by P J Berman
Then, the very next day, they’d made another, far more gruesome discovery. More bodies, lying where they had fallen, just like the others. Yet they were far more numerous this time, around three or four hundred in total; militiaman mostly at the near end of the dead pile that blocked the road, while there were mostly Divisiomen, a few horses and even a donkey further ahead. It was obvious that this was the fate of Aetrun’s vanguard. For Jostan’s soldiers, a forest that had been in pacified territory for longer than anyone could remember suddenly felt like hostile surroundings. It hadn’t taken long for the bodies to start decomposing and the air was filled with the buzzing of insects.
Jostan wrinkled his nose at the stench as he rode through the scene, though he felt otherwise unaffected. He turned to Feddilyn, whose reaction was similar.
‘What happened here? There are no taverns for these drunkards and vagabonds to have been kicked out of. Tell the troops to wake up those soldiers and tell them they need a wash,’ he jested.
Feddilyn smiled sycophantically at the callous joke.
‘If only they could, your Majesty. We could send them to bathe in the Ganzig while we press on.’
Jostan surveyed the situation a moment longer.
‘So, the enemy has a minor victory. The loss of these troops is lamentable, but only a minor setback. What are we experiencing here aside from their loss? The unyielding odour of dead peasants. The fragrance of battle. The enemy has but sniffed at the aroma that we shall soon inhale to euphoria when we crush them.’
He paused a moment to let his words sink to all those within earshot.
‘They’ll have to be cleared away,’ he sighed, indicating the bodies; all joviality now gone.
‘Very good, your Majesty, I’ll order the troops to bury them,’ said Feddilyn.
‘There’s no time. Clearly their attackers have already stolen a march on us as they’ve had a chance to bury their own dead and have withdrawn without us having so much as an inkling of their presence until now. Order the troops to clear the death piles to the side of the road. Then we’ll keep moving.’
‘Very good your Majesty.’
All around there was the hushed noise of whispered curses at the mutilated bodies as the Divisiomen and militiamen set about moving the carcasses to the side of the road. Crows dived in whenever they could to steal a dead soldier’s eye, ear or finger, or some other part of their bloodied corpse. Somewhere in the background, there was the conspicuous sound of someone spilling their guts at the scene, before being berated by an officer.
‘Your Majesty.’
Jostan dismounted as a young Divisioman approached him, carrying a red and gold shield of Bennvikan design; not rectangular, like the shields of the Divisios, but kite shaped, as carried by some members of the nobility.
‘Sire. I’ve found this. It bears the three golden dragons of the Alyredds.’
Quickly Jostan snatched the shield from the Divisioman’s hands and the younger man saluted. It was definitely the Alyredd dragons that were depicted on it, no mistake. He dismissed the soldier and grinned ruefully.
‘Lord Rintta, that dog Aetrun was successful in his mission after all,’ He turned to Feddilyn, who had been joined by the army’s two other most powerful noblemen. They were Aeoflynn Tanskeld, Governor of Ustenna, always noticeable with his long blonde hair, as well as the ageing warrior, Lektik Haganwold, Governor of Hertasala. Of course, Gormaris also stood in the background, never far from his master. Jostan clutched his newly found evidence.
‘Aetrun may not have made it to Rildayorda, but still, we now know where Lord Yathrud’s loyalties lie. This is the true allegiance of the Alyredds,’ he declared, holding the shield aloft.
‘Your Majesty.’
‘What?’ Jostan spat, angered at being interrupted a second time. He turned to face the new call and saw an Invicturion hastily approaching him. ‘Invicturion, to what do we owe this interruption?’
‘Apologies, your Majesty. He’s one of my men. I shall see him punished,’ said Feddilyn.
‘That won’t be necessary, Lord Rintta. We do not mind being stalled if it is for a good reason,’ Jostan said, regaining control of himself. He was amused by Feddilyn’s expression. The man clearly couldn’t work out whether Jostan’s sudden switch from anger to joviality was genuine or not. Jostan was content to keep him guessing.
‘What is your name, soldier?’ he said.
‘Vinnitar Rhosgyth, Sire, Chief Invicturion of the Divisios of Asrantica.’
‘And what did you want to tell us?’
‘Sire, I believe there is something that you might want to see. The Hentani have left us a message,’ Vinnitar replied, the epitome of polished formality.
‘Lead on.’
He guided them further down the track, stepping over the dead when unavoidable, then stopped and pointed up the slope.
‘It looks like some of our militia surrendered, your Majesty, not that it seems to have got the cowards far.’
Jostan looked at where Vinnitar had pointed and saw the naked bodies of six men hanging limply by their feet from ropes that reached down from the trees above. The branches creaked as the corpses swayed in the breeze, their dulled eyes gazing eerily down on their comrades.
‘They got what they deserved for not standing and fighting,’ Jostan snarled.
‘I quite agree, your Majesty,’ replied Vinnitar, the malevolence in his voice equal to that of his King. Suddenly Jostan’s attention was caught by the slight movement of one of the bodies.
‘That one’s alive,’ he exclaimed. ‘Somebody bring him down. We need information while he lives.’
Quickly a group of soldiers climbed the slope to reach the dying man. They pulled down hard on his torso and there was a satisfying crack of wood as the branch gave way and the man fell into the arms of the group, who were barely out of the way before the branch came crashing down to the ground. They carried him hurriedly down the slope.
‘What happened?’ Vinnitar asked him curtly as he was dumped in front of them.
‘They just fell on us, first with arrows, then with warriors and horses. We held out for as long as we could but they had us surrounded.’ For the gasping man, every word was an effort and he shivered and spat blood as he spoke. ‘They got Aetrun.’
‘Is the enemy close by?’ Vinnitar asked.
‘Their army left days ago, but a few stayed to use us as bargaining tools if anyone came for us. As the days passed, they grew impatient and decided to leave a message for you to find. That was when they strung us up.’
‘When?’ Jostan pressed him, pushing in front of Vinnitar.
‘A few hours past.’
‘It seems they didn’t want to negotiate after all,’ Vinnitar said from behind his master. ‘And that’s not all, your Majesty. There’s more that may interest you.’
Vinnitar carried on walking and Jostan followed, nonchalantly turning his back on the wretched peasant.
‘Here,’ Vinnitar said as they reached what he intended to show his King.
‘Well, Aetrun didn’t come out of this one too well did he, Chief Invicturion?’
‘Apparently not, your Majesty.’
In front of them stood Aetrun’s decapitated head, mounted on a wooden stake. Just below, against it rested a man’s bloodied torso, presumably also Aetrun’s and someone had carved letters into the flesh with a knife.
‘As you can see, your Majesty, they’re attempting to threaten us. Look, it’s in Bennvikan.’
Jostan crouched down to look at the message and read it aloud.
‘He who dices with the Hentani gambles fatally. The Daughter of Ashes will rise.’
Quickly he got back to his feet and turned on Vinnitar.
‘What is this heresy? The Daughter of Ashes will rise?’
‘It is a Hentani prophecy, my King,’ intervened Feddilyn, causing both to turn to him. He had followed, but it seemed Lord Lektik and Lord Aeoflynn had stayed back to oversee the clearing of the bodies from t
he path.
‘What does it mean?’
‘I do not know, Sire. The Hentani share some of their beliefs with we Bennvikans, but other parts of their religion are all their own.’
Jostan thought on this for a moment.
‘Their own, you say? We have pledged that Bennvika would be allowed to pursue its own religious beliefs, but now we can see the error in this. This heresy, this barbarian impudence will not go unchecked. We cannot ignore the fact that the Gods of this Kingdom have turned their backs on it. The signs are clear. If Bennvika is to prosper, all must bow down to almighty Estarron. All must prove their loyalty to him if Bennvika is to escape his wrath and enjoy his divine protection.’
Feddilyn looked both surprised and confused.
‘But how, your Majesty? The soldiers will fear being struck down by Vitrinnolf and Lomatteva and subjected to eternal damnation.’
‘And do you fear such a fate, Lord Rintta?’
‘Majesty, putting religion aside-’
‘Religion must never be put aside.’
‘Of course, your Majesty. All I intended to say was that it is not simply the divine implications of your planned conversion of the people that I fear, but the immediate reaction. There will be a mutiny from within our own ranks,’ Feddilyn warned.
‘Mutineers will be executed,’ said Jostan. He smiled as a thought came to him.
‘Rhosgyth,’ he said. ‘Would you not agree, as a military man, that the officers that command the most respect are the ones that have the strength to lead their troops to victory?’
‘Of course, your Majesty,’ said Vinnitar earnestly.
‘Then, by necessity, is that not the case for Gods also? Does a soldier prefer the protection of a God who brings them defeat,’ Jostan asked, gesturing at the devastation around them. ‘Or one who brings them victory?’
‘Victory, Sire,’ Vinnitar smirked, though he kept his soldierly tone.
‘Then if Estarron is to be our protector, we must all declare our loyalty to him,’ Jostan declared fervently. ‘We will go into battle bearing his sacred colour of white and his shining grace will see us to victory.’
He looked around him. Every soldier in sight now stared at him aghast at this outburst, with the exception of Vinnitar. Jostan looked directly up at the sky and raised up his arms.
‘Do you hear me Lomatteva? Do you hear me Vitrinnolf?’ he cried. ‘Strike me down now if you deny that you have turned your back on the people of Bennvika.’
Silence.
‘You see. Your Gods have betrayed you and your comrades and even the entire Kingdom. But now I come to show you the divine word of a new, stronger father of war and he will lead us to victory.’
Some troops cheered, although it was clear that they were a little unsure.
Any naysayers will soon see their error, Jostan thought.
Impulsively he pushed Vinnitar and Feddilyn out of his way and grabbed the whimpering naked militiaman from where he was lying in the foetal position. Roughly, he pulled the groaning man back to Aetrun’s head and torso, laid him fully on his back, then dropped to his knees.
‘Almighty Estarron, Spirit and Lifeblood of the World, I vow to you that before my reign is done, every man, woman, and child of the Hentani and all those who support them shall be put to the sword in your name, so that their blood may with your blessing fill the veins of the earth. Let not Luskaret, Lord of the Underworld, break free of the soil and cast his evil gaze upon our holy enterprise; his hounds of perdition snarling at the leash. Instead, let your divinity continue onward and light the fires at the gates of the Heavens, so that you may see the approach of the souls of our dead enemies and prevent their passage. And if Silrith is right now with the Alyredds, may you smite her from their protective grasp. Would that I may strike her from this world myself and in so doing assert your undying glory to all, so that all who do not worship you by praising your divinity, including the Bennvikan Gods themselves, do so by presenting to you their fear. Even Gods will kneel at your feet. This is my oath to you, oh Lord.’
With a sudden movement, he pulled out his dagger, raised it upwards in the grip of his two hands and plunged it down into the naked man’s chest. The dagger slipped through a gap in his rib cage and pierced deep into his heart. The man’s body shook violently and he tried to push Jostan away, but Jostan persisted regardless.
The man gave out one last cry of pain as, after removing the dagger, Jostan put the fingers of both hands into the wound and pushed outwards. He’d seen this luck ritual performed by the priests in Verusantium, but had never done it himself, so his method was not as slick as he’d have liked. A rib blocked his path, so he smashed it with the pommel of his dagger, before reaching in and wrenching out the bleeding heart with his bare hands.
‘So, coward, you give your life for your King after all.’
The man’s dying sight was of Jostan dipping two fingers into the heart and painting his own entire face red with blood.
Jostan turned back to his audience, as all around him, Lords and soldiers alike stared back in stunned silence, as the ghastly sight addressed them. He flung the heart aside.
‘Let it be known, as Estarron is my witness, that under my reign, this shall be the punishment for all cowards and deserters. Your fallen comrades, however, those who died fighting the enemy, must be avenged. Those who did this will pay in blood. Now get back to work! Move these bodies! By tomorrow I want every shield painted white, to mark our fervent fealty to the righteous Lord of War. We march in the name of almighty Estarron, Lifeblood of the World, to slaughter all who stand against my rule. We march on Rildayorda.’
‘We are cursed,’ Feddilyn said fearfully while Jostan was out of earshot. ‘The King had pledged that he would tolerate the worship of our Gods. Even convert to their worship himself.’
‘He also pledged to lead us to victory and at no point did he say anything about forsaking his own God. I must correct you on that, my Lord,’ Vinnitar replied. ‘Anyway, did he actually say it, or did he simply imply it?’
‘Do not question me you insolent fool.’
‘My Lord,’ Vinnitar continued unabashed. ‘If the Gods were angered by his actions, would they not have struck him down? Yet I hear not the slightest rumble of thunder.’
‘Do not presume to lecture me Invicturion.’
‘I seek only to advise, my Lord. It is a question worth asking. Could it be that this Estarron is stronger than our Gods?
‘That’s all very well, but the troops will only accept a new God if he brings us victory. If not, then sooner or later they will shout heresy and we will have a mutiny to deal with.’
‘Then we’d better make sure our new almighty friend smiles on us, my Lord,’ Vinnitar replied cordially.
Jostan waltzed back over to Feddilyn and the Vinnitar, wiping the blood from his face with a handkerchief.
‘Chief Invicturion, tell me your name again?’
‘Rhosgyth, your Majesty,’ Vinnitar said.
‘Rhosgyth. You will understand the significance of Kriganheim’s heavy cavalry. It stands for all that is good about the Bennvikan army. It shows that this is an army where the cream are not prevented from rising to the top. A Bennvikan army that includes this unit at full strength has the country’s best troops riding with it. Its depleted numbers will be a psychological blow for the soldiers. There’s not much we can do about the infantry that have been lost here, but the heavy cavalry of Divisio One Kriganheim must be replenished. There is no time to recruit and train more troops to the required elite standards, so horsemen from an existing Divisio must take up the mantle. Are your soldiers up to the task?’
‘Why of course, Sire,’ Vinnitar replied, aghast.
‘Good,’ Jostan slapped him on the back boisterously. ‘Tell whichever of your troops you choose that they are now Divisiomen of Kriganheim. A hundred will need to be moved across from your previous unit. Asrantica will have to do without you for now. You will take over Aetrun’s rank as C
hief Invicturion of Kriganheim and I will leave it to you to select a new Corpralis and Standard Bearer.’
‘Thank you, your Majesty,’ Vinnitar beamed, relishing the thought of the glamour that went with leading the most respected unit in the Bennvikan army.
‘Good man. You’ll have to use your old battle standards for now though. The enemy seem to have taken Aetrun’s. Your use of the Asrantican standards will be a symbol of my gratitude to Lord Rintta for allowing me the use of your services.’
‘Majesty,’ Feddilyn bowed as Jostan turned to leave. Evidently, he could see the long term profit in this. Personal advancement often meant knowing whose good graces you needed to be in at any specific time and any personal debts from others could be cashed in on, as long as both saw it that way.
‘Well, that was a positive start, my Lord, was it not?’ Vinnitar jested once Jostan was out of earshot.
Feddilyn looked at Vinnitar, then over at the departing Jostan and then back at Vinnitar again.
‘You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were deliberately trying to be like him,’ Feddilyn said.
‘The Gods themselves made man in their own image. Is it not, therefore, the case that any good servant should take any chance he has to emulate his master’s best qualities?’
Feddilyn eyed him suspiciously.
Vinnitar smiled.
‘You forget that in reality, it was me who forced out that maid’s confession and put the King on the throne, not you. Don’t worry, my Lord. I promise I won’t come between you two,’ Vinnitar said with a sly tone.
‘You insolent bastard. One moment of attention from the King and you think the light of the world shines out of your behind.’
‘Why yes, that does sound like me. But at least I’m an insolent bastard with a powerful new patron.’
Turning his back on Feddilyn, Vinnitar marched off to tell his troops what of their newly attained status.