by David Hair
‘So too with House Aranio,’ Stefan di Aranio put in. ‘Don’t doubt our commitment, my Lady, but you must realise that it is Riban where the first blow will come.’
‘Gurvon could just as easily approach Forensa from the south, leaving Riban untouched,’ Elena noted, her voice brittle. ‘They have two legions at the Rift Forts already.’
Piero Inveglio unrolled a large map. ‘Where are the enemy?’ he asked, looking at Harshal ali-Assam.
The shaven-skulled Jhafi lord stood, his silks rustling. ‘I have just returned from Brochena and I have current word on all enemy deployments.’ He placed a marker on the Rift Forts, to the south of Forensa. ‘The Estellan legions, commanded by the woman Staria Canestos, are here.’
‘The perverted ones,’ Scriptualist Nehlan interrupted.
‘Staria’s men are capable soldiers, regardless of their other inclinations,’ Elena pointed out.
‘I’m told they fight like buggery,’ Piero Inveglio joked, though no one laughed.
Cera guessed their hesitancy meant some still half-believed she was safian.
‘Well, I thought it was funny,’ Inveglio said diffidently.
Harshal put other markers on the map. ‘In the Krak di Condotiori we have Adi Paavus’ Rondian mercenaries. Near Riban, Argundians under Hans Frikter. In Baroz, the Hollenians of Endus Rykjard. Those are all loyal to Gurvon Gyle, of course.’ Harshal chose different markers and placed two in Brochena. ‘Two legions of Dorobon, at least, for they are recruiting among the settlers, and another of Kirkegarde loyal to Tomas Betillon. A total of eight legions – each with fifteen magi and five thousand men.’
‘You can ignore Adi Paavus,’ Elena said. ‘He won’t budge from the Krak di Condotiori unless it’s an emergency. The real question is whether Gurvon and Betillon can work together.’
‘Can they?’ Pita Rosco asked.
‘I’m damned if I know, Pita. The two have history: Gurvon fought for Noros in the Revolt, and Betillon was the commander of one of the Rondian armies. Betillon sent his men into the town of Knebb, which had already surrendered – he was new to the conflict, as was Kaltus Korion, after the previous Rondian generals were sacked for their failures. Betillon decided to make an example of Knebb, so he had every man, woman and child put to death. The women were raped first. We all swore we’d kill the bastard for that, but he won. That crime, and those he and his army of thugs committed afterwards, turned the war against us. He is still known as the Butcher of Knebb.’
‘But both are pragmatists,’ Pita noted.
‘We were the first into Knebb afterwards, Gurvon and I. We were so angry . . .’ Elena looked down at her clenched fists. ‘But Gurvon’s changed. I believe he would ally with Shaitan himself if it profited.’
‘So the possibility of them acting in concert remains,’ Cera concluded grimly. She placed a marker on Hytel. ‘There are also the Gorgio.’ Portia, how do you fare?
Harshal ali-Assam brightened. ‘Let me tell you a tale of Hytel,’ he drawled. ‘You will recall that the lovely Portia Tolidi was also married to Francis Dorobon, only being a Gorgio, she threw herself into the rukking with enthusiasm.’ The men snickered, and Cera had to control her irritation at this defamation of her former lover. ‘Well, she got what she wanted – a child in her belly – and was sent north, where, surprise, surprise, she gained more than she had imagined. Donna Elena will tell us how a woman who becomes pregnant to a powerful mage can gain the gnosis herself.’
Everyone started, then looked at Cera, or more particularly, at her belly, a question in their eyes.
‘No,’ she said firmly. She bit her lip. ‘I wasn’t enthusiastic for Francis.’
‘To your credit, Lady,’ Pita Rosco put in.
Harshal resumed his narrative. ‘Portia’s been driving the Hytel court insane with her demands, and they’re terrified of her. She has strange impulses, mostly concerning her dietary needs. She and Uncle Alfredo fell out in a big way. And now Alfredo is dead – he’s killed himself.’
There was a collective intake of breath. ‘Alfredo Gorgio’s dead?’ Comte Inveglio gasped. ‘You’re certain?’
‘Absolutely. I have it from all sides. After Portia gained the gnosis, he went downhill in a big way. Some said she cursed him.’
Cera was torn between triumph and worry. Oh Portia, what’s become of you?
‘Curses aren’t real,’ Elena put in. ‘They’re superstition. But it is likely true that Portia Tolidi has gained the gnosis. Untaught, uncontrolled . . . she’d be a danger to everyone around her. I’m surprised Gurvon let her go.’
‘I’m told it was written into the Dorobon-Gorgio alliance, and Francis was in control then,’ Harshal said. ‘But now Alfredo’s bastards are vying for her hand, and they’re beginning to knife each other in the back.’
The men looked pleased at this, but Cera could feel only dread, fearful that someone would take a blade to Portia. ‘Then perhaps the Gorgio will not be a factor in the coming struggle,’ she said, struggling to sound unemotional.
‘Then these are the numbers,’ Seir Ionus said, bringing them back to the main topic. ‘Gyle has four legions, excluding the one at the Krak, and Betillon three: that’s thirty-five thousand men, though many will be tied down on garrison and supply-route protection. But we have only twenty-one thousand men here, and eighteen thousand in Riban.’
‘Where they must remain,’ Stefan di Aranio said emphatically.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
To his credit, Seir Ionus didn’t rise to this argument, at least not directly. The extent of the Aranio participation was an unspoken division in the room. Instead, he turned to Elena. ‘Is it correct,’ he asked, ‘that armies without magi must outnumber a Rondian legion by five to one to prevail?’
‘So they say,’ Elena replied, ‘although a single blade or arrow can kill a mage if he is taken unawares. A fully prepared and shielded mage cannot be surprised or wounded so easily, though. If they are protected by legionaries and are skilled, they can be nigh on untouchable, and devastating in the field. Five to one is accurate, I deem, and what is more, you must have men who are willing to sacrifice themselves in wearing down the magi so that others might triumph. That kind of fortitude is rare.’
‘So we need a lot more men,’ Harshal concluded for her. ‘Probably every man able to bear arms.’
‘Which is impossible,’ Luigi Ginovisi said dourly. ‘We’d never be able to feed or arm them, and if we gathered them all, our enemy would just laugh and harass us until we starved or fell apart.’
‘That’s about the sum of it,’ Elena agreed. ‘But we do have options; for one, we’ve some allies you don’t know about.’
She told them about the lamiae, skimming through their history in the Rondian Animagery breeding facilities, and how they’d come to escape. Cera endorsed the tale, and as the counsellors were shaking their heads in disbelief, she added, ‘Their windship is still moored north of here.’
Elena told them, ‘I can take you there, if seeing is believing.’
‘How many of these creatures are there?’ Comte Inveglio asked.
‘Most are still in the west, and some are helping Mekmud of Lybis. There are fifteen aboard the windship, all strong warriors with gnostic abilities.’
‘Are they willing to fight for us?’ Harshal asked.
‘With, not for,’ Elena replied coolly. ‘With certain conditions.’
‘What conditions?’ Luigi Ginovisi asked warily.
‘They want land, gifted to them in perpetuity.’
That made everyone pause: land was regarded as the key of wealth, and even barren deserts had a price.
Pita Rosco broke the silence. ‘Where?’
‘On the coast, northwest of Lybis. It is far away and completely uninhabited. The Emir of Lybis has agreed to give it to them, but that requires the endorsement of the King of Javon.’
‘How long have they lived there?’ asked Harshal, who hated not being first with any kind of
news.
‘Only since the beginning of the year,’ Elena replied. ‘But they claim a spiritual connection to the valley; they call it their Promised Land.’
There was some debate, but Elena was an eloquent advocate for the lamiae and Cera backed her and the condition was agreed in short order.
After that came boring but necessary discussion of revenues and treasury reports, and finally they got on to the well-being of the city. Forensa was not just heavily indebted, but struggling to support the tens of thousands of refugees from Brochena and the west who had fled the Dorobon. There were camps outside the city housing countless people in awful conditions, surviving only through the generosity of Forensa, Loctis and Riban. ‘In normal conditions, Brochena buys all our produce, and houses these people,’ Stefan di Aranio complained. ‘I have another fifty thousand or more outside my city of Riban.’
‘It is so,’ Marid Tamadhi stated. He was now the prime Jhafi lord in Riban, following the death of his father Ilan, who’d been slain at Fishil Wadi. He looked much like his father, but seemed close to Stefan di Aranio. ‘The Dorobon have been moving their own settlers into Brochena and casting out Jhafi. Most came east.’
‘Is there enough food?’ Cera asked.
‘Just – though only because the Loctis traders are accepting credit terms,’ Justiano di Kestria replied.
‘Your brother should be sending us supplies for free!’ Pita Rosco snapped. ‘He’s letting these traders profiteer on the suffering of the people.’
‘My people must also eat,’ Justiano retorted. ‘Food still costs money to produce, and we’ve no new gold flowing in to pay for it. My House is going broke as fast as yours, Nesti!’
‘Peace,’ Cera snapped. ‘We’re all being pinched. These aren’t normal times. And yes, there are traders profiting from this. It is they who deserve our ire.’
‘Then clamp down on them, Lady!’ Luigi Ginovisi cried, slapping the table. ‘Confiscate the stores of those who are stockpiling and distribute the food amongst the needy.’
‘I can’t just confiscate a merchant’s stock,’ Cera said, then paused. ‘Or can I?’
Elena raised a hand. ‘In Noros during the Revolt, we did this: all essentials were assigned a fixed price and distributed by rationing – everything: granaries, estates, mines, forests, private armouries, even the banks and money-lenders. It was a time of crisis, and it created fresh problems after the Revolt, but it got us through, and prevented certain men from profiting from the misery of others.’
Stefan di Aranio and Piero Inveglio shared a sick look. ‘But the law protects—’
‘So too in Noros, but the king overrode them,’ Elena interrupted.
The men around the table, mostly noblemen of wealth, looked at each other with somewhat ashen faces.
Well, thought Cera. That was very instructive.
‘Javon is fighting for her life, gentlemen,’ she said gravely. ‘The poor are losing everything; should a trader from Loctis or a banker of Brochena grow rich on their losses?’ She left the question hanging, and no one grasped it. ‘I want a report by the end of the week on the measures taken in Noros and how they might be implemented here. Elena, please talk to Pita and Luigi, and to my lords of Loctis and Riban, as this affects you closely too.’
‘And me,’ Piero Inveglio put in swiftly. ‘Someone must represent the interests of the wealthy of Forensa.’
‘I think you’ll find that someone is me,’ Cera told him firmly. She met his eyes, waited him out until he dropped his eyes and looked away sullenly. So are you part of the problem, Comte? Interesting. She looked around the table, wondering how many men would be rapidly reorganising their affairs to conceal their assets and hide them from confiscation.
‘It is always stimulating having you at the table, Donna Elena,’ Pita Rosco observed wryly.
They moved on to less pressing matters and as the day wore on, the meeting became more about detail. Finally, as they began to wind up, Elena raised a hand, addressing Cera. ‘Princessa, there is one more thing. Returning to the subject of our need for magi, there is another option I’d like to pursue, although there is a risk.
‘What sort of risk?’
‘The dying sort,’ Elena replied drily. ‘But the possible gains are huge.’
‘What do you need of us?’ Cera asked.
‘Kazim and I need your leave to disappear for a while, no questions asked.’
This was greeted with stony silence, those not predisposed to trust a Rondian or Keshi mage showing their unhappiness.
‘How long do you need?’ she asked.
‘A month,’ Elena replied. ‘Maybe more.’
The consternation of those present grew, but Cera spoke over it. ‘You have our blessing,’ she said in a firm voice. ‘Just make sure that you brief me about the Noros Revolt arrangements before you go.’
8
Identity
The Gentler Sex
It is noticeable that most healers are girls, and most battle-magi are boys. We should seek to cultivate these natural predilections when helping our students towards their true callings. Women should be forbidden martial training and instructed to concentrate on areas where their nature will help them to excel.
SENATOR FARIUS TREY, SPEAKING AGAINST ARCANUM REFORM, PALLAS, 917
Near Vida, Southern Kesh, on the continent of Antiopia
Shawwal (Octen) 929
16th month of the Moontide
Seth Korion spurred his horse into motion, for a moment missing the intuitive khurne he’d ridden before Shaliyah. He’d turned it loose once they’d left Ardijah, a little ashamed it had taken him so long to do so. The small army – the ‘Lost Legions’, as they liked to call themselves – were digging in twenty miles north of Vida on low heights overlooking the Tigrates River – although ‘heights’ rather oversold the position; in truth, they were glorified sand dunes, barely twenty yards high. The northern tip of them touched the riverbank, but there was a hundred-yard gap at the southern end where an attacker might outflank them without having to climb; that worried him most of all.
‘Put my Bullheads there,’ Fridryk Kippenegger was insisting. ‘They won’t take a backwards step.’ He seemed to regard his entire maniple – Rondians to a man – as honorary Schlessens, and oddly enough, his men did too.
‘No, we need the most heavily armoured unit there,’ Seth replied firmly. He’d read enough military manuals to know this much at least. ‘I’m putting Jelaska’s Argundians there. Your men can have the ridge on her left flank. Dig in! You need a spiked palisade running the entire length of this space – two hundred yards – anchored to Jelaska’s men on your right and the Bricians to your left. Hold your line!’
‘Yar, yar!’ Kippenegger grinned. ‘We’ll hold. I promised Minaus Bullhead ten cows.’
Barbarian. But Kip was a solid presence and his men fought well. He threw the Schlessen a salute. ‘Then get on with it.’
So it went down the line. He put the remains of his own legion, Pallacios XIII, in the centre. Estellan archers would be dotted throughout the lines, with orders to shoot carefully and not miss. They were low on arrows and every shot had to count. Massed archery could be deadly, but it was also incredibly wasteful. ‘And remember,’ he told the assembled magi, ‘you’re responsible for your maniple. Get them through alive and you’ll make it too.’
There weren’t many of them left. There were eight left from the Thirteenth: Seth himself, Sensini and Kippenegger, plus Baltus Prenton, Severine Tiseme – though she was still recovering from giving birth – the Andressans Hugh Gerant and Evan Hale, and the healer Lanna Jureigh.
He had only eleven from other legions: Lysart, from Noros, and the Bricians Sordan and Mylde, and three Argundians, the pure-blood Jelaska Lyndrethuse, Gerdhart the chaplain and another healer, Carmina Phyl. The rest were sole survivors from legions lost at Shaliyah: Runsald and Nacallas of Brevis, Hulbert from Hollenia, ven Lascyn and Barendyne of Bres; apart from Jelaska all low-bloods. So nin
eteen magi in all, three of whom were non-combatants. Nineteen might be more than the normal complement of a legion, but they had two and half legions’-worth of men to look after: more than twelve thousand rankers.
I wonder what gnostic strength Salim has? The Keshi army at Shaliyah and Ardijah had been augmented by magi and Dokken, not so well-trained as the Rondian magi, but still dangerous. And even without them, Salim’s men numbered close to one hundred thousand men.
Nearly ten to one . . . have you ever faced such odds, Father?
He left each mage marshalling their particular maniple, or in some cases, two maniples, using their gnosis to help fortify the ridge. They had a mile of elevated land to defend, some of it with a gentle sandy slope, other sections crowned in jagged spires. ‘Keep the men digging,’ he told them. ‘We’ve probably got about two days before the Keshi arrive.’
Finally he and Ramon Sensini were alone on the northern corner, against the riverbank. Ramon’s men, mostly engineers and clerks, were assigned this section, as well as organising the supply train. ‘Well,’ the Silacian said offhandedly, ‘I’d better go and circle the wagons.’
‘No, wait. I want a word.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Ramon asked, all innocence.
Seth took a deep breath. ‘Have you ever heard of the poet Jolquar? No? “Spin me a tale of wonder”, he once wrote, the opening lines to Il Eroici dia Ryma. It’s about the founders of the Rimoni Empire. No? I thought not. Anyway,’ he said, gathering his temper, ‘I want you to spin me a tale of wonder. Tell me all about the thief Sensini, and why the whole of the Kore-bedamned Imperial Treasury wants his bloody head!’ Seeing Ramon wince in discomfort brought a little satisfaction. Not much though.
‘Well,’ Ramon said evasively, ‘there’s not really that much to tell.’
‘The Hel there isn’t! Three days ago I had an Imperial Arch-Legate tell me all about you: you’ve been issuing promissory notes on behalf of the Imperial Treasury! You’ve been trading in opium! You’ve been using false identification documents to gain the trust of some shady investors, and started a flood of money that’s destabilising the empire – not that I suppose you care.’