“Well done, all of you,” Sir Roger shouted. “And now, move on.”
Emily smiled, hearing the pride in his voice. No one would be able to question him now, not after he’d won a series of incredible victories. Alassa would be able to bring him back into favor, if she wished, or he could seek employment elsewhere. Emily doubted Alassa would let him go so easily. There weren’t many commanding officers with experience in using the new weapons. That would change, but not quickly.
It might, she corrected herself. We’ve proved the Blighted Lands can be invaded. It’s only a matter of time until one of the border states starts trying to snatch some territory.
She shook her head, ignoring the cheers running down the line as the army resumed its march. The necromancer was still out there, somewhere. As long as he was alive, none of their gains could be taken for granted. And it was only a matter of time until their paths crossed.
I still have to get into the castle, she thought. The oath wouldn’t let her quit. She could feel it demanding she move faster, that she leave the army and storm the castle on her own, even though it would be suicide. And we have to take out both necromancers before I can complete my oath.
Chapter Thirty-One
EMILY HAD KNOWN WHAT TO EXPECT - she’d seen it before - but it still felt like a surprise as the landscape turned from an ashy desert to a slightly more habitable patch of land. The plantation was surrounded by yellowish grass, battling constantly to hold its ground against the ever-advancing desert. She breathed a sigh of relief, mingled with fear, as the army advanced towards the plantation. It looked very much like the ones she’d visited earlier; row upon row of weird-looking plants, a handful of blacksmiths and other craftsmen and, beyond them, a few dozen homes and barns. The slaves in the field stared, dully, at the army as they sent advance units into the plantation. Most seemed too badly worn down to care about the intruders. The handful who did looked terrified.
Lady Barb frowned as they dismounted. “You’d better keep an eye on the poor bastards,” she said. “There’s no way to predict what they’ll do.”
Emily nodded as they walked into the center of the village and looked around. A handful of empty cages caught her eye... she shuddered, wondering if they’d come too late to save the former captives. She heard screams as the more active villagers ran and hid, unsure of what they were facing. They might not realize, Emily thought numbly, they’d been liberated. They might not realize they hadn’t been captured by another necromancer. And even if they did...
“There’ll be someone in charge,” Sir Roger said. His bodyguards fanned out around him, swords and wands in hand. “Should we start looking for him?”
“I don’t think you need to bother,” Lady Barb said, as a figure emerged from the largest hut. “Here he comes.”
Emily nodded. The headman looked just like the other headmen she’d seen, eyes flickering from side to side as if he wanted to find someone to take his place. Emily felt a twinge of sympathy, mingled with a grim awareness the headman had probably worked hard to ensure his master didn’t take him and his family for sacrifice. She shuddered as the man came up to them and threw himself in the dirt, groveling shamelessly as he pleaded for mercy. It wasn’t an act. He was desperate. He had to think his plantation had been captured by another necromancer, one who might appoint a new headman...
“Stand up,” Sir Roger ordered. There was a hint of disgust in his voice. “What’s your name?”
“They call me Thoth, Most Honored Lord,” the headman said, as he stumbled to his feet. “I am your most loyal servant.”
“You have been liberated,” Sir Roger said. “If you cooperate with my men, you will be rewarded.”
“It will be my pleasure,” Thoth assured him. “I live to serve.”
“Good,” Sir Roger said. “I have some questions...”
Emily allowed Sir Roger to handle the interrogation as she and Lady Barb walked around the village. There was no sense of hostile magic, but she could feel fearful eyes following them as they moved. The locals had run into their homes and barricaded the doors, all too aware the flimsy wood wouldn’t last more than a second against a necromancer and only a few seconds longer against armed troops. Emily shook her head, feeling a wave of pity.
“They’ll know we’re here,” Lady Barb said. “What do you intend to do with the locals?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. It wasn’t wholly her decision, but she did have influence. “We can’t leave them here, and we can’t take them with us.”
Her eyes swept the fields. She wasn’t sure what they were growing - she’d never seen anything like it - but she doubted it was healthy. She was no expert in farming, yet she knew enough to understand that crops should be rotated and fields left to lie fallow every so often. It didn’t look as though the locals were bothering to rotate their crops, let alone leave a field untouched for a year or so. She suspected they were pulling less and less from the fields every year, draining the land dry until it became truly barren. She couldn’t see any way to fix the problem, not easily. The Blighted Lands were steadily dying.
“If we leave them here, they’ll be sacrificed for power,” Lady Barb pointed out, coldly. “And they can’t travel with the army.”
Emily scowled. “We can open a portal,” she said. “And send them to Cockatrice.”
Lady Barb touched her shoulder, forcing Emily to look at her. “Do you think they’d be welcome?”
“... No.” Emily knew how villagers and townspeople reacted to unwanted immigrants and refugees. They were seen as intruders, stealing work from the men and food from the women and children. The villages lived on the edge, to the point where adding even a tiny handful of mouths to feed could be disastrous. And the towns weren’t that much better. “What else can we do with them?”
“There aren’t many options,” Lady Barb said. “Send them somewhere north, if you can find a place that’ll take them. Leave them here, hoping for the best. Or kill them yourself to deny their power to the enemy.”
“I won’t kill them,” Emily said. “I...”
She swallowed, hard. She’d expected the locals to be... to be what? More resistant to their masters? More independent, in thought if not in deed? More... she shook her head. The locals believed, at a very primal level, that resistance was futile. Anyone who even so much as met a necromancer’s eyes was killed immediately. The headman had probably ensured that anyone who might be dangerous, anyone who did anything that might bring the necromancer down on them, was handed over for sacrifice. Better one man die than the entire village.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know.”
“You’d better come up with an answer soon,” Lady Barb said. “Because it won’t be long before we’re attacked.”
Emily nodded, turning to watch the soldiers as they set up the first lines of defense. The plantation had been sited carefully, ensuring there was no terrain that might slow an orcish charge if the villagers decided to fight their masters. It hadn’t occurred to them that the terrain would also be good for the defenders, if they had gunpowder, weapons, and magic. Beyond them, the enchanters worked to set up the next portal. They’d be bringing weapons and supplies through within the hour, but the enemy already knew where they were. The next attack would be far harder to beat off.
“I’ll ask the Crown Prince,” she said. “Alluvia was making preparations for refugees, I think.”
“Their refugees,” Lady Barb warned. “They might hesitate to take strangers from the Blighted Lands.”
“I can ask,” Emily said. She looked south, towards the distant castle. “And the sooner we win, the better.”
She turned and led the way back through the village. The vast majority of the locals were still hiding, but a handful of workers were going back to their jobs or eying the newcomers warily. They included women, somewhat to her surprise. Most villagers would keep women and children out of sight if an army passed through the region, for fear of giving
the soldiers ideas. Sir Roger had drilled his men remorselessly, warning them that looting and rape would be punished by immediate execution, but she knew some might not have listened. They’d been sent into de facto exile. She’d be surprised if a handful weren’t bitter about having to leave their homeland.
But they can probably go back now, she mused. The stain on their names has been washed clean with blood.
Cat stood by the edge of the plantation, surrounded by a handful of orcs while he directed the other orcs to dig trenches and help emplace the guns. He waved to her as they walked up, looking surprisingly cheerful for someone surrounded by inhuman monsters. Emily shuddered, wondering how he coped with the smell. The orcs didn’t know how to wash... she wondered, suddenly, if they so much as had water. It was scarce in the Blighted Lands.
“Emily,” Cat said. “I’m sure we’ve been here before.”
“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “It just looks like all the others.”
“I’ll talk to you both later,” Lady Barb said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Emily nodded, then looked back at Cat. “How are you coping?”
“I’ve picked up a couple of hundred newcomers,” Cat informed her. “I had to knock a few down, until the rest got the message, but it seems to have worked. They got the idea of digging trenches and latrines faster than I expected.”
“Good, I suppose.” Emily still didn’t want to turn her back on the orcs. “What are you planning to do with them? Afterwards, I mean.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Cat said. “What should I do? Keep them as a private workforce? Or an army? Or sell them into slavery?”
“No,” Emily said, automatically. “I... I don’t know. And I don’t know what to do with the locals either.”
“They might be better off being sold into slavery,” Cat said. “They’re not going to be able to take care of themselves.”
“That’s what the slaveowners always say,” Emily snapped. She felt a rush of anger that wasn’t really directed at him. “They never say they’re enslaving people because they’re evil monsters who want to enslave people. They always claim the slaves are enslaved for their own good, because if they were allowed to be free, they’d do something stupid like...”
“Selling themselves into slavery?” Cat suggested. He leaned forward. “Emily, those workers in the field... do you think they can take care of themselves?”
“They’ve never been given the chance,” Emily said. She’d spent quite enough time arguing with aristocrats who claimed to have paternal responsibilities towards their serfs. It was funny how those responsibilities never included preparing the serfs for the real world, then letting them go. And it was astonishing how little gratitude the serfs showed their father-figures. They fled the fields and hid in the towns whenever they had a chance. “If we do something to help them...”
“They’re going to have to learn how to be free,” Cat said. “It’ll be a nightmare.”
And, wherever they go, the locals won’t want them, Emily thought. It might be better if they could live here.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But we do need an answer. And fast.”
She stared past him, shuddering as she saw the workers in the fields. The plantation had been liberated, yet the workers were still working... she’d assumed they’d be glad to be free, even though they were still in a war zone. But they didn’t seem to have the wit to understand the concept of freedom, let alone make a bid for escape. She glanced north, towards the mountains in the distance. God alone knew what sort of creatures lurked between the plantation and safety. Anyone who walked into the desert probably wouldn’t last a day.
“I’ll see you later,” she said. She wanted to be alone for a while. “We’ll catch up at dinnertime.”
She walked past the orcs, feeling her shoulder blades itch as if they were measured for the knife, and headed towards the fort. The soldiers were working faster now, dragging boxes of supplies through the portal, unpacking them, and laying the guns with tremendous speed. It took years to build a castle, one capable of stopping anything short of a necromancer, but a fort could be erected in a few hours. And once the guns were emplaced, an orcish charge would be broken with ease.
Don’t get overconfident, she told herself. There are two more necromancers out there.
“Lady Emily,” Master Lucknow called. He held out a scroll. “What do you make of this?”
Emily glanced at the scroll. He - or an enchanter - had taken a basic fireball spell and modified it. She followed the spellwork carefully, noting how the diagram insisted a battery could be used to supercharge the spell and produce a blast that would shake a necromancer. It was less elegant than anything she might have used, but... she gave them points for coming up with it so quickly. They’d directed most of their efforts into protecting the fort - and the later, smaller, forts - from attack.
“Impressive,” she said, after a moment. “You intend to use it on the necromancer?”
“Yes.” Master Lucknow grinned, then sobered. “We should be able to give him a nasty fright.”
He took back the scroll and placed it in his pouch. “The cavalry has identified a bunch of other plantations,” he said. “We’ll have them all swept by the end of the day.”
“As long as we don’t get caught by surprise,” Emily said. “What’s to stop them from assembling their armies and driving them towards us?”
“Oh, nothing.” Master Lucknow’s smile turned savage. “Apart from the fact, of course, that we broke their last charge. We’re going to win, Lady Emily. I can feel it.”
“They’re not stupid,” Emily warned. “Mad, yes. Stupid, no. They’ll find a way around the new weapons.”
Master Lucknow gave her a sharp look. “And how do you think they’ll do it?”
“They already worked out they need to attack in small groups,” Emily said. “The cannons aren’t that accurate. They’ll figure that putting more space between the orcs will reduce their chances of getting hit. And then they’ll think of something else.”
She frowned. What would she do? Tanks? She couldn’t see a necromancer inventing tanks - or something along those lines - but... what? Something to soak up cannonballs? Or... go underground? Or fly? Or... or what? The necromancer might just keep launching small groups of orcs into the defenses, forcing them to shoot themselves dry. They’d used far too much gunpowder in the last engagement alone.
And we need more, Emily thought. We doubled our estimates and doubled them again, and we still need more.
Master Lucknow grinned. “We have them on the run,” he said. “And they won’t stop running until we push them into the sea.”
“I hope you’re right,” Emily said. “But I don’t believe it.”
She peered into the distance. The cavalry was already overrunning the other plantations, depriving the necromancer of power as well as slaves. They couldn’t let that pass, but... they knew - now - that charging orcs into the teeth of gunpowder weapons was suicide. Emily had no idea how many orcs they had, yet... even they had to have limits. They probably raised a certain percentage of orcs as food - they’d starve if they relied on humans or farm animals - but they couldn’t sustain a truly massive population. Could they?
Sure, her thoughts mocked her. And what if you’re wrong?
“We’ll discuss everything at the next meeting,” Master Lucknow said. “If you’ll excuse me...?”
Emily nodded and headed to her tent. The soldiers had set it up quickly, somewhat to her surprise. She wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of respect or something they’d been ordered to do by their superiors, something they bitterly resented. It wasn’t as if the tent would provide any protection if the necromancers came calling. All it really did was offer a little privacy.
She breathed a sigh of relief as she realized the tent was empty, then sat down and reached out with her mind. There was no necromancer near, as far as she could tell, although she had a nasty feeling
that was meaningless. Rangka had surprised her once before and nearly killed her... no, he had killed her. She’d just been in two bodies at the time. She shuddered, one hand touching her neck, then calmed herself with an effort. The necromancer could be somewhere near. Both necromancers. She had to be ready.
And Master Lucknow thinks we’ve already won, she mused. It didn’t make sense. They’d killed thousands of orcs - the reports insisted they’d killed millions, but most kings and princes would take the claims with a grain of salt - and a single necromancer, yet they hadn’t won the war. Not yet. We have to kill the other two before we take the castle.
Her eyes narrowed. She had the oddest feeling she’d missed something. Something important. But what?
Emily put the thought aside and concentrated on her link to Aurelius. The snake was still hiding in the castle, eating bugs as he spied on Rangka. So far, the necromancer didn’t seem prone to the fits of rage she’d seen from other necromancers. She’d read reports that suggested they jumped at shadows, that they’d blown holes in their own lairs because of their paranoia. Void had confirmed it for her, when she’d asked. Necromancers were a strange mix of lax and ultra-paranoid. They were, he’d pointed out, mad.
And they know we’re here, Emily told herself. There was no doubt of it. They’d been watched from a distance, by overseers that had either evaded or killed cavalry who’d gone after them. They have to do something about it. And quickly. What will they do?
Shaking her head, she closed the link and opened her eyes, then reached for a notebook. She had an idea, but she’d have to mess around with it first to make sure it was workable before she took it to the command staff. And then... she’d have to make it work. She had no choice.
She had the awful feeling they were running out of time.
Oathkeeper (Schooled in Magic Book 20) Page 29