by Aaron Hodges
“I’m afraid that’s a sensitive matter,” she replied coolly, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.
The muddy path was treacherous enough as it was without distraction. She glimpsed movement down near the river and was relieved to see the blue cloaks of her fellow countrymen. So the Calafe hadn’t been lying, that was something.
Then her eyes alit on something in the river. A vice closed around her heart as she stared at the blackened ruins sitting just above the water level. Even from a distance, she could see it was clearly a ship. A fresh breeze blew across the mudflats, carrying with it the cloying stench of smoke.
“What happened?” Erika croaked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. There was no sign of another ship; had they truly been so careless as to lose their only vessel for crossing the Illmoor?
“The attack,” the Calafe murmured.
“Poor men,” Cara added. “They…were kind to me.”
“Where…there is another, surely?”
The Calafe shrugged. “Afraid not.”
“But I…” Erika trailed off. There was no point spouting secrets to these two. It was the general she needed. She picked up the pace.
As they neared the river, Erica saw that the soldiers were hard at work driving giant wooden spikes into the mud, the sharpened points directed at the water. They had already covered the entire bank and now seemed to be doubling back to add more.
Scanning the ranks of mud-stained men, Erika searched for the general. The men at work did not wear their helmets, though a group standing off to the side looked ready for war. They would be the lookouts. No doubt she would find the general there. Erika started towards them, but a call from the Calafe drew her back.
“Where you are going, lass?” he called, falling back into his informal manner.
“I can find my way from here, Calafe,” she called over her shoulder, continuing towards the group of men.
“Glad to hear it,” the man’s voice chased after her, “since you’re heading the wrong way.”
Erika came to a stop. “What?” She glared back at him.
The Calafe wore a broad grin as he turned towards the working men. “General Curtis, messenger from the queen for you.”
Amidst those working, one straightened with a groan and looked around. Mud covered his face and clothing, though on closer inspection Erika saw this man was older than the others. Grey hair shone through the grime and frown lines marked his forehead. Otherwise, there was nothing to suggest this could be the legendary General Curtis, veteran of a dozen campaigns and hero of Flumeer.
Anger touched Erika as she realised her mistake in trusting this Calafe. A general of such repute would not be here, digging in the dirt. She swung on Romaine and raised her fist, readying herself to release the magic. She would not be made a fool of!
“Romaine!” a voice called from the mud. She looked around as the older man strode towards them. “I heard you were busy wasting your time with the Perfugians. What are you doing delivering messenger girls?”
Erika gritted her teeth as a smug smile appeared on the Calafe’s face. Exhaling a breath through clenched teeth, she faced the approaching man.
“General Curtis, I presume,” she said, drawing herself up. “And I am afraid the Calafe spoke in error. I am Erika, the royal Archivist, not a messenger. The queen sent me on urgent business.”
“Did she now?”
The general made a gesture towards the working soldiers. Groans echoed around the work site as the men downed stakes and shovels and wandered towards the lookouts, who were offering waterskins and strips of what looked like beef jerky.
Satisfied his men were cared for, the general returned his attention to Erika. Smiling, he offered his hand.
Erika studied the filthy digits, struggling to keep the reaction from her face, before finally reaching out to accept the gesture—though she only placed her fingertips in his palm. Grime did not bother her, when it served a purpose. But this…any man could be sent to dig in the mud. What was the commander of the entire allied army doing here?
“My apologies for the poor welcome,” the general went on. “In wartime, there are little resources to spare for luxuries here in Fogmore. My little city must be quite the change from the capital.”
“Nonsense, General,” Erika replied, forcing a smile to her lips. “I did not get to be the Queen’s Archivist without getting my hands dirty.”
“I see,” the general replied.
His eyes swept her up and down, no doubt taking in her clean clothes and face. She’d been fortunate enough to find an inn with a bathhouse for her last night on the road, though it had taken some convincing to have the innkeeper prepare the waters. Erika had been the woman’s only guest in days.
“I must admit though,” Erika added. “I did not expect to find the famed General Curtis working in the mud. Surely we are not so short on hands that a common soldier could not be assigned in your place.” Despite her best efforts, she could not keep the disdain from her voice.
The general only chuckled. “I am not always so occupied, but at this moment we have little intelligence about the Tangatan invasion plans. There’s not much else to do but ready our defences.” He paused, but when Erika only raised an eyebrow, his grin spread. “It does me well, to remember my roots as a common soldier, Archivist. And it is good for the men to see their officers are not above a hard day’s labour.”
“I see,” Erika replied, though she did not understand at all.
The queen did not clean her own privy chamber. To do so would be to invite questions of her authority. Had age begun to erode the general’s famed military mind?
“In that case,” she continued delicately, deciding it was best to leave that line of thought to others, “perhaps my assignment will be of interest to you.”
“Oh?” the general asked. “And what task has our illustrious queen assigned to her young Archivist?” As he spoke, he unclipped a waterskin from his belt and upended it over his head. He used his spare hand to wash his face clean.
Erika bristled at his tone, but forced herself to calm. She could not afford to upset this man, not when the success of her mission relied on his benevolence. If he wished to think of her as a youth…she would manage. Perhaps she might even use it to her advantage.
She offered the general an innocent smile. “Through my research, I have found another of the ancient sites,” she began delicately. “One I believe has lain undiscovered since The Fall.”
“Another of those underground ruins?” the general asked. Wiping the last of the water from his face, he offered the waterskin to the Calafe. The man waved a hand, declining the offer, and the general returned it to his belt. “I thought the queen had abandoned her interest in those dusty old tunnels?”
Erika frowned at his words. “Clearly your knowledge is out of date, General,” she replied. “Through my research, the magic of the Gods has been returned to the hands of humanity.”
Raising her hand, she clenched her fist, igniting the cold light of her gauntlet. Silence fell over the men at the sight, while nearby the young woman leaned closer, her eyes growing large. The other soldiers were too far off to notice the glow in the bright sunlight. After a moment, Erika lowered her hand and allowed the light to die.
“So you see, General, why my mission is important,” Erika murmured. “With magic on our side, the Tangata will be rebuffed, and Flumeer will stand supreme amongst the kingdoms of man.” Her heart pounded against her chest as she faced the general, watching for his reaction.
He laughed.
“Archivist,” he said after a moment, a grin stretching his cheeks. “The Tangata will not flee from a pretty light show.”
“The magic is much more than just light—”
“Oh, I know,” the general said, waving a hand as though to dismiss her. “A carrier bird arrived from the capital just yesterday speaking of your demonstration.”
“Then why…” Erika trailed off.
“
I wanted to see it for myself,” the general replied, his grin fading. “Now that I have…” He shook his head. “Archivist, all due respect, but this war will not be won by magic. The ancients thought the same, and look what happened to them—all dead or turned to mindless beasts. No, mark my words, those devices are not for human hands. I’ll keep my sanity, thank you very much. We’ll win this war the old-fashioned way, with sweat and blood and cold, hard steel.”
“I…” What was happening? This meeting was not going at all as she had expected. Why had the queen pre-empted her arrival with a letter of her own? Shaking herself, Erika drew her thoughts together and faced the general. “All due respect to you, sir,” she said coldly. “That is not your decision to make.”
She unclipped her satchel and removed the documents the queen had provided her. Silently she handed them to the general.
“Orders for you to provide me with a squadron to venture south of the Illmoor,” she said coldly. “Signed by the queen herself.”
Beside her, the Calafe warrior started, his face showing surprise. “You want to cross the Illmoor,” he gasped.
She faced him, her face carefully blank. “Yes, Calafe. And if you are unable to keep that mouth of yours shut while your betters speak, I would suggest you return to your charges.”
The man’s face went blank at that, though she could see the rage behind his eyes. She let a satisfied smirk touch her lips. She faced the general again. In stark contrast to the Calafe, he had shown no reaction to her announcement. No doubt the queen’s letter had forewarned him.
“You are insistent on this path, Archivist?” the general asked calmly.
“With all due respect, General, we have tried your way.” Erika lifted her chin, confidence growing now. “It failed. Calafe was lost. Yet still you cling to your beliefs that the Tangata can be defeated by the sword alone.”
“In the south, it was not my armies that were defeated, Archivist,” the general replied, his voice like ice now. “The Calafe, for all their repute as warriors, were not soldiers. They fought alone, and died for it. There is a reason it was our armies alone who escaped.”
His words took the impetus from Erika’s argument. She was surprised the Calafe man did not speak up, though a glance in his direction revealed his jaw was clenched tight.
“Perhaps what you say is true,” Erika murmured, adopting a consolatory tone, “but the time for caution is over. All weapons must be explored if we are to save our kingdom from destruction. Surely you understand that.”
“Do not lecture me on the ways of war, Archivist,” the general snapped. His eyes drifted down the riverbanks, to where the burnt ship still lay. “You know nothing of desperation, of what it is to face the Tangata, man to beast.” He sighed and looked back at her, eyes sad. “I had hoped to dissuade you from this path. But I see now that was never a possibility.” He handed her back the papers.
“Then you will obey the queen’s orders?” Erika insisted.
“The Tangata are already in the forests beyond the Illmoor,” the general said after a moment. “Romaine was amongst the scouts who encountered them. How many did you lose again, Calafe?”
“Two,” her guide rumbled, before adding: “Not including the ferryman and his crew.”
“Nor the soldiers we lost when they gave chase and attacked the city,” the general added. “I still wonder at that. Why did they come here, throw away lives on an assault that could never have succeeded…?” He trailed off, then shook himself, facing Erika once more. “Your devotion to the Gods has blinded you to reality, Archivist. You would need an army to reach your sacred site. But I will obey my queen, as in all things.”
“I will be successful,” Erika said in response to his doubt. “We will travel fast, set cold camps, fight if we must. It is you who does not see, General.” She lifted her gauntlet, gaze lingering on the shining threads of metal that had somehow fused to her flesh. “This is our future, our salvation. What lies in those caverns, I must find it, claim it for our queen.”
“I will not risk our nation on a fool’s gambit,” the general continued as though he had not heard her. “This river is the only thing standing between our people and oblivion.” His eyes took on a haunted look, before he shook himself and looked at the Calafe. “Romaine, take the Archivist back to the city and have my clerics find her quarters. And have them send a message to Charcity, we will need one of their ships.”
“What about my regiment?” Erika insisted as the general made to turn away.
“You will have your soldiers,” the general replied curtly. “Until the morrow, Archivist.”
17
The Recruit
Lukys’s shoulders ached as he finished the last trip back from the quarry, barrel loaded high with gravel. It was a thankless task, mining the rock and towing it back to the city to lay on the streets each day, only to watch it be stomped into the mud the next morning. There were simply too many people, too many soldiers, in Fogmore for the unsealed street to be maintained.
What they needed was brick, like they used in Ashura. But the Flumeerens he’d spoken to had laughed at the idea. Their nation was too preoccupied with war to waste their energies on enhancing the city.
So instead the Perfugian recruits marched into the hills each day and gathered gravel.
This trip, Travis had taken the first shift with the barrow, hauling the load through the foothills until they reached the Queen’s Highway. That left Lukys with the longer shift, though the way was easier, with less hills and potholes to navigate. Even so, he was glad when they finally entered the shadow of the palisade.
Several others from Romaine’s group walked nearby with barrows of their own, but Dale and the others had reached the city long ago. They did not work quarter as hard as Lukys and the others, only half-filling their barrows to make the way back easier. Dale had not spoken to Lukys again since that first day in the quarry, though Lukys had noticed the man watching him.
In a way, Lukys pitied those others. Most of the noble born had spurred Romaine’s training, but without the Calafe warrior, they had no hope. You could see it in the way they walked, in how their shoulders slumped and they lowered their heads as they returned to the city. They believed what the general had told them, that they were worthless, a waste of resources best done away with. Only the threat of being hunted down as mutineers kept them in line.
A sliver of despair touched Lukys’s heart and he quickly forced his mind from such gloomy thoughts. He had to concentrate on the good. They were getting better, getting proficient with spear and shield. With time, they would become true soldiers, not the frauds they had arrived as.
The only question was, would it be enough, when the Tangata came?
“Why so gloomy, Lukys?”
Lukys looked up as Travis spoke, but before he could speak another voice piped up from nearby.
“He’s always gloomy,” Cara said as she joined them. A smile took the sting from her words.
Though she rarely participated in Romaine’s training now, she did occasionally follow them up to the mine. With her arm, she didn’t help much with the work and she rarely spoke to the other recruits, but he and Travis had developed somewhat of a comradery with her.
“You’re not eating the same slop as the rest of us,” Lukys grunted.
Cara only grinned, though his words were sadly true. Despite their progress, the officers of Flumeer still refused to take the Perfugians seriously. They were barred from the common soldiers’ mess hall, and received only the sparest of meals. If there was even any left—Dale and his cohort showed little restraint when it came to saving food for stragglers.
Even worse than the food though was the thought of returning to their barracks. Left in those unlit rooms, there was nothing to occupy their minds but thoughts of what was to come. Alone in a room of dozens, it was strange how those times had come to haunt him. The faint hope the Romaine had given them was little match for those unoccupied hours from dusk to dawn.
“I wonder what that woman wants here?” Travis asked as they dumped their load of gravel in a pile inside the gates, to be spread on the roads come morning.
They looked at Cara—she’d followed Romaine and the newcomer after all—but she only looked away.
“Had to be someone from the queen’s court,” Lukys said finally. “Not like it matters though, she won’t be sticking around once the fighting starts.”
“You are in a bad mood today,” Travis replied with a grin. “You’re telling me you don’t appreciate the presence of a beautiful woman?”
“Ahem,” Cara interrupted, a scowl lining her forehead.
“Ahh…” Travis grew red, words failing him for once in his life. Cara punched him in the arm with her good hand.
Lukys laughed as the man looked in his direction. He raised his hands. “Don’t look at me.”
“Hey, there’s Romaine!” Travis said quickly, pointing ahead and changing the subject. “I’m sure he can tell us more about our new guest—hey!” he exclaimed as Cara hit him again.
Flashing him a final glare, Cara strode past him and headed for Romaine. Still grinning, Lukys joined her, a sheepish Travis bringing up the rear. Despite her time in the wilderness, Cara was more capable than anyone of putting the noble son in his place.
Lukys spied Romaine sitting atop the palisade, his gaze focused on the southern horizon. They often saw him there in the evenings. He seemed to be waiting for something, as though he expected the Tangata to appear at any moment. Just the thought sent a shudder down Lukys’s spine and he directed a quick prayer at the Gods for a quiet night.
“Romaine!” Cara called. Gravel crunched beneath their boots as they started up the steps. At least on the walls it remained long enough to be useful. “How goes the watch?”
A smile touched the warrior’s face as he saw them. Slowly he rose from the water barrel he’d been using as a seat. “I’m not on watch, lass,” he murmured. “Just like to watch the sun set…” He trailed off.