Battle for the Wastelands

by Matthew W Quinn

  Grendel nodded. “It would be better if you were to continue your ordinary duties until this whole situation blows over, but I need to return to Norridge in case another fire starts.” He paused. “This is different from hunting bandits. Mangle and Quantrill are dangerous, in different ways.”

  Falki nodded. “Quantrill is like Clark. He isn’t one of your loyal men like Alexander, but someone you forced into submission.”

  Grendel nodded. “He might strike at me through you, hoping to ruin me in the long run by killing my most capable heir. He knows what will happen if I figure out who did it — he would attempt to make it look like an accident or pin it on Mangle. If the man had a birth family, I would take hostages. Hell, if he had a daughter or sister pretty enough, I would take them into my bed. More fun that way, plus any children are ready-made pretenders.”

  “No birth family,” Falki repeated. “No parents, brothers, sisters. Like you?”

  The boy was sharp, but Grendel did not laugh. Ejnar Irontooth took his family away. Blood-eagling the bastard and his men had not brought them back.

  “Not quite. I do not lack for potential successors, but he does not seem to have any. Maybe he is bent, Odin cursed him with a limp cock, or there is somebody hidden away I do not know about. However, he rose to power the same way I did. If I had not put him in his place, he would have gotten stronger and stronger. It would not have been just the Camrose Confederation threatening Norridge.”

  Falki raised an eyebrow.“No spies in his country?”

  “Not reliable ones. He did not get where he is by being careless. Communications in and out are heavily monitored and he likes to rotate key people around, even his territorial lords. He claims it is to ensure his subordinates are well-rounded, but it limits my ability to make connections in his territory.”

  Falki laughed. “Clever bastard.”

  “Aye. He will be more dangerous than Clark when you put on my cloak. Clark is predictable and too straightforward for his own good and we hold Havarth over him, besides. Quantrill is smarter and a damn sight closer to Norridge, and the only leverage I have is I can beat the absolute shit out of him.” Grendel paused. “Now, onto Mangle. He has been with me for thirty years, but that presents its own problems.”

  “Familiarity breeds contempt. He might take liberties, banking on his past service to you.”

  “Might? He just did. Since I gave him territory, he has become more and more absorbed in his science projects. He sends the tribute to Norridge, obeys the law on Old World weapons, and until now has never defied me, but maintaining assets in his territory is tricky. Unlike Quantrill, I lack pretexts to send outsiders to inspect the place as often as I like.”

  Falki raised an eyebrow. “You can’t simply make him allow inspectors? Especially after this?”

  Grendel frowned. “The lands I do not rule myself I gave to my followers, to rule as they see fit provided they follow certain rules. If I break this agreement, that risks insurrection. This arrangement is a two-way street.”

  “Mangle’s little war has given you an excuse. Why not take it?”

  Grendel pursed his lips. Between his handling of the conspiracy against the governor and now this, the boy showed he knew how to spin crises to the family’s benefit. But this train of thought went to destinations better off avoided.

  “That is a good idea, and I will consider it. However, you still need to tread carefully to avoid internal war. I could have contented myself with Sejera and had a free hand, but Sejera could be attacked from the Basin or from where Alex rules now. I took everything between the mountains, the desert, and the seas to create a realm that could not be attacked from outside, even if it meant I needed to delegate.”

  Falki nodded before changing the subject. “Any luck suborning those born to the area?”

  Grendel shook his head. “The threat of the breeding pits is not just something I use to control the Basin. There is something in the land or in the air near that Old World” — he searched for the word — “reactor that makes children quickened there wrong. Nobody up here wants to sire monsters or have their mothers, sisters, and daughters bear them.”

  Falki raised an eyebrow. “That’s deterred everyone?”

  “Everyone who matters. The higher you rise, the more you have to lose.” Falki nodded. “Keep Nahed and your company close and do not go anywhere alone. This is a subtle battlefield, but it can be just as lethal.”

  “Have you been monitoring Lenora’s correspondence? She’s probably hoping I don’t come back and it’s only Arne who’s between Logmar and succeeding you.”

  “You are obsessed. Lenora’s relations are flatlanders living in Hamari. If I had taken her from Quantrill’s or Mangle’s realm, you would have much more reason to be concerned.” Grendel poured more mead. “I intend to leave for Norridge in two hours. I will leave half the Obsidian Guard here to deter Mangle or Quantrill from making trouble. General Hakonsson will have overall command, but he will delegate many tasks to you as my deputy.” Although Falki’s comments were troublesome, the old general should be able to manage him. “You should be here no more than a few weeks. Dismissed.”

  “Wait.” Grendel raised an eyebrow. Falki continued. “You’ve humiliated Mangle and Quantrill today. The troops you’re leaving will be able to take on one of them, but if they join forces, do you think we could handle both?”

  That was unlikely, but Falki was clever to see it. “Do not worry. When I forced Quantrill into submission, I used Mangle’s troops for the most part and gave him some of Quantrill’s territory afterward for good measure.”

  Falki raised an eyebrow. “You deliberately created a rivalry between them to keep them from joining forces against you in the future.”

  Grendel nodded. “Between that and this recent war, there is too much bad blood for an alliance. And I used Quantrill to force Clark into submission, so I doubt they would join forces either. Now, dismissed.”

  Falki nodded before leaving. Grendel returned to his drink and his thoughts. It had been four years since he broke the armies of James Merrill, destroying the last rival in the Northlands. Four years since the men who served him had a real enemy. Although many settled down to run their estates and lordships, others grew restless. The war Grendel aborted was the largest eruption yet. Another could easily erupt soon.

  The expedition across the desert he pondered would take a long time to assemble. Another internal war could erupt in the meantime. In order to properly attack, Grendel would need to reconnoiter. This would require dirigibles, since probing with his largely idle navy risked provoking Everett, jealous of its monopoly on trade between north and south. He did not need a sea war he would not likely win, nor any warning to their trading partners of the coming storm. However, the airships were necessary for hunting bandits and Merrill raiders.

  The Merrills. Instead of an expeditionary force to the regions south of the desert, he could order units from the most difficult Hosts into the desolate regions where Alonzo Merrill laired. That would give them something to do and dispose of the last opponent of his new order.

  That was an extremely short-term solution. The Merrills would be easy prey. Grendel would be back where he started in a year at most. And deploying other armies into territory the Flesh-Eaters claimed could cause problems.

  Crossing the desert it is then.

  Harvest Festival

  The Merrill stood on the platform below which gathered almost every resident of the camp.“Thanks to your hard work, we’ve brought in the crops in record time,” he called out so even Andrew could hear him. “Our granaries are no longer empty, and the horses that take us to war will be eating well. And so tonight, we’ll be eating well!”

  Andrew joined the cheering. The last few weeks’ rations had barely been enough to keep body and soul together. There’d even been scurvy in the camp. He ran his tongue over his teeth. None felt loose.

  “Rations will be increased, and I’ve given orders to slaughter cattle.
Supper tonight will be more than hardtack and lard!”

  The cheering grew louder. Andrew allowed himself to imagine fresh beef slowly roasting over the fire. It would be juicy, it would be tender, there’d be a whole lot more of it…

  He frowned. Alonzo’s speech made sense, but something about it didn’t add up. Cattle provided milk, which meant butter and cheese. Having meat now was all well and good, but butter and cheese would provide more food in the long run. It would be wiser to keep as many cattle as possible.

  Why slaughter now? The more he thought about it, the more his heart sank. The camp had more people than Carroll Town and Carroll Town would’ve starved even if the Flesh-Eaters hadn’t killed everyone. The Merrill wasn’t killing cattle to celebrate the harvest — he was killing cattle they couldn’t feed.

  Hank rotated two spitted racks of beef ribs over the squad’s small campfire. Rather than serving everyone at the mess tents, the quartermasters handed out food and the men prepared it themselves. Hardy had come around and talked with all of them and was now probably doing the same with some other squad.

  Andrew watched the cooking from a trunk the former Flesh-Eater had found for them to sit on. Hank had also found a jug of corn whiskey. Hopefully that would lighten the darkness engulfing his heart whenever he pondered just why they were killing cattle. Somebody played a guitar in the distance. That, at least, brought a small smile to Andrew’s face.

  David watched Hank cook. “This is right excellent. Two rib racks right there. That’s two cuts from one cow. There’s a lot more where that came from and —”

  Andrew ignored David, who obliviously chattered away. On top of the two racks of beef ribs being roasted, there were six steaks, one for each of them and the last to be split up. And there were hot rolls, the first made with the wheat from the new harvest, as well as carrots and potatoes and even some greens…

  “You boys mind if I join you?”

  Andrew’s head snapped up. Alyssa stood there, holding a package under her arm. Though it appeared she addressed the whole squad, her gaze fixed on Andrew. His heart skipped a beat.

  “Howdy,” Andrew said. “Haven’t seen you in a long while. What brings you hereabouts?”

  “Well…” Alyssa kept eye contact with Andrew. “I haven’t seen you boys since we seasoned the turncoats and I figured I’d see how you were doing.” She shrugged. “By the way, I brought something.”

  She handed Andrew a package. Meat juice dripped onto his pants. His mouth began watering. “What’s this?”

  “Well,” she said. “Before the wars, most of the Merrill cavalry punched cattle, and we brought in the cows over the last couple of days. We take them to the butchers and sometimes they’re nice to us.” She smiled. “Open it.”

  Andrew’s jaw dropped. It was short loin! “Th…thanks,” Andrew stammered.

  “We had plenty, so I figured I’d share.”

  Andrew suddenly felt David peering over his shoulder. “That’s a hell of a lot better than rib racks, not that those are bad by any means. Give it here. I’ll have it cooked real nice.”

  Andrew turned and David all but took the package from his hands. He stepped over to the fire and busied himself with the rationed seasonings and the meat.

  Will cocked his head. “What the hell’s he doing?”

  “He’s a damn good cook,” Andrew said. “The way he’s into food, it’d be a right shock if he wasn’t.”

  Will looked at David skeptically. “Yeah, but that’s a goddamn short loin. Hank usually cooks when it’s up to us and —”

  Given how Will ragged on Hank for having been a Flesh-Eater, a body might think he of all people wouldn’t want Hank anywhere near his food.

  “He won’t cook it all at once,” Owen interrupted. “How the hell can he? Hank’s already cooking the ribs.”

  “All right,” Will grumbled. He turned his attention to David. “That’s good meat. Don’t bugger it up.”

  David scowled. “I won’t.”

  Andrew turned back toward Alyssa and gestured to the meat. “The cowboys won’t object?” He didn’t want Alyssa to get into trouble for her generosity.

  She shook her head. Owen passed Andrew the jug of whiskey. He handed it to Alyssa. She took a swig and sat on the trunk next to Andrew, far closer than he expected. Andrew’s heart beat faster. She acted toward him the way he might act toward a woman he fancied.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. But he did mind doing Cassie wrong, wherever she was.

  Well, part of him did. Another part remembered the ambush of the Flesh-Eaters. They both could have been killed. Hell, either could die the next time. And Alyssa was a looker.

  Hank began taking the ribs off the fire. “Dinner’s ready.”

  They all dug in. David, however, ate his kneeling next to the fire. He’d carved off a piece of the short loin for each person, seasoned and spitted them, and now turned them over the flames. Though Hank was absorbed in his food like the others, he still kept an eye on David.

  “So,” Andrew said. “They had the infantry in the fields along with the women and kids. I assume you were with the cowboys?”

  “Yep. Brought the last cattle in for butchering today.”

  Andrew leaned closer, voice low so only she could hear. He already had his suspicions, but she could confirm or deny. “Why’re they killing the cattle? I don’t mind steak, but wouldn’t it be better to have milk and cheese, eat it ourselves or trade to the pikeys?”

  Alyssa sighed. “Most of the time, yes.” She lowered her voice. “But fodder’s sparse, even with the harvest. There’s not exactly a lot of grass hereabouts. We culled the herds and hoped for the best. What we don’t eat tonight’s going for jerky.”

  Absolutely fucking wonderful. The morbid thought hit him. They were culling animals now. What if they had to cull people? They wouldn’t eat them like the Flesh-Eaters would, but they’d still be dead.

  “Steak’s ready,” David cheerfully announced. “How about Alyssa go first? She’s a lady, and she brought us the meat in the first place.”

  “Why thank you, David.” Alyssa sounded rather pleased.

  He took a skewer off the fire and held it toward Alyssa and Andrew. Alyssa pulled a knife from her boot, buried it in the first steak, and pulled it free. She tore a smaller piece off with her fingers, apparently unbothered by the heat, and popped it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully and grinned. “Marvelous!”

  David turned red and grinned. Owen slapped him on the back.

  Will stepped forward. “Let’s see just how good it is.”

  He set a steak down on his metal plate and carved a piece off with his knife. He let it cool a moment, then popped it in his mouth. His eyes grew wide. “Shit, that is good. Where’d you learn to cook?”

  David beamed. “My grandma. She was the best cook in Carroll Town. Got a blue ribbon every year at the town fair.”

  Andrew felt a twinge. The fair took place every year in Carroll Town’s square beneath the mooring tower. He could still remember the troupe of performers from further north who’d come with a clockwork carousel and spinning baskets one could ride in. He’d scrimped and saved for months before they came so he could ride at least twice. And David’s grandmother cooked for everyone, a different dish each year.

  The performers had stopped coming when Jacinto fell. The pikeys filled in as best they could, but they didn’t have the wonders from the cities. But David’s grandmother could still cook and the folk of Carroll Town didn’t need outsiders to entertain them.

  He remembered the last one. Everybody was glad the harvest had come in and was hopeful the next year’s would be even better. The possibility there’d be a killer drought hadn’t crossed anyone’s minds. There’d been dancing and music. It was where Andrew met Cassie, while Sarah met Elijah.

  He closed his eyes. Elijah was dead because of him, while Cassie and Sarah were in the hands of the enemy.

  “Grandma had a book,” David continued. “It was called Th
e River Cottage Meat Book. Not sure where River Cottage actually is, but it had some right good recipes in it. I learned it better than my sister…”

  His voice trailed off. He squeezed his eyes together. The other boy’s pain sent hurt stabbing in Andrew’s own chest. He remembered Sarah, sarcastic but kind. If she were still alive, she no doubt wished she weren’t.

  “I learned it well,” David finished. “I can show you, if you want to learn too.”

  “Maybe later.” Will grinned. “Right now, I want to finish this.”

  Andrew kept looking at the ground. Alyssa laid her hand on his. He inhaled sharply.

  “Something’s bothering you,” she said bluntly.

  Andrew slowly nodded. “He’s not the only one who’s got a sister.”

  Alyssa leaned close. “What was her name?”

  “Sarah. She’s my twin. The Flesh-Eaters took her.” Alyssa winced. “They took my girl Cassie, too,” he quickly added. “She’d tried to run, but was hurt.” Maybe if Alyssa knew about Cassie, she’d lose interest in him. He wouldn’t need to worry about staying faithful to Cassie if the biggest opportunity to do her wrong disappeared.

  Alyssa closed her eyes. “That’s awful. I had a sister once. Her name was Ellie.” She paused. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Ellie’d broken her leg trying to get away from the sons of bitches. Once they’d had their fun with her, they cut her open and left her for the rippers.” Andrew’s stomach lurched. Despite not wanting to encourage Alyssa, Andrew laid his other hand atop hers. She looked straight at him. “I wouldn’t put too much hope in Cassie being alive.”

  This hit Andrew like a hammer. Based on what the officer said in Carroll Town, he reckoned the Flesh-Eaters kept their female captives around and only ate men that couldn’t work. Cassie and Sarah were probably alive. Someday the Merrills might be able to rescue them.

  “When was this?”

  “Three years ago, after the fight with Carroll Town.”