Ours Is the Storm

by D. Thourson Palmer

  Caught up in his thoughts, Revik little noticed the rest of the procession. They passed through the wide, clean-swept streets of the palace district and reached the road to the north gate. They descended, passing the common market and the residential areas, the road turning from stone to earth as they approached the city gates. Staring down from the highlands on which Ferihold rested, Revik looked over the farms and villages outside the walls and onward, over the spring fields, just planted, and the wide river to the lightly wooded land beyond. He spied a dark form past the farms and the thin wisps of smoke from their chimneys. There stood the rest of the army, prepared to march upon his arrival. The company descended the hill, leaving Ferihold behind. Revik allowed himself a small smile at the thought of all those warriors, knights, generals—all awaiting him. He would not be the center of strategy or command, but it would be him that the soldiers looked to, at first to see what he was made of, and later for courage, purpose, and faith that they would win the day.

  He looked to the north again, anger washing over him at the thought of the rebels and plainsfolk lurking there, trying to do his people harm, and even more so at the thought of Cunabrel, skulking in his stronghold. Cunabrel—murderer, jailer, and soon, prey.

  —

  The way north passed through fertile fields in the first stages of planting, along straight and well-maintained roads. The army moved quickly, supplied along the way by the people of the towns and villages. Workers were sent ahead, preparing the food, drink, and other necessities.

  Cunabrel’s lands were the furthest north of all Halkoriv’s vassals’. For a week the army marched northwest, eventually reaching and passing into the hills of Dheravay. There, the scouts began to go more heavily armed and in greater numbers, on the lookout for the plainsfolk. The hills were low and round, swept bare of heavy growth by high winds blowing out of the north. Small evergreens grew gnarled and angular atop them, little higher than a man’s waist. Dry blades of grass rattled in the wind, new shoots only beginning to appear at their feet as spring took hold of the land.

  Each day the army broke camp at dawn. Revik was waiting while stewards saw to his tent and belongings when a rough voice called his name. He recognized the bearded, grizzled face of Hranel, a celebrated strategist and Count of the Eastmarch.

  “Good morning to you, Count,” Revik greeted the older man. “You are ready to go early.”

  “I thought you might accompany me to observe some of our scouts.” Hranel indicated a group of lightly-armored horsemen nearby. Revik agreed.

  The dawn was cool and gray. Cresting a hill, the scouts halted at a word from Hranel, who pointed north with his heavy riding spear. As he did so, the sun rose over the eastern horizon with a flash and light flooded the hilltops. It fell like a wave, sweeping from the east to the west. Drops of dew glittered and sparked on the golden blades of grass. Hranel smiled as Revik gaped at the sudden beauty.

  “That is our road, Lord Revik. I do not imagine you have seen a horizon like that before.”

  The plains seemed limitless, warm gray and gold, like sandstone, undulating and rippling in the headwinds. Hearing the amusement in Hranel’s voice, Revik tried to appear stoic once more but the sheer size of the sky and clouds above still left him in awe. The sun’s swift ascent came to his aid, however, and the sudden wash of first light ended. The rays grew less intense, and the moment passed.

  “Very nice, Count Hranel.” Revik turned his eyes back to the lord. He hoped he appeared regal and controlled.

  “It is only matched by the sunrise over the Eastmarch, along the coast. Many mornings my wife and I arise and ride out early just to see it.” He paused and met Revik’s gaze. “I have heard rumors of your purpose in this campaign. If they are true, then a worthy purpose it is, and I will be the first to say that there is a certain satisfaction to be had in ending the life of your enemy—especially one with which you have personal business.” He turned his horse back toward the army. “However, remember that when you go to war, it must not be for yourself, or even for your lord. War is destruction, and there is much that should be saved.” He spurred his horse forward, without awaiting a response.

  Revik sat for a moment longer as the scouting patrol followed Hranel. In silence, he looked north once again, and the wind stung his eyes. He, too, turned and rode back.

  —

  They passed through the plains at speed. Wary of ambushes by the plainsfolk, the scout patrols were in a constant rotation of shifts, and the army was skirted on all sides by keen-eyed sentinels. There was no sign of them, and word began to circulate that the savages had finally accepted their place.

  The first losses almost went unnoticed. Soldiers were thought to have deserted or gotten lost. Scouts and patrols were sent to seek them out. It was when those patrols did not return that the commanders and their generals grew concerned. They met in Revik’s tent and Revik listened while the others discussed how to approach the problem. He rested against one of the cushions scattered around the rugs laid out on the ground. About a dozen knights and lords sat with him in a rough circle.

  “We must tighten our patrols.” Hranel’s bald head almost reached the height of the tent. “We cannot waste time dealing with the plainsfolk while we have our own mission. Every delay only benefits Cunabrel.” He sat, leaning back against one of the cushions and opening the matter to other speakers.

  Undarten took the opportunity. He arose, setting down a cup of wine and casting his gaze about the gathered leaders. “The savages have to be crushed.” He did not bother to address Revik, leaving his back to him. Revik glowered. “Two dozen men dead, if not more? And you think we should keep going? If we simply move on, we tell them that there are no consequences for their attacks. We should take this chance to teach them a lesson. Place bait, isolate a group of soldiers or some such, and cut the bastards down with arrows when they appear. Our men say they cannot be killed, that they are demons. We must show them the truth.” He remained on his feet, creating an awkward moment for anyone who wished to speak. The nobles waited. Hranel was about to say something when Draden interjected from his seat.

  “Count Hranel is right, Baron. If we delay, Cunabrel will be more prepared and we will be weakened.” He did not move from where he sat, back straight and head high. Undarten opened his mouth, an expression of disdain and a word of consternation on his lips. Draden cut him off. “And don’t act as if I’m interrupting. If you had more to say, you’d still be talking. I would add that I agree. The plainsfolk should be dealt with. We can’t let them think they can attack us without retaliation.”

  Undarten, scowling, nodded to Draden and took his seat. Hranel hid a smile. Revik was amused; Draden is more than a simple soldier. Few others could have quieted Undarten without a fight. He already knew Draden to be a fantastic fighter. His shrewdness, too, was an asset Revik promised himself to remember.

  Hranel stood again. “Then how should we proceed? We cannot waste time fighting the plainsfolk on their own terms, and even if they are not ghosts or demons, our losses would be heavy and our men shaken. Who here has even seen a dead plainsfolk?” He waited, and the other lords muttered and shrugged. None answered. “Draden and Undarten have convinced me, however—the plainsfolk must be punished.” He returned to his seat.

  A thought struck Revik, and he stood. “So we can waste no time, but we must make a statement.” He was determined to show himself to be more than a figurehead. “I propose we continue north. The winds blow south, and our foes attack our rearguard. They take cover in the grasses, hide in darkness, and this is their home.”

  “Your point?” Undarten asked. “If you have such experience on the battlefield, please, share it with us.”

  Revik looked around, making sure he had their attention.

  “Burn it,” he said.

  Hranel grimaced. Undarten smiled broadly despite himself. Draden nodded. “A strong warning, and maybe deadly.”

  “I agree with Lord Revik,” Undarten said. Revik b
linked. “These lands are nothing. The savages understand little, but they will not be able to ignore a message of fire and ash.”

  One by one, the remaining lords agreed. Hranel sighed. He caught Revik’s eye but addressed Draden. “You are in command of our scouts tomorrow morning?”

  “I am,” Draden answered.

  “Very well,” Hranel said. “Prepare tonight, and do it at dawn, if the winds are with us. I want the men ready to move when the fires start.”

  “As long as the winds still blow from the north, we should be in no danger.” Draden stood, followed by the other lords, and called for one of his lieutenants and waited at the entrance to the tent. While the rest of them said their good evenings and left, Revik watched as a soldier entered and spoke with Draden. The soldier’s salute was exaggerated, almost mocking, and Draden spoke low and sharply to him. The soldier grinned with a mouth full of small, crooked teeth as Draden explained his task. He gave only the slightest bow before leaving. Draden turned back to Revik, brow furrowed.

  “Why do you not punish him?” Revik asked. “He was mocking you.”

  Draden shook his head. “Malskein is good at what he does, even if he is an ass. Well done, tonight, my friend. They’ll respect you yet.” He clasped Revik’s shoulder, bowed, and exited the tent.

  “Well done indeed.” Hranel was now alone with Revik in the tent. “Do you think it will be worth it?”

  Revik grinned at the older man. “A view lasts a moment, Count. Halkoriv envisions a kingdom that will last forever, and a power that cannot be denied. That is worth anything.”

  Hranel set his jaw. He said nothing before leaving the tent.

  —

  The sun had begun to rise over the eastern horizon. Bor, still exhausted from the previous day’s march, hustled along, looking over his shoulder as often as he dared.

  “Keep your eyes on your path. Don’t spill those coals,” Hendeff grunted between breaths beside him.

  Bor tried to concentrate on the bucket of smoldering coals. He was only glad that running disguised his shaking. “Commander says the plainsfolk are probably watching us right now. I’d feel better with a shield in my hand and you carrying the damned coals.” He pushed through the grasses. The short run felt like the longest of his life. Just a little farther, he told himself. Just a little farther.

  —

  Revik watched the flames spread and grow like something alive. Smoke stung his eyes as the brushfire flared. The golden grasses turned black and the fires consumed one hilltop, then another. He and Draden, atop their mounts, waited while the last of the rearguard passed by before turning their horses north once again. “Do you think they were out there?” Revik asked. “Are they really so deadly?”

  Even in the sunlight, the fires behind them cast a reddish light on Draden’s face. “They move quickly, and they’re cleverer than Undarten gives them credit for. The men say they are not human, and that fear is their greatest asset. The best thing about this plan is that even the plainsfolk can’t hide in cinders.”

  —

  The plains came to an end after a few days' travel, giving way to a deep forest, the border of Cunabrel’s realm. When they reached it, the army halted for a day as the officers met once again to discuss their plans. Revik found that he was consulted more often than he had been at the outset of the journey. Some of the lords and officers began to display a heartfelt respect for the young heir.

  They moved on, prepared for the worst but meeting no resistance at or near the borders. Cunabrel was no doubt aware of the army’s approach. The consensus was that he had saved his strength to fight from a well-defended position inside his stronghold. The next few days saw few of the realm’s commoners, let alone any soldiers. On the final day of the march, the reason for this became apparent. The homes and villages had been abandoned by the people as they moved, at Cunabrel’s order, to surround his castle. The forward scouts reported that thousands of people, along with carts and livestock, were camped in a dense crowd encircling the castle walls.

  Revik remembered little of the castle from ten years ago, his mind at the time more occupied with other matters. As it was described and mapped for the benefit of the other officers, fleeting images returned to him. The great outer wall was two dozen feet high and wide enough for two men to pass each other along the top. The main gateway was four times as thick and flanked by towers and platforms riddled with arrow slits. There were two sets of reinforced oaken gates and a third of iron. Within the walls lay a flagstone courtyard surrounded by utility buildings and stables, and across from the gate was Cunabrel’s fortress itself. Once the gate was breached, the courtyard would be hard to win as well, especially if Cunabrel’s men maintained control of the walls. It was likely then that they would concentrate in the main fortress and could hold up for weeks or even months unless surrender was somehow forced.

  The officers and nobles were most concerned with the mass of people surrounding the walls. The presence of the crowd was an unexpected problem.

  “Cunabrel has made another wall of them,” one of the lords said. “He’s trying to prevent us from using our forces to full effect by putting those people in the path of our archers.”

  “We should ride them down if they will not move themselves.” Undarten’s voice belied only cold efficiency.

  Hranel spoke, the veteran of many campaigns throughout the kingdom. “We are trying to take this country, not kill everything in it. Slaughter them, and we will only stir further rebellion in the North.” His eyes met Revik’s, and the message was clear. You will be the one held accountable. “King Halkoriv’s hold this far north is tenuous as it is,” he continued. “Indeed, if they see us turn on them, it will only lead more of them to join Cunabrel in the fight. There are thousands of people camped there. They will do half of the work for him, and this campaign will become far more dangerous and bloody than it has to be.” Most of the others grumbled agreement, but some among them only became more vehement. The officers’ tent was soon filled with shouting.

  The meeting was breaking down. Revik saw a chance to show leadership and asked for order. No one seemed to hear or pay attention, so he spoke louder, then shouted, only adding to the growing din. Anger rose in him, his face flushing hot—but there was something else, a growing cold at the base of his skull, icy and light as gossamer. He felt as if Halkoriv stood beside him, almost heard his words in his ear, in his mind. Command them.

  “Silence.” Revik’s voice cut like a blade. The assembled lords started at the sound, staring at the quiet, slight young man they had come to know, now seemingly grown large and dangerous before their eyes. Revik settled into his seat, drawing out the moment, knowing that none would speak until he allowed it. I do have the gift. He struggled to contain his excitement. I am a sorcerer! He had never felt such power.

  “We, the king’s army, did not come here to ask permission or offer appeasement. These peasants have no choice. Cunabrel no longer commands them. The king has sent us as his emissaries and his blade. If it were me, I would ride out and command that they move. Those that leave as commanded shall be offered our protection, like all others in the king’s care. Those that do not are aiding Cunabrel, and so forfeiting their lands, goods, and lives. They will be cut down by our archers, executed as traitors.” Revik smiled. “Thus, our mercy and fairness will be known, and an example made of the treasonous.” Hranel opened his mouth to speak but Revik went on. “I may be inexperienced in the field, but I know best of all gathered here our king’s mind, and I am here in his stead. If there are no arguments—” he paused, “—then have our archers readied within the hour, and a few squads of pikemen as well. I will deliver this message.”

  One by one, the noblemen nodded their assent. Even Undarten said nothing. More than one of them remembered that this campaign was Halkoriv’s test for Revik. His failure would be his alone, not a reflection on the rest of them. Halkoriv, in this case, cared how success was achieved. There were always more soldiers to
send, and even with mistakes their forces would be more than enough to defeat Cunabrel’s.

  Revik noted Draden’s cautious smile and Hranel’s impassive gaze. For his part, Revik tried to maintain an emotionless expression. Looking around at the men, however, he was struck with another idea and pressed his advantage. “If you will entertain a novice in battle and strategy for a few moments more, I have something to say about gaining entry through the gate as well.”

  —

  While the soldiers were organized and their orders relayed, Revik prepared himself in his tent. Servants polished his lightweight, black and gold armor and sword as he mentally readied himself. He knew he had to appear to be the personification of the king’s strength and will if his plan was to work.

  A page informed him that the soldiers were prepared. Donning his cloak, Revik strode out to the muster, mounted his horse, and took his place at the front of the column of fearsome warriors. He was joined by Draden and a contingent of knights. Draden ordered the column forward, and Revik spurred his mount. Before them lay Cunabrel’s castle. It was late evening, and bright fires flickered about the base of the walls. The peasant camp was like a moat ringing the stone face, a moat of glittering flames and shifting, black shadows, two hundred yards across. Atop the walls, the torches of sentries and soldiers moved back and forth, winking out and reappearing as they passed the high crenellations. The massive gate was illuminated by a quartet of great flames rising from iron sconces, as tall as a man, flanking the gate on the wall and at ground level. The towers of the fortress were black columns against the sky, starless and dark with clouds.