by Stuart Hill
“A truly great military leader knows everything there is to know about every aspect of his army,” Brereton said into the shocked silence that followed, directly echoing the young King’s thoughts.
“Really?” Redrought snapped. “Then it’s a bloody good job I lead people, isn’t it? Armies are just mobs that have been beaten into submission with mindless drill and fear; I’d sooner lead people who can think for themselves and know why they’re fighting in the first place.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have to inspect my people.”
He turned Hengist about and galloped back along the line of marching soldiers. Every section commander raised their hand in greeting, as did many of the ordinary fighting men and women, and Redrought kept his hand raised as he rode by so that he acknowledged everyone. He knew his snapping and snarling at Ireton and Brereton was only a symptom of the terrible pressure he was under, and he also knew the deeply experienced commanders would realise this.
If Athena had been with him, or Kahin, he could have discussed his worries and fears with them, but as it was, he had to keep them to himself and maintain an outward mask of supreme confidence. This was one of the many tasks of a leader of people. Why couldn’t Kahin have been a warrior? Then she would have been with him and he could have let off steam by moaning and bickering with her as he usually did. She’d have been invaluable in the battle; he was sure she could kill a Vampire at fifty paces with her nagging alone, and her disapproving stare would freeze the blood of a Rock Troll.
He was just allowing himself a smile at these thoughts when a black shadow suddenly erupted from the wagons of the baggage train he was riding by and landed on his shoulder.
“Hiya, Caddy!” Redrought bellowed when he’d got over the shock. “I thought you’d be somewhere among the ranks! I knew you wouldn’t want to miss this battle!”
The huge cat purred thunderously and meowed.
“What was that? You want to kill General Romanoff?” said Redrought as though he could understand him. “Don’t we all! I tell you what, you rip her throat out and I’ll make a trophy of her fangs to hang on your collar. What do you say?”
Cadwalader yowled fiercely.
“I thought you’d like that idea, and do you know why, hmm, Flumfy my little feline? Well, I’ll tell you, it’s because you’re a naughty wittle puthy cat; did you hear me? I said you’re a naughty wittle puthy cat!”
The huge animal meowed as demurely as a dainty lap cat, and somehow managed to roll over onto his back while still maintaining his balance on the King’s shoulder. Redrought laughed and risked having his hand and arm lacerated by the creature’s formidable claws as he tickled the exposed tummy.
“You’re nothing but a thilly wittle puthy cat! What are you? Yes, that’s right, you’re a thilly wittle puthy cat!”
The soldiers marching along nearby looked at their mighty warrior King and grinned. He might be the scourge of Rock Trolls and werewolves, he might have driven back the war-host of Their Vampiric Majesties and foiled their plans of invasion and conquest, but that didn’t stop him being a boy at times, and a pretty soppy one at that.
Redrought rode back to the head of the line with Cadwalader still on his shoulder, his good mood completely restored. Or at least as restored as it could be, considering he was about to invade the lands of his deadliest enemy with a ludicrously small army, and no guarantees that the Hypolitan would arrive in time to save them all from annihilation.
Later that same day Redrought and his army were setting up camp and preparing for their second night en route to The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. It was cold, and a few wisps of snow were falling, but nothing that was likely to cause problems. The real issue was fear. Many of the soldiers were very young, and found camping in the entrance of the pass that led directly into the lands of the enemy truly terrifying. A constant calling and howling echoed amongst the rocks as though the army was surrounded by an entire regiment of ghosts – which they probably were. The youngsters of the fyrd huddled up to the watchfires and tried to look unconcerned when the older soldiers spoke to them. For many this would be their first battle and they all seemed to have the same expression on their faces: an odd mix of pride and deep terror. Redrought was actually the same age as most of them, but he felt older. He’d seen so much death and dying that he felt like the most venerable of veterans.
He gave orders for as many fires as possible to be lit, not only to give warmth and comfort, but also to let the enemy know exactly where they were. Their Vampiric Majesties still had to believe in the arrogance of the young King of the mortals, but he didn’t want to go too far and make them suspicious that all the noise and bluster was some sort of diversion. Getting the balance right was tricky. He’d left enough of the Hypolitan army in Bendis so that they could make a good show of patrolling the walls and protecting the borders, and he made a point of shooting down just as many of the Vampire spies as necessary to give the impression that he was worried about his security and keeping his numbers secret.
But his immediate concern was the morale of his youngest soldiers, and after he’d set the night guards and inspected the outposts with Ireton and Brereton, he went to join the groups that were huddled around the fires. It was good to speak to people of his own age again, even though it took them a while to relax in his company and talk openly, and soon he found that he was as comforted by them as they were by him.
When dawn finally tinged the soaring peaks of the Wolfrocks a delicate rose pink he felt a deep sense of relief, not only because now the shadows would draw back, taking many of the ghosts with them, but also because he’d reached the day of reckoning. One way or another, a conclusion would at last be reached and he’d either fail or win. It was a strangely liberating sensation and he had a noisy breakfast with one unit of the fyrd who were all about his age. Despite the cold and the terror, they all ended up giggling uncontrollably, any sense of propriety and etiquette forgotten as the young King’s cat chased shadows around the fire and added his deep voice to their loud conversation. But then the time to move out arrived, Ireton and Brereton came to collect Redrought and the day of the battle lay before them again.
The cold air carried the clean scent of snow and pine forests, and as the army marched along the pass they could see squadrons of Vampires quartering the skies above them. Some of the archers sent arrows arching skywards, but they were out of range. If calculations were correct, they’d be in the great central valley of the land’s upper plateau before midday, and by the time the sun set on the short autumnal day, thousands would be dead and the Icemark would either be a human kingdom or a domain ruled by monsters.
“What do we know of the enemy’s positions?” Redrought asked his commanders as they rode along at the head of the army.
“My Lord, the last spy to get back safely reported that the Vampires and werewolves were holding an area of high ground in the north of the valley,” said Commander Ireton, “while the remnants of the Rock Troll army, along with large contingents of zombies, occupy the left and right flanks.”
“So they’ll expect me to order a frontal attack, allowing the Rock Trolls and zombies to attack our rear and flanks.”
“Precisely.”
“You’re sure the hill in the centre of the valley’s big enough to take us all?”
“Well, it’s hardly a hill, My Lord, more an area of rising ground, but according to reports it’s big enough to accommodate our entire army, but not so large that a shieldwall couldn’t perfectly surround it,” Brereton joined in.
“Great,” said Redrought. “Then it’s simple. All we have to do is take up our position on the hill, hold it, and wait for the Hypolitan to arrive, taking the enemy by complete surprise and hitting them in the rear.”
“Simplicity itself in theory, My Lord,” said Ireton darkly. “But one suspects the reality will be an entirely different matter.”
“Commander Ireton, do I have to remind a man of your huge military experien
ce to keep such gloomy opinions to himself? The morale of the soldiers can’t be dragged down!”
The old soldier bowed in his saddle. “Quite right, My Lord, and your rebuke is duly acknowledged and noted.”
“Good. The tactics may be . . . uncomplicated, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not sound, or that they won’t work.”
Both commanders bowed this time, graphically revealing that neither had any faith in the battle-plan. Redrought controlled his temper and went on. “The opening phase of the battle will be work for the housecarles and fyrd; all they’ll need to do is hold their position and absorb everything the enemy send against us. The archers will keep the Vampire squadrons at bay and the dismounted cavalry will offer support. Only when the Hypolitan arrive and hit the enemy in the rear and flank will the cavalry come into its own; then they’ll mount up and drive out against the enemy.” He smiled at his commanders. “Like I say, simple. There’s less to go wrong when things are uncomplicated.”
Neither Ireton nor Brereton said a word, but Redrought didn’t care. They hadn’t put forward an alternative plan, and so in his opinion they had no right to complain. Without another word, he spurred Hengist to a gallop and went to join the advance party of scouts who were riding ahead through the pass. He heard the spluttered protests of his commanders as he set off, but he’d had enough of their doom-laden company for one day and ignored them. So what if it was dangerous? He was about to fight in a battle, and he could think of nothing more dangerous than that.
He joined the advance party just as the pass broadened out, and the way down into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts came into view. The scouts saluted and Redrought raised his hand in acknowledgement, never once taking his eyes from the panorama that was opening up before him. This was the first time he’d seen the land of the enemy and he was amazed by its beauty. An unbroken sweep of pine forest billowed over the contours of the slopes and foothills, and the surrounding arc of the Wolfrock Mountains set snow-etched peaks against an icy blue sky, as precise and defined as jewellery. He’d expected a country as ugly and evil as the hearts of Their Vampiric Majesties and instead he’d found grandeur and magnificence. How could corruption and malevolence rule such purity? He was outraged and quickly decided that it must end, and it must end immediately!
As soon as the following army had caught up with the scouts Redrought set the drum corps of young boys and girls rattling out a stirring tattoo, and gave the note himself for the fierce battle paean that echoed back from the surrounding peaks as every soldier began to sing. Then, standing in his stirrups, the young King drew his sword and led the way down into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts.
Kahin rode a sturdy mule and, as Their Vampiric Majesties were probably more than distracted by Redrought’s invasion, she didn’t think it mattered one jot that she had an escort of ten of the Hypolitan cavalry that had originally been left behind to garrison Bendis. Even if Vampire scouts did spot her, she’d be a mere whisper in comparison to the bellowing battle cry of the New Model Army. She also had two mountain guides to show the way and two wagons to carry tents and supplies. If she had to climb mountains in the face of approaching winter, then a woman of her age and dignity should be allowed a few comforts.
Following the invasion force had hardly been difficult; the smell alone would have been enough to guide them. You can’t march twenty thousand soldiers, three thousand horses and assorted camp followers off to war, without leaving behind enormous piles of . . . debris, as Kahin delicately described it to herself.
For company she had White Annis, who’d given Cadwalader to Redrought. The witch had originally been assigned to healing duties in the infirmary of Bendis, but when it became obvious that the injuries and illnesses that had occurred during the siege were all being easily managed, she’d asked to join the healers who’d been sent with the army. Even though White Annis was a witch, Kahin was pleased to have the company of another non-combatant. The soldiers and other military types were fine human beings, but they did have a different outlook on life from that of an elderly merchant of the Zoroastrians. And, as Kahin was to find out, different from that of a witch who’d spent most of her life trying to repair the damage that soldiers inflicted on each other.
After the first full day’s march, camp was set up with swift efficiency, and Kahin soon found herself sitting alone in a large tent complete with table, chairs and even a divan. She ate her supper alone, listening to the soldier escorts laughing and talking around their campfire. Her dishes were cleared away by a polite orderly and then she sat in silence. She tried reading for a while, but the official reports and briefings were as dry as dust and she found herself nodding off.
Finally she pushed back her chair with vigour and strode out into the night. It was freezing; the tent had hardly been what you might call comfortable, but outside it was colder than anything Kahin had ever experienced before. There was a thick layer of frost forming on the guide ropes of her tent, and her breath plumed into the air like steam from a kettle. Most of the soldier escort and guides were sitting next to a blazing fire and passing around a flask of something warming. Their happy camaraderie only heightened her own sense of loneliness and she turned back into her tent. But just as she was reaching behind her for the flap that covered the entrance and supposedly kept out the cold, she noticed a figure sitting alone over a very small fire.
It was White Annis. Kahin had noticed during the day’s journey that the witch was a quiet and reserved woman, and even though she was only a little older than some of the soldiers, she obviously found their boisterous conversation and laughter a little overwhelming. The elderly merchant stood in thought for a moment, then nodding to herself, she strode across to White Annis’s fire. The witch looked up as she approached, then politely stood and curtsied.
“Why are you sitting alone?” Kahin asked.
“Oh, no particular reason, it’s just that the others are a little noisy for me,” Annis answered, confirming the Royal Adviser’s suspicions.
“I see, but your fire’s hardly enough to keep you warm in this weather. Why don’t you go to your tent?”
The witch seemed surprised. “I wasn’t issued with one. I’m only a healer.”
“Surely no one can expect you to sleep out in these conditions! Haven’t you been designated space in the escorts’ communal shelter?”
“No . . . but that’s all right. I prefer the peace of the open sky and I’ve enough blankets to keep me warm.”
“Nonsense!” Kahin exploded. “Gather your things now. You can bed down in my tent. What’s the point of sending a healer to the war-front if she arrives half dead from exposure?”
White Annis winced as the Royal Adviser’s voice cut decisively through the freezing air, but she did as she was told and had soon packed her single bag.
“Is that all you have with you?” Kahin asked incredulously.
“I don’t need much.”
“Evidently. Well, come along. You can spread out your blankets next to the brazier, you’ll be warmer there.”
Kahin led the way to her tent and escorted the witch inside. Annis reminded her of some of her more timid grand-daughters, and she soon realised it was a simple matter to speak quietly and in a friendlier way to make her more comfortable.
“Now just put your things down there and then come and sit with me,” the old merchant said kindly as she placed a folding chair next to the one she’d been sitting in earlier. “I’ve got a kettle, something that calls itself wine and some herbs and honey, so we can have a warming drink.” She bustled about mulling the wine, refusing all offers of help from the obviously nervous witch. “No, I’m quite happy doing this for myself. I don’t often get the chance to cook or do anything domestic nowadays. The price I’ve had to pay for being a Royal Adviser.”
Once everything was ready she poured the drinks and handed a steaming mug to Annis. “There, that should warm your bones; it’s my grandmother’s recipe, it came with her from the homeland more than sixty years a
go.”
The witch took a sip and smiled. “It’s delicious, and I can detect some interesting herbs. Your grandmother must have been a powerful witch.”
Kahin had long ago got used to the idea that not all witches were evil, but it still jarred when someone suggested that she or some of her relatives might have supernatural Powers. “Witchcraft isn’t allowed by my religion, Annis,” the old merchant explained calmly. “But perhaps it’s fair to say that Grandma Babis was an instinctive healer and wise woman.”
Annis nodded, remembering that the Zoroastrians had some strict laws that seemed strange to those not part of their community. “Whatever she was, her recipe is delicious.”
Kahin smiled in return, pleased at the compliment. “Remind me, and I’ll write it down for you later.”
The witch nodded again, and then, with a show of confidence that surprised Kahin, she changed the direction of the conversation. “Wenlock Witchmother tells me that you’re hoping to guide the King towards a . . . gentler settlement with Their Vampiric Majesties after the war.”
“There are no guarantees there’ll be an ‘after the war’, Annis, at least not for humans. Redrought has yet to fight his battle, and who knows how that will go?”
“As the Goddess decrees,” said the witch. “But if he does win he’ll want revenge for the death of his brother, and for all the others who’ve died.”
“Yes,” Kahin agreed, deciding to speak openly to Annis, as the Witchmother had obviously been happy to do so. “But Wenlock tells me there are certain indications that Their Vampiric Majesties might prove useful in the future.”
“Possibly, yes. But only if Redrought actually survives for long enough to produce an heir, and even then his little Princess must grow up and meet and marry her helpmate who’ll stand beside her through all that is yet to come.”
Kahin looked at the witch sharply. “You’re telling more than Wenlock revealed. How much do you know?”
“Only what I’ve said, and perhaps a little more.”