Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1)

by Harry Leighton

  “So he’s taken his legion to quash a rebellion.”

  “My legion. And yes. He either wants my favour or he is trying to force my hand. Either way he wants promotions, positions, power.”

  “He is an able man, Your Highness.”

  “Yes, but I prefer able men who work within the parameters I give them. I dislike able men who forge other paths, especially when they should have my permission.”

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “Summon the royal guard, we are going to go and pay Garrow, and this rebellion, a visit.”

  “Understood. Marching at once?”

  “At once.”

  “There is a lot to get through.”

  The Emperor stood, allowing his robes to flow once more. A great many colours, all the threads worth more than a life. “I don’t take so many clerks on campaign with me because I like the sound of my own dictation. I do it to keep running all this.”

  “Which means I should prepare to accompany you.”

  “I do like how you wait for me to tell you. Perhaps you can explain the difference between a warzone and peacetime to Garrow.”

  *****

  “Well that was easier than we expected.”

  “They were only militia. We’ll face much worse.”

  “No doubt. But a win is a win.”

  A groan.

  “One still alive…”

  A thump followed by a sucking wound. The groan had stopped.

  Remir lay as carefully still as he could possibly manage despite the pain, eyes screwed shut so as not to see the grim spectacle around him but unable to do the same with his ears, audience to so many deaths. He felt himself leaking but dared not move in case he alerted the men he’d just heard walking by, commenting on their victory. And his utter defeat. He wished there was some way he could drown out the sound but short of putting his fingers in his ears, something that would have given him away instantly, there was nothing he could do except lie still, hoping not to bleed out, listening to the remainder of his short lived command be put out of their misery.

  “Grim work this.”

  “No prisoners we were told. They’d be too dangerous.”

  “This lot? Too dangerous?”

  “Best to get into good habits.”

  Remir didn’t dare look over at the men speaking nearby. He could only imagine what they looked like.

  “I’ll give them their due, gamekeepers make excellent scouts.”

  “The General certainly knows what he’s about.”

  “Some of the farmers even got a little blood on them. That’ll steel them a little when the real fighting comes.”

  “I bloody hope so. I’m not fighting a bloody legion by myself.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “By ourselves then.”

  “It won’t just be us, the General’s right, veteran units make a lot of sense.”

  “We can’t be everywhere.”

  “Which is why we blooded some of the farmers today.”

  “They’re not all farmers you know.”

  “You were a bloody farmer up until yesterday.”

  “I was trying to be anyway. Can’t say I was particularly happy with my retirement settlement though.”

  Remir couldn’t imagine it. These blood-soaked fiends farming the fields? No, men like that lived for battle surely.

  “Did anyone count them?”

  “What the hell for?”

  “I’d like to know how many we killed.”

  “Does it matter?”

  It matters to me, Remir thought, wishing he had the strength to rise and kill these men. But men like that had run him through. And now he was bleeding and desperately hoping not to be noticed as still breathing. He took a shallower breath but even that hurt. Gods, what had that sword done to him. Even if the men walked away, what then? Could he walk? Could he stand? Could he even crawl? And then where to? The legion and their surgeons were miles away.

  “I’d still like to know.”

  “You keeping count for your career or something?”

  “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean then?”

  “I wanted to know if we got them all. Maybe some escaped and warned the legion.”

  Please let that be so Remir thought. Maybe help was on the way.

  “None got away. We surrounded them pretty effectively.”

  “But how can you be sure? We were in the middle, hacking them down like children.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say. You ever actually fought children?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Say what you mean.”

  “It wasn’t much of a fight.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  So, help wasn’t coming Remir thought. Not that it would matter much, he’d probably bleed out listening to these oafs talk long before any sort of help could arrive anyway. A wave of sadness passed over him. He had such high hopes…

  “You can only beat what’s in front of you.”

  “Can’t argue with that. Let’s hope what’s in front of us next time is just as easy.”

  Laugh it off fools. When the legion proper gets involved things will be different.

  “I don’t know, I enjoy a good fight.”

  “Fighting a legion is like fighting our brothers.”

  “Not anymore. When they shit on us with our retirement settlement, they lost all claim.”

  So that’s why the veterans were involved. Unhappy at the land they’d been given. That might be useful information to pass back on to the General. If he ever got out of this alive. Please let me get out of this alive, Remir thought.

  “I had some success with turnips actually.”

  “Is that really what you’d been fighting all those years for?”

  “No. That’s why I’m here. Same as you.”

  Remir had an image of armies of turnips rising up to fight him. He shuddered. Delirium?

  “Did you hear something?”

  Remir lay deathly still, holding his breath, the world swimming sharply back into focus for him. There was silence or there was death.

  “You’re imagining things.”

  “Probably. Let’s get back.”

  There was some rustling as the men moved off, then silence. Remir dared to hope.

  “They’ve gone,” said a new voice, tone hushed. The last hour or so had been bowel-loosening terror but something in that voice made Remir even more scared than before. He wondered if he could still fight. He tried moving his arm but it felt as if the whole of the city walls were on it. Again, harder. Panting with the effort.

  “This one’s still breathing. We’ll take him,” the scary voice said and Remir felt a hand take hold of his ankle

  “No, not like this…” he tried to shout but it came out like a broken mumble.

  *****

  When Garrow had been promoted to this command, he had found the old general held a nightly meeting and served wine. Well the nightly briefing continued, but no one was consuming a nearby cellar full of anything.

  The leading officers were in a small circle around Garrow, and scouts were coming up and presenting reports.

  “Just a question,” Garrow said, raising a finger ominously. “Why are there fewer of you scouts than normal?”

  “Some of us haven’t returned yet sir.”

  Garrow nodded. Green troops were a problem, but could be moulded as a unit. Green scouts, having to go out and split up, were a bigger problem, and one he’d been forced into. Were they looting, running? Either way, there was a hole in his intelligence.

  There might be a hole in his army too.

  “We haven’t heard a thing back from that idiot Remir, did anyone scouting in that direction see him, the column, any trace?”

  “No, sir.”

  Not that surprising, Garrow thought. A local idiot, clearly not one to have been trusted. So no auxiliaires were coming. Still, he had a legion, he didn’t nee
d too many of them.

  They’d only get in the way.

  “So Storn is forming his army up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the rebels seem to mostly be gathered around him…”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. We meet them on the field tomorrow, and we crush them.”

  “Finally,” Captain Tate said. Garrow just shook his head.

  *****

  “Well, we’ve got a good view from here at least,” Alia said, shifting her position on the barn roof slightly.

  “You’d be surprised how close you can get to a battle without getting drawn in,” Daeholf said, settling himself next to her.

  “So we’re just going to watch?” Alia said, turning to look at him.

  “You want us to get involved?” Trimas said, positioning himself just behind them.

  “We have to do something,” Alia said.

  “Which side do we join in on and to what end?” Daeholf said.

  “The right one,” Alia said.

  “Which is?” Jonas said from just behind Trimas.

  “I don’t know. But a lot of people are going to die today. There must be something we can do,” Alia said.

  “We’re just five. No matter how good any of us are it would be hard to make much of an impact,” Daeholf said.

  “But a general is just one man,” Alia persisted. “He decides the battle.”

  “We’re not in charge,” Daeholf said gently. “And at this stage I think it’d be harder not to have a battle than to have one.”

  “I don’t follow,” Zedek said, standing over them, looking for somewhere to position himself.

  “Both sides want this fight,” Trimas said as Zedek sat carefully next to him.

  “They can’t though. Surely they know what will happen?” Alia said.

  “No one knows what will happen for sure,” Jonas said.

  “People will die,” Zedek said.

  “Thank you,” Alia said, looking to him for support.

  “Sadly that’s a given. But how many and how? That’s still to be decided,” Trimas said.

  “How can we watch this though?” Alia said.

  “There’s nothing we can do to stop it,” Daeholf said, tone sad.

  “Why are we watching it then?” Zedek said.

  “So we know who wins,” Trimas said.

  “Won’t we know that anyway?” Jonas said.

  “The sooner we know, the sooner we can react to events,” Daeholf said.

  “It seems ghoulish,” Alia said.

  “What?” Trimas said.

  “Sitting here, watching people die,” Alia said.

  “If you’d rather go below…” Jonas said.

  “No. We’re here and we need to know. Tell me what I’m seeing,” Alia said.

  “You understand the difference between each unit type?” Daeholf said.

  “I grew up with an army,” Alia said.

  “So why do you need it explaining?” Trimas jibed.

  “I wasn’t on the frontline,” Alia said, tone as if she was talking to a simpleton. Trimas merely shrugged with a smile.

  “The imperials have lined up pretty standard, ranks of heavies front and right, lighter troops on the left, cavalry on the wing. Not seeing a lot of skirmishers though,” Daeholf said.

  “Skirmishers?” Alia said.

  “Light infantry essentially,” Zedek said.

  “Garrow doesn’t really believe in them,” Trimas said. “Prefers to roll over the enemy in heavy force. They’ll be at the back.”

  “Got them,” Daeholf said. “Not sure I agree with his decision though.”

  “Fancy ourselves as a general do we?” Trimas said.

  “Nope. Just someone that cleans up after one.”

  “Never had to clean up after me,” Trimas said.

  “Give it time,” Daeholf said.

  “So what do you think Garrow’s plan will be?” Jonas said.

  “Roll over them with the infantry, cavalry to flank,” Trimas said. “He’ll probably try and soften them up with a few volleys of arrows and the catapults he’s managed to construct.”

  “They’re outnumbered though,” Zedek said.

  “Badly,” Alia said, looking at the rebel positions.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Daeholf said.

  “I’ve been outnumbered before,” Jonas said. “Don’t dismiss it.”

  “Different thing,” Trimas said. “No offence.”

  “Explain,” Alia said.

  “In some ways, the bigger the numbers grow, the less they make a difference,” Daeholf said.

  “That makes no sense,” Zedek said. “They must be outnumbered at least five to one.”

  “One man who holds is worth more than five who run,” Daeholf said.

  “But what if they don’t run?” Alia said.

  “Someone always does,” Daeholf said.

  “Would I back one veteran against ten farmers? No. Ten veterans against a hundred farmers, maybe. A hundred against a thousand farmers? Absolutely,” said Trimas.

  “Does morale really make that much of a difference?” Jonas said.

  “Yes,” Trimas said simply.

  “Most of the killing is done in the rout. Though knowing which end of a sword to hold helps too,” Daeholf explained.

  “Most people die when they run away?” Alia said.

  “Usually,” Trimas said.

  “So soldiers run after and cut down people who have surrendered?” Alia said.

  “Surrendering and routing are not the same thing,” Daeholf said.

  “So the legion is just gone to roll over the much larger army of rebels?” Zedek said, interrupting.

  “If it goes to Garrow’s plan, yes,” Trimas said. “Though things rarely go to plan.”

  “The rebels have a chance?” Jonas said.

  “There’s always a chance,” Daeholf said. “Battle is a tricky beast. I’ve been on the wrong end of certain victories that have gone sour and the right end of unlikely wins before. You can never be sure.”

  “One day you’re going to tell us more about that,” Jonas said.

  “One day,” Daeholf said. “If we survive this war.”

  “Is there any chance it will be inconclusive, only a few men will die and both sides will back down?” Zedek said.

  Daeholf and Trimas looked at each other.

  “Possible, but very unlikely,” Trimas said.

  “Tell me about the rebels,” Jonas said. “You went to see them. Are they just going to roll over and die?”

  “I’m not sure where my money’s going,” Daeholf said.

  “You’ve laid a bet?” Alia said, somewhat incredulous.

  “Poor choice of words,” Daeholf conceded. “I mean I’m not sure how the battle will go.”

  “Imperials,” Trimas said.

  “You sound sure,” Jonas said.

  “Farmers against soldiers never goes well. And I speak from experience. Sad and distressing experience,” Trimas said.

  “You’ve killed farmers?” Zedek said.

  “I didn’t want to,” Trimas said. “But I had my orders.”

  “Why didn’t you disobey?” Alia said.

  “Why do you think I’m here now?” Trimas said. “An outcast sat on a barn roof watching imperials about to slaughter other imperials.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to go entirely as Garrow expects,” Daeholf said.

  “Oh?” Jonas said.

  “Rebel general seemed confident. I think they’ll be better prepared than expected.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Trimas muttered.

  *****

  “A beautiful day for a battle sir.”

  Garrow could have turned to the aide who’d just said that and made many comments, from joining in with the bravado to revealing his true feeling, which was there were never any beautiful days for battles, just days better suited to success.

  Instead he made a mental note, another part of
the picture he was building. A young nobleman, he owed his position as an aide to wealth and influence, and why not. The man wasn’t in command of anything, he was supposed to be observing and learning for when he was in command of something far smaller, and the most he’d be expected to do if the day went well was ride about delivering messages.

  Of course, if the day went badly he’d have to fight. They all would, but it hadn’t gone that badly for Garrow since he was a far lower rank. A long time ago…

  Garrow turned to the view of the countryside before them. They had scouted where the rebels had been building defences the previous day, but it was always good to check again. Defences were liable to be feints after all.

  “What can we see?” Garrow said to the aides.

  “The rebels are forming up along the crest of the slope, as you predicted.”

  “Stop the praise, focus on reading what you see.”

  “The rebels are on the slope, with the woods to one side blocking a flank attack and a farm on a low rise to the other, which we’d have to fight through to flank there. Stakes have been cut and stuck into the ground, forming a weak defence line.”

  “Have you ever charged a stake?”

  “Er, no sir.”

  “They can be very unpleasant, especially if they’ve been smeared with excrement.”

  “With what sir?”

  “Shit soldier, shit. Now … hang on, it’s not rained has it?”

  “No sir.”

  “Then why does the field between them and us look so muddy in places? You,” and he pointed to the man who thought it was a beautiful day, “go and find out what’s happening.”

  The aide nodded and rode off down the slope. He soon had to swerve past units of imperials taking up position.

  “What else can we see?” Garrow said.

  A young woman piped up. “They have archers, in units just to the front of their infantry. Presumably to fire and then retreat.”

  “Yes.”

  “And they have artillery, wherever that’s come from.”

  “We believe it was stolen from the city. You should keep up with what the scouts are saying.”