by Aaron Hodges
Only as the sun dipped towards the horizon did the land flatten out, bringing the town back into view. Less than a mile off now, Lukys glimpsed the flicker of movement as armoured soldiers shifted atop the palisade. They wore chainmail like himself and their half-helms matched the one hanging from Lukys’s pack.
Pale faces turned to watch at the approaching column, though no trumpets sounded to announce their arrival. They had probably been spotted when they’d lingered on the mountaintop. No doubt word of the reinforcements had carried ahead, and Lukys straightened his shoulders in anticipation of their reception. They were not fully-fledged soldiers yet, just at the beginning of their training, but he wanted to at least look the part.
But there were no cheers to greet them, no welcoming applause. The gates facing the road north stood open and a small gathering of onlookers in plain clothing had gathered atop the stockade walls, but an unnatural silence hung over them, more like mourners at a funeral than a welcome party. Lukys let out a sigh: he shouldn’t have expected any better from a city at war.
As the column approached the gates, the officers brought their horses to a stop and turned to face the recruits.
“Column, halt!”
A ripple went through the Perfugian ranks as fifty men and women came to a staggering stop. Lukys and the others glanced at one another, wondering why they’d stopped. They were just a few yards from the town now, surely whatever it was could wait…
“Column, form lines!”
Again the recruits looked at one another, but another shout from the officers had them scrambling. Chaos ensued as they bumped into one another, trying to arrange themselves into some semblance of order. Lukys’s cheeks grew red as snickering carried down from overhead. The civilians were laughing at them!
He gripped his spear tight and focused on finding his place in line. Let them laugh; what did they know? They might be inexperienced, but they were Perfugian soldiers and they had won their right to be here! The citizens of Fogmore would be reminded of that soon enough, when the Tangata came.
Long minutes later the fifty recruits had organised themselves into rows of five wide, ten deep. Lukys stood with his spear held vertically at his side, eyes fixed straight ahead as he’d once seen the royal guards do in the presence of the Sovereigns. To his embarrassment, he was one of the few to adapt an official pose—the others lounged in various states of boredom, apparently impatient to finally reach their destination and discard their packs.
“Column, advance!”
At the command, the recruits started forward. Their lines immediately disintegrated as those behind moved faster than the recruits in front, but the officers apparently no longer cared. Turning their horses, they started into the town without glancing back.
And so the Perfugian column entered Fogmore, somewhere between organised soldiers and disorganised mob. Lukys closed his ears to the howls coming from the ramparts—though as they entered, he realised the onlookers stood not so much on ramparts as an earthen mound built up against the wooden walls.
What is this place?
In Perfugia, towns and cities were guarded by great walls of granite and gneiss, topped by crenulations and watch towers. It was why in all their long history of war, no kingdom had ever managed to gain a foothold on the island nation.
Yet Fogmore, command centre for the war efforts against the Tangata, looked to be little more sophisticated than the hilltribes that had once occupied Perfugia’s mountain forests. The buildings were indeed made of wood—and looked little better than temporary shacks propped up by nails. Fresh snow was just beginning to fall and Lukys couldn’t imagine the shabby walls doing anything to keep in the warmth—or keep out the snow, for that matter.
Lukys exhaled hard, his anger turning to disdain. These people dared to mock them, when not a building in this town could compare to even his parents’ modest cottage? The streets weren’t even paved—and the passage of men and women had long since made them slick with mud. Back home, not even the most insignificant of towns would have suffered such an indignity. The entire place had a temporary feel to it, as though the Flumeerens had thrown it up overnight.
The column made its slow way through the town, struggling on the thick mud. The fresh snow only made matters worse, and those at the rear began to lag, though their grumbles did not reach the officers on their tall horses.
It was a relief when the buildings finally gave way to a broad central plaza—though it hardly deserved such a title. The churned earth continued without so much as a street sign, except where several boulders the size of small wagons dotted the ground. For a moment, Lukys thought they might have been placed as ornaments and was impressed. Then he noticed that the rocks were smooth, untouched by so much as a chisel, and realised they probably predated the town. Too large to be moved without great expense, Fogmore had simply been built around the boulders.
No, the square was little more than a muddy paddock. Snow had been piled up in the corners beneath the eaves of the surrounding buildings, but that was the only sign of order present.
Doubt touched Lukys as the column came to a halt, and he found himself looking at the officers. What were they doing in a place like this? Surely they weren’t expected to live—and fight—alongside such savages?
“Column, form lines!”
The command came again. This time the chaos was worse, as the recruits became entangled in the thick mud. Several ended up face-first in the muck. Lukys couldn’t imagine how anyone could live in these conditions. Did the Flumeerens hold themselves in such low regard?
“Enough!”
The word cracked like a whip over the head of the recruits. Lukys flinched at the unfamiliar voice, freezing in place. Movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and he watched as a man in plain clothing stalked to the front of the assembly. A frown wrinkled Lukys’s face at the sight of a civilian giving orders to soldiers. Who did this man think he was?
The thump of boots striking earth followed as the Perfugian officers dismounted. Lukys expected them to reprimand the newcomer for interrupting, but instead the three snapped to attention, backs straight, eyes fixed ahead as the civilian approached. Shocked, Lukys turned his eyes back to the newcomer.
The man stood some five feet and nine inches, little taller than Lukys, though his frame carried far more muscle. Greying hair had been cropped short in the style of the military, but his barber had apparently ignored the strands sprouting from his ears. He wore long silver furs across his shoulders and a heavy cape draped down his back, while beneath he sported a tunic of rough spun wool. Fresh stubble shaded his jaw and frown lines streaked his face, suggesting a man who rarely smiled. Despite his obviously advancing years, his eyes were sharp as they swept the square, inspecting the recent arrivals.
It was clear from his scowl that he was not impressed.
“General Curtis, sir!” one of the Perfugian officers announced. “Your fresh batch of recruits, as scheduled.”
Lukys’s jaw almost struck the ground. Surely this couldn’t be the General Curtis. The man was a legend, his career stretching back decades. He had been one of the few who’d warned against a resurgence of Tangata, before their surprise incursion into Calafe ten years prior.
Those had been innocent times, when the kingdoms had thought beasts contained south of the Agzor Fortress. The attack had proven them all wrong, and hundreds had died before the creatures were hunted down. All because men like General Curtis had been ignored.
At least the general had commanded the allied retaliation. Disastrous as it had ended, the outcome might have been worse yet without his presence. An army of ten thousand had marched south of the Agzor Fortress, intent on crushing the Tangata once and for all. That had been the last time soldiers from all four kingdoms fought together, a noble sight for any who watched them depart, no doubt.
Two months later, General Curtis and the warrior queen of Flumeer had led the routed forces back through the gates of the Agzor Fortress. The e
nemy had taken them by surprise, surrounding and almost destroying them before the Flumeeren forces had broken free. The Calafe King had fallen in the battle, and barely two thousand soldiers had escaped, but at least some had survived.
Unfortunately, the Tangata had soon followed. The unbreakable Agzor Fortress had fallen in days, and the war for Calafe had begun.
Ten years and thousands of lives later, Calafe was lost, and still the Tangata came.
Lukys shivered, looking at the man with fresh eyes. If ever a soldier had earned the right to repudiate his uniform, it was this one. Where would the four kingdoms have been without his brilliance?
It did not bear considering.
“So these are the best the Perfugian Sovereigns have to offer,” the general muttered.
He almost seemed to be speaking to himself, but Lukys drew himself up at the man’s words, chest swelling, spear clutched tightly at his side.
“A more wretched bunch I’ve not seen since your last batch.” Shaking his head, the general turned back to the officers. “I suppose you’ve filled their heads with the usual nonsense of glory and Perfugian superiority?” He snorted. “You’re short fifty men.”
The officers shared a glance while Lukys and the other recruits stood gaping. What had the general said?
Clearing his throat, the head officer of their column stepped forward. “There were not sufficient candidates of quality this year—”
“Ha!” the general laughed. “You mean these fools were the only ones to fail your preposterous examinations.”
Fail… Lukys opened his mouth and closed it. He had failed? Murmurs came from around him as his comrades glanced at one another, but Lukys couldn’t tears his eyes off their superiors. I failed?
The officers shifted nervously on their feet, but they did not refute the general’s claims. What was going on? There was anger in the general’s eyes as he looked at the Perfugian officers, but finally he gave them a dismissing nod and turned back to the recruits.
“My name is General Curtis,” he barked. “Though while you live, you will address me as ‘sir.’ I do not expect that to be long.”
The whispers started again at his words.
“Silence!”
The shout rang from the walls, so loud that Lukys actually leapt backwards. The movement sent him crashing into the recruit behind him. The mud slipped beneath their boots and before either could recover, they both went tumbling to the ground. Shocked, the other recruits stepped back as though they were contagious.
Grunting, Lukys pushed himself to his knees. The mud clung to his clothes and he raised his hands. “Sorry!”
The recruit he’d knocked down looked as surprised as Lukys, but at the apology he only nodded and flashed a grin. “No worries.”
Lukys let out a breath as the recruit offered him a hand, but before he could take it, a shadow fell across the two of them.
“What is your name, recruit?”
Crouched in the dirt, Lukys found himself staring into the ferocious eyes of the general. His heart dropped into his stomach and he would have thrown himself backwards again, had terror not frozen him in place. His mouth opened and closed, but the words took several tries to come out.
“Lu…Lukys…sir!”
“Do you make a habit of sitting in the presence of your commanders, recruit?”
“N…no, no sir!”
“Then get on your Godsdamn feet!”
Lukys practically flew off the ground as the scream rattled in his ears. Somehow the recruit he’d knocked down was already up, back straight, eyes fixed straight ahead as though he’d never fallen. Only the streak of mud on his trousers betrayed him. Lukys thought he might have been another of the noble born, but did not know his name.
The general flashed Lukys one last look of contempt, then spun on his heel and marched back to the centre of the square. His voice rang from the walls of the nearby buildings as he addressed the column.
“Welcome to the frontier, ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted, “though I daresay such titles are above you.” Clenching his hands behind his back, he turned to face them once more. “I would say we are pleased for the reinforcements, but it’s been a long time since the soldiers of Perfugia were worth more than tits on a bull. I daresay you lot will fare no better.”
Lukys’s insides twisted. Surely it couldn’t be true. The Perfugian military were renown amongst the kingdoms…he had been chosen, honoured…
…yet wasn’t this the man who had saved the civilised world? Who was Lukys to question him, to doubt the cruel words he spoke? His eyes fell to the ground and his shoulders slumped, the spear hanging loose in his grip. Could it be true?
“I have no interest in dealing with the discards of your privileged kingdom. We have no resources to waste training failures, so you will be assigned to hard labour. Your beloved Sovereigns saw no more use for you than death, but perhaps you might yet make this dump a little more bearable. At least until the Tangata come.” His eyes shone as he appraised them.
“Make no mistake though,” he continued, “when the beasts do come, it is the duty of every soul in this city to take up arms against them. You will fight with us on the frontline.”
The man’s words turned Lukys’s innards to ice. Not even Dale’s boastfulness could ignore the fact they were woefully unprepared to face the frightful creatures. They would be slaughtered!
“Perhaps you’ll be lucky, and the Tangata will be long in their arrival.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t suggest holding out hope though.”
“We don’t even know how to use a spear!” another recruit called out. “How can we fight without training?”
The general did not denounce the interruption, but a cold smile appeared on his lips. He seemed to take a grim amusement from their predicament—but what had they ever done to deserve such cruelty?
“Perhaps you’ll get lucky, and distract the beasts long enough for the real soldiers to do their job,” he replied. “Regardless, try not to die too quickly. I shudder to think what your beloved Sovereigns would send to replace you.”
With that, he turned and marched from the square. The Perfugian recruits stared after him, shocked to silence by his words. A pale of terror had fallen over the square, and Lukys found himself shaking his head. Surely this couldn’t be real, must be some cruel joke played on new arrivals. The general would return in a moment and reveal the truth, surely…
Whoorl.
The song of a horn cut through the silence.
6
The Warrior
Romaine stood at the stern of the ship, watching as the shores of Calafe retreated into the mist. It had been close for a time, racing through the fading light, seeking the ever-elusive waters of the Illmoor as the howls of the Tangata grew closer. Just their luck that more of the creatures had been in the area.
In the end, the river had come upon them suddenly, the twisted trees giving way to an open field that stretched along the riverbanks. Even then, it had been a nervous wait once they’d signalled the other side, listening to the Tangata coming ever closer.
Now as the mist rose around the ship, Romaine listened with satisfaction as the howls of the hunt fell silent. The creatures had reached the shore and discovered their quarry escaped. Turning from the bow, he shared a nod with the lieutenant. The last hours had rattled the man, but there was open relief on his face now.
The other scouts sat in silence around the galley, eyes distant, as though reliving some waking nightmare. They did not seem to notice the sailors moving about them. Romaine knew that look well, had seen it on the faces of half-a-hundred soldiers over the past decade. It was the look of the guilty, of a man who knew he had survived while others had fallen. But these men were strong; they would rise above their despair, and be better for it. More prepared to face the Tangata when next they came.
Long oars propelled the galley through the rushing waters, towards the unseen shores of Flumeer. The Illmoor stretched almost a mile wide in these
parts. They’d emerged from the forest close to their rendezvous point, but even then, they’d been lucky the ship captain kept his crew alert. The torch the scouts lit for signalling was bright, but in the heavy mist it could have easily been missed by a less attentive captain.
Ignoring the crew, Romaine wandered towards the bow where the horses had been stowed in makeshift stalls. He had sequestered the woman in a nook behind, where the captain stored extra sailcloth and rope. There she was safely out from under the feet of the sailors as they went about their work. Boards creaked beneath his boots as he approached, and Romaine glimpsed movement in the shadows.
Moonlight caught on the amber eyes as she appeared from the darkness, almost feral with fear. Romaine raised his hands to show he was unarmed—he’d left his axe with the horses. He took another step closer and his shadow shifted, allowing a nearby torch to illuminate the woman’s face. This time she did not flinch away, though she cradled her injured arm to her chest. Romaine had placed it in a makeshift stint while they waited for the galley, but it would need the attention of a doctor when they reached safety.
“Who are you?” she whispered in that singsong voice of hers.
“Romaine,” he replied. “Of Calafe.”
Pursing her lips, the woman nodded. Slowly she lowered herself down onto a benches running along the side of the ship, but otherwise she did not respond.
Romaine raised an eyebrow. “It’s customary to offer a name in return.”
The woman stared at him for a long moment, and it seemed to Romaine she was weighing him up. Again, he wondered where she had come from, what she had been through to find herself alone in Tangata territory.
“Cara,” she said at last.
Romaine offered his best smile, though on his bearded face and in the flickering light, it might have been mistaken for a sneer. When Cara said nothing, he gestured to the bench attached to the other side of the ship.
“May I?”
Again the long stare, but finally she nodded, and Romaine sat with a groan. “Long ride,” he explained, then nodded to her stint. “How’s the arm? I’m sorry about before, about startling you.”