Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How so?”
“The Loyalists have always been a thorn in our side.” Parad spotted an e-lib on the desk. “May I?”
She nodded and finally removed her hand from his shoulder. He pursed his lips to avoid exhaling in relief as he grabbed the device and flicked it on. He slid his finger across the screen to expand it outside the glass frame, until a soft orange light covered most of the desk. A map flickered onto the table, with various spots and legends lighting up to indicate forces, locations, positions, and strengths. He pointed at the lower-right end of the map. “This is where Crusoe is.”
“Yes. New Capital.”
Parad pinched the map to zoom out. “After signing the Peace of the Eclipse, the last captain signed treaties with everyone around him.” The map changed colours to indicate in red Crusoe’s allies. With the exception of the neutral North, almost two thirds of the map was covered in red. Only Jonia was coloured in blue, with the Aly river in the south serving as a border between the two colours. “Had Crusoe waited for us to attack, he would have been forever safe. But now he’s made the mistake of abandoning New Capital to strike first. He’s vulnerable in the open, advancing deeper into our land, stretching his supply lines. Have you heard of the saying, amateurs discuss tactics; professionals discuss logistics?”
“Can’t say I have,” she said dryly.
“Logistics will be a nightmare for Crusoe. This puts the Loyalists at a disadvantage for the first time in decades. If Petria holds long enough, he will be caught between two armies. We can crush him.”
“Petria has fallen.”
The simple words made his heart skip a beat. “Marl,” he guessed.
“The major has surrendered the city,” she said in a flat voice.
Parad bit his tongue to avoid saying anything that would see his head separated from his body.
“General,” she continued after a moment. “I want you to lead the war effort. You will have complete control over all matters. Report only to me. I promise to stay out of the way.” Styx slithered next to him but mercifully did not touch him this time. “Can you save the Capital?”
A thousand thoughts filled his head. Numbers. Units. Plans. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the thought of his son faded away for a moment. “Yes,” he said with a confidence he did not feel.
“Will you do it?” she insisted.
His palms balled into fists. He knew what she was asking him—she was asking him to save her. No, he wanted to scream. It will serve you right to have the Loyalists place your head on a stake. To do to you what you did to my boy. To have you—
“I know I don’t deserve your help,” she said, ignoring his stunned glance. “But I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for our country. You have three more children. I’m asking for them. For your wife. For your friends. Will you save us?”
He hung his head, knowing his duty. “Yes.” Then, I’ll deal with you.
The Marshes
Cyrus
“Run!” the woman yelled and turned to face one of the hideous creatures that had ambushed their party in the thick forest. Cyrus’s heart pounded as he bolted down the narrow path through the woods as fast as the darkness let him. The sounds of battle, terrified cries, and furious screams faded behind him; the sounds of the people that had rescued him getting slaughtered by the beasts. He ventured a petrified glance back. The shadows fighting in the distance told a grim tale. His escorts had injured a few of the creatures, but their thick hides rendered weapons useless and the number of First dwindled fast.
He had no idea why a First would give up his life for him; he had never cared much for servants before. And now, they were getting killed to save him from beasts the likes of which he had never seen before. Perhaps those apes really are as stupid as everyone thinks, a voice dripping with malice whispered in his head as he ducked to avoid an overhanging branch. Whatever else the First are, he shot back, using their proper name, they aren’t stupid. They’re brave.
Even when it became apparent that their weapons were of little use against the creatures, the First kept on fighting, back-to-back. Cyrus shuddered at the memory of the creatures: ugly, unnatural beasts, big as horses. They had large heads with an unwieldy protrusion at the top, almost as large as the rest of the thick skull, and their eyes glowed a sickly green in the dark, as if illuminated from within. Their stinking mouths opened to reveal sharp teeth that sliced with ease through the First’s leather armour. Fallen, the woman had called them, and the name was strangely appropriate. They charged on all fours, but stood on their hind legs when attacking, to jump at their victims. Their pink-purplish skin looked smooth enough, yet turned out to be impervious to anything but the sharpest blade. He had never seen them before, and would be only too happy to never see their likes again.
Cyrus spotted a clearing through the trees and headed towards it, when a hand snatched him. He yelped and tried to struggle, but the strong hand refused to let him go. A wave of relief crashed over him as the pale twin moonlight illuminated a burly First lifting him into the air. Cyrus stopped struggling, allowing himself to be placed on a horse. First did not normally use saddles, and he knew that he would not be able to sit straight for days, but he’d take that over their hunters any day. His body relaxed into his saviour’s arms.
As the First turned away from the sounds of battle behind them, the earth shuddered and a loud growl startled their horse. It bolted on its hind legs, almost throwing them off its back. As Cyrus fought to hold on, a Fallen landed ahead of them with a loud thump, cutting them off. Two more beasts snarled behind them, having caught up with their prey. His heart almost stopped, but then a second First galloped out of nowhere to attack the beasts from the rear.
Cyrus’s eyes opened wide. The second warrior was a beautiful, fierce woman, her arms and neck decorated with fire tattoos that came alive under the silver light of the moons. He knew he would do anything for her. She fired up her weapon: a short sword that pulsed brightly in the night, weaving long streaks of light. He stared mesmerised at the sword’s dance as it slew through the creatures’ thick skin like cutting through water. Their entrails splashed onto the ground and a thick, foul stench filled the night; combined with their cries, it made Cyrus retch.
A sudden jolt brought his attention back to the First holding him. The man now held another one of the unusual weapons, but he was not as fast as the woman, and Cyrus’s body hindered his movements. The Fallen that were blocking their way lunged at them, tearing the horse almost in half. The beast neighed and whimpered as it crashed on the ground.
Cyrus let out a loud cry as the falling horse crushed his leg. He dragged himself out from under the beast and crawled away, blind with pain. The woman rushed by him to stand between the injured First and the creature while her companion struggled to his feet. Blood gushed from a large wound on his arm. The man stumbled again just as the creature flew at the woman, knocking her over, and landed next to him with a loud thud.
The wounded First waved his weapon in a desperate attempt to fend the creature off. The creature avoided his charge with ease and closed its jaws around his broken forearm. The First’s scream echoed in the dark forest as his bones were crushed. Thick blood streamed out.
The woman hollered in rage. While the creature raised its foul head in triumph, she jumped on its back and thrust her sword into its neck. It howled and spat out the man’s flesh, swinging around in a vain attempt to escape her assault. She grunted, trying desperately to hold on, and pushed the blade further into its neck, until the beast stopped writhing and collapsed on the ground with a whimper.
She held on to the sword with both hands for a moment, gasping. Her eyes sought out her companion. She jumped off the dead beast’s back and darted to the wounded man. He was lying unconscious, or dead. She yelled some unknown words at Cyrus with urgency.
Even if he failed to understand her, her plea for help needed no words. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he
staggered towards her. Somehow, he helped her place the heavy man on her horse. She grabbed his arm and helped him climb up behind her.
With a soft neigh, the horse plodded through the dark forest. Cyrus had no idea where they were going, but the woman seemed to know the woods well. Each trot sent a pang of pain shooting up from his broken leg. He dug his fingers into the horse’s mane to hold on. By the time the first light finally broke on the horizon, his head was swimming and sweat was dripping down his body.
Dawn found them at the top of a hill, dotted with ruins. Exhausted, he slipped off the horse. The woman took him in her arms. Darkness swallowed him.
When Cyrus came to, he caught a glimpse of the wounded First lying next to him inside a cave. A bright light in the form of a woman hovered over them, tending their wounds and filling him with a sense of happiness and security, such as he had not experienced in a long time. She—it made him think of his mother for some reason, so he had no doubt the light was a she—approached him in a graceful, flowing glide. He gaped at her with widened eyes. Her face was elegant and kind, but it hurt to look at; such was the intensity of the light, making his eyes water from the effort. He thought how astonished his father would be to learn that he had seen a Deva. Or was he simply delirious from the wound? Then, he wondered if someone who is delirious can be aware of his condition. Finally, he stopped thinking altogether as his mind slipped back into darkness.
General Parad’s Office, the Capital
August 20, Parad
His office was empty, save for Tang, who was sitting behind his desk, his normally expressionless face taut with worry.
As soon as Parad opened the door and stepped into his office, his aide shot to his feet. “Morning, Sir. It’s good to see you.”
He probably thought he’d never see me again. Not after my meeting with the Harpy. Parad studied Tang. The man pursed his lips, only his eyes betraying the burning desire to hear about the dreaded meeting. For a moment, Parad toyed with the idea of seeing how long Tang could wait like that, then decided to put him out of his misery. “Her Honour has asked me to lead the war effort against the Loyalists.”
Tang opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his slit eyes drawing in shock. “Congratulations,” he said in the end.
Parad marched to his desk. “I need you to fill me in. What’s happening in the south?”
Tang cleared his throat. “A week ago, Crusoe crossed the Aly river. Within days, he’d defeated the local garrisons. Wherever he goes, he burns crops and villages. A wave of refugees is moving here.” He had said it all in a single breath, and now took a deep lungful.
Parad drew his e-lib out of a drawer. It only included geographical information, plus historical and military data—from Herodotus and Vegetius to Sun Tzu, Clausewitz, and Lacey—but that’s all he needed. “Crusoe has the best army in the region, wouldn’t you say, Tang?”
The question took Tang aback. “Well, no…” he stammered. “I wouldn’t say the best…”
Did I offend him? Parad wondered. “It’s okay, Lieutenant. To defeat the enemy you must always be honest about your strength and his.”
“No, sir, what I meant was that our army is more than a match for his. It’s his cavalry I’m worried about.”
Crusoe had the largest army on Pearseus, armed with swords and lances. Jonia was always eager to covertly send him troops to serve under his command, as the cities hedged their bets between Capital and Loyalists. He recruited locally as well. His most feared unit, however, was the heavy cavalry. Well trained and well equipped, his riders were rumoured to possess even a few hard-to-find energy weapons, both projectile and lances.
“Perhaps we worry too much about that,” Parad answered, typing into his e-lib. Information flashed on the screen. “Ah, here it is. The Earth Battle of Courtrai. Do you remember that?”
Tang closed his eyes in thought. “The Battle of the Golden Spurs?”
The flicker of an appreciative smile passed Parad’s lips. “Indeed.”
“In 1302,” Tang recited, “a Flemish militia of foot soldiers armed with long spears fought against the French. The French infantry led the initial attack, defeating the militia. Upon winning, the French commander recalled his soldiers so that the noble cavalry could claim the victory. However, the Flemish fought back. The cavalry proved unable to break their tight formations. Their long spears defeated the best cavalry of the time, crushing the French. The battle was called Battle of the Golden Spurs to celebrate the large numbers of golden spurs collected from the French knights.”
“So you believe we can repeat that?”
“I don’t see why not. A group of row after row of soldiers with spears…”
“You mean a phalanx?” Parad interrupted.
“Exactly. A phalanx is unstoppable, save by another phalanx. Unless you have guns or cannons, of course, but how many of those are around nowadays? So, if a spear stuck in the ground can stop a charging horse, one can only imagine what row upon row of speared soldiers can do.”
Parad nodded in agreement. “Which means that Crusoe’s cavalry can be dealt with. It’s his logistics that will defeat him. Even if he keeps Petria—”
Tang’s eyebrows shot up. “Keeps it, sir?”
“Petria has fallen.”
Tang’s head bobbed up and down as he digested the information. “Marl?”
“Marl.” There was no need to say anything else; Tang had been with him during the last inspection. “Anyway, as I was explaining Her Honour, logistics will be a nightmare. But we need to move fast.”
The corners of Tang’s mouth curled upwards into a wide grin. “I heard a rumour that Crusoe recently sought counsel from a First oracle up north. ‘If you cross the Aly river, a great empire shall be lost,’ she told him. Obviously, Crusoe thinks us a great empire. But it’s not the only one.”
Parad’s eyes met Tang’s excited gaze. “Gather everyone. Meeting in an hour.”
Tang saluted and hurried out of the office. There were many preparations to be made.
Anthea, Western Democracies
August 23, Sol
Sol lay a soft kiss on her brother’s golden head before placing the elegant, carved wooden hairbrush back on the table. Saul turned around and hugged her tightly. The great age difference between them sometimes made her treat him like a son instead of a brother. She loved him with every bit of her heart, and spending time with him was one of the highlights of her day. She had to leave him now, though, as she had an important job to do. A job she had spent much time and energy planning. A gamble that would decide the future of both her and Anthea.
“I’ll come and play with you later, okay, honey?” she lied, caressing his silky hair. The boy beamed her a smile and dashed out of the room. She stood smiling back for a minute, then picked up a small mirror, catching the reflection of her most trusted servant behind her. The old maid had brought her up, and was the one who had packed her things in case of a sudden departure after Sol’s fateful speech. A departure narrowly avoided. Sol liked to talk to her; it helped her focus. Besides, she always babbled when she was nervous.
“You know, after my speech I thought we’d made it. I really did.” The old woman took the hairbrush and ran it through Sol’s long hair. Ever since she was little, Sol had found this comforting. Gratitude for the old woman filled her. She needed all her strength for what was coming. “I thought I could push through my reforms, but I’ve run out of time. The parties keep outvoting me, just as they promised they would. The lies they spread…” She tugged at a stray strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Of course, their sidekicks tried to woo me. They still do. How can I do what I must if I join any of them? It would mean too many compromises. But I honestly expected them to work with me for the good of the city.”
She banged the table, ignoring a glass bottle that rolled off the table and smashed on the floor. “Instead, they ganged up on me. Idiots. They’d happily ruin Anthea in order to rule it.”
Her
stomach twitched at the thought of the next step. Scared as she was, she forced herself to take a deep breath and follow through with her plan. She placed her hands on the table in a slow, deliberate movement.
As if this was the signal she had been waiting for, her maid left the hairbrush next to Sol’s right hand and placed a soothing hand on her shoulder. She slowly turned Sol towards her. Their eyes locked for a second.
Sol nodded in understanding.
The woman leaned back, clenched her fists, and punched Sol hard in the face.
Sol’s head exploded in pain. She fell backwards and bounced against the table, sending bottles flying across the room. Blood trickled down her throat. She licked her wet lip.
The maid’s fist thudded on Sol’s face a second time. Then she unsheathed a small dagger and stabbed her thigh. Sol instinctively tried to avoid the attack, but the maid pulled the dagger out and plunged it into Sol’s shoulder in one fluid motion, ripping her delicate gown to pieces. Blood spewed from the wound.
With a groan, Sol’s fingers grasped the dagger that had dug deep in her flesh.
The maid took a step back and pulled a second dagger from her belt.
Sol raised her hand in a silent command. She had precious little time and did not want to risk death.
Without a word, the maid placed the dagger back on her belt, then helped Sol up. She leaned on the maid’s shoulder as they crossed the silent house, leaving pools of blood on the polished floors.
When they reached the heavy door to the street, the maid opened it and snuck a look at the empty street. “Good luck,” she said, and kissed Sol’s forehead. She re-entered the house and closed the door softly behind her.
The Walker family house was near the city square, her destination. Sol limped her way towards it, nursing her bleeding shoulder, a trail of blood behind her. One of her dove-grey eyes was swollen so badly, she could barely see.
Her whole body felt on fire by the time she finally reached the sleepy city square. Through blinding pain, she noticed a small group standing in front of the platform. A speaker at the podium was delivering a speech to an indifferent crowd. She heard gasps of horror as people rushed to her aid. A worried murmur sounded all around her as more and more people gathered, having recognised her. Most of the men and women at the city square at this time would be jobless and poor, she knew.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 7