Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3)

by M. R. Anthony

  “Malleus is the only man who can speak clearly and in riddles at the same time,” chuckled Ploster. “A remarkable talent given that it’s not magical in nature.”

  “I don’t think he sought to hide anything,” I said. “Either that or he was so convincing that I didn’t detect him doing so. He has been holding the Northmen away from the city. They’ve broken through and will be here by nightfall.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Haster.

  “It means that everyone in Angax will be die,” I said. “I don’t know how long it will take, but nobody will live.” I wasn’t sure how Haster would take the news. I didn’t relish it myself.

  “Can we fight?” he asked.

  “I don’t think there are any soldiers left to fight,” I said. “Cranmar’s gone north with his men. Many men the Emperor told me. The emptiness of the keep and this barracks tells me that nearly all of his armies are out of the city. It could be that they are between the Northmen and the city, or they might already be dead. Either way, we have to leave the city before they come and hope we can avoid them. Angax is not our battle to fight.” I turned to face Haster. “Is it yours?”

  He looked torn. “I do not wish the people dead. I care naught for the city itself, nor for Cranmar. I let some of the men out to look for their families. There are a few of us who still have ties to the city. The rest of us have nothing.”

  “How many?” I asked him.

  “Seventy-eight. I’ve asked them to return by noon.”

  “They will need to,” I said. He wasn’t going to like what I told him next. “You can’t come with us, Lieutenant Haster. The cold will kill your men before you can even draw your swords.”

  “They are no longer my men,” he said. “They are Cohort men.”

  “That they are. Now and always,” I said. “I had hoped that the Emperor would offer you the chance to become like us. The cost of the gift is beyond his willingness to give it, so you cannot join with us. I will not have you die for nothing.”

  “What should we do?” he asked.

  “You need to gather your men and leave. Those with families may do as they choose. Tell them to flee to the south – anywhere apart from here.”

  “And what of those who have no family?”

  “Join with the Saviour. Take the men to Blades. The Saviour can read your hearts and she will know what you tell her to be the truth. Let her know that we have been asked to go north to find something for the Emperor. If we succeed, we will be back within the year and we will have bought her another five. If we fail, then I have no idea of what will come. She will know what to do for the best.”

  “To the Saviour we will go,” he said. “And offer her our pledge in the way that you offered yours.”

  “I am proud to have you with us, Lieutenant Haster,” I said. “Do your best and we will join you when we are able.”

  I reached across and shook his hand. I didn’t like to invoke the capriciousness of fortune, but nevertheless I wished him good luck on the road. Craddock and Ploster likewise shook hands and Haster left us.

  “I didn’t enjoy that,” I said. “It’s the only choice, yet it doesn’t sit easy with me.”

  “Over four hundred good men return to the Saviour,” said Ploster. “To replace us while we are absent. She will need every soldier she can muster for the coming times.”

  “Of course she will,” I said, trying my best to look at the situation as an optimist.

  “What is this task the Emperor has set us?” asked Ploster. “I cannot read your feelings from the expression on your face.”

  “We are to go north. Malleus cannot penetrate the veils beyond the mountains in the Northlands. He told me he has learned of a place, a thousand and more miles away. Ruins of some sort. A city, perhaps. There is something there which he wants us to find and return with for him. If we succeed, he has agreed that he won’t send his armies against the Saviour for five years.”

  “Five years would be a good outcome,” said Craddock. “Time to prepare, time to build and time to train.”

  “Assuming any of us have five years,” said Ploster. “If the Northmen can sweep aside Malleus’ efforts to stop them, the Saviour will fare no better.”

  “We have no choice. If we return to Blades with Haster’s men, we will have missed the opportunity to influence events. I feel that the Emperor is part of the key to whatever lies ahead. If he is defeated, then the Saviour will also fail. If we can strengthen him just enough, I am sure that all possibilities are open.”

  “A fine balancing act you’ve decided upon, Tyrus,” said Ploster. “To aid one of our enemies in order to defeat another, in the hope that all sides will be sufficiently weakened that the Saviour will prevail.”

  “What else do we have?” I asked.

  “You could be wrong,” said Ploster.

  “There’s always that chance,” I said. “I’ve made up my mind. We’ll go to the north and we’ll return with what the Emperor desires. If it’s the wrong choice, I will look back upon this moment and I’ll be sure that I made the decision in good faith. Plus, I have already given him my word that we will go. I do not like to betray that trust. Once it’s broken, we will never be trusted again.”

  “You have been fired up by your meeting with the Emperor,” said Ploster.

  “I have. There are some things which I can’t abide being ignorant of. I have learned just enough to plot a course onwards.”

  “Even now he can picture himself marching back to the Saviour,” laughed Craddock. He was right.

  “There’s one last thing. The Pyromancer is coming with us.”

  “Can we trust him?” asked Ploster.

  “We have no choice. He will accompany us until we can return to the Emperor and then we will be discharged from our duties and allowed to return to Blades. Malleus has promised and he has not broken his word before.”

  “There are worse men to have as allies,” said Craddock.

  With that, we set about preparing for our departure. Haster’s men cleared out of the barracks efficiently and we were soon left with the two hundred and fifty of the original men of the Cohort, minus those who’d remained in Blades to guard the Saviour. I was sorry to see Haster leave since I had grown to like his no-nonsense approach to everything he did. I felt an almost irrepressible urge to promote Jon Ploster to the rank of lieutenant. He escaped this unwanted fate – in reality he was a sorcerer and lacked the capabilities to command the men in battle. Not everyone has those skills and Ploster’s abilities were far better suited to other things. So, there was no promotion for anyone, leaving Craddock and I to do the work. I preferred that we have too few officers, rather than promoting someone who might not be completely up to the task.

  It wasn’t long until we were ready – it took less than two hours from my return to be ready to march. I sent a squad of men to the agreed meeting place with the Pyromancer. He wasn’t there. The Emperor had said late afternoon, so we were left with several hours in which we could do little. The inactivity began to chafe after only a few minutes. There was some minor good news – a search of the barracks turned up some very old metal-shafted spears at the back of the armoury. I imagined they’d not been very popular amongst Cranmar’s soldiers owing to their weight. They were perfect for us and we shamelessly stole what we needed. There were also a number of tents and various other items suitable for making camp. We couldn’t find enough for everyone, but we took what there was and were happy for it.

  “Should we try to evacuate the city?” asked Craddock.

  “No,” I said at once. I’d already thought about it. I doubted anyone would believe us and I had no intention of getting embroiled in arguments or fighting as we tried to move people along. If I believed for one moment that we’d see any significant result from chasing people from their homes, I’d have done it. “It’s already too late and the city too large,” I said quietly “If the Cohort is separated by floods of people on the street, we may be left in a pos
ition where we can’t reform before the Northmen come. I am not sacrificing these people – what will happen to Angax is a burden for others to bear. We must escape, complete our mission and return to the Saviour.” Craddock deserved at least that much as an explanation and I saw that he accepted what I said.

  Come late morning, I took myself out to the barrack’s entrance, so that I could watch the world go by. The keep was fairly close to the northern edge of the city and with not much reason for people to visit. Still, the plaza was fairly busy with activity. I watched a few carts rumble to the keep and there was a constant trickle of people on foot, carrying various items for the castle’s day-to-day needs.

  I heard a scream, distant and unmistakeable. I looked in the direction it had come from. A wide street exited the plaza, curving off to the north-west. I couldn’t quite see along it, so jogged fifty or sixty yards over the paving in order to get a better view. There was shouting – a combination of alarm and surprise, turning into fear. At first there were only a few voices raised, as if a crowd had gathered around an overturned cart or something equally mundane. A feeling of dread seeped into me and I ran towards the sounds. I should have returned to my men, but I was determined to see for definite what it was.

  There were enough people along the street to obscure my view. Even so, I could see over the top of most of their heads. There was a stirring far ahead, as if a huge fish swam through the traffic of the road, pushing aside the people like they were the water in a river. Closer to me, men and women turned their heads to look for the source of the commotion. There were looks of confusion and puzzlement. The hubbub increased in volume as people asked each other what was happening. There were more screams and I saw the distant stirring become a rush as those nearby ran away from whatever it was. Around me, the citizens began to drift past me, heading towards the south, casting nervous glances behind them. They didn’t know what was wrong – the disturbance to the north-west had sent a wave of fear ahead of it, commanding them to get away.

  I knew I should get back to the barracks, yet I felt compelled to stay and watch. The men and women poured around me, not quite in a panic, but certain enough that they didn’t want to see what was coming. All the while, the great fish swam. First it was a hundred yards, then fifty, then twenty-five. It brought screaming with it and I saw the helmets of soldiers amongst the crowds. There were swords as well, which rose and fell clumsily, though with great violence.

  Suddenly, there was a man in front of me. He wore no helmet – only his breastplate and greaves identified him as a soldier of Cranmar’s army. I saw his eyes, dead, cold, empty. The skin of his face was as white as flour, whilst his neck was blackened and split, like he’d been burned by flames. I knew at once that it wasn’t fire that had left its mark – it was the cold. He had a sword in his hand which he hadn’t used up until now, as if he’d kept it for me and me alone. I drove my fist into his face. The cartilage of his nose crunched and shattered. He staggered back a pace from the power of the blow, with a shower of dirt cascading from his tangled hair. I punched him again, casting him to the ground. His tumble fouled the feet of a soot-blackened pitman and sent the man rolling across the pavement.

  I didn’t spend any more time there. I left the fallen soldier to do as he would and I pushed my way across the flow, fighting a diagonal path against the current. A number of my men had gathered at the barracks doorway to see what transpired. It was set a way back from the road, so they didn’t need to steady themselves against the people who came by. They could tell when something was wrong and they had their swords and shields ready. One of them – Scram – saw me coming. Without a word or signal from me, he vanished into the barracks to let Craddock know.

  I broke free from the crowds and sprinted the final few yards to the wide doors of the barracks. “Inside!” I said. The complied and together we swung the heavy wooden doors closed. I was relieved to see how sturdy they were – many barracks were designed to repel an assault.

  “What’s happening, Captain?” asked Trusty.

  “The dead men of Cranmar’s army have come,” I told him. “Like the people of Nightingale.”

  He remembered Nightingale – we all did. The Northmen had raised men and women, young and old alike. We’d had to destroy the bodies of children in order to escape the place. It had been one of the worst experiences out of many, many bad ones.

  Craddock came into the huge entrance foyer, with Corporal Gloom and Scram close behind. Their boots echoed hollowly on the smooth stone tiles of the floor. “What’s the plan?” asked Craddock. He didn’t need to waste time asking what was happening.

  “We need to leave. Now,” I told him.

  “What about the Pyromancer?”

  I hesitated, since I didn’t want to leave without him. “We’ll go to the meeting place. If he’s there, he’s there. Otherwise, he can stay behind. We can’t afford to get trapped in the city by the Northmen. I wasn’t intending for us to fight them all.”

  “Understood,” said Craddock. “Corporal Knacker is mustering the men. Shouldn’t take long.”

  However much the unexpected crept up on us, we were always ready. It took much less than ten minutes for the last man to reach the foyer and join with the back of our ranks. The walls and doors of the barracks were thick, but we could hear the sounds from outside. The cries of the living and the dying rose and fell, as if the tides of an ocean brought them to us.

  “Any idea how many soldiers Cranmar had based here?” I asked Craddock.

  “Nigh on seventy thousand, with three hundred Mongrels in a pen just outside the main western thoroughfare.” I looked at him quizzically. “Captain Fewter maintained scrupulous records,” he said by way of explanation.

  I instructed a squad of men to stand at the barrack doors and get ready to open them on my command. In the gloom of the interior, their eyes shone brightly and in stark contrast to the dark tattoos on their faces.

  “Open them up,” I said. A ripple of expectation rushed through the men behind me. My battle senses were already alert, ready to pick up the ebbs and flows that separated success from grisly failure.

  The two doors were swung open and we marched out into the maelstrom.

  26

  The fog had come. In the few minutes we’d holed up in the barracks building, the plaza had become filled with moisture-laden air that swirled and rolled, spilling over roofs and along streets as it came from the north. It was noticeably colder than it had been, though not yet as biting as I knew it would become. When the Northmen arrived, the ice would coat every surface and there would not be a coal fire in the city which would stave off the bitterness.

  The fog was not yet thick enough to prevent us from seeing the shapes and movements across the plaza, even as far as the keep walls. The ground was littered with shapes, some of which writhed and screamed. Other shapes fled to the south, unaware that running wouldn’t help them at all. The people had no choice. To stop was to die. Running gave hope for as long as their legs would keep them moving, each extra step perpetuating the futile yearning to survive what was coming.

  We were in a column, six wide at the front. Our shields were ready and our spears lowered in anticipation of attack. Not every shape that moved in the fog was a living soul. The last of our rows hadn’t even left the barracks when the first of the dead struck at us. At first there was just one – a pale-fleshed old soldier who’d frozen to death in his armour. One of the men on our flank plunged a spear into the dead man’s guts. He writhed and thrashed until a second spear smashed through the open visor of his helmet, crumpling his face and destroying the brain beneath. In Nightingale we’d soon discovered that the dead would come back time and again unless we did sufficient damage to their brains to prevent the Northmen’s dark magic taking hold again.

  “Are any of their spellcasters close?” I asked Ploster. He was next to me in one of the front rows.

  “I can’t sense anything. They must have raised these poor bastards and sent th
em ahead. To save them the hard work.”

  “Perhaps they’ll stay down where we put them,” I replied.

  Another three dead soldiers hurled themselves at our other flank. We rebuffed them easily. They didn’t even try to avoid our spears and they used their army swords as more of an afterthought.

  “How far till the northern edge of the city?” I asked the men around me. There were a few grunts and a number of shrugs. Sprinter had been a part of the squad sent to look for the Pyromancer earlier and he spoke up.

  “About half a mile, Captain,” he called. “The route isn’t difficult either. Up here, third right and then left. After that, it’s straight all the way until we leave the houses behind.”

  “Come on then,” I said, pointing us towards the north-west street.

  The fog had already thickened appreciably in the three or four minutes since we’d exited the barracks. There were distant patterings in the hazy gloom, the sound of bare-footed steps across the pavements. They were joined by booted feet, running with an irregular beat, some towards us and some away deeper into the streets of Angax. The fog clung so heavy it was almost sticky against our skin.

  We pushed away from the plaza around Cranmar’s keep. The walls kept us safe on one side, though we couldn’t stay close to them for long. Instead, we set a course directly along the middle of the wide street. The sporadic attacks became more frequent and mostly from ahead. I’d placed good men towards the front, those who were physically the strongest and could drive through our enemy like a wedge.

  There were side streets which we passed. The dead soldiers came from some, in groups of fives and sixes. They attacked without thought or reason. Their silence was eerie and they made little sound. Once or twice, I heard one of them hiss or gasp. It didn’t seem likely that they consciously produced these noises – more that the impact of our weapons on their bodies caused the expulsion of unrequired air from their lungs. If there was one small mercy, it was that these were men and only men. There was none of us who had the appetite to strike at the bodies of young ones. We’d all had our fill of that and never wished to drink of it again.