Mali pointed toward the large double doors. The soldier standing guard pushed one of the wings open. Squinting against the sunlight, Mali walked out of the manor, into the large yard, her friend just behind her.
About two score of women were in various stages of handing their mounts to stable grooms. They were all covered in brown road dust and maybe a splotch of blood. It was quite warm, and everyone looked sick from exhaustion. Fat, disobedient fingers tugged at armor straps and cinches, trying to free the heavy, stifling plates. Pieces of metal clanged to the ground unceremoniously, making a solid din.
Major Meagan had already dismounted and was rubbing her face with a wet towel, smearing streaks of dirt round her cheeks. She was still wearing her greaves, one of them dented. Recruits from both her own battalion and the other divisions were running back and forth, carrying swords and spent crossbows and lances still intact. The yard was rather busy. Still more women were coming inside the mansion grounds, arriving in small groups of two or three. Blessedly, they did not look wounded, just dead tired.
“How are you, Meagan?” Mali asked, feeling just a little bit guilty for having had her fun with Bjaras. But she deserved it. Bloody Abyss, she could not be on duty all the time.
The officer huffed. “Too hot. Just too hot. If not for these lads, I’d strip naked.”
Mali arched her brows. That was quite a statement from the noblewoman. “Any casualties?”
“Just three women. One fell off her horse, broke her neck. Another got an arrow in her eye. Lucky shot through the visor, imagine that. One of Nolene’s corporals was killed by a spearman. Impaled through her guts, wasn’t pretty. I think Alan lost half a dozen of his own, too.”
Meagan waited for a moment, and when she realized she was no longer needed, she walked away to talk to one of the stableboys. He was trying to remove the saddle from her filly, but the major did not like the way he was treating the animal.
At her side, Alexa undid the strap on her shoulder pad and let it dangle. “This enemy is dedicated, but they are mad, and not very skilled at fighting against cavalry. We stayed away, firing from horseback until we ran out of shafts. Then we’d dash in, poke them, rush out, let them pursue and get weary, circle back, and stab again. Only this larger force worries me.”
Mali did not normally approve of Alexa leaving on raids, but she needed her most skilled officer to be in command when her troops met the enemy soldiers. Just as she had feared, they had started showing up, more often and in larger numbers, coming back northwest to inspect the delay in their rear forces. Three hundred men was a respectable body to send on a reconnaissance mission, but hardly any risk to her girls. Two thousand, however…
She had been quite certain the patrols would get much, much bigger. And they had.
The time to figure out the enemy’s intentions was running out. So far, no one could really understand the northerners. Well, she was too busy fucking one. That counted for something, didn’t it? After all, she was trying to reconcile with the foe. Their hearts and minds and all that.
Mali sucked her teeth, bit her lip, chewed on it. She had hoped to establish a strong base at the estate, use the mansion and the castle as defense against the northern forces, and just keep sending hunting parties everywhere in an attempt to sever the enemy’s supply lines. That surely worked, and the invading army had noticed. Now, she could remain here and wait for a huge flood of relentless foreigners to sweep back and defeat her by sheer numbers. It would take no skill in the end.
Or she could abandon the comfort of a real bed and embark on a killing quest once more. Just like she had done against the Namsue. Except she had no idea what her enemy really wanted, she could not understand it, and it was about a hundred times stronger than her own force.
Well, she had volunteered for this.
Mali wished she could wait a month longer so that the soldiers could bring in whatever crops the fields yielded. She wished she could spend another year rebuilding the estate, digging trenches and dikes and moats, building towers and walls. She wished someone in the south of Eracia would bother sending some kind of message back so she knew they were perhaps still alive and in control of the realm, that Lord Karsten was still in charge of the people, that the army existed and had its reserves and the chain of command and leftovers from the last harvest so they would not starve in the winter. She wished she had more troops and that she could coordinate the defense of the realm more effectively. Most of all, she wished she knew what was happening.
Her wishing didn’t make any of it better. No message from Somar or Paroth or Ubalar yet. Or anywhere else. For a moment, Mali wondered if this body of men and women was the last huddle of humanity left in the realms. Them against an entire world of foreign people.
All the while, unarmed women and children kept coming in their strange convoys across the fields and plains of the country, traveling south. Her troops intercepted them, rounded them up, and sent them back. No one ever really fought back, not in earnest. She still had her gaggle of friendly prisoners, who did not seem to object to being held captive by a foreign army or seeing their kin herded back the way they had come.
Madness.
I miss the border skirmishes, she thought. There was logic in that time. Even Adam’s head chopping seemed like a lucid, logical idea compared to this.
“Eventually, we’ll get fucked,” Alexa said, echoing her thoughts.
Mali sighed. “So we leave a token force and march bravely forward?”
Alexa was tugging at her breastplate clasps, but they slipped in her sweaty fingers. “You should consult with Finley and Alan. They might take it personally if you do all the thinking for them. Let them feel as if they came up with the plan in the first place.”
“What if we just run? Head south? Or retreat far north, let this storm pass?”
Alexa grimaced sourly, her opinion plain across her face.
Mali nodded. “Right, we cannot.”
“The longer we stay here and delay the enemy, the better. Gives the rest of the nations more time to prepare. Gives us a sense of duty.” Mali wasn’t sure if her friend was not being slightly cynical. “But now, we need to change tactics. We can’t stay put any longer. Static warfare favors large armies, and as long as we have the advantage of speed, we can dictate the time and place of the battles. From what we’ve seen so far, they are not using any horses, so we can move twice as fast as they.”
“Forward it is,” Mali said, going back to her earlier plan. Simple, straightforward, suicidal. But less deadly than waiting for a giant army to walk over at leisure and swallow them whole.
She would miss a proper bed.
“You probably want to rest,” she told Alexa, feeling apologetic. “But I need you with me.”
Legs rubbery from her frolicking earlier, she walked through the arched gateway of the mansion’s low, mostly decorative wall and headed toward the castle. In order to create some semblance of order and reduce the chance of fighting and molestation, the two male commanders had their troops stationed in the keep and around it, while the girls enjoyed the mansion. It was not a fair arrangement, but there were far more men than women, and they couldn’t all fit into Lord Karsten’s bedrooms.
The soldiers were busy repairing the stonework day and night, strengthening the walls, making the fortifications that much sturdier and more perilous for attackers. In between rows of tents and large patches of ground covered in carts, boxes, and barrels of supplies, thick rows of sharpened stakes faced outward, making an approach risky. People had to weave left and right to get to the castle.
Bored sentries stood everywhere, broiling in the summer heat. Most had taken off their helmets, but that was as much nudity as Alan would let them have. Builders and workers, on the other hand, were wearing only short breeches. You could not scale a scaffolding wrapped in steel and leather.
The air smelled of tar, a sticky, sharp stench that made your head hurt. Men were smearing the black substance over the wooden gates
and the tower structures to try to make them fireproof. Higher up, she could see carpenters braving the height, patching old roofs and building platforms for archers. It looked like a well-coordinated effort. The castle would stand not just mock siege engagements but also some real ones. The sorry Eracian army was coming together well. She should be proud. Alan and Finley, too. Now, though, she was going to ask the other two officers to mostly abandon the repairs and march on a suicidal journey against the northerners.
Soldiers saluted, but she was too tired to return the gesture. She walked on, silent, mind swimming with thoughts. The sun disappeared as she stepped under the portcullis and into the low, vaulted passage burrowing through four paces of rock and mortar, then the second gate. As she walked, the cadence of her feet turned hollow inside the gateway. Black murder holes glared at her. The yard inside was beaten and scarred from thousands of feet and hooves going about. Everything was covered in a well-hammered patina of horseshit.
There were crossbowmen on the walls and walkways, lounging on large, rough steps leading onto the parapet and around workshops, on balconies and inside windows of the inner buildings. Mali estimated five thousand people could withstand a force ten times their size for a few months, provided the cellars had enough stores and the wells did not get poisoned. Luckily, Barrin was blessed with streams of fresh water and ripe fields everywhere.
She found the commander of the Third Division in one of the small, austere offices, which had probably once been used by some clerk to keep notes of how the keep was running. The small, slitted window was good for firing arrows without exposing the shooter, but it let in insufficient light. Finley was almost perching in the wedge of sunlight, squinting at his own reports. Behind his back, through the wavy, cheap glass, she could see the divisions drilling, large worms made of shiny metallic colors, twisting, curling, mating.
“You have heard of the incoming force,” he said.
Mali waved the commander’s assistant away. “Where is Alan?”
Finley grimaced. “I believe he’s taking a private moment. Bad food.”
She nodded. Well, if she could conclude the order of battle without the other man, that suited her just fine. She was not in the mood to fight or argue. “I think we should leave the estate. We cannot fight this enemy holed up in here. That would be self-destruction. Token force to maintain the castle, some logistic units. We take the rest and ride east.” The plan was forming inside her mind even as she spoke it.
Finley put one of his reports down. “East?”
Mali felt a tiny fly land on her earlobe and swatted it away. “That will take us out of harm’s way. Then, we cut due south and strike at our enemy’s flank. Strike, retreat, regroup, circle around them, strike again. We can probably maintain this strategy indefinitely.”
He nodded. “A similar idea has crossed my mind. Once I heard of this new force, I began to wonder what the next wave would bring. After we defeat two thousand men, perhaps they will send twenty?”
“Piecemeal victory sounds good enough for me.” But it would not last. The foe would realize that and send a huge, unstoppable force. When that happened, she did not want to find herself in an old, musty castle, counting her rations.
“Alan is not really in favor of marching,” Finley added.
Mali glanced at Alexa. “Well, he can remain here. We will need a garrison.”
Finley grimaced. “Truth be told, I don’t relish the march or the fighting either. But then, we have no choice really. Still, I can’t help but wondering if we might not be utterly lost—or wrong. We haven’t received any news from the realm in a long time. So much could have happened since.”
Mali realized she could not keep standing any longer. She plopped into a chair, sighing loudly. She was glad other people shared her fears and doubts. But that also meant her interpretation of the reality was most likely accurate. A grim prospect.
“Let us defeat this army. Then we will regroup and move out.”
Finley put his hands on the edge of the desk. “Sounds like a plan.”
Mali stared at her own hands. “I want to take the northern people with us, though.” She had other ideas. She wanted to send a small force into Athesia to try to establish some kind of a pact with whoever ruled there. Sending letters was fine, but they were easily ignored.
“They are the enemy,” the other commander objected.
Mali smiled. “Exactly. One day, if we figure out their language, we might begin to understand what this crazy northern nation wants from us. We might actually be able to talk to them. That is always better than outright slaughter, especially if your foe outnumbers you.” And Bjaras would be coming with her.
Finley rubbed his neck. “I am not optimistic. If they wanted to talk, they would have done that already.”
“It’s a slim chance, but I will not squander it.”
They talked for a little while longer, making a rough outline of their battle formation for the upcoming engagement. The enemy force was expected to arrive by midday tomorrow and would probably pass within ten miles from their position, if not strike directly for the estate. The terrain did not provide any great advantage for ambushes, but the three of them carefully examined the maps to make sure they didn’t miss anything.
Then, they discussed the actual march, the strength of the different units, the readiness of the troops, the supplies. Not the proudest or most skilled army in the world, to be sure, but they had quite a bit of experience. That should count in their favor.
Alan would remain behind with three or five thousand men, depending on how ardently he argued when they presented him with the plan. The rest would move as a homogenous body toward Pain Mave, hoping to evade the bulk of the enemy force and nip at their exposed sides. Perhaps she could meet up with her son and his mixed Athesian army. She missed James.
Well, it was a well-planned idea.
Or a well-planned suicide.
“May I invite you for dinner?” Finley said when they concluded the talk of sacrifice and heroism.
Mali pursed her lips. “Why not.” She looked at Alexa. Her friend nodded.
Finley gave her a small smile. “In two hours then.”
Walking through the damp, musty corridors, Mali let her mind unravel. She wondered how Gordon would react when she told him about Bjaras. He had to know; she owed him that much. Or the fact they would be taking their prisoners along. She wondered if she wasn’t being just a silly old whore trying to escape commitment, like she had done most of her life. Or maybe she was just a huge coward.
Well, we all might die tomorrow. Dreams of the future are for the naïve. But somehow, she did not believe her own conscience. She shouldn’t be feeling any guilt. She shouldn’t fret over what men might think about her actions. Only now that she was doing as she pleased, there was a pang of something else in her belly.
Gordon is a decent man, she figured. So why am I doting over some curly enemy carpenter? Madness. Then again, nothing in the past year made any sense. Enjoying sex was probably the only sane thing she had done in a long while. And now, her mind was going to rob her of even that. The only thing awaiting her was a brutal march followed by a hopeless war.
For a moment, she thought about Adam. That man had chosen the right moment to die, for sure. He had spared himself all the pain and fretting she was enduring right now. Because of him. All because of him.
She went to the mansion to prepare for dinner, black ideas swirling through her head.
CHAPTER 22
Sergei reclined in a large, heavy chair, staring at the table in front of him. An ancient monstrosity of oak fireproofed against insects and time, it had a map of Roalas and its vicinity spread over it, the details painstakingly outlined, every little crease and village known to the city’s cartographers.
His obsession.
What interested him most was the budding mold around Keron. An insider enemy, for all he was concerned, accountable to its own truths and reasoning. Well, things were not that
awful. Since his visit at that holy farm, Gavril’s men had started cooperating with his tax collectors and soldiers, trying to appease him and reduce his suspicion.
Then, quite recently, they had started marching north.
Even now, if he bothered walking out onto a balcony and glancing over the cascade of rooftops, chimneys, washing lines, and the city’s walls, he could see a long line of men clogging the road, a tail of dust wagging behind them. They walked slowly and in disarray, no two quite the same, with more ash-colored donkeys and thin-ribbed mules than real horses, with more soldiers of the faith barefoot than clad in boots. Still, the pilgrim force was impressive in its own right, and only a fool would have dismissed the sheer number of spears and swords in that snaky, never-ending column.
They were going north to fight an ancient legend. Incredible.
But it was worrying, nevertheless.
Sergei could ignore an occasional lunatic preaching his own crazed notion of the truth. He could not as easily disregard tens of thousands of people united in their cause, no matter what it was. You had to be a genius to sway so many hearts and minds with just empty, idle talk, and Gavril did not strike him as the brightest politician of the century. Which meant he was lounging in the court room, fireplaces mercifully cold now that his sister was away, and wasting time rather than preparing for this fateful war.
He sipped wine. It was a bit acidic but acceptable overall. The sour taste fit his mood.
“Your Highness, Duke Yuri has arrived,” Giorgi announced, standing near the hall doors.
Sergei shifted his weight and smiled. Finally. After so many months being robbed of his army, ruling the city with goodwill and scant troops, he had finally received his reinforcements, and he would have them for the coming year. The relief he felt was enormous.
It wasn’t just the threat of this imaginary northern foe; it was his disillusion with Sasha and her Red Caps, the lack of victory against Amalia, the fragile peace he had to maintain in the countryside with an ever-dwindling presence of force. Most of his sister’s units were in the north, and he was waiting for the Caytoreans and Eracians and maybe even the nomads to test his resolve. With the arrival of Yuri’s levies, and those of Count Pavel, reported just days away with the Sevorod contingent, he could bring the sorry affair of Adam’s legacy to a conclusion.
The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) Page 23