Stuck In Magic

by Christopher Nuttall

  The enemy broke as a third wave of bullets slammed into them. Their commander tumbled to the ground. The survivors made no attempt to save him or any of the wounded. They just turned and ran. I saw one of my men shoot at a retreating horse, missing … I made a mental note to tick him off later, then waved to the cavalry. I’d forgive Harbin a great deal if his men turned the retreat into a

  rout. They didn’t move, not at first. Harbin had ordered them to mount up, but nothing beyond. It wasn’t until Rupert started screaming at them to take the field that they finally started moving. They were damn lucky, I noted crossly, that the enemy archers were already running. If they’d taken up position and opened fire, they could have massacred Harbin and his men as easily as the English had slaughtered the French at Agincourt. I told myself, grimly, that the next time would be a great deal harder. The warlords wouldn’t come in fat and happy now they knew they had to take us seriously.

  “Gods,” Rupert breathed. The battlefield seemed to fall silent. “Is that … is that what it’s always like?”

  “No,” I said. “Next time, it will be worse.”

  My men started cheering, hooting and hollering and firing shots in the air. I didn’t try to stop them. Instead, I detailed three squads to search the remains of the enemy force and take anyone still alive to the chirurgeons. It might not do the poor bastards much good – the chirurgeons were butchers, even though I’d

  … convinced them to up their game – but we had to try. I felt my stomach churn as we stepped out of the trenches and walked across the blood-soaked ground.

  I’d seen horrors in my long career, yet … I shuddered at the carnage before me.

  My musket balls had shattered armour, driving fragments of metal deep into their chests. I hoped they’d died quickly. They’d been so badly injured that even modern medicine might not have been able to save them.

  “We won.” Rupert sounded disbelieving. “We won.”

  I clapped him on the shoulder. “This is your victory,” I said. “Enjoy it.”

  The cavalry returned, looking surprisingly pleased with themselves for men who’d done nothing more than chase down retreating troops. Harbin cantered up to us and jumped to the ground, his eyes going wide as he took in the battleground for the first time. I wondered, sourly, if he was smart enough to understand what he was seeing. The cavalry and archers were no longer the undisputed kings of the battlefield. A handful of men with muskets could tear them to shreds. And as weapons technology advanced …

  Harbin stopped and stared. “That’s … that’s Clarence Aldred!”

  I followed his gaze. He was staring at the remains of the enemy commander, his body so badly battered that it was hard to be sure what had actually killed him.

  The armour was damaged, but the livery remained intact …

  “We killed the warlord’s son?” Rupert swallowed, audibly. “Now there will be no peace.”

  “There will be,” I assured him. I cursed, mentally. I doubted anyone in the city – or in the warlord’s territories – would really mourn, but the political implications were worrying. I’d expected the warlord to keep pushing, just to make sure our victory wasn’t a fluke, yet … if we’d killed his son, he’d have a cause. “We just have to win the war.”

  I smiled, heading back to my men. We’d won. No one had expected us to win, not in the city behind us or the enemy territory in front, but we’d won. And now it was time to celebrate.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The city went wild.

  No one had really expected us to win, no one except me. The aristos had anticipated having to grovel to the warlords – again – while the common folk had resigned themselves to another round of disgraceful bullying and supine surrender, to watching helplessly as food prices climbed into orbit and

  guardsmen searched the districts for runaway serfs to return to their former masters. The idea we might actually win, and win so decisively that the enemy force would be effectively destroyed beyond all hope of recovery, was ridiculous. And yet, as it dawned on them we actually had won, the city came out for us. They were literally dancing in the streets.

  A day ago, my men were pariahs. They were soldiers, regarded as lower than garbagemen or sewer cleaners … lower, because they weren’t seen as necessary.

  Now, all of a sudden, they were heroes. The law said they couldn’t return to the city without special dispensation, but the population no longer cared. My men were paraded through the streets by popular demand, then given a afternoon’s leave to enjoy themselves. I watched, amused, as they were feted like movie stars. The drinks were on the house and none of them, even the lowest, had any trouble finding female company for the night. I took advantage of the sudden interest in soldiering to convince Rupert to start recruiting more men, something that was technically within his authority. Harbin and his peers would have their doubts about the wisdom of placing muskets in commoner hands, but they couldn’t object until the popular excitement died down. I hoped I’d have enough time to make some permanent changes before Rupert – and I – ran out of political capital.

  I worked hard. I convinced Seles – and a bunch of other reporters – to write stories extolling our victory and insisting the warlords were nothing more than a bunch of paper dragon. I composed – actually, rewrote – a bunch of songs, from Bonnie Dundee to the Battle Cry of Freedom and paid bards to sing them, along with a version of Jonnie Cope that practically accused Harbin of being a coward and a fool. The bards thought they’d got the better of me, when I practically gave away the songs, but I didn’t care. I wanted word to spread. I wanted the population to share in the joy of victory, to remain involved even as the excitement faded and reality reasserted itself. And by the time the aristos realised the city had come to life, it would be far too late for them to do anything about it. I hoped.

  “They’re still unsure what to do about Clarence,” Rupert told me, as I returned to the city palace. Rupert, Harbin and a bunch of other city fathers – who’d joined up after our victory – had spent hours arguing over how to handle the dead brat. They spoke of him as a boy, even though I’d been younger when I’d first gone to war. “His father might not even know he’s dead yet.”

  I nodded. I wouldn’t care to be the poor bugger who told a great warlord his son was dead. The young man had been a fool, and he’d walked straight into a trap, but at least he’d led his men in combat. I’d met too many other fools who’d been born with silver spoons in their mouths and found life so easy that, by the time they ran into actual adversity, were completely unprepared to handle it. I remembered some of the stories they told about Clarence and shook my head. They made him some like a particularly vile character from Game of Thrones.

  “His father won’t let this pass easily,” I said, softly. “He’ll want to take another shot at us.”

  I forced myself to think. We’d just given the warlord a bloody nose. He’d want to hit us back – and quickly, before he lost face – but it wouldn’t be easy.

  He’d need to raise and train more troops, then arm them with muskets of his own.

  I was tempted to suggest we went on the offensive, but we simply didn’t have enough trained men. The war would be decided by whoever raised and armed enough men first. Luckily, I had the feeling we had the edge.

  Rupert led me into an office and motioned me to sit, then met my eyes. “Right now, they’re trying to decide how to proceed,” he said. “What do you advise?”

  I felt an odd flicker of irritation, which I rapidly suppressed. The city fathers wouldn’t listen to anything I said. They wouldn’t even feel the urge to oppose it automatically. I was an immigrant and a mercenary and a soldier and

  Rupert’s liegeman. In private, he might listen to me. We might even be friends, of a sort. In public, disagreeing with him was a death sentence.

  Perhaps literally. Showing him up in front of his peers – and his superiors –

  wasn’t something he could let pass, not without looking we
ak. I rolled my eyes.

  It was a goddamned stupid way to run a railroad.

  “First, we need to raise and train more troops,” I said. That was going to be a pain. I’d picked out a handful of men I thought had potential for advancement, but none of them had anything like enough seasoning yet. “Second, we need to start producing more and better weapons and getting them to the troops in the field. Third, we need to determine what we want from the war.”

  “The bastards leaving us in peace,” Rupert said.

  I grinned. “You’re thinking too small,” I said. “Why not go on the offensive and smash him flat?”

  Rupert gaped at me, as if I’d suggested flying to the moon. “He’s a warlord!”

  “So what?” I shrugged, dismissively. “Yeah, sure. When all that counted was being able to ride a horse and swing a mace, his men had the edge. Now, we have the edge. What’s to stop us from taking the offensive and teaching him a lesson?”

  I allowed my smile to widen. “He’s been using his control over the roads and fields to keep us in line. Would it not be better if we took the fields for ourselves?”

  “The other warlords would ally against us,” Rupert said, slowly. “And the king

  …”

  His voice trailed off as the vision sank into his head. The city was effectively impregnable – and would remain so, at least until the warlord produced a more modern army. The walls were strong, the citizens angry … the warlord’s troops might have the edge in the field, at least until muskets entered the picture, but if they tried to storm the city they’d be chewed to ribbons. No one would surrender, not when they knew the result would be a storm of looting, raping and burning. Even if the warlord won, it would be a pyrrhic victory. He’d be so badly weakened his neighbours would invade and force him into exile, taking his lands and his human chattel for themselves.

  And yet, what if we did go on the offensive?

  I didn’t know what the warlord was thinking, or would start thinking when his servants nerved themselves to tell him about the defeat, but I could make a few guesses. The warlord would need to act – and act fast. He’d cut the roads, isolating the city, then probably send cavalry to burn our fields and generally keep us off-balance until he built up the force he needed to crush us. We might win the battle, but not the war. And yet, if we went on the offensive … I smiled. Why should we leave him in a position to threaten us? We could storm his lands, convince his serfs to join us and eventually lay siege to his castles. Perhaps even take them quicker than he dreamed possible. Cannons were rare, this far from the more developed countries to the rest. It was quite likely the warlords had yet to realise their castles could easily become death traps.

  Rupert listened as I pointed out all the advantages of actually controlling the surrounding countryside. Our own food and drink – fewer taxes, less risk of starvation forcing us into submission. No more demands we handed over productive citizens to warlords too stupid to realise the advantage of giving the disconnected a way to escape before their discontent turned into violence.

  More and better lands for the aristocracy … and, perhaps most important of all, a display of power that would make the rest of the warlords think twice about taking us on. Rupert listened, his face shifting constantly between eagerness

  and fear. I understood. It was never easy to commit oneself when one had too much to lose.

  But you’re going to lose everything soon enough, I thought, morbidly. You have to gamble.

  “Stay here,” Rupert said. He waved a hand at the walls. “My office is yours.

  Draw up plans for the future, everything we might need. I’ll go talk to the council.”

  “Try and convince them to give you more authority,” I advised. “It’ll make it easier to get everyone marching in the same direction.”

  Rupert smiled wryly, then left the room. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, considering the future. The maps I’d seen had been so vague it was hard to be certain they were even remotely reliable. I’d have to round up some runaway serfs and pick their brains, trading citizenship – perhaps even military service – for detailed knowledge of the enemy lands. It would have other advantages too, I told myself. The serfs would fight hard for fear of falling back into enemy hands. If I’d been in their shoes, I would have done the same.

  I took my notebook from my pocket and started to list everything I needed to do.

  Select a handful of sergeants. Make it very clear to them, by force if necessary, that abusing their charges would result in immediate execution. I dared not let corruption slither into the army. I’d seen that in Iraq and Afghanistan and the results had not been pretty. And … I’d need to pick out a few prospective officers and manipulate Rupert into putting their names forward for promotion. I wouldn’t be allowed to promote from the ranks. That would be a step too far.

  For now, I told myself. I could hear cheers in the distance. The commoners were still partying. I wonder if the city fathers will be smart enough to realise the commoners have just felt their power.

  The door opened. I looked up, expecting to see Rupert. Instead, a veiled woman

  – dressed in white from head to toe – stepped into the chamber. I couldn’t help thinking she looked like a bride. Behind her, an older woman eyed me sternly as she entered and closed the door behind me, before crossing her arms over her breasts. My instincts twitched, recognising the threat. The old woman might be a servant – she dressed like a cleaner – but she was formidable.

  I stood, unsure what to do. “My Lady?”

  The veiled woman removed the face covering. Gayle – the girl I’d saved – looked back at me, her face a mask. I stared at her, even more unsure. It was rare –

  vanishingly rare – for a commoner to be alone with a aristocratic family’s young daughter. The old woman – I guessed she was the nanny, as strange as it was for a girl in her late teens or early twenties to have a nanny – was a chaperone and yet … people would talk. I wondered, suddenly, how many people had talked about Gayle and Harbin. Rumours would have spread, no matter how much money had been splashed out to keep mouths firmly closed. It was too good a story not to spread.

  “Sergeant,” Gayle said. Her voice was sweet, although it had the accent I’d come to associate with the upper classes. “Thank you for meeting me.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, as if we’d planned the meeting all along. My mind raced. There was no way in hell this meeting was a coincidence. Gayle was a teenage girl in a very patriarchal society. She had very little say in her own life, passing from her father’s authority to her husband’s with nary a break.

  Why was she even here? I didn’t know. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to thank you,” Gayle said. “And to ask what you plan to do next.”

  I met her eyes … and saw, just for a second, a hint she was far more than a pretty face. I kicked myself mentally Anyone who grew up female in such a society would have to be cunning, to understand what was going on … to manipulate the men around them without ever seeming to be anything more than a young woman. I shook my head in annoyance. I’d met quite a few slippery customers who’d come across, at least at first, as complete idiots. I’d learnt the hard way to beware of anyone who wanted to play a game while insisting they didn’t have the slightest idea of the rules …

  Gayle looked back at me, her face hardening for a second. I knew. She knew I knew. I knew she knew I knew … I shook my head, mentally. Rupert was young and ignorant and more than a little naive, but he wasn’t stupid. It stood to reason his sister would have the same basic level of intelligence. She might not have been given a formal education, but that didn’t make her stupid. And she would have very good reason to pretend she couldn’t count past ten without taking off her socks.

  Which begs a question, I reflected. Does Rupert or her father know she’s here?

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” Gayle was studying me thoughtfully. It was cold and har
d. There was no hint she was attracted to me. She was more interested, I noted ruefully, in what I could do for her. “Where are you from?”

  I glanced at the nanny. Gayle shrugged. “She won’t talk.”

  “I come from a long way away,” I said. I didn’t trust her assurances. The nanny was probably loyal … but to the person paying her wages, not her charge.

  “What tipped you off?”

  Gayle made no pretence she didn’t understand the question. Indeed, I had the odd feeling she liked being recognised as my intellectual equal, if not superior. “You looked me in the eye,” she said, simply. “No one from here would have done that, not unless they wanted to get into trouble.”

  I winced. The quickest way to get into trouble, if you found yourself in foreign parts, was to get involved with the local women. I’d known people who’d wound up in deep shit because they’d done something wrong … not all of them men, I should add. And I’d done it without thinking. I looked down, trying to ignore her smile. As far as she was concerned, I was a commoner. I could no more look her in the eye than she could take power in her own right.

  “Ouch,” I said, mildly. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have a question,” Gayle said. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

  I frowned. It would be easy to assure her that I was loyal to Rupert and would remain so until the day I died … but I doubted she’d accept it. They thought I was a mercenary. They thought I’d desert them, the moment someone offered me more money. It was an insulting thought, but not one I could ignore.

  Mercenaries had a very bad reputation and there was nothing I could do about it.

  “I am loyal to whoever hires me,” I said, finally. “And I will remain loyal as long as I am paid.”

  Gayle smiled. “Good,” she said. I had a feeling she’d seen something in me she liked. Or considered useful. “My family will keep paying you, as long as you keep producing.”

  She leaned forward. “You should know there’s been some talk about you,” she added. Her lips twisted. “Harbin has been urging we should evict all mercenaries from the city.”