“This round’s on me!” Mordraud yelled, kicking at Hammer’s chair. Hammer swivelled and hurled a punch at the lad’s chest, nearly stopping his heart. Mercy nodded slowly, in approval. Red and Giant toasted with their empty tankards, flinging them over their shoulders together. They landed beyond the partition separating the Latrine from the ditches brimming with real shit.
“Landlord! Bring us the house’s best!” shouted Giant. “And make it snappy, you old retard!”
Mordraud couldn’t understand how, but when he was with those four, he felt safer than he ever had.
***
“Are they all in there?”
Adraman helped the messenger off with his heavy sodden cape. Poking out from under the hood was a white ponytail, tied by a simple hemp cord. His garments were shabby and dirty, just like the sword scabbard hanging at his side. However, the hilt glinted, revealing a wealth clashing with the whole. The night rest period had just been announced in the camp. The soldiers patrolling the Rampart stood out against the horizon – black shapes silhouetted by the pale moonlight.
“Yes, they’re waiting for us. How was the trip?”
“The usual. Tiring, long and lonely,” replied the elderly messenger.
“You know it’s for your own protection... If it were to get around...”
“Yes, I know... nothing to fret about. Beside, sometimes a good long ride isn’t such a bad thing!”
“You never change, Eldain!” commented Adraman, smiling in relief. “Would you like something to drink? You should get out of those rags – they’re soaking and smell of rain.”
“Ah, it was just a storm... I’ve been riding in this state for a day now – I can put up with it for a few hours more. Come on, let’s go in! We mustn’t keep the other captains waiting.”
The Allied Commander-in-Chief seldom left the fief, but this was an unusual situation. They’d heard new and worrisome talk, of a heavy attack on Hann Creek, yet nobody expected it during that period of high waters. The summer was fading, ushering in the first autumn downpours.
Eldain was well past his prime. His face was wrinkled and weary, and his back wasn’t what it used to be. But his grey eyes were still very bright and shrewd. He could no longer risk visiting the front with as much pomp as would have been appropriate, with attendants and a retinue fitting for his rank. And so he had to travel incognito each time he left Eld. Cambria had made attempts on his life on many occasions, planting dozens of hired assassins within his army. They had come uncomfortably close to success a couple of times, but Eldain had always managed to survive.
“Nobody knows I’m here, do they?”
“No, the same as usual, you can rest assured of that,” replied Adraman, holding the tent entrance open so he could pass through. “I’ve informed only the other captains. Even the sentries at the camp’s gate didn’t know.”
“Capable and efficient as always... Remind me we need to have a chat later. In private.”
The command tent was full of the smoke from the lit pipes. Sitting around a makeshift table where a map of the area was spread out, fourteen men in civilian clothes were waiting for him, absorbed in talk, wine goblets in hand. They all sprang up and bowed their heads in silence upon Eldain’s arrival.
“Good, we’re all here,” Eldain commented in a jovial voice. “No new faces – a good sign!”
The captains laughed in unison and took their seats again.
“We can begin.”
The table was soon covered in little white wooden cubes representing the Allied forces and black ones standing for Cambria’s troops. In turn, each captain used a long wooden stick to move the forces on the field. Eldain waited to listen to a whole explanation, then let another speak, without passing judgement. Adraman would talk last, as always.
The first to report were the spokesmen for the battalions affiliated with Eld, represented by the sons and cousins of the nobility ruling the fiefs from the Rampart to the Ocean of the East. They usually explored ideas that had already been discussed previously, so as to have greater impact and more power – and the same strategy was held to this time too. Their plan was somewhat simple and sketchy. If Cambria intended to shift the front southwards, they’d have to convince Calhann once and for all to back their cause. The Strait – the only bridge of land connecting up the continent’s north and south – had upheld a neutral position for centuries, and could boast of the best diplomats in the known world. If Cambria tried to expand toward Calhann’s lands, then it would find itself facing a problem far worse than the rebels. Calhann had declared itself neutral and was a flourishing city – practically impregnable and accustomed to minding its own business for centuries. Eldain had sought its support many years earlier, without success, but according to the captains in the east, things had changed so much that even Calhann could no longer turn a blind eye to the Empire’s expanding dominance.
“You well know that Calhir will never agree to spend money and men on a war he didn’t start himself!” Berg blurted out. He was one of Eldain’s direct commanders and a descendant in an established family the elderly nobleman was friendly with. “That bloody miser cares too much about the silver pieces he earns from the constant demand for mercenaries...”
“Don’t interrupt, Berg. Let’s wait and hear all the opinions,” Adraman rebuked.
“Not necessarily. We can’t be sure of that!” the speaker for the eastern allies went on in annoyance – a young blondish and smooth-faced officer with effeminate features. They all knew him as Ice, after he’d lost three fingers of a hand to frostbite during a battle to defend the northern boundaries. Many still said he’d amputated them himself, with a butcher’s knife, to show everyone he was no lily-livered fighter.
“If Cambria keeps moving along the Hann River, it’s obvious they’re planning to surround us by overshooting towards the Hann Plains, to then head for the sea... But to do that, they’d have no choice other than to capture a region that’s always been allied with Calhann...”
“Hmm, I reckon Calhir would prefer to befriend Loralon rather than help us... You can’t trust the blood in the veins of those from the Strait, I can tell you!” Berg interjected again. The atmosphere started to grow heated, and the speaking order was ignored.
“We should ask for help, instead of attempting to plan everything alone! Diplomacy’s an option, and we’re not even taking it into consideration!” ranted Ice.
“And who would you like to negotiate with?! We all know Calhir’s as slippery as an eel, and the governors in his protectorates won’t even break wind without his permission!”
“Your usual finesse, hey, Berg?!”
“What’s wrong icicle, your stumps itching? The discomfort making it hard for you to think?!”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!”
Eldain thumped a fist down on the table, so hard all the little cubes jumped into the air and pattered like rain onto the tent’s wooden floor. The captains fell silent in a flash, and order was immediately restored. They were capable of spending weeks taunting each other, or even squabbling furiously, but when Eldain spoke, nobody dared raise his voice without a vitally important reason.
Eld’s ruler had earned respect on the field, for so many years that many of those now present hadn’t even been born the first time he’d killed one of the Emperor’s men. He had a reputation as a ruthless fighter on the battleground, but also as a sophisticated strategist and a man with morals as solid as steel. Nobody hated Cambria as much as he did – he was the most resolute and determined in his commitment.
“Let’s behave like civilised people, for love of the Gods! Please go on, Ice, finish what you were saying, and we’ll continue! I’m listening carefully, don’t you worry.”
“Thank you, Eldain,” he replied, nodding in satisfaction. “So... Where was I?”
Then came Berg’s turn. He was the spokesman for the implacable ranks who thought it a waste of time trying to negotiate with regions that had never sided with any faction during
the war. His idea was even simpler than the eastern allies’ suggestion: lighten the front on the Rampart, and shift the fighting southwards. Yet there was more. For the first time in years, he advanced talk of a direct attack on the lands bordering the Hann, with no further ado.
“We’ve been waiting for this chance for ages! They think they’ve got the advantage down there, and they’re convinced that by breaking through on the Hann, they’ll be able to squeeze us in a vice from the south.”
Berg was yelling again, as usual. He was half-deaf – the aftermath of a neglected infection. An incredible warrior, a horrific diplomat. “But what I’m saying, for love of the soddin’ Gods, is that we know that land like the backs of our hands, so let’s sting ‘em! Let’s take some of their villages and set them on fire. You’ll see how they calm down! They’re chicken – I’ve been telling you for years!”
“What a great idea...” muttered Ice, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. Berg was on the verge of quarrelling again, but one look from Eldain was enough to dampen his heated spirits.
“Fine. So we’ve had your opinions. What do you think, Adraman?”
The officer remained silent for a moment while he considered, then moved some of the pieces on the map, with no exact plan in mind.
“What we have so far are just rumours – I’d like to remind everyone of that. I’m not sure, it seems a bit fishy to me...”
“What does, Adraman? We’ve all seen Loralon is gradually shifting the fighting to the Hann – that’s obvious!” Berg blurted. The pair had been great friends since their very first tastes of battle. They’d lost count of the times they’d fought alongside each other, one charging with the cavalry, the other firmly on the ground leading the infantry.
“But what’s the sense in moving everything southwards... Five years ago northwards... Now to the south... They’re wasting time, playing around...” Adraman mumbled, jumbling up the cubes on the map. “It looks like even they don’t know what to do. Or perhaps their plan’s so damn clever we haven’t worked it out yet...”
“And so? What’s your advice?” Eldain asked.
“Sending someone to Calhann isn’t a bad idea. It won’t cost us anything, except the fees for a couple of smooth-talking loose-tongued diplomats. Why not try? However, I don’t agree we should place a great deal of trust in the Strait – I think it’ll be enough as a warning signal to Cambria... Let’s worry them a bit... That seems like a good idea to me.”
“And what about the southern front?”
“Forget any talk of lightening the Rampart,” Adraman answered in an authoritative tone. “Nonetheless, we could move some platoons from the north, from areas where winter comes earlier... Preparing for the worst, we should keep our eyes open and get ready to strike first as soon as we see any suspicious manoeuvres by the Imperial forces. Let’s bolster up the south, and we might even manage an attack on Lance Point – the island in the middle of the Hann’s broad bend. They seized it last year. It would be a hard-hitting humiliation for them if they were to lose it again.”
“Hmm... yes, that seems an excellent response. What do you think? Do you all like the idea?” Eldain asked the other captains.
Adraman knew who he was dealing with. He’d kept them all happy, more or less, skimming off the extremes in their respective proposals. And apart from a few grumbles from Berg, who was expecting goodness knows what booming assault on Cambria’s lands, the plan was approved without any trouble.
The session was over and the captains could return to their quarters. Eldain and Adraman took a couple of clean glasses and a bottle, and made themselves comfortable in the wicker armchairs on the veranda. The night was a clear one, and the front twinkled in the moonlight.
“You never act out of character, do you?”
“What do you mean?” questioned Adraman, perplexed.
“You never manage to take a decisive position... You always seek out a balanced middle ground.”
“Was there something wrong in what I said?”
“No, not at all... I’d have said the same thing. No, I was referring to something else,” Eldain went on, in a quiet voice.
“Earlier you said there was something you wanted to talk to me about, in private...” Adraman began, as he filled his wooden pipe with a dry light tobacco that was perfect for rounding off a long day.
“That’s what I’m doing. You know I don’t like to intrude in your affairs, but...”
“It’s about Deanna, isn’t it?”
Eldain filled his glass again, and drained it in one gulp.
“There are rumours going around the fief... About a nasty row at home, and about your wife who, well...”
“Eldain, how long have we known each other?” Adraman interjected suddenly.
“A lifetime. Why?”
“Then don’t beat about the bush. Spit it out, go on! They’re saying Deanna’s crazy, and maybe she’s found herself a lover. A young lover.”
“I was groping for better words. But, yes, more or less...” Eldain replied in embarrassment.
“If you want the truth, I...”
“No, I don’t want to know if it’s true. I just thought I’d give you some advice.”
“Thank goodness! Because even I don’t know what’s true. Go on, out with it!”
Eldain swirled what was left in his glass and swallowed down the last mouthful. “Well, you see, you have a great ability to find the right middle ground in everything, but not in your own life. Deanna’s young and she’s very beautiful. You can’t expect from her the same loyalty your soldiers show you. They’re prepared to die for you.”
“What are you getting at?” Adraman asked uncomfortably, fiddling with his pipe between his fingers.
“If you want a good marriage, you have to stay home with her. In short, be a husband. Yet, if you don’t want to abandon your commitments to me, then you must accept that she has to find her own, well... balance...”
“Are you advising me to leave her free to do as she pleases?!” Adraman exclaimed indignantly. “It’s preposterous! Absolute madness! Really...”
“Don’t you see you can’t find the right middle ground?!” Eldain interrupted curtly. “Come on Adraman, wake up...! What does a soldier’s wife do while she’s there waiting for her husband? She’s not even sure he’ll be coming home on a horse – perhaps just slumped on a cart... She finds someone to take her mind off it, and then, when her husband returns, she behaves properly again. She’s a wife again, as if there were nothing wrong in it. Certain rules are not broken. Where do you think an unfaithful woman can go? She stays at your side – and at least you get your carefree days at home.”
“You speak about it as if it were banal...”
“But it is banal! That’s how it’s always been, it’s just you don’t want to accept it... And she’s slowly going mad. Do you prefer it this way?”
“No, of course not! But what you’re saying...?” murmured Adraman.
“If you love Deanna, then you must choose: either give up on the war, go home and behave like a husband, or stay here, and let her be a woman. It’s up to you.”
“If anyone else were to say something like that to me, I’d have already challenged him to a duel...”
“Don’t be silly,” Eldain smiled. “You’re like a brother to me. How do brothers speak to each other?”
“Frankly,” replied Adraman. It wasn’t the first time Eldain had used that expression. It was a sentence of his.
“So I’m speaking frankly. It’s up to you what you decide. By the way... that young man they’re talking about...”
“His name’s Mordraud.”
“What do you reckon? Did he really sleep with Deanna?” the old leader asked mischievously.
Adraman couldn’t give an answer. “Do you think I should send him home?”
“Did you drag him here or did he want to come?”
“No, it was all his own choice.”
“Leave him here then. Deanna ne
eds someone who’s far away from the war. Someone who can give her a bit of peace. Let’s at least hope that this... Mordraud, did you say? Let’s hope he can at least become a good soldier. We need good ones, now more than ever...”
“Have you got a bad feeling? One of your usuals?”
Eldain nodded, and offered the bottle to his friend.
“Not an ordinary one. A big nasty one.”
Adraman accepted, and drank directly from its neck. “Let’s hope you’re wrong this time. If Cambria’s getting a trap ready...”
“We’ll cope, you’ll see,” reassured Eldain, circling Adraman’s shoulders with an arm. “Like we’ve always done. You and me, together. Against an empire.”
“The Loren family can go and screw itself...” groused the cavalryman, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Hallowed words, hallowed words...”
***
The soldier reeked of rancid beer and pig fat, so much so that alone he managed to mask the smell of the damp horses patiently waiting for their riders. He certainly wasn’t the best man in the garrison. The rumours about him were not at all flattering. Stingy, always drunk, violent and filthy. He loved spending all the money he made through his mysterious little extra jobs on sluts and cheap wine.
‘But he’s off... and I’m left here to rot.’
Adraman had ordered a battalion to go south, towards the Hann shores in rebel hands. There was talk of nothing else in the camp. A battle. Real face-to-face combat – pitched fighting.
“Just look... I get to stay here with the oldies and the widows...” Mordraud grumbled, kicking at a puddle. That rain, that foul rain. Water pelting from the skies as if the sea had taken the place of the stars. And a boredom he’d never have imagined possible. He spent his days hanging around with Hammer, Mercy, Red and Giant, or getting blind drunk with them. He had few other friends in the camp. Hardly surprising really, with that amiable character of his, he thought with a smirk.
At least he had the training sessions. In their small way they were a great victory. Adraman had agreed in the end, not without dousing him with countless lectures.
Mordraud, Book One Page 28