by Gav Thorpe
"Very right he is too," said Anglhan, rocking back on his heels. "He's the one in charge, after all. We can trust him to have considered everything."
Griglhan nodded.
"It's the small things that he's so good at, isn't it?" Anglhan continued. "It's smart to have everything prepared, like what to do if it's cloudy, or rainy, or if it isn't cloudy."
"You're not making sense."
"Well, if it's cloudy, it might be too dark for you to climb. And the cloudier it is, the more chance of rain making your job more difficult."
"So? I'll tell Aroisius that we aren't doing it unless we get a clear night."
"That's for you and our fearless leader to sort out, nothing to do with me." Anglhan smiled and clapped Griglhan on the arm. "We can't fail with men like you!"
IX
Later that day, Anglhan found Lubrianati and his men returning from their forage. Using the same sort of arguments that had worked on Griglhan, he convinced the chieftain that it would be absolute suicide to attack the gatehouse of Magilnada with anything less than total darkness. As he flopped down onto his cot in the landship's main cabin, he wondered how long it would take Aroisius to sort out this dispute, with the lives of both men at stake.
The rebel leader's solution was both swift, sensible and exactly what Anglhan wanted. Aroisius announced that the attack would be delayed until the night of no moon, so that there would be total darkness to cover their approach. The fires would be set in the mill before the climbers started down the cliff. If the rain was too heavy for the flames to catch, the attack would be called off.
Six days after this pronouncement, after the attack would have taken place if the original plan had been followed, autumn storms hit the mountains. Wind and rain almost destroyed half the camp on the plateau and the rebels had to take shelter in the caves. New rivers poured through cracks and crevasses in the rocks, soaking many of the supplies that had been carefully hoarded over the summer. The hillmen amongst the army wagged their chins and warned that the seasons had turned. The spirits of summer had lost their annual battle, and now the spirits of winter were in the ascendancy.
As gloom fell like a shadow over the camp, Aroisius was forced to make a reluctant announcement: there could be no attack until spring. Anglhan remembered just in time to look suitably disappointed.
MEKHA
Autumn, 209th Year of Askh
I
The bridge shivered with the tread of abada as Ullsaard rode across the Nakuus River, his servants on the wagon a short distance behind. A little way upstream work was underway building the stone crossing, though the legionnaires broke from their labours to wave and cheer for their returning general. The camp had changed dramatically, many of the tents replaced with low wooden buildings with steeply sloped roofs of dried grass. Smoke billowed from chimneys, drifting across the midday sky.
The guard companies formed up by the coldwards gate to welcome Ullsaard, clattering spears on shields and shouting praise. As he rode between the two lines of soldiers, he saw that many bore bandages and other signs of recent wounds. Cosuas waited for him inside the camp, his face heavily tanned and wrinkled. Ullsaard dismounted and they greeted one another wrist to wrist.
"Decided to come back, did you?" said Cosuas. "I thought you'd stay in Askh."
"You have no idea," Ullsaard replied with a rueful shake of the head. "I wondered if I'd ever get to leave."
The two walked side by side towards the centre of the camptown. Ullsaard noticed a number of women and children; families of legionnaires that would be the first settlers of Mekha. A large barn had been erected behind the duskwards wall and Ullsaard remembered the growing problems with the grain markets.
"How are we for supplies?" he asked.
"Steady, but that's about it," said Cosuas. "I've been trying to stockpile as best as I can, but we're running low on fodder. There's barely a blade of grass for the abada, and getting meat for the kolubrids is proving difficult. I've sent a few companies duskwards along the river to see what they can find."
They continued to discuss the logistics of the growing settlement as they walked along the streets, some of them now fixed with cobbles bedded into the dirt. Water cisterns rose on stilts above the remaining tents and the earth embankment beneath the wall had been replaced with brick foundations.
They reached Ullsaard's pavilion by early evening. He strode inside, thankful to be in the shade after several days' riding from the Greenwater. Everything was as he left it, even the sand trails across the rugs in the main chamber.
"Looks like you've seen some action," he remarked as he slumped into his chair.
"Two Mekhani attacks in the last three weeks," Cosuas told him as he took a seat to Ullsaard's left. "Night attacks, both of them. Last one was three days ago; shame you weren't back just a little earlier."
Ullsaard wasn't sure if this was a genuine regret on Cosuas' part or a veiled accusation. He decided it was the former; Cosuas' threats and accusations were rarely veiled.
"What's the current head count?" Ullsaard asked.
"Not too bad. We've lost just over a thousand to infected wounds, disease, food poisoning and other attrition. About twoand-a-half thousand dead from fighting. Kulrua, Haarin, Lokirna and Menuan have died. I've promoted Jutiil to camp captain, and Nemenis to First Captain of the Eleventh."
Ullsaard nodded as he absorbed the information. Two of the mute Maasrites entered carrying a chest between them.
"Open it," Ullsaard called out, pushing out of his chair. He crossed the tent as they set the bronze-bound box down on the rugs. Amongst the clutter inside, Ullsaard found the orders Aalun had written. He waved the servants away and returned to his campaign throne.
"Prince Kalmud is unfit to continue in command of the Greenwater campaign," he told Cosuas, tossing the rolled parchment to his fellow general. "Aalun has put you in charge."
Cosuas's eye widened with surprise.
"He's picked me to take over?" A smile spread across Cosuas's face, a rare sight in Ullsaard's experience. Cosuas looked at Ullsaard and the smile faded. "I'm sorry. I know you've had your eye on this command for some time."
Ullsaard waved away the apology.
"Don't feel too bad; Aalun thinks it's your last chance for some real glory." Ullsaard winked at Cosuas. "I'll still be around when your ashes are drifting on the breeze."
"That's true," said Cosuas. He unrolled the parchment and read the contents, one finger following the characters slowly. The finger travelled back a few lines and traced them again. Cosuas looked over at Ullsaard with confusion. "I'm taking the Eleventh and Fifteenth with me?"
"That's right. That'll still leave me with more than thirty thousand legionnaires; more than enough to defend our new town."
"Unless the Mekhani unite again," said Cosuas.
"It'll make the supply situation easier as well," added Ullsaard, ignoring Cosuas' warning. "Just for the winter, I think. Aalun's been talking about raising some new legions from Ersua and Anrair."
"It says here that I'm to tell Kalmud's men not to expect his return. Is it that bad?"
"He'll probably live a good while yet, but he can barely breathe or stand. Unless the Brotherhood have something up their black sleeves we've never seen before, I wouldn't expect to see the prince in armour again."
"And I'm to leave straight away…"
"No point waiting around for winter. You should take a couple of days just to get everything straightened out. Take what you need in terms of equipment and food; I made sure more are on their way right now."
Cosuas was not known for being easily vexed, but he took a few paces back and forth, obviously nonplussed.
"It's an honour, accept it for what it is," Ullsaard told him, guessing what might be occupying his thoughts. "You deserve it."
Cosuas nodded uncertainly and left. Ullsaard sat brooding until it was growing dark outside. He did not like deceiving Cosuas in this way. Yet for all his guilt, the general knew it was the
right thing to do. Cosuas was loyal to Lutaar in every muscle and bone, and any hint of dispute would bring him to the king's defence. It was better for Ullsaard and Cosuas that the aging veteran was gone, out of harm's way, when this dispute came to light. He heard the watch captains calling Dusk and pushed himself to his feet. Cosuas was not the only man who had a long march to prepare for; the difference was that Cosuas did not have to hide his plans.
II
Silence filled the pavilion following Ullsaard's announcement that the army was packing camp and leaving to march coldwards. His five First Captains, each a legion commander, looked at each other in amazement.
"Coldwards?" It was Anasind, the burly Enairian First Captain of the Thirteenth that voiced the question they were all thinking. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere a lot better than Mekha," Ullsaard replied. He did not want to go into the details of the plan; it sounded far too much like lawyer talk for him to be comfortable.
"But what about the town?" asked the Sixteenth's commander, a lean, short man called Luamid.
"Just another camp. We'll take what we can, burn the rest. No point leaving anything for the Mekhani to plunder."
"And the settlers?" This was from Donar, leader of the Fifth. His wife and three children were amongst those that had travelled hotwards to populate the town.
"We'll be travelling with full baggage. Any civilians come with us as far as Okhar. After that, it's up to individual families. They might as well return to their previous homes; we will be going on campaign again later in the year."
"That sounds good. I'm sick of all this sand." This was from Rondin, another sturdy Enairian, who had been born in the same town as Ullsaard. Though Rondin was half his general's age, they got on well.
"Keep this to yourselves for the moment, but if what I have in mind comes to pass, we can look forward to a summer in Salphoria!" Ullsaard said. The First Captains goggled at the significance of this, but Ullsaard held up his hand to silence any further questions. "You have your orders. Dawn tomorrow, I want to be ready to leave. That includes all families and non-legion persons. Let them know that stragglers will be left behind."
The First Captains raised their fists in salute and filed out, chattering like fish wives. Jutiil, Twelfth's First Captain, stopped at the curtained doorway.
"The king must think very highly of you, to give you such a command," he said.
Ullsaard could think of nothing to say and merely nodded before waving away the officer. When the First Captains had gone, the servants came in and began to remove the furniture, carefully breaking down the panels and rolling up the rugs. Ullsaard plonked himself in his chair, arms folded across his chest. Normally at a time like this he would be out in the camp, ensuring that everything was proceeding properly. Today he could not bring himself to show his face for fear that he might betray the uncertainty that had gripped him during the three days since Cosuas had departed. It had been one thing to discuss this whole affair in the comfort and privacy of Aalun's chambers; it was another entirely to issue orders that set him on a confrontation with the king.
III
A groom stood close by, holding Blackfang's reins. Dust swirled in the air in a cloud raised by the tramp of thousands of marching legionnaires. The last of the companies filed from the town, where smoke was already rising from dozens of fires. The rearmost legionnaires carried kegs of oil with them, which they splashed onto the bridge as they crossed. Jutiil came with a lit torch and handed it to Ullsaard. Normally the general would have been at the head of the column, but he had decided that he would perform this simple act.
It was nothing unusual in itself; Ullsaard had ordered the destruction of bridges before. It was common Askhan practice to deny such infrastructure to the tribes not yet under the sway of the empire. Today was different. Today Ullsaard knew that he was figuratively as well as physically burning a bridge. He and Aalun had set in motion a sequence of events that was about to become unstoppable. From this point on, there would literally be no way back.
"Would you like me to do that, General?" said Jutiil.
"No," replied Ullsaard.
He took a step and flung the torch out onto the bridge. The oil caught quickly and the flames spread along its length and lapped up the rails. As the wood caught, dark billows swirled within the roiling cloud of dust. Ullsaard watched for a short while, hoping that his ambitions, his career – his whole future – wasn't going up in smoke as well.
He mounted Blackfang and turned to Jutiil.
"I want a full march, no delays. No point wasting time."
TEMPLE
The silence that had so often acted as bedrock for Lakhyri's thoughts now threatened his equilibrium. Each moment seemed inexorably long, a sensation he had not felt since his youth. The silence was symptomatic of his worries; no sound from the masters and no word from his outside agents. Too long had passed since he had instructed Udaan to deal with the issue of the Askhan succession. His usual patience was wearing thin.
The only evidence of this disturbed mindset was the tapping of Lakhyri's finger on the arm of his chair. It was a slow, measured percussion, barely making a sound, but in comparison to his normal immobility, it was the same as another man running around in a screaming panic. Lakhyri's followers sensed his unease and cast worried glances at each other. They too felt the absence of the eulanui; usually so reassuring in their oppressive, otherworldly presence, now strangely distant.
The situation was intolerable. Lakhyri was loath to act, but it was now plain that he needed to take steps to ensure things progressed as outlined in the Great Plan.
He stood, causing a tremor of surprise to flutter through the worshippers around him. He looked at Asirkhyr and Eriekh, who nodded in understanding. Asirkhyr beckoned to a youthful acolyte and the three of them followed their master from the circular hall.
The group ascended the stairs that wound up through the centre of the temple, keeping pace with Lakhyri's slow, measured stride. Upon reaching the upper tier, they turned left through a square archway into a small, roofless room. Above, the dusty air swirled, the sky yellow and sickly. The boy was directed to lie on the stone slab. Eriekh whispered an enchantment, his fingers weaving patterns in the air in front of the adept. The boy's look became glazed and his body relaxed, arms flopping to his sides.
Asirkhyr took a stone box from a shelf on the wall and lifted off the lid. Reaching inside he pulled out a small ingot of gold, which he passed to Eriekh. He took out several small pins, with which he fastened the youth's eyelids open. When this was done, he produced a needle-thin blade, one end wrapped with cured skin for a handle. He gave a similar instrument to the other hierophant, though this had a flattened tip like the nib of a pen.
Asirkhyr turned to the boy on the slab.
With tiny, precise movements of his fingertips, Asirkhyr drew the tiny blade across the surface of the boy's eyes. He carved miniscule lines and coils around the pupils while Eriekh placed the gold into a small clay crucible, which he handed to Lakhyri.
The high priest clasped the crucible in both hands and muttered words of alignment and power. The scars and tattoos across his skin heated, the faded grey ink releasing wisps of smoke that coiled around the high priest's body forming awkward, unnatural sigils. The crucible began to blacken and crack while the gold bubbled.
Dipping his knife-pen into the gold, Eriekh hunched over the boy and allowed the shining liquid to dribble into the fine tracery of lines on the acolyte's eyeballs. The gold flowed in hair-thin curves and cooled to form an intricate web of lines and symbols.
When the gilding was complete and the tools restored to the stone box, Asirkhyr said a few more words and passed his hand over the boy's face. With a panting screech, the youth returned to awareness.
His golden-flecked eyes roved around their sockets, seeing nothing.
"Where am I?" he asked in a shrill, panicked voice.
"What do you see?" said Lakhyri. The high priest's voice soothed
the boy's mood and he lay back.
"Clouds. Storm clouds."
"Where do you see them?"
"Over mountains. I see a city, girded by a wall, on the face of a cliff."
"Magilnada," said Asirkhyr, earning himself a piercing glare of annoyance from Lakhyri.
"The city slumbers," the boy continued. "The rains sweep across the slate roofs. There is something else. My eye is drawn to it."
"Do not fight it. Let your eyes see what they must see." Lakhyri's tone was as monotonous as ever but the boy seemed comforted.
"In the mountains, a hidden rabble. I see a cave. Many caves. They bicker and swear at the weather."