by Damien Lake
Celerity left him no time to be smart with her. Perhaps because she had come to know how stubborn he could be after their brief encounters last summer, or from whatever gripes Tollaf had vented against her regarding his misfortune in having the ungrateful whelp as an unwanted apprentice.
“It’s as well you arrived after the council adjourned. For many reasons it would be best to make as little noise as possible for the moment.”
Marik frowned. “Noise? Listen, if you try to handle these monsters the invaders brought with them quietly, then you’ll never be able to drive them back. It doesn’t matter who knows about them! All that matters is assembling enough strength to smash them!”
Her arms folded in imitation of the knight-marshal. “So we are doing. But we can’t ignore Nolier continuing to violate our border to the east. Their army is still suffering from their heavy losses in the last war, as is our own. The Nolier king does not seem to care much about that. His greed has gotten the best of him.”
The tone beneath her words firmed further, coming out as when she had spoken to Sloan and Kineta, speaking at the time with her full authority and rank. “The majority of the army will be needed to make it clear Nolier may not set foot on our soil without reaping the consequences of their actions. As for the Tullainian border, we intend to question the prisoners you brought to Thoenar and learn what we can, but in the meantime we must marshal the forces available and plug the gap in our western defenses. With the invaders’ strike force defeated and their command in apparent disarray, they will not be able to organize quickly. During that time we will prepare.”
His father’s voice abruptly spoke within the recesses of his mind, clearer than it had been in a very long time. Be careful what you ask for boy, because the gods love nothing better than to give you exactly that.
The churning in his stomach intensified.
Marik’s teeth refused to unclench while he demanded, “What…does that have to do with me? I came here…to tell you everything I can about these beasts that nearly destroyed us.”
“Your knowledge of them will be invaluable, it is true. Especially since,” she said flatly, her lips pursing, “you will be responsible for the campaign to defend the western border.”
Chapter 03
A blasted field of scorched stones over blackened earth scarred the meadowlands outside the Rovasii’s tree line. Grass and dormant wildflowers had been seared away in the explosion that had ended the pitched battle against the Arronaths on the forest’s edge. Spring’s thaw had come early when the snow had succumbed to the volcanic heat shaking the ground.
It would be years before life returned to these killing grounds, to judge by the wastelands Jide beheld. He sat atop his horse at the mountains’ base, viewing the aftermath in the rapidly advancing nightfall, puzzling over what could have possibly happened in such a serene setting.
Rumors flew with wild abandon through the ranks, especially at the few organized encampments the army had succeeded in establishing this side of the mountains. Jide had listened to gossip ranging from a mutiny by the Taur controllers to heathen gods materializing and slaughtering the ranks. No one knew what had actually happened to Adrian’s forces. Given the condition of the few survivors, as well as the land itself, any explanation seemed feasible.
Jide swung his leg over the mount and dropped to the ground. He ignored the lingering winter chill. His clothing was ample enough for colder climates than this.
The chill through his knee passed without notice when he knelt in the center of the blast zone. He bent until his lone eye hovered inches over a deceptively small, flat stone. In truth it was the crown of a buried boulder.
Numerous times Jide had poked through the aftereffects of fires. In the early days it had been a great way to score undamaged goods, to hide them away and then claim they too had been destroyed. Later, under Adrian, he had learned to recognize infinitesimal signs that meant the fire had been no accident. That it had been set in order to eliminate evidence after a corrupt officer sensed the number of his days dwindling.
He knew what fire-touched stone looked like, which was to say it looked about the same as it ever did once the soot and grime was cleaned away. This stone struck a discordant note with him. His senses insisted it was far too smooth for stone of its type. Jide ran his fingers across the surface, his touch confirmed what his eye already saw.
His mouth tightened into a deeper frown. He walked back across the field into territory unmarked by fire damage. In moments he located similar stone patches peeking through the lush grasses.
Examining these provided him with exactly what he would have expected. He stood to gaze about the field while he rubbed his eye-patch in thought.
No reason to believe the stone might be a different type. They both looked to be exactly the same.
Which meant the bastard rock had melted. No conventional fire could create that much heat. Else all the warehouses he’d crawled through would have been slag.
Adrian had brought none of the mages with him. Hardly surprising, since most of the army mages were tied to the Citadel. The few who were free of that endless exertion were the ones weak enough to be of no use, assigned instead to tasks such as testing local water for flux-inducing taints. What few mages of any battle strength left were kept in mobile reserve, ready to be sent to specific points if enemy forces slipped wild cards out from their sleeves.
This type of damage must have been mage-wrought. No shock that the locals, these Galemarans, would bring into play whatever strengths they had…yet it boded ill. The Taurs were always a shielding wall between Adrian and the natives, but a mage’s powers could have cause serious damage among the commanding ranks. That is why it was inconceivable that Adrian would have pushed so hard without adequately positioning his available assets.
“What in the blue sky happened to us?” Jide murmured the unanswerable question while his fingers ceaselessly rubbed circles around his leather-covered socket.
A cockup of a mission objective in the first place, hostile lands on a continent cutoff from Arronath for centuries where the damned pollen attacked their health, vipers slithering through the ranks and their forces spread from hells to breakfast! Since he had ‘borrowed’ a horse after crossing the mountains, he’d had to dodge each of the patrols. Mendell was running the Galemaran territories according to his rules, his writ. Jide’s usual accepted slinking around would likely not be shrugged away with a sly wink. In all probability they would take him back to answer a slew of inquiries.
That had become painfully clear in the town by the pass. Every aspect of the campaign east of the Stoneseams operated under strict regulations imposed by Mendell, down to how much tea should be used to brew a single pot. The locations of all personnel were to be reported and damned near imprisoned until they received orders. It left him operating completely on his own.
“Which is how it’s always been,” he grumbled, making his way back to his horse. The mount, along with the scented oil he rubbed into his skin that would tell any Taur patrols happening across his scent trail that he was an Arronath, were about the only assets he had for moving around unnoticed. For long years he had worked alone…except he hadn’t, had he? Adrian had always stood in his shadow, providing minimal aid, yet giving Jide the minute assistance each situation required.
The battlefield told him little, other than that a calamity had erupted there. Jide prayed harder than he had in years that Adrian had survived it. In such a short time, Mendell was stripping away the pride and values of Adrian’s army, remaking it into his personal rouges gallery.
Hovering in the back of his mind was the certainty that Mendell, along with Xenos probably, was making a play to screw them over. It was the same old shitstorm, ignominious men maneuvering to seize power enough to satisfy their lusts.
What they never realized was that it was never enough. If they jumped a rung up the rank ladder, they always felt cheated that there were still other rungs above them. Power gluttons wer
e never satisfied, always hungry.
This marked the first time he and Adrian had been outflanked by the scheming bastards. Jide felt it in his gut.
If only Xenos were not so involved with the king, Adrian would be able to accept the man’s true nature readily, and thus deal with him and these vipers who owed their positions to the councilor. The general’s patriotism had been a real problem at times. It would take the gods personally appearing for a private chat before he admitted King Lambert’s error in judgment.
“Tomorrow’s problems are tomorrow’s problems,” he grunted. The stolen horse held still while he remounted. “But what, by Leander, am I to do next? You tell me that, you monkey of a general.”
He gazed eastward. In that direction, the local survivors must have departed. Had the Galemarans taken any prisoners?
Follow? Return to the base camp and mingle, hoping for an opportunity?
What in the hells could he do if he did follow an enemy army on his own? One undoubtedly riled by the cheese grater they had been ground across. On the other hand, what could he hope to accomplish under Mendell’s baleful eye? Would it be worth staying in the devolving army after he’d been reforged in Adrian’s fire, or should he give up and make his way back to Arronath and his sweet Jazelda?
Fingers circled the leather patch from habit. His eighth since the loss of his eye. The others had eventually worn to nothing from constant friction.
Alone, he could make his way through enemy territory. There might be battle lines, fronts established to repel the bestial wrath of the Taurs, yet once beyond them he would find towns. Roads. Countryside.
Usually he would be confident that he could make his way through any civilized setting. Wherever shone the light, shadows were cast as well. The underworld beneath the law would always be his kingdom. But language would be a barrier, unmasking him for the stranger he was. Could he still swim those dangerous waters with only the Traders Tongue he had mastered between his tasks for Adrian?
The base camp, along with every station under Mendell’s control, decayed by the day. With the pestilence named Colonel Mendell in command, and the outright plague of Xenos on the way, army doctrine would inevitably decompose under their diseased influence. Simply being there would be dangerous as taking the luncheon meal in hell amidst a salivating horde of Vernilock’s soul torturers.
Meaning…after the Galemarans, then. For too many years he had been a mover in the Arronathian Armed Forces, if an unacknowledged one. Being a nobody supply officer worrying about higher-ups hanging everyone on the gallows of their personal career advancement held no appeal. Adrian, if he still lived, needed to be found.
“And so with my canvas snapping, my fears palling in the face of destruction,” Jide muttered grimly, quoting the ancient epic lines, “I sailed again into the maelstrom’s heart.”
He spurred his horse eastward into the night.
* * * * *
Marik stared at Celerity. His exalted company flew from his mind, and his disbelief made him exclaim, in classic Dietrik style, “Are you out of your damned tree? What in the hells are you yammering about?”
Her declaration moments before had reduced him to a fox frozen by the baying of dogs catching its scent. He knew he could not have possibly interpreted what she meant correctly, cared not in the least that her countenance frosted over in the manner he knew so intimately.
“For a man in your position, I suggest you watch your tongue!”
“What position? No one’s bothered to tell me a bloody thing so I’ll say whatever I damned well please to!”
“You—” Celerity began angrily, except the knight-marshal burst forth with hotter venom. “This! This!” He faced the king. “This…man is what you plan to place so much hope in? Raymond, you can’t still mean to commit such folly!”
The outburst abruptly reminded Marik of the others. Looking past the fuming Celerity to the small assemblage, he noticed Torrance first. His commander’s glare out-sharpened even Tybalt’s. To simply cast his gaze across the room, Marik would expect tables to be cleaved and chairs to slice cleanly into tumbling fragments. That those eyes furiously drank him in left Marik even more unbalanced.
Raymond responded to his senior-most soldier. Marik could scarcely credit it after his vulgar outburst, but there could be no question that a slight smile played across the monarch’s face. “It is a decision already made, Tybalt.”
Knight-Marshal Tybalt’s anger was plain, unmasked for Marik to see. The queen saw it as well. Ulecia touched her husband’s arm. In a tone resembling a directive rather than a suggestion, she said, “Perhaps our presence is superfluous. This might best be a matter discussed with the fewest needed.”
The king nodded. “A valid point.” Whether he meant to take his wife away from the coarse mercenary or the knight-marshal away before he started frothing, Marik was left to wonder. He gathered everyone to him, leaving only the seneschal, Torrance and Celerity. Before he passed Marik, Raymond stopped long enough to meet his eye. “I expect we will speak further soon.” In spite of his confusion, part of Marik’s mind was free to observe how wrong it was that Raymond Cerella was shorter than he was.
Tybalt offered no words, only allowed Marik to feel the full force of his ire while sailing past.
When the doors closed behind the entourage, he seized the initiative before anyone could fog the issues at hand by opening their mouths. Anything they said would surely only muddy the waters further. He advanced on Torrance, demanding, “Are they leaving the Kings to clean out the western border? Is that what they mean? I haven’t given my report to them yet!”
Torrance returned Marik’s frantic inquiry with razor determination. “No, it is not so. I mentioned once before that you were beginning to build a reputation of your own among the nobility. Now, it precedes you.”
“Pre—”
Celerity interrupted, regaining control through force of her indomitable will. “That is one point of view, though not one I would say adequately describes our current situation.”
“I came to make you appreciate what these monsters controlled by the black soldiers are like!”
“No,” she shot back, “you came because you were ordered to. As long as you are a member of Torrance’s band, you are beholden to the crown under wartime conscription laws. You will go where you are ordered and do what you are told!”
The seneschal spoke up to drive a verbal wedge between the two agitators. “I think,” he announced in a soft tone that nevertheless carried weight, “it would be best to address the matter plainly. Marik Railson, I would draw your attention there.”
He pointed to the floor in the center of the ring-shaped council table. For the first time Marik noticed the floor was a mosaic comprised of several thousand stones the size of his fingernails. They formed a massive map of Galemar.
Placed across the stone were countless figures such as the ones populating the diorama of Thrae Valley. He recognized toy-like carvings that must be Galemaran forces painted in green, and blue representations that could only be the Noliers along the eastern border. With that in mind, he quickly sought figures showing the known forces of black soldiers and their monstrous beasts.
Rather than figurines crafted by masters in the art, simple wooden blocks of different sizes were resting near the Stoneseams. Part of his mind asked what else had he expected? With events happening one after the other in rapid succession, would anyone place importance on commissioning a new set with so much on their plates already?
“We have been through this discussion with your commander,” the seneschal confided while Celerity nursed her stiff-backed posture. “I will briefly summarize the situation for you.”
Marik nodded, holding his peace. Why was he here? Why tell him anything other than an order to return and continue the fight?
“You took part in the Nolier war. I need not explain what a major conflict that was, nor that it took the total forces we were able to field to drive them back across the Hollis
ter Bridge.” The man paused in order to ensure he had Marik’s attention. “In fact, you of all people would best know the circumstances of that. You were an integral component in the final battle. Had you not stepped forward with your bold challenge to Duke Ronley, the direction of the final charge might have run the opposite direction.”
“That’s not what happened,” Marik spat out. “That cursed song got it completely wrong!”
The seneschal ignored his outburst. “Therefor, you surely understand that the Noliers crossing the Hollister again will not be a repeat of the last time. Their army is hurting, as ours is. The Nolier king cares little for that. His decisions have been brash since the moment he took his father’s throne.” He inhaled deeply. “He wants that gold mine, especially since the ore they mined from it during their short occupation proved unusually rich. It could have as easily been on their side of the border. He will continue sending men across until he receives what he wants, with no care for the cost.”
Marik remained silent though his interest peeked by the moment. Peripherally he noted that Celerity had regained her composure. Whatever else the seneschal might be, he could read a situation well. That was an observation Marik would keep in the forefront of his mind.
“Their army might still be feeling the wounds from our last war, but they remain a threat to be taken seriously. We know what we face in them, and the consequences of not meeting them fully. The majority of the army will be returning to reeducate them on the errors of crossing us.”
“Leaving the Stoneseams completely unguarded!” Marik emphasized the point by slamming his palm against the tabletop. He pointed to stonework so incredibly detailed it might have been a painting. “That pass is another Hollister! A bridge across the border letting the gods alone know how many enemies into our kingdom! The Noliers are only men. They can be killed! Do you have any idea what the forces of these black soldiers are like?”