards his snarling mouth.

  “This is what happens when my soldiers let me down,” Grunnxe exclaimed, looking around his pavilion at the faces of his commanding officers.

  Several men trembled visibly, whilst many others had long since gone beyond the stage of fear. The old king, now rejuvenated, was more dreadful than ever before.

  “Take him away and finish him, and take your time with him,” Grunnxe ordered two guardsmen at his side before picking up a cloth and casually wiping the blood and flesh from his knuckles and rings.

  He pointed in the direction the officer was dragged out. “That man failed me. He failed us all. I ordered him to destroy the High Command of the Free Provinces and he tells me all were not killed! He failed me! Failure cannot be tolerated.” As he stormed, he heaved his breath like a warring bull thundering rage from its nostrils. “The governor and his boy live. Harruld and Kalfinar, they live!” His voice rose in a scream and Grunnxe suddenly slammed his fist into the nearest face.

  A short-lived chorus of gasps and winces sounded in the pavilion from Grunnxe’s commanders as the unfortunate officer crumpled to a heap, his nose splattered pulp-like across his face.

  Grunnxe cast a glance towards the priestess, who watched from the rear of the pavilion. The sight of the hooded priest sent a shiver down the back of Grunnxe’s skull. He withdrew his gaze and focused on the officer who squirmed at his feet. “Get up! Get up and don’t bleed on my rugs.” He paced around the circle of officers. “I’ll not accept any more failures. No more. Do you understand? None!”

  The entire body of officers shouted their emphatic response in unison.

  “Now, as you are aware, we’ve dispatched warships to the Yellow Sea. All grain imports to those hungry bastard rebels will be commandeered for our own use. Any ships that remain in port in Nabruuk will be scuttled. Soon, our separatist neighbours will find that Canna will no longer answer their call for aid, and if their beloved Father of the People knows what is good for him and his flock, he’ll stop resisting my generous overtures.” Grunnxe paced in front of his senior officers with his hands knitted behind his back. “If the Father of the People still resists, well, the raiders have been ordered to—” Grunnxe paused, searching for the right word, his wicked blue eyes flashing across the gathered faces. “Encourage the fucking Father of the People to ally himself to our cause, if he knows what is good for him.” Grunnxe smiled a wicked smile. “I have no doubt that the message will be delivered most soundly by our brothers.”

  The commanders cheered loudly and spat curses on the families of the Cannan people.

  “Yes, our fleet will leave them in no doubt as to whom they are aligned with!” He laughed a crackling, barking sound and regarded the fervour that grew in his men. “Now, my children, we sit here, massed on what has been anointed by the separatist hand as the limit of our dominion, and we are poised to strike into their heart and take back our lands. We are ready to rip them from the seat of our ancestors and reclaim our rightful kingdom. With the power of our forefathers, we will make them pay a price in blood and soul!”

  A savage cheer exploded from the throats of all the Solansian commanders, their battle lust peaking as Grunnxe invoked their fallen ancestors.

  The old king felt his heart thunder and his throat swell. His sword arm bulged as he gripped the pommel, and he himself was ready to become death. “Yes, my children, with the hand of Bhalur guiding our sword and his children at our side, we will sweep through our stolen lands like a terrible plague and we shall have our vengeance!”

  Drawn swords were pointed towards the pavilion roof as Grunnxe’s commanders drank fully on the king’s words.

  Grunnxe stared through the throng of arms and swords and into shadow beneath the hood of the priestess. The priestess nodded imperceptibly towards Grunnxe. It was time.

  *

  Kalfinar sat awake in the cabin as they sailed towards the Cannan capital of Nabruuk. His companions all slept around him. He found their rhythmic breathing soothing. Kalfinar regarded the small child who slept silently, clinging to Evelyne as she dozed in the chair opposite him. He stared at the child’s brown ringlets, his eyes tracing the spiralled mass. I’ve seen you so many times before, little one. Are you as she would have been? Is this how we could have lived? Together? Happy?

  “Kalfinar,” Evelyne whispered.

  His eyes snapped onto hers in an instant.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I took you by surprise.”

  A heavy silence thickened between them. Kalfinar felt Evelyne searching for the words to draw him out of his cloud.

  He glanced ba
ck at the child and broke the silence, his gritty whisper having lost its edge. “You know, I’ve seen her a thousand times.” The faintest hint of a smile flexed his lips as he regarded the sleeping girl.

  “What was her name?” Evelyne whispered.

  Kalfinar looked to the floor and his brows furrowed. His sigh was grave.

  “A funny thing,” Kalfinar muttered. A humourless smile cut his face. “I never named her. They were both there, and then they were gone from me. I never even held her.” He closed his eyes for a moment and the bitter smile faded. He flexed his jaw, and fought away his sorrow. “I hold her in my dreams. I’ve even wiped her runny nose and picked her up when she has fallen. Even shouted at her as a teenager, once.” Kalfinar’s eyes dropped to the scuffed toes of his boots. “I see my wife call to her, telling her that supper is ready. But when she calls her name, her voice always falls away to nothing.” He fell silent and the quiet hung empty in the air. He looked up and saw that Evelyne regarded him sadly. “What kind of a man am I never to have named or held my own child?” Kalfinar leant with his elbows on his knees. His palms slid over his face.

  Evelyne stretched out an arm and rested it upon Kalfinar’s head, causing him to flinch as her palm pressed down upon his crown. She spoke gently, “Grief is not something which follows a predestined path. We each have to let it find its own course and take root somewhere within us. It is in denying grief that you tear open wounds and create scars. We must accept it, and let it pass without burden. Otherwise, it will consume us.”

  Kalfinar raised his head from his hands and looked at Evelyne for a long moment. He noticed her eyes, and how unusually blue they were.

  She smiled at him as the small girl stirred. “Here,” Evelyne said. “Why don’t you hold her a while?” She gently leant towards him with the child in her arms.

  Kalfinar felt nervous. He stared into Evelyne’s eyes as a wave of panic swam over him.

  “Kal, don’t be frightened of her. Hold her,” Evelyne insisted as she softly placed the form of the little girl into his arms.

  As he placed his arms around the warm little body, the girl latched tight onto his sides and nuzzled her little head against the soft suede of his jerkin. Kalfinar looked down at the small form and, in that instant, it was not pain or sorrow that he felt. It was joy. He looked up at Evelyne. She grinned and clenched her hands by her mouth.

  “That’s a look that suits you.” She whispered.

  Kalfinar could not help but smile and laugh, being careful not to wake the sleeping child. The sleeping child with the brown ringlets who slept soundly in his arms at long last.

  *

  “That really was one of the finest meals I think I’ve ever tasted,” exclaimed Arrlun as he and Thaskil trotted in to the encampment an hour before dawn.

  “My mother can blend spices to make even a dry old shank of mutton taste like it was Dajda sent!” Thaskil laughed.

  “Mutton’s my favourite,” muttered Arrlun. “We practically live off dried mutton in Gerloup over winter.”

  “Sometimes I forget quite how different the lands are we come from, my friend. Next time I’ll get my mother to prepare some for you.”

  The two young officers laughed as they approached their tent.

  “Who’s that?” Arrlun hissed, drawing Thaskil’s attention to the shadowy form sneaking into the tent they shared with Major Bergnon. “Quick!”

  He and Thaskil dismounted, drawing their swords while charging into their tent.

  Arrlun was the first to burst in, his sword levelled to the back of the hooded stranger. “Don’t move or I’ll have you run through, neighbour,” he growled to the form before him.

  Without turning, the intruder spoke in a voice familiar to the two young men, “Well, I’d know that accent anywhere. My formal young friend from the far north, may I be permitted to turn around?”

  “Major Bergnon, sir! I’m so very sorry, sir,” Arrlun blurted, recognising the major’s voice. He lowered his sword and slid it into its scabbard. “I thought you were an intruder. Or worse, an assassin.”

  “You did just right,” Bergnon said as he threw back his hood and untied the neck of his cloak. He smiled at the two youths and ran his fingers through his fair hair. “We’ve a lot to do today. I’ve just been to check in on the lumber work. Most of the salvageable palisade is up, and now I want the new stuff dug in today. We’ll need the gardens of stakes dug in around the encampment as well. Sergeants Wulff and Threftan have the companies working on this. I want you both to oversee. I’ll be overseeing Sergeant Holleck and Ferfarnen’s men as they set to reinstating the trench networks outside the city.” He sat down on a stool and pulled off a boot to rub his foot. “Go on, off you go and get yourselves some breakfast first.” He shooed the two officers out of the tent. As they pushed out past the flaps, he called out, “And bring me back some coffee.”

  *

  Arrlun’s face was sullen as they collected their breakfast and coffee.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Thaskil asked his friend as they sat down alone at a table to eat.

  “Nothing,” Arrlun mumbled as he sniffed and then began to eat his meal.

  “I don’t believe you,” Thaskil said. “You’re still worrying about Bergnon, aren’t you?”

  Arrlun paused for a brief moment and exhaled before looking his friend in the eyes. “Don’t you find it a bit strange that Major Bergnon would be sneaking back into camp at this time of the morning?”

  “Dammit!” Thaskil snapped. “He said himself he was checking on the lumber parties. That’s what a good commanding officer does, takes charge of all elements of his troop! He’s preparing the defences, as Bergnon does best!” Thaskil slurped some hot coffee down and huffed his exhale.

  “But don’t you find it odd that he was sneaking in? It was as if he didn’t want anyone to know he had been away,” Arrlun said, with doubt eroding his conviction as he spoke.

  “No, I don’t!” Thaskil snapped. “Shit! I thought you’d wised up!” He stood and stormed off.

  “Where you going?” Arrlun called after him.

  “To get Major Bergnon his coffee,” Thaskil shouted back, striding off into the amber light of dawn. “And then to set to work, like I’ve been instructed by my commanding officer. I’d suggest you do the same.” Thaskil paused and stepped back to Arrlun. He leaned over the table and stared hard into his eyes. “I think it best you get your head straight, and forget your fantasies about the major. You need straighten up, or I’ll damn well see it done myself. You understand me?”

  “Aye,” Arrlun said, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. “I understand.”

  *

  “Thaskil,” Bergnon called out to the young lieutenant as he cut stakes alongside Arrlun and their work party. “I need you to take a dispatch to Major Metvani in Apula. Can you do that for me? I’ll be heading off to oversee Sergeant Holleck and Felfarnen’s work at the trenches in a few minutes and can’t spare the time to deliver it myself.”

  “Of course, sir. It’s no problem,” Thaskil replied, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “Good, the major will be expecting you in half an hour, so you’d best set to it.”

  “Sir, I’ll attend to it straight away.”

  With that, Bergnon handed a message pouch to Thaskil and left the work party.

  “I’ll see you later, alright,” Thaskil said as he wiped down his hands.

  “Thaskil,” Arrlun said, speaking in a hushed tone. “Look, about earlier—”

  “Arrlun,” Thaskil interrupted and leant in close. “I think you need to stop your imagination running wild here. Let’s just get on with our job. No more fantasies.” Thaskil’s tone was abrupt, and he turned.

  Arrlun watched as his friend stalked off towards his horse. He felt his face flush with the rebuke, and he cursed himself as a fool once more.

  *

  Arrlun rested his axe against a hefty pile of sharpened stakes and stretched out his back. Somethi
ng caught his eye and he squinted into the low, bright sun. “Where in the frozen hells is he going?” He watched Bergnon ride off towards the back of the encampment in the direction of the woods where the lumber party would still be at work. “That is most certainly not in the direction of Holleck and Ferlfarnen,” he mumbled to himself.

  “What was that, sir?” Sergeant Wulff asked.

  “Nothing, Sergeant,” Arrlun replied. “I was just thinking aloud. I’ll be back shortly. Make sure and keep the men working. I want to see these stakes in place before nightfall.”

  Arrlun pulled his jerkin and coat on and ran over to his horse. He mounted it and discreetly followed Bergnon’s route towards the woodland in the distance. Being careful to keep a good distance behind, Arrlun quickly covered the ground and was soon approaching the tree line at the point he saw Bergnon enter. He reined his horse in to a trot and scanned the ground for Bergnon’s trail. The leaf and needle litter betrayed the major’s track. Arrlun’s heart began to race as he followed the tracks leading away from the sound of distant chopping.

  “Where you going?” he muttered to himself as he followed the tracks deeper into the woodland.

  The trail left by Bergnon’s horse wound around the mixed stands of ancient oak trees, and tall, red barked pines. He carefully led his horse through patches of marshy glades fringed by white barked birch, and thick, dark sections of pines that shut out the morning sun. His mind raced as he followed further, coming to sunlit glades amongst the pines. He chose to skirt along the edge of the sunlit patches rather than cross the open ground.

  It was at the far end of such a clearing that he spotted Bergnon’s horse tied to the branch of a twisted granny-pine. Deciding on stealth, Arrlun dismounted and likewise fixed his reigns to the branch of a gnarled old tree. He withdrew a dagger from under the skirt of his saddle and shoved it under his belt at the back. Arrlun walked slowly along the edge of the clearing towards Bergnon’s horse, being careful not to spook the beast as he closed the distance between them.