Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3)

by M. R. Anthony

  “As good as your word, Captain Charing,” he said.

  I didn’t say anything to acknowledge his words. I nodded to Sinnar and gave the signal for us to move. Sinnar shouted the order with unexpected restraint and the First Cohort strode towards the main gates which led through the walls of the keep. I looked back only once, telling myself that it was to ensure my men were in good order and utterly denying that it might be because I was worried about what we were leaving behind.

  Even the main streets of Blades weren’t broad enough to accommodate many men walking abreast, so we marched in a narrow column. We were armed and armoured, carrying with us everything we’d need for an extended campaign. To the rear was a wooden cart, cunningly designed with sprung wheels and double axles which could move in sympathy with the terrain. It was loaded with our metal spears, as well as a variety of other items which it was more convenient to carry separately. Two sturdy horses pulled the cart – they were the calm and uncomplaining sort which would haul their load until they dropped dead if you chose to drive them hard enough. I didn’t know how practical it would be to bring the cart with us, but was willing to give it a go. The worst that could happen would be that we’d have to carry it all ourselves.

  Soon, we’d left the centre of the city and entered one of the more affluent suburbs. We passed a baker’s shop and I heard the men give comment at the odours which drifted across the road. I allowed myself to breathe in the scent, though my mouth refused to water. At one time, Blades had seemed exciting and vibrant – we’d all looked forward to our brief periods in the city after one of our extended campaigns elsewhere. Now I realised I felt almost nothing for the place. I didn’t know if this was because of what it had become or because of what I had become.

  “I don’t long for this anymore,” I said quietly to Ploster. “Perhaps I’m getting old.”

  “Are you measuring age in physical years or mental years?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “I don’t pretend to be a young man,” I said.

  “It’s when you stop wanting to be a young man. That’s when you know you’re getting old.”

  “The times I think about it are becoming fewer and further in between,” I admitted.

  “You need to change how you think,” he said. “There are old men who are happy to be old. They sit by their fires and wait for death, pretending that it’s what they want and hoping it’ll be painless. Then there are the old men who refuse to change from what they were. They treat death as an equal and challenge it to come and claim them if it dares to fight.”

  I laughed, though the words struck me as true. “Have no fears, Jon. I am old in years, though I am definitely not waiting for death.”

  “I know, Tyrus,” he said. “I’ve not met a man who is less scared to deny the inevitability of death.”

  We left the city an hour after we’d exited the keep. The Flesh Shaper kept himself aloof, spurring his horse so that he was always fifty or more yards ahead, as if he were the leader of the men. I’d only met him a few times when we’d been in service to the Emperor, though my memories of him were few. I didn’t recall that I’d ever had any direct dealings with him, so he’d likely been present in the places I’d been, yet without me needing to speak with him. It had been a long time ago.

  “At least his horse won’t shit in our path,” said Beamer, a few paces behind me.

  “Nor piss, nor fart,” said Grids. I turned around and grinned at them. It was good to find those two nearby – we’d been through much recently.

  Once we were freed from the confines of the city streets, we set a course almost directly north-east. This would eventually take us into Duchess Callian’s domain and from there into Cranmar Sunderer’s lands. It was going to be a long walk. Lieutenant Craddock was our man with a map built into his brain and he reckoned we’d be on the road for at least three months. Less if the Emperor wanted us just inside the Sunderer’s lands, much more if he was far to the north-east. I had little doubt that we’d end up on the northern borders of the Empire, one way or another. Part of me wanted the trip to be as long as possible – the more time we were away from Blades, the longer the Emperor had to hold to his word and keep his forces from invading the Saviour’s lands. I could only hope that she would use her time wisely. On the other hand, the further away we were when the Emperor released us from this new service, the longer it would take for us to return. Malleus was trustworthy as far as his word went, but I very much doubted that he’d keep his truce for the period it took us to get back to Blades. Unless I can wring that concession from him, whispered a voice in my head.

  At first, all was good on our journey. The road was adequate and free from mud. The weather was cool but kind, with clear skies of the sort that make you wish every day could be the same. The men talked their talk and our boots marked a cadence that saw mile after mile vanish in our wake as though we were giants, who strode the enormity of the land without the constraints of stamina or injury to slow us down.

  On the first night, we rested to the side of the road. There was always the chance that some of the Duke’s men remained together as a cohesive fighting force, though I didn’t think it likely that they’d be able to support themselves without proper supply lines. Either way, there was little point in taking chances, so I set our usual number of sentries, whilst the rest of us gathered about the fires to talk about old times and the times to come. I didn’t know where the Flesh Shaper had taken himself off to and didn’t care if he heard what we said. Soldiers talk and I let them say what they wanted.

  “So who exactly do we serve now, Captain?” asked Weevil. He knew the answer, just needed to hear it said.

  “We serve our lady, Weevil. Her and only her. This is her instruction and we’re following it.”

  “Who’da thought it, eh?” asked Flurry. “We get to serve the Emperor again, only this time it’s us doing him a favour.”

  “When’d he ever do us a favour?” asked Harts.

  “Well, you know? Giving us long life so’s we can serve our lady better.”

  “That’s not quite a favour though, is it?” asked Beamer. “It’s not like he intended for us to go on and do what we did.”

  “You can look at it whichever way you please,” said Flurry. “Me? I’ve always been the sort of man who thinks that things move in ways beyond my ken. Beyond even the Emperor’s ken. Who’s to say that there’s not something out there, pulling all these strings, so that one thing leads to something else, and that leads to another thing? In the end, here we are, serving our lady and marching off to help old Malleus.”

  There was silence for a time. “Yeah, but that’s still not the same as him doing us a favour, is it?” said Beamer, unwilling to let it drop.

  “You daft sod,” said Harts, though it wasn’t clear who this was aimed at.

  “I don’t much care how it’s happened,” said Beamer, staring ahead. The firelight cast his scarred face into deep shadow, making his eyes seem like black, empty pits. “All it means is we buy some time for our lady to secure her hold on the Duke’s old lands.” There were no flies on Beamer.

  “And we get to do some more fighting. Every one we cut down, is one fewer for the new lads to face.”

  “New lads?” asked Bont. “Half of the new lads you’re talking about have got faces more puckered than Weevil’s arse hole.”

  “Aye, but there’re lots of young ‘uns in there with them. Seems a shame for them to get killed before they even get a chance at life,” said Beamer.

  “Since when did you start getting sentimental?” asked Flurry. He fell silent as he realised the answer. There was a time for banter, but the soldiers always took care to follow the unwritten rules. “The same time as all of us, I guess,” he finally ended with.

  I was just summoning up the energy required to haul myself away from the circle around the fire, when Harts spoke. He kept his voice quiet and lowered his head, as if he were speaking a great sedition.

  “Captain? Do we
trust this Terrax fellow?” It was another question that he already knew the answer to. I never lost patience answering questions like it, since most men lack the ability to lead a discussion. They usually wanted me to do it for them. I didn’t mind.

  “I trust him not at all,” I assured them. I kept my voice slightly below its usual volume, for reasons I couldn’t comprehend. If the Flesh Shaper wanted to listen to our words, there was little I could do to stop him, I imagined. It certainly wasn’t going to prevent me from giving an honest answer to my men. “However, there’s many a man whom I wouldn’t trust, yet I complete my dealings with him and then we go our separate ways. It’s the way of things.”

  “We have to watch him, don’t we?”

  “Always. The death sorcerers serve the Emperor, but they also have their own desires. They plot and they scheme, while Malleus gives them a little bit of leash. I am sure their games are played out across a greater stage than we know. If Terrax has his own plans, that is for us to watch out for.”

  No one said anything else on the subject. If anyone sought to betray us, the soldiers of the Cohort knew that I’d have them killed as soon as I suspected them of putting our lives in danger. I didn’t like to gamble with my men. In a world full of bastards, it was much easier to protect my own by killing the men who challenged us, even if I wasn’t absolutely certain what our opponents intended. In this I was ruthless and I felt no guilt at all.

  I bade them goodnight and made my way over to my tent. Our time in Blades hadn’t been entirely wasted and I smiled to myself at the rows of new travelling tents that I’d procured to replace the battered and torn ones we’d been carrying with us for far too long. The men had seemed almost incomprehensibly pleased by this small act. I suppose that the little things can build up over time until they become big things that you can’t quite bring yourself to complain about since they are in reality still small. As I settled down, I realised that I’d just taught myself another tiny lesson about life and people. You never get too old to learn.

  The following day, we were off as early as we could safely leave. With the onset of winter, the mornings and evenings were darker, which deprived us of almost three hours of marching time each day. Regardless, I wasn’t going to risk injury by forcing us to start early and finish late, even while we followed a road. I cursed at the delay in setting off, though I was aware there was little I could do about it. The knowing didn’t make me feel any better, but I’d long since become accustomed to almost tolerating things I couldn’t control. I’d half-expected the Flesh Shaper to make himself known on the matter and insist that we march with good speed before first light. He didn’t, and offered no comment at all while we waited for the first glimmerings of daylight to appear on the horizon. Perhaps he’d been told not to interfere, or perhaps he wasn’t entirely ignorant of our requirements.

  Late morning, I jogged ahead to catch up with the death sorcerer. Something had been bothering me after a discussion with Lieutenant Craddock on where our journey would take us.

  “Terrax!” I called to him. His hooded head turned in the saddle and he pulled on the reins of his dead nag, so that I could walk alongside.

  “What can I help you with, Captain?” he asked.

  “My Lieutenant has told me that if we continue to the north-east on our current heading, we will pass close to the cities of Scar and Flense.”

  “Your Lieutenant may be correct,” said Terrax. “I know not. Does it matter if we come close to these places?”

  “Scar is unimportant to our journey. However, Flense is almost on a line directly across from the town of Gold. The Northmen have reached Gold.”

  “You are concerned that we will come upon them unprepared? Do not worry yourself, Captain. The Northmen have advanced an almost uniform distance south of their own borders. You are aware that their border veers further north the further to the east we travel. Therefore, I am confident that we will not see them at Flense.”

  I felt a sense of relief at his words. We’d had only snippets of information from the north-east and even that was confused and contradictory. “What else do you know about the Northmen that we don’t?” I asked. I had no doubt that the Emperor and his sorcerers knew a lot more than we did and it was of little importance if he knew of our ignorance, since we’d likely soon see a lot more of what was happening within the Empire.

  Terrax didn’t answer immediately and I got the impression that he was considering whether he wanted to keep his information to himself or not. Eventually he spoke. “We know little more than you or your Saviour know, Captain Charing. They came from the mountains to the north a number of years ago and then they went away. More recently, they have returned. The first attacks were far from Hardened and news takes time to get to the centre from the periphery, except when magical communication is available. Alas, magic has proven so far useless at finding the source of our foes. There is something in the north which rebuffs our attempts at scrying, and there are many of us who have tried. Besides, Malleus’ northern borders were not seen as a concern, hence the difficulties we face now. The Emperor has always kept his eyes on the deserts and the Unending Ocean to the south.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I have been away from the capital for many years. I wasn’t aware that the Emperor feared anything.”

  “Fear is a subjective word, Captain. I’m sure you know that Malleus does not fear anything. Or at least, that is what he would like everyone to believe.” He let that last part hang in the air. I could see it for the baited hook that it was and didn’t pursue it. I didn’t like being manipulated.

  “Has anything made it across the ocean?” I asked instead.

  “Signs and portents, Captain, that is all. The Emperor sees things that I cannot and he keeps his own counsel on the matter. His actions speak louder than his words, and he keeps the bulk of his armies far to the south of Hardened.”

  I mused over that. There were several thousand miles from the Empire’s far south to its far north. It was much too far for normal troops to travel in the short term, especially if they were leaving an equal threat to the south. I’d studied snippets of history over the years – an interested man can pick much up, even as he travels – and had learned that an Empire becomes exponentially harder to govern the larger it gets. Malleus ruled an Empire that was very, very large and it was a marvel that the man had kept it in such good order for as long as he had. I had to admit it grudgingly, but from what I’d heard, many of his lands had seen a greater peace and stability than at other times in the recorded past. Duke Warmont’s lands were the inexplicable exception and I’d started to get a sense that Malleus had not wished them to be so riven with turmoil.

  “All empires fall, Terrax,” I said, dangling the words in front of him to see if he’d respond.

  “Yes Captain, history teaches us this,” he said with his wheezing laugh. “The Emperor fights the dictates of the past. Indeed, he laughs at them and denies their claim on the future.”

  I shook my head, half in admiration and half in disbelief at the Emperor’s stubbornness. I wondered for a brief time if the sharp edges of my memories were softening, leading me to assign a greater humanity to the man who had created the First Cohort. The feeling didn’t last long – I wasn’t fond of sentimentality, though it occasionally did its best to creep up on me.

  I would have spoken further with Terrax, but the opportunity to continue was denied me. There were shouts from the rear of the column and the message was quickly relayed to the front. Sixty or seventy yards behind, I heard Lieutenant Craddock call a halt. I turned and jogged back to see what had happened, Jarod Terrax temporarily forgotten.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s the cart, Captain. One of the axles has snapped.”

  I swore loudly. “We’re still following the road. How come it’s broken so soon?”

  I took Craddock with me to have a look. The rear of the cart had sagged, scattering much of our equipment along the hard-packed semi-paved r
oad we travelled along. The horses stood calmly by, unflustered by the sudden activity.

  You can’t have a body of armed men in which at least one man in five doesn’t claim to know something about joinery. Soon there was a cluster of men, pointing and discussing the damage to the cart. I could tell by the amount of head shaking that we were about to start carrying a lot more of our kit.

  “It’s knackered, Captain,” confirmed Trusty. “Looks like there was a fault in the wood. Besides, these springs are already halfway to shearing. Where’d we get this piece of shit from, anyway?”

  I shook my head, since I had no idea. Someone had sourced it and brought it along. I didn’t need to get involved in every single detail.

  “All this new-fangled stuff can’t be relied on,” continued Trusty. “We needed an honest, solid wood cart like we used to have.”

  I sighed at the mundanity of it all. Just another of the minor irritations that accompany a life on the march. “Pass round the kit,” I said. “We’ll leave the cart behind.”

  “What about the horses?”

  “Kill them,” I said at once. “We can share out the meat.”

  “Captain Charing?” said a familiar voice behind me. I almost jumped – the Flesh Shaper had somehow approached without me being aware of his presence. “With your permission, I might have need of one of those horses.”

  “Fine,” I said. “If it’s better use than a pile of bloody steaks, take one.”

  Terrax slipped from the back of his horse with a surprising grace. He sized up the two horses and approached the nearest. It shied away, as if it sensed that something was wrong. Terrax reached out a hand, as if to comfort the beast. When he got close enough, I saw his hand flash out and the glint of metal caught my eye. A fountain of bright red blood jetted from the horse’s neck. It screamed in pain and I would have normally expected it to try and bolt, dragging our cart with it. I felt power stream out from the Flesh Shaper. It held the horse’s body, preventing it from flight. All we soldiers could do was watch and listen to the beast’s screaming – a hideous, high-pitched whinnying sound as blood squirted from its neck. Pints and pints of it covered the road, before it gradually slowed to a trickle. The magics which bound the horse abated and it slumped first to its knees and then it rolled onto its side, twitching slightly.