The harbor I had glimpsed was filled with merchant vessels. They were being emptied of munitions, heaps of supplies to feed armies.
Finally, someone came to fetch me. The officer that met me at the gates was a handsome older man and furious at the guards.
He was pulling at me and hissing at the men. “A general! A general, and you let him stand outside like a beggar! I’ll have you demoted. See if I do. I will find you, though I have no time now. For you, its best if a rebel puts a shaft in your skull. Indeed, far better. Come, sir, we go in!” Inside the city walls, the streets were empty, and people were staring towards the fort. There, far at the end of the streets, a great number of cavalry was mustering, and men were climbing on horseback.
I was pulled from my ruminations by my companion. “Come, Naris. I am the watch officer of the week, in case you wondered. All sorts of missions they give an idle admiral from Katar Kas Opan, eh? Our warriors aren’t coming back? They told me there was an ambush.”
I nodded. “We lost everything. I lost my horse, even. I loved that horse.”
“All of it is gone?” he asked. “All? There were hundreds of men we could ill spare! Most were good sailors. Didn’t you scout properly?”
I flinched, and my hands shook. “I did not send scouts,” I said acidly. “I am no captain of war, you know it, but there were captains in charge of such activity. They reported nothing. Not one damned thing. The woods have occasional rebels and hunters, but we killed some, and they killed a few, and things were going well. Then, suddenly, hundreds of the enemy! There was no reason to expect a major attack from anyone in those woods.”
“No reason!” the man huffed, his thin cheeks sucking in as he wrapped a red, woolen cloak around his tall frame. “There are a hundred thousand people in Alantia, and most have taken to the woods, unless they ran into a sword. No reason to expect them? There are twenty or more of these rebel groups, and this one is livelier than most. Some bandit called Saag leads them, a bald bastard with a fine-looking lass on his side.” He rubbed his face, and nodded. “Aye, your captains should have been prepared. Let us blame them, and neither one of us should hang. I did, after all, pick the routes for you, eh?”
I nodded and watched the riders. Lances were being handed out.
There were at least a thousand such riders. Some few rode past, and I took a close look at them.
They were grimy, battle-hardened men, and the Headless Horse of Harrian was sown on their cloaks, prominently and proudly portrayed also on their shields. I had seen them in Dagnar. My host seemed to be in love with them. “Look at them. They have been arriving all day, and they all want blood. They barely ate, eh? Lovely men.”
“They’ll eat me, if they find I lost Hillhold’s supplies. Look, I’d like to remedy my mistake. Surely, a new caravan must be sent. Can I be part of it? I’ll not ask for the command, but I must, simply must make the trip and show I can—”
“Relax,” he sighed and eyed the milling mass of Harrian’s best.
I did as well, impatient.
Most horses looked like replacement mounts with rudimentary gear. Still, they had them. We had a thousand horses, but only half were war-horses.
“Look—” I began, and he shook his head and guided me forth.
“How many survived Dagnar?” he asked, smiling. “They all ask me that. I know, since I am the watch officer of the week. I know what is coming in. Some. The legions are few thousand strong and will hold Nallist. Aten’s ships will fetch them this coming night. They’ll live in the fort. All save for Harrian. They have business elsewhere.”
I nodded. That many had survived. A few thousand had managed to find a way out of the inferno, and perhaps they had hidden in the Temple of the Tower or used the Old City’s tunnels, and that would mean death to many of wounded we had left hidden there. I heard the man speaking. No, he was chuckling. “Do not worry about anything, I told you already. But, no, you cannot join a caravan. We are out of wagons. See, there is already another one out there.” He looked sheepish.
I gave him a confused look. “Sir? There is another caravan?”
He pulled me aside. “We were prepared. The road you and your poor boys took is the best one, but there is another, and you are late to join it, as I said.” He fidgeted and sighed and pulled me aside as some riders left the gate. “I cannot abide to see good men so distraught, come.”
He led me off, and I looked around the city, one of the largest ones in Alantia, and saw the population going about their business, no doubt much reduced, since the legions rarely believed in peaceful occupation, and on the other hand, the north didn’t go down without a fight. At the end of the street, near the milling force of cavalry, there was a red-bricked house of four stories and, on its balcony, were hung the banners of ten legions.
The man saw my roving eye. “Yes, all the headquarters are there now. You noticed some new flags, eh? We hung them up hour ago. Some legions don’t exist any longer, or basically only in name, and their scribes and officials sit there and wonder what they should be doing, save for sipping wine. We came here with near fifty thousand men, and now, two thirds are alive, mostly in the north, and out of those that are here, full third are wounded, and a part is starving. It’s a sorry state of affairs, but must be remedied, eh? Unbelievable, indeed. The One Man will have to settle the score with the scum.”
There was a pleased undercurrent in his voice.
“Is he here yet? Will he too, go north? We need more men.”
“He will go up there,” he said dryly. “There are two legions up north. He sent the fleet and legion of Betus Coin up north to follow the two legions that rowed that way in the early weeks of the war, and took all of Malignborg legion out of here, and Dagnar as well. Left this morning. They are waiting for Balic near the Blight. Fifteen to sixteen thousand men. They have camped and are waiting for something. I know not what. Balic? Here, we shall have some fifteen thousand men as well, but half have been beaten once, and I think we should fetch the northern boys back. He, himself, is coming here today, before he follows the fleets, and I hope someone tells him to finish the south before some fancy northern adventure.”
“I agree,” I said.
That made him happy, and he was clapping my back. “Perhaps I exaggerate. He is bringing more legions. He went back to Aten to muster two more of the legions and will be here to sort out the strategy with the One-Eyed Priests who still walk about. All the supplies we have, all the men he can find, it shall all be here. We must forgive him the north.” He looked at the wintry city and cursed softly. “Summer would be nice, eh? And still, warm or not, the One Man sent his orders, my friend, and those orders are clear. We won’t give up Alantia while he goes north to deal with something bigger.”
“Something bigger,” I breathed, and wondered at what Thrum had said. Hand of Hel, or perhaps nothing awaited them. He had already sent my father and mother north with the fleet of Betus Coin. He, himself, perhaps, carried the Black Grip. “What’s up there? Goats, snow, and ugly people.”
He clapped my back. “No, I told you. I know not. Come, wine! You sound depressed. I am happy you survived, for I need an excuse to sit down and eat. Let my men deal with the unfortunate affairs of the war, and you sit here with me for a while. You’ll keep your head, I think, no matter your failure. They have bigger fish to fry, and no time for the little supply generals or displaced admirals. If we must, we blame someone else. You and I, eh?”
He wasn’t worried for my head. He was for his.
He expected me to aid him.
“Of course,” I said.
“I know a few captains I dislike,” he said and winked. “Thank you.”
“Very generous, lord,” I answered. “Let them fry the other fish, and you and I pull the nets so they can catch them.”
He chuckled. “A general and an admiral can be cordial amongst themselves, even if one is a lord.” He laughed. “Especially if they fish together. Come, sit.”
“Indeed,” I agreed, “though the sea robs me of my appetite.”
“Appetite you must have,” he laughed and slapped my large belly, “after escaping with your head. I have just the thing. A dish from home. Smell that?”
Indeed, the smell of meat wafted to our noses from inside a guard tower. The man snapped his fingers at a soldier, who walked off and went to roar commands inside the doorway. Some answers echoed in the halls inside, and soon, servants were carrying plates of red stew and vegetables, and there was also and a bowl of syrupy, peppery sauce. It burned my nostrils even before it was set on table.
He smacked his lips. “Some comforts from home. Can’t do without them, can we? What’s your home again, General? What legion were you attached to?”
I made a noncommittal sound, while rubbing my face. I was served a bowl of the thick dish, which was then lathered generously with the sauce. While the servants left, I firmly grasped a tankard of ale, hoping to survive both the questions and the dish. “I have no idea which legion I belong to now. Six Spears of Miklas, I suppose, but I hardly know the men any longer.”
“Indeed,” the man said, losing interest in the banter as he dug into his dish. He heartily enjoyed it by the blissful look on his face, and I gingerly poked a fork into the mess and put some into my mouth. It took some time to manage a breath, but I did, feeling like a dragon might after scorching a village. I realized he had been talking. “But sure. They had their time. Now, it is time to put things into their right places.”
“Why, I think I missed some of what you just said,” I said, guzzling ale, which didn’t seem to bring a shred of relief to the scorched cavity that had previously been my mouth.
“Ah, I just said that each new war has its difficulties. Ever since Balic,” he mumbled, “the One Man, I beg your pardon, began raising the royals and turned the inbred shits into his loyal, ever-loving slaves, be the lot blessed, the armies he has led have rarely been beaten.” He winked at me. “Of course, there never was a soldier that thought a war in the north would be easy. Never. Not once. And especially on the eve of winter! What was he thinking, eh? But winter had nothing to do with our recent humiliations. Nothing. That will come when the winter really hits us, and the rebels will make supply runs almost impossible. This blanket of snow is no more than a nuisance, though men act like they have been sent to Nifleheim for duty. They should try sailing the Bay or the Callidorean Ocean some time. That is cold as snowman’s shit.”
“They say the One Man lost a lot of men in Dagnar,” I wondered, staring at the army of riders that was getting commanded into their proper places by captains.
The Headless Horse was a cavalry legion, and though they had done well on foot in Dagnar, it was clear their horses made them twice the men they had been. The pride, the confidence, was back, and I fidgeted as I watched them putting up their lances, tall as two men. I had slain their draugr king, a brave one to be sure, a devious one, and scattered their troops. They had bled over many walls, always first to conquer, always first to brave death, and there I was, sitting right next to them, drinking ale.
“They did,” the admiral agreed. “They say they didn’t, of course, but they did. A few thousand, as I said, are here. Perhaps some went back to Aten, I know not. It is their own fault. The enemy ran through the Under City. We know about the Under City. Balic should have anticipated it. He should have enforced a better order. The city burned down while the bastards had scattered to loot it. Not a single royal, save for Balic, got out alive. He has not raised them again. Punishment? I do not know. Perhaps you can only do that once, and I wonder where they go after? Is there Hel after all?” He shrugged, munching away, and I discreetly pushed the bowl aside. “But now,” he went on, “all this bad luck will change. It is time for sweet victories again.”
He saluted me and drank down his ale, smiling like a child.
“Oh?” I said. “I am under the impression that my former command had a role to play in that victory. No food for Hillhold means a loss. What if this other caravan is caught also?”
He shrugged. “Well, yes. It is possible. But victory will be ours. How could we not gain one? With Lisar Vittar in charge and here in the city.”
He went quiet, still smiling.
I had twitched so badly, the bowl scattered to the snow. Immediately, two dogs set upon it, though both ran away with their tails between their legs, yapping like someone had kicked them. One fell and then crawled away, farting loudly. I tore my face away from the dogs.
“You want another serving?” he asked dubiously.
“Ah, no,” I said. “I’m afraid I shall die.”
He laughed.
Lisar.
I had barely survived Lisar in Dansar’s Grave. And now she was in Nallist?
Why?
“There, look,” the man said. “Her symbol used to be a yellow flower on black as House symbol, but the Lion it is now, since Palan has been split in three. They mostly hate each other now.”
I turned.
I saw her.
I spied her approaching the army of Harrian. With her, there were riders of her own legion, the White Lion on their shields. She was splendidly beautiful, a damned draugr, but a radiant lady, indeed, and I thought, though I couldn’t be sure, she would still be holding the magical bone pendant that defied magic. Our battle had broken the tower of Dansar’s Grave in half and nearly killed me.
“Redemption,” the man said. “Balic’s unhappy with her. She went and lost Dansar’s to Maskan, and now, she has hijacked all the cavalry of the armies, and it will give back her favor of the One Man. It will be a splendid victory, indeed.”
Victory against whom?
They meant to attack my people in the Pass?
I shook my head. Thrum’s dverger alone would make it a butchery, and there were ditches and a new order.
“Surely they are prepared?” I asked him. “In the Pass?”
“They won’t be,” he said, belching. “A supply officer takes supplies from one place to another, eh?” he chuckled. “He doesn’t draw strategies. But I think you must be drunk. More drunk than I am, that is.”
“Why, yes, but—”
He shook his head at me. “I understand. Of course, it is a failure not to get the supplies forth. You knew it would be dangerous. You were upset you were stopped before you could get to where you were supposed to be going, and you barely survived. But you do know it matters little. They will survive a few more days.”
“Hillhold. I was supposed to go to Hillhold,” I said, sensing it wasn’t so.
He confirmed it.
His eyes went large as plates. “No! No, that is not it. You weren’t taking the food to Hillhold? Surely not? Oh dear. Oh, dear me. We left Hillhold this night, not a few hours past.”
“What ?” I asked. “What do you mean? I just flew over …”
He laughed and poured me more ale. “I think it doesn’t matter how much you drink now. You flew over it on your horse, no doubt! The troops are not in Hillhold,” he said simply. “Oh, dear me, you would have been butchered, had you gone there. Our troops left the fort, quite noisily. I am sure it is in rebel hands now. That King Maskan is probably sitting in the great hall now, feeling smug as a king of frogs.” He took a swig of his drink and looked at the walls around Nallist. “He won’t stay in Hillhold. They’ll go after the legions.” He winked. “They cannot resist.”
I fidgeted and frowned, anxiety building inside me.
The enemy was tired of being fooled, and I was sure what ever Lisar Vittar had planned would be deadly for our troops. My eyes drifted to the harbor. I saw the streets leading down to it, nodded at the admiral, and leaned back.
I would not have much time.
I had to get back to the troops, and Quiss.
“You said Balic’s fetching more legions?” I asked.
He gave me a sly wink. “Well. The beaten troops of Dagnar are coming soon, new legions in a day or two with Balic, and people are moving. I am sorry I was so negative earlier. The victory must be near. His Black Ships arrived this morning, so there is that.”
“Black Ships?” I asked.
He blinked. “Yes. He expects the battle to be over soon.”
I stared at him.
He wrung his hands. “Gods, did you hit your head, my friend, when you fled? I am talking about the ships where the black robes store the fallen he wants to bring back to us. Black Wagons, Black Ships, they go where battle has been fought. Heroes, champions, worthiest of the fallen, and the dead enemy royals, of course, will all go sailing. They get taken to Aten and then down the Green Way back to Malignborg and what was once the Eye Keep, where he will one day raise them. We shall all, one day, walk, but the royals he raises first and these best of men and women next, and for now, they all sleep in Malignborg.”
He shook his head. “His black robes will go and seek the battlefields, dig up graves, and they will find servants for One Man. It is always so. You have not been paying attention, have you, friend? They brought back plenty of corpses from the city. And some,” he said with a wink, “they will pull from the fields in Hillhold soon, and then, the Pass. They have loaded the corpses we had here already. We’ll get them all back, one day, but Princess Filar Barm Bellic will find the very best of corpse for the Black Ships.”
I stared at him.
He eyed my mug. “I think this is enough, after all. Eh?”
Sons of Ymir Page 6
