by R. S. Ford
In an instant the bear leapt forward. Its growl cut through the palace hall, drowning out Demetrii’s scream as those fetid jaws took hold of his head. There was a grinding of teeth on metal as the creature’s maw crushed the helm encasing Demetrii’s head. For a moment his scream grew shrill before it was silenced.
‘Know there can be no defiance,’ said the Iron Tusk when all fell silent. ‘There shall be no one you shall worship above me. But those who follow willingly will be rewarded in abundance.’
The Iron Tusk strode forward along the path between the men of his army. Representatives from the First to Fifth Standings watched, every eye on this conqueror.
‘I will not be stopped,’ said the warlord. Their new emperor. ‘Once I have crushed the Mercenary Barons to the south I will look west. The Suderland, the Cordral and the Ramadi will all fall before me. I will sweep across those lands like a plague. Those who do not join me shall be destroyed.’ His single eye swept across the ranks of armoured men, until it fell on Laigon himself. As though he were the only man present, powerless beneath that inscrutable gaze. ‘Will you follow me?’
As one, a thousand men dropped to their knees in obedience as their dead emperor bled on a white marble floor.
* * *
Laigon’s villa was a humble affair on the eastern outskirts of Nephyr. Other centurions lived in almost palatial splendour, paid for by the spoils of war, but ostentation was not for Laigon. He had always been a defender of the people. It was only fitting that he dwelt in a place as modest as those of the citizenry he protected.
Every time he returned to this haven, no matter how bloody the campaign, no matter the slaughter he had witnessed, Laigon always felt his troubles lift. Now, as he walked through the neat gardens and along the mosaic path to his door, he felt more troubled than ever before.
Petrachus burst through the door as Laigon approached. His son was growing fast, almost twelve summers. It would not be long before the boy was initiated as a young cadet. Laigon should have been proud of the fact, but there was no joy in him now. He felt numb as Petrachus rushed into his arms, hugging him tightly. The happiness that should have filled him evaded him, and he knew why. Laigon had helped condemn the empire to rule beneath the heel of a despot. He had abetted the Iron Tusk in bending Shengen to his will. Only now did Laigon feel the true weight of what he had done.
Nevertheless, he picked up his son, forcing a smile as Petrachus took his helm and placed it over his head.
‘One day soon it will fit,’ Laigon said as he approached the open doorway.
‘One day soon?’ the boy replied. ‘Then will I be a centurion too?’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. Though now it was the last thing he would have wished on his son.
Laigon crossed the threshold and entered his house. Verrana stood waiting inside, busying herself with a pot of flowers as though she hadn’t already known her husband was about to arrive. It was a charade she went through every time he came home.
‘I didn’t expect you back so soon,’ she said. He had not seen his wife for the best part of three seasons.
Without a word Laigon gently put Petrachus down and embraced his wife, breathing her in deeply. Laigon opened his eyes to see she was looking at him curiously.
‘What is it?’ she asked, reading the troubled expression he was wearing like a caul.
Surely she must know by now. The emperor was dead. A usurper sat upon the throne and it was the empire’s own armies who had put him there.
‘What have I done?’ was all Laigon could think to say.
Verrana laid her hands on his armoured shoulders. ‘You did what you had to, Centurion. So that you could return to us. You are Laigon Valdyr. You are a warrior. A survivor. Never apologise for that.’
Laigon nodded, feeling some of the weight upon his shoulders lift.
His burden lightened further when he stripped off his amour and laid his sword aside. Verrana had prepared a sumptuous meal for him that reminded Laigon it was not just her beauty that had urged him to take her as his bride. As he ate, Petrachus sat opposite, watching with an expression of adoration, without doubt or question. Though Laigon’s men would have followed him anywhere, he knew the devotion Petrachus held for him was without equal. When Verrana walked by and kissed him gently on his temple, Laigon began to realise how deeply he had missed his family.
And how much everything had changed.
After dinner he watched Verrana put their son to bed, then kissed her goodnight. When he was sure she slept, he took a single rushlight and walked from the villa, out into the garden, silent but for the sound of chirruping crickets. The path that led to the side of the villa was cool underfoot, and he had to shield the rushlight from the gentle night breeze.
Laigon entered the tiny chapel that sat beside the villa, lighting the candles within and illuminating the meagre altar to the gods. He knew he was committing heresy. The people of Shengen now had no god but the Iron Tusk, but still Laigon could not resist the old habit and the old gods. Or at least one god in particular.
Portius had always been his. He knew it was strange for a warrior to follow the trickster god, but something about the portly deity had always appealed to Laigon. As he knelt before the statue, three foot of poorly moulded clay, he bowed his head and prayed.
He had no idea what to expect. Whether he would feel nothing or be overcome by some epiphany. What he hadn’t expected was such an overwhelming feeling of grief. Whatever false loyalty he held for this new warlord seemed to slough off him in an instant, to be replaced by the weight of what had happened. Of what he had done. Laigon had been born to serve, had been raised on loyalty to the throne of Shengen. Now all that had been cut away and Laigon had helped wield the knife.
No matter how hard he prayed, no matter the forgiveness he begged for, he knew he would never shed the guilt of his inaction. He should have died in the mountains defending Shengen and his emperor. Should have given his life rather than become slave to some inhuman monster.
Laigon prayed for redemption, but there were no words of support from Portius. Every time he had prayed before there had at least been some notion of comfort. Now it was clear no one was listening.
When finally he opened his eyes the candles had long since burned out. Laigon stood and crossed the garden under the hazy predawn light. Back inside his villa his wife and son were still sleeping. He crept to his bed and lay beside Verrana. Despite the warmth of her beside him, Laigon had never felt so alone.
III
LAIGON had never seen a fortress like it before. Not even the white walls of Nephyr looked so insurmountable. Lord Koad’s stronghold sat like a solid block of granite atop an unassailable rise. It would cost Laigon hundreds of men to reach the foot of it in a full frontal assault, and even then there was no guarantee they could scale the walls. It seemed Laigon’s campaign of dominance over the Mercenary Barons had all but come to a halt, but perhaps there was a solution other than sacrificing his entire Standing. Not that he could persuade Jodba of that.
Across the campfire, Jodba was even now planning the attack. How Laigon would have loved to walk over there and throttle the pig, but he was one of the Iron Tusk’s most loyal. He had been the first of the bandit kings to follow their emperor when he began his conquest of the Crooked Jaw, and he held a position of trust. Laigon wasn’t sure how they stood as far as hierarchy went – whether it was he or Jodba who was considered the most senior – but he knew that strangling one of the Iron Tusk’s generals wouldn’t put him in the emperor’s good graces.
Jodba had decided to stage a full frontal assault: ladders, rams, grappling hooks, scores of men flinging themselves at a sheer approach. Scores of Laigon’s men that is. The loss of life would be devastating, not that Jodba cared.
Laigon had heard enough. There was no way he was willing to make such a sacrifice when there were other options to be explored.
He strode towards Jodba, his annoyance getting the better of him. ‘This is not
the way,’ Laigon said. ‘Your plan has no chance of succeeding.’
The Iron Tusk’s underlings ceased their conversation and turned to him. Each one had been a criminal, nothing more than a robber in the mountains. These were the scum of the earth and now Laigon had to suffer them as his equals. It could not stand.
‘So what is the way then?’ Jodba asked, peering up from within that dimwit face. ‘Have you got a better way of cracking open the fortress?’
‘If I have my way, we won’t need to.’
‘What you talking about?’ Jodba looked even more confused, if that were possible.
‘We have the fortress surrounded. Their supply chain is cut off. A protracted siege will take weeks, maybe months until their supplies run out. If I offer them terms of surrender we could end the siege here and now.’
Jodba laughed. He was joined by his lieutenants. They all seemed to find the idea hilarious, but Laigon wasn’t laughing.
‘You would offer them mercy?’ Jodba said. ‘Those that defy the Iron Tusk must be destroyed. No matter what the cost.’
‘If I can make Lord Koad bow before the Iron Tusk he could be a valuable ally. They say he is a wise man and he knows much about his fellow Mercenary Barons. He would be much more useful alive than dead.’
‘I disagree,’ said Jodba. ‘And so will the Iron Tusk.’
‘You will not lead my men on a suicide mission,’ said Laigon.
‘Are you refusing to obey my orders?’
‘I don’t take my orders from you.’ Laigon squared up to Jodba, staring into his beady eyes. ‘I serve the emperor.’
Jodba’s lieutenants began to spread out, sensing the coming violence. Laigon was all too aware he faced half a dozen men on his own. All of a sudden he missed the presence of Vallion at his shoulder.
‘I am the voice of the Iron Tusk,’ said Jodba. ‘Not you. I am the one to be obeyed.’
Laigon stared deeper at the bandit. ‘And yet here you are talking.’ Laigon reached a hand to the hilt of his sword. ‘And still I don’t give a—’
‘Enough,’ came a deep resonant voice.
Immediately Laigon stood to attention, standing as straight and still as he could as the Iron Tusk loomed from the dark. The campfires lit him in baleful light and his one eye shone like a cat’s in the night. The air of tension grew that much thicker at the approach of their emperor.
‘My lord,’ said Jodba, ‘I was trying to tell the Shengen that we must—’
Jodba fell silent as the Iron Tusk raised a thick meaty finger. ‘I heard. And yet the centurion chooses diplomacy over violence.’ He stared at Laigon, who found it difficult to hold that gaze. Yet hold it he did.
‘A siege could take weeks. Lord Koad is a wise man, and will most likely have stocked his supply sheds in preparation. His walls are practically unassailable and we will only be wasting lives in a frontal assault.’
‘And your solution is to offer clemency?’
‘Surrender,’ Laigon replied. ‘Conditional on Koad pledging his fealty to you, my emperor.’
The Iron Tusk turned his massive head to the fortress looming over them all. ‘And you think Koad would accept such an offer?’
‘If I were a betting man,’ Laigon replied.
‘Would you bet your life on it, Centurion?’
Laigon didn’t have to think on that. ‘Yes, my emperor.’
‘Good,’ the Iron Tusk replied. ‘Then so you shall. At dawn you will make the proposal to Koad yourself. For your sake, I hope he agrees to your terms.’
With that, the Iron Tusk turned and stalked back into the night.
Laigon didn’t sleep, but instead spent the night staring up at the fortress, wondering if he’d even reach the main gate to make his offer to Koad before he was riddled with a volley of artillery fire. As the sun rose over the overlooking ridge, he didn’t wait to find out.
When he handed his blade and helm to Vallion, his Primaris said nothing. They both knew there was little Vallion could do now to stop Laigon. Not after the Iron Tusk had given his order. The men of the Fourth Standing stood and watched as their centurion walked towards the twisting path that led up to the fortress. Laigon kept his pace slow and steady, not wanting to spook any of the defenders who would inevitably be watching from behind the ramparts. The last thing he needed was an arrow in the face before he’d even had a chance to speak to Koad.
The further up he got, the more eyes he could see peering at him from within the fortress, but no one took a shot. It was clear he was no threat, and with the Iron Tusk’s army standing ready to besiege the place they were clearly more than ready to hear what an emissary might have to say.
When Laigon reached the iron-bound gate there was already someone waiting for him outside. He was clearly no warrior and smiled the easy smile of a man in charge.
‘Centurion Laigon Valdyr,’ the man said. ‘You honour us with your presence.’
Clearly his reputation preceded him. ‘The honour is mine…’
‘Jazhek Shaer, personal advisor to Lord Koad.’
‘Good to meet you, Jazhek. I wish it were under better circumstances.’
‘Indeed. But I hope your presence means that there might be a parlay.’
Laigon nodded. ‘If I might speak with Lord Koad we may be able to find a peaceful solution to this siege.’
Jazhek shrugged. ‘Alas, my lord will not be meeting with any of the Iron Tusk’s representatives. These gates will remain locked until he has certain assurances.’
‘I understand,’ said Laigon. ‘And assurances I can give. If Lord Koad presents himself to the Iron Tusk before the day is out and pledges his undying fealty, he will be allowed to live as a vassal to the great emperor himself. He will be granted his current lands and title and his servants allowed to live.’
Jazhek raised a pointed eyebrow. ‘Merciful indeed.’
‘The Iron Tusk rewards loyalty above all things,’ Laigon said. And he mostly believed his own words, despite what he had so far seen. Though it was true, the Iron Tusk rewarded his followers most generously, he also punished their failures in the harshest manner.
‘Very well,’ said Jazhek. ‘I will relay your terms to my lord. I hope that for all our sakes he accepts them.’
With a respectful nod, Laigon turned and made his way back down the twisting slope from the entrance to the fortress. Vallion was waiting at the bottom, still holding Laigon’s sword and shield.
‘How did it go?’ asked the Primaris as he handed Laigon back his sword.
‘We’ll soon find out,’ Laigon replied, buckling his sword belt.
‘So what now?’
Laigon looked up the long, sheer hillside to the fortress above. ‘Now we wait.’
The day wore on and Laigon and the Fourth Standing stood patiently at the foot of the mountain. Every long hour, Laigon became more nervous. If Koad did not take up his offer the implications would be dire indeed. He could see Jodba lingering, watching, waiting for all this to go wrong so he could be proven right. Or perhaps it was more so he could witness Laigon’s punishment.
As the sun set, Laigon felt relief wash over him as the gates to the hilltop fortress opened and a column of torch-bearing warriors came forth, making its way down the ramp. Laigon watched the procession, seeing Jazhek Shaer at the front leading the way through the darkness with his own torch. He looked an odd figure, at the head of these men, and Laigon could only admire his bravery. He wore no armour and carried no weapon, yet he led the vanguard to face their enemy.
When the warriors reached the bottom of the ramp they formed into ranks, presenting themselves to the Iron Tusk’s forces. Laigon stepped forward.
Jazhek smiled in greeting. ‘May I present the inestimable Lord Koad of Rhema.’
From the ranks of soldiers walked a portly figure. He looked out of place among his soldiers, and though still bedecked in armour it fitted him poorly. If this Mercenary Baron had ever been a warrior it was clearly long in the past.
Laigon bowed in greeting, ready to accept whatever speech of surrender Koad was willing to give, when a roar cut the valley. From out of the dark strode the Iron Tusk atop his armoured bear. A pall of fear fell over the ranks of soldiers, though no one dared to move.
The emperor slipped down from his mount, all seven feet of him striding towards the Mercenary Baron.
‘So this is Lord Koad, come to pledge his loyalty to me,’ the Iron Tusk said, glaring down at the cowering figure.
If Koad had planned some grand speech it was all but forgotten now. He merely stood and stared in awe.
‘No matter,’ the emperor said. ‘It is too little. And all too late.’
He turned his back on Koad and, as though it were a silent signal, a hail of arrows fell from the dark shadows surrounding them. Laigon could only watch as volley after volley soared from the darkness. He could only imagine Jodba and his lieutenants lying in wait, commanding their men to fire until none of Lord Koad’s men were moving.
It was then, seeing the last of those men flailing in the dirt, that Laigon began to realise how he had been used. How he was just another weapon in the Iron Tusk’s armoury.
The arrows continued to fly long after the last of Koad’s warriors had fallen still. In the aftermath, Laigon walked among the bodies until he found the motionless Jazhek, his robes peppered with arrows. In death he bore an accusing look, and Laigon knew it was reserved for him alone. He had betrayed these men, albeit unknowingly.
Whatever honour Laigon had left, whatever his word had been worth, it died in that valley with Jahzek Shaer. Now he was nothing more than another brigand, no better than Jodba. When he looked into the eyes of his men, he could see many of them knew it too. For many that might have been enough – to blindly serve the word of their emperor. But for others Laigon saw this was a test of loyalty too far.
How much longer he would stand to be tested, Laigon could only guess.
IV
LAIGON looked out from atop the ridge, at the sea of corpses that lay cooling in the shadow of the Crooked Jaw. After the murder of Lord Koad, the last Mercenary Barons had been swiftly defeated and all that remained of their armies was a handful of sorry-looking prisoners.