by Alex Janaway
‘Sensible idea,’ agreed Owen. ‘If they can be released from their work details?’ He looked at the Emperor.
‘They cannot be trusted!’ Father Llews piped up.
‘No, they cannot,’ agreed the Emperor quietly.
‘Your Grace.’ Michael took a step forward. ‘You allowed me to use them on the journey to Vyberg. They proved loyal and useful. And, when it comes down to it, their lives are in as much danger as ours.’
‘He’s got a point,’ agreed Fenner.
‘He has, Your Grace. We need to use every asset we have,’ said Owen.
‘The enemy were all over us last time because they moved so fast and we couldn’t react,’ agreed Devlin.
‘And they had a counter for our every move because they knew what they faced,’ Cadarn added.
‘It’s time we buggered up their decision-making for a change,’ said Bryce. Michael hadn’t even known he was in here.
The Emperor had still not moved.
‘Your Grace,’ prompted Owen.
‘They are betrayers,’ he said quietly. Behind him Father Llews bobbed his head energetically.
‘That they are,’ Owen said. ‘And I will ensure that every one of them is shackled and guarded when we deploy them. Trust me, when the enemy draws close, I will employ all our assets to confirm what they say. There is no betrayal they can deliver that will hurt us. And if they try,’ He looked around the chamber. ‘I will kill them myself.’
The Emperor smiled, he was clearly pleased with that idea. Father Llews leaned in close and whispered in his ear and the Emperor nodded as he listened. Michael sucked in some air through his nose. He had not expected to voice his suggestion but if he could prove they had use, their fate may well be altered. Looking at Father Llews, perhaps he had pushed his luck too far?
The Emperor placed his fists on the table.
‘Very well. General, you are right to ask. I place all our assets at your disposal. Please continue with your planning. I expect a further briefing one bell after dark. To your duties, everyone. I have faith in you and our people. Tissan will rise.’
A range of salutes were given, and the gathering broke up. Michael waited for everyone to leave and was about to follow when he heard the Emperor.
‘Father Michael? Will you stay a moment?’
Michael’s heart sank a little. Here it comes.
He turned and dipped his head. ‘Your Grace.’
He walked over to the table where now only the Emperor, Father Llews and Immayuk remained. The Nidhal stood back a little in the shadows, his hand never straying from the blade at his side.
‘Father, yet again you vouch for the Gifted,’ the Emperor said, with a wry smile. Michael knew him well enough to know there was no real warmth behind it, not when it came to the Gifted.
‘Your Grace. They are still powerful tools. I was a warrior, I know the value of such assets.’
The Emperor pulled at an earlobe and looked over Michael’s shoulder. ‘Quite. And yet, I see no value in your visits to Yarn,’ he said lightly.
Damn. He had thought they would go unnoticed. What a bloody fool. Michael’s mind raced. He felt his cheeks redden, his guilt obvious. Use it.
‘Your Grace, it is true. I … I had hoped that by talking to her, I might make her realise her mistakes. To embrace your Godhood.’
The Emperor reached out and took hold of a cup of wine. ‘And how is that going?’
‘She is stubborn,’ Michael said. That was truth.
‘She is irredeemable,’ said Father Llews. ‘They all are.’
‘Then more reason to use them?’ said Michael.
‘Have we not been using them, Father?’ said the Emperor sternly. ‘Yet, in this matter, I will defer to your logic, though I hate to admit it. I grow weary of their existence. Whenever I see them, it makes me angry.’
‘It is not for much longer, Your Grace,’ said Father Llews.
‘Give me the order,’ Immayuk growled, from the shadows.
The Emperor put a hand up. ‘Not yet, not yet.’
Michael looked between the three of them. ‘Your Grace?’
‘The Gifteds’ time will soon end. We don’t we need them any more. They have laboured to build our shelters, but now we have a new workforce. The good people of Brevis will continue the in work.’
‘And will be thankful of it,’ added Father Llews.
‘When this battle is done, then I will direct those strong arms, those who are trained in artisan skills. I will send them north to join my people who will soon arrive. Together they will begin the long work of making Vyberg whole again. Better, greater than before. An enduring monument to our tenacity, our courage and our right to rule these lands. I daresay there will come a time when Tissan soldiers will be marching eastwards! Think on that, Father!’
It wasn’t exactly what Michael was thinking about at that moment.
‘Why not build a new capital here, Your Grace. The people have already made such progress.’
The Emperor shook his head. ‘Sensible as ever, Father, but it must be Vyberg.’
‘It is the will of the gods!’ said Father Llews, in a serious tone. ‘They bid the Emperors to erect their Church on that site. It is from there they must rule.
The Emperor reached out and clasped Michael’s shoulder. ‘You see? It is out of my hands,’ he said, with a sad smile. ‘Even a living god cannot ignore those ancient deities who ceded the world to him.’
‘Of course, Your Grace.’ There was no way Michael was going to win this one. Better to move away with his treacherous heart still beating. ‘If I may. There is a battle coming. I need to train.’
‘Father, you intend to fight?’ asked Father Llews.
‘I swore my life to the Emperor. It is my duty.’
Father Llews swallowed. ‘Yes, of course, I wish I was so blessed with such attributes.’
‘I can train you, if you wish?’ said Michael looking to the Emperor. He hated to admit it but he was enjoying the look on Father Llews’ face.
The Emperor laughed out loud. ‘Father! I could think of easier miracles to perform! No, Father Llews will stay to minister to those who cannot fight. Go train. Knowing you are going to war is enough.’
Father Michael flicked an eyebrow at a relieved Llews and departed. As he exited the pavilion he caught a figure out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and turned as Immayuk also halted.
The Nidhal tilted his head and looked at Michael oddly.
‘Immayuk?’
‘You should not say such things.’
‘What things?’
Immayuk righted his head.
‘You question the Emperor’s decisions. You argue.’
Michael was a little taken aback. So what if he did? What was it to the Nidhal? He felt a little annoyed, but he tried to be fair-minded.
‘It is my role, Immayuk. I have been with the Emperor for many moons. I must offer advice and suggestions as I see fit.’
‘No, you are a warrior. And a warrior follows his leader. It is not your place.’
Michael rolled his shoulders and cricked his neck. Anything to take his mind off throwing the punch he so desperately wanted to give. Immayuk spoke like a child. He did not understand that life was not so simple. Their alliance being one example. He could not afford to upset the brother of Nutaaq. Michael had to be the bigger man in this.
‘Immayuk. You are right. I am a warrior. Loyal to the Emperor. I will, of course, take your words and think on them as I slay in the Emperor’s name.’
Immayuk nodded, seemingly mollified. But Michael wasn’t done.
‘I am also of the Imperial faith. I wear robes to show my dedication to him. Just like Father Llews does. The Emperor requires me to talk to him honestly. And I do so out of love for him. We must all be ready to fight for the Emperor and the Nidhal so that both can live in peace.’
Immayuk nodded again and stalked off.
Though he felt uneasy about the exchange, there was nothing
more Michael could do here, but there was somewhere else he believed he could.
Michael made his way from the barracks out towards the Nidhal encampment, following a now well-trodden path. Halfway there, however, he veered left, heading towards the newly established Plainsfolk camp, via less clearly defined trail than the one he had walked before. He had become quite taken with the new arrivals, and was keen to understand more of them. Theirs was a people and a way of life he had never encountered before, yet it had many similarities to the Nidhal’s. As he drew near he inspected their yurts. Not for the first time he was impressed by the solidity of them, the craftsmanship that went into the construction of the round dwellings with their wooden lattice walls and taut felt covering. While the Nidhal’s homes were simpler, more like tents, the Plainsfolk built with a greater sense of permanence. And within, the homes were daubed with ancient symbols and patterns, dedications to elder gods and animal spirits. He liked them, even if his faith did dictate he should dismiss them as pagan heresy – the imperial priesthood had no time for the old religions. They should know their place. But Michael felt no such emotion, not any more.
The small camp of six yurts was built in a crude circle, and as he stepped into it he saw that while some folk were busy with chores, a number of people were gathered on the far side, watching some kind of display. Michael spotted Tomor, seated on a small stool. His son, Bayar stood by, his arms folded. Both looked on impassively. A rider was galloping towards a straw butt, some four foot high and one foot wide. As the rider drew near the butt, they drew an arrow, nocked and shot in a fluid motion. The arrow struck home. As the horse passed by, the rider nocked another arrow, turned in the saddle and let fly, hitting the back of the butt in almost the same place. There was a general murmur of approval from the group, Tomor nodding while Bayar gave a short grunt.
Neither had yet to acknowledge Michael. ‘That was impressive,’ he commented.
Bayar growled. ‘Her second shot was almost good.’
Tomor smiled. ‘He says that only because she cannot hear him.’
‘She?’
‘His sister.’
‘Ah.’ Michael looked again. Yes, now he recognised Sarnai. She was wearing a longsided leather cap which disguised her features.
‘And now here comes the challenger.’
Michael realised that they were facing the Nidhal camp where there was quite the gathering, and he spotted Nutaaq and Arluuq at its centre. One of their warriors had mounted his vargr and was loping towards the start of a run-up to the butt. Once there he turned and kicked on. The vargr picked up speed and charged the target. Instead of a bow, the rider held a spear and as he closed with the butt he drew it back and threw. The spear embedded itself not far from the top of the butt and it rocked a little before settling.
A chorus of cheers and hoots from the Nidhal fell upon impassive Plainsfolk.
‘They cheated,’ said Bayar. ‘It was arrows first.’
Tomor smiled. ‘They want to prove a point.’
Michael turned towards Tomor. ‘Which is?’
‘That they are warriors. That arrows are not honourable.’
Yes, that sounded about right. But Michael had developed a different view over the last couple of years. ‘Even so, I’d rather kill a man where’s there no chance of him killing me back.’
Tomor laughed. ‘Quite right, priest. We win with our minds, not our muscles.’
Not a priest, he wanted to say, but he kept it to himself.
‘Bayar? Why don’t you and Gensing show them how we fight?’
Bayar nodded, barked something at one of the others and they jogged off to their mounts.
‘Nutaaq’s brother challenged us to this display,’ Tomor announced. ‘They are a competitive people.’
‘They are at that.’
‘They speak highly of you.’
Michael didn’t feel the need to respond.
‘You are unbeaten. A champion.’
Now it was Michael’s turn to grunt. ‘Once.’
‘Yes. Our time in the sun is always short.’
Sarnai joined them, her cap removed. Michael noticed the small iron studs decorating it. She nodded at him.
Tomor pointed at those opposite. ‘The Nidhal have said they once rode the plains. That they will return.’ He gazed at the sky. ‘I bear them no ill will, but they will not take our lands from us.’
The two riders were now cantering towards the butt. They split and came at it from different angles. Bayar wielded a slightly curved sword and small leather shield. The other a lance, slightly longer than a Nidhal spear, covered with feathers. Bayar charged the butt, leaned in and swept down, shaving a piece of the straw off a corner. At the same moment Gensing arrived, his lance couched. His horse went for the butt galloping at high speed passing it by within inches. The rider drove his lance home. It went straight through the tightly packed straw, the spearhead emerging clean through.
There was a moment of silence and then Nutaaq raised his own spear and the Nidhal joined him in the salute. In response Bayar raised his sword.
‘And was that your point?’ asked Michael.
‘Now they know who they face,’ said Bayar.
‘But they are many.’ The Plainsfolk were a small family group, no more than thirty. It would take generations to establish themselves, to revive their culture.
‘The plain is a great ocean. Perhaps we will not come to blows for many years.’
‘Do you need to?’
Bayar shrugged. ‘Life is a competition, is it not? The Empire tried to control us. Make us live in towns and cities. Those that gave up our ways died first at the hands of the elf invaders. Those of us who still travelled the plain endured. There is a lesson there.’
Michael nodded. ‘A simple life.’
‘Life is never simple but it must be lived.’
‘And lived well,’ added Sarnai.
Michael scratched his cheek. The Nidhal were setting up another display.
‘Perhaps you should move on again. Get back to the plain. The battle that is coming will be bloody. We may not endure.’
‘We will stay,’ said Tomor.
‘But you are the last of your people. Your ways will die with you.’
Tomor turned to look at him for the first time. His eyes crinkled with what looked like mischief.
‘The elves are clever and powerful. But they could not be everywhere. Who can say how many families like mine simply vanished into the horizon?’
A good question. ‘How did you survive?’
Sarnia answered. ‘We turned the enemy’s strength against him. We rode where the enemy was not.’
‘Which was?’
‘We rode east. Towards their lands.’
Michael understood. Go where the enemy would not be looking. Go where the land was empty of warriors. They were implying that the Plainsfolk were greater in number. He hoped so, he truly did.
‘So we will stay,’ said Tomor.
‘We have blood to draw. Vengeance to take,’ vowed Sarnai.
Tomor turned his gaze back to where several vargr were now taking the field. ‘It is the right thing to do.’
Michael frowned. To fight. To take vengeance. Was that ever the right thing to do? How many wrongs could ever truly be righted by more death? It was a question he found himself asking all too often these days.
CHAPTER 49 – OWEN
Owen looked at those gathered around the table in his dwelling. He hoped he didn’t show the intimidation he was feeling. He didn’t have the time.
‘All of you. We are no longer preparing for war. It has finally come to us.’
Staring back at him were Devlin, Cadarn, Bryce, Killen, Captains Shepherd and Rashad, Sergeant Fenner, Nutaaq, Saul and, surprisingly, Cade. She had arrived with Devlin saying she was representing the people. Not what he had recalled, but no one else had disagreed and he didn’t need the grief arguing the point. Not today.
‘What we need to do is choose our
ground. Somewhere we can limit the advantage that their numbers give them,’ he continued. ‘Devlin, you know this territory better than anyone else here.’
Devlin scratched his beard. ‘We need somewhere we can hold our flanks. I’m guessing they’ll have plenty of cavalry.’
‘We don’t know one way or another yet,’ said Killen.
‘We’ll come to that in a moment,’ said Owen, raising a hand.
‘The problem is they already have a path to follow,’ Devlin continued. ‘The Plainsfolk – who said they’d stay and fight by the way – have shown them the way. Not their fault. And then there is the matter of the Nidhal tracks.’ He looked at Nutaaq. ‘Maybe they might think a wolf pack started tracking them?’
‘I doubt that they are that stupid,’ said Fenner.
‘Either way, they don’t know what they are looking at,’ said Saul.
‘No vargr here,’ agreed Nutaaq.
‘I’ll leave before first light, start looking,’ said Devlin. ‘I’ll take the Watchers with me.’
‘I will have them ready,’ said Captain Shepherd.
‘I’ll come too, though I’ll be airborne,’ said Owen. ‘I want a decision by tomorrow night. And we need to start tracking the elves.’
‘Bryce is ready to go,’ said Cadarn. ‘As am I.’
‘Good. Give me a position and an estimated time of arrival. We need three days to get ready.’
‘Might be tight,’ said Devlin.
‘I know,’ agreed Owen. ‘Maybe we can do something about that. We’ll reconvene tomorrow. I want everyone who can fight ready to march the morning of the next day. That includes all supplies.’
‘Better we set up a forward staging post then. It’ll save time getting our reconnaissance and eyes in place. Maybe a half day from here.’
Cade put her hand up.
‘What are we doing about this place?’
‘Go on,’ said Owen, forcing his irritation down.
‘Well, I’m guessing you need a garrison left here? No point fighting a battle if you’ve nowhere to go back to. Or retreat to, for that matter.’
It was true. If things went wrong, they needed at least a chance of withdrawing to somewhere. The defences here were better than they had been, but a long way from perfect.
