by D. M. Murray
“Did you speak with the major, sir?” the old sailor asked as Arrlun hurried past.
“Yes, thank you,” Arrlun replied as he walked on. He paused and stepped back towards the old sailor. “He asked that he not be disturbed,” Arrlun added before stepping past the sleeping troops and entering the cabin below decks.
He climbed back into his bunk and pulled his woollen blanket up towards his chin, his heart rate lessening. Not entirely sure what he saw, if indeed he saw anything, Arrlun closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, and a strange feeling of fear gnawed at him.
*
The Valeswater flowed into a large lake called the Night Sea. The ships had docked and unloaded at the trading-post town, Nightown. They prepared the battalion for the remaining leg of their journey and set off to cover the distance around the mountain ranges and south to Apula. Although it remained unspoken, all knew that if the Solansian forces were to attack at the eastern border of the Free Provinces, it would ultimately mean having to take Apula.
Arrlun forced himself to pay little mind to the nagging feeling that followed him since he watched Bergnon on the ship. He was careful to make sure his mood reflected nothing, although he was not entirely sure why.
They approached Apula with a battalion of exhausted soldiers shortly after the sun had set on the third day. The lights of Apula shone in the dark of the night, marking the broad walls and gently rising shape of the inner city. The plain before the city was cloaked in darkness.
“Pity you can’t see the bloom,” Thaskil said to Arrlun. “It’d be a sight for sore eyes, I tell you.”
“Sure it would,” Arrlun responded wearily, his words tinged with disappointment. “Aye, but for now, I’ll be content with making camp and getting some rest. And maybe even an ale!”
Thaskil sounded his agreement, “Sounds good. The plain is an even greater sight at sunrise.” He reined in his horse and looked back at the exhausted soldiers of the battalion. “Suppose we’re fortunate we’ve not had to march the entire way like the rest of the men.”
“Right enough,” Arrlun replied. “The poor bastards will be exhausted. Alright, let’s get this camp organised. Sooner we get done, the sooner they can rest up.” Arrlun nudged his horse’s flanks and trotted towards Bergnon. “Major Bergnon, sir.”
“Ah, my formal Noehmian deputy. Remember, when out of earshot, you can call me Bergnon. Nice and simple, eh?” He smiled at his young friend. “Now, how can I be of service?”
“Well, Bergnon, Sir,” Arrlun continued awkwardly, “I was thinking perhaps as the men have travelled hard this week that we give them some reward. Perhaps we should send for some wine or ale from Apula for them?”
Bergnon laughed. “A very kind gesture my young friend, however I think with experience you’ll soon learn the folly of such a kindness. The marriage of eight hundred tired and bored soldiers with wine and ale is indeed an unhappy one. You can expect trouble, and lots of it. No, let’s not encourage a rowdy spirit in the lads. At least not until we have some visitors. Let’s just concentrate on getting the camp up, perimeter established, and the men’s grub on. You and Thaskil know the drill by now. I’ll send one of the corporals into Apula with dispatches for the Command there. We’ll present ourselves tomorrow morning. Now set to it.” He leant over and gave the husky youth an encouraging slap on the shoulder before turning in his horse and trotting off to seek a corporal.
*
The night had passed peacefully and Thaskil woke Arrlun shortly before sunrise so he could show him the famed sight of the winter poppy bloom on the plain of Apula. It was a particularly cold morning and as the sun crept up above the mountain range that framed the Sea of Storms to the west, Thaskil felt a frost underfoot and saw his breath before him.
“Here it comes,” Thaskil excitedly said to his friend. As the sun inched over the mountains and cast its first rays of light onto the plain, the reality before him caused Thaskil to inhale sharply. “The bloom,” he cried. “What happened to the bloom?”
Before him now was not the spectacular sight of bright red winter poppies, but instead a vast expanse of swaying wheat. The sea of wheat, fit for harvest, danced to the caress of the wind as it glided across the plain before them. The scars of previous battles, trenches and bulwarks, palisades and pits, caused the waves of golden sea to sporadically break. Yet beyond the scars of war, the wheat stretched out across the plain, alongside roads and edging forests and villages in the distance.
Arrlun put his hand on his friends shoulder to reassure him. “Major Broden spoke of some poison in the earth that was causing crops to fail. Perhaps with the ground being so strong here they needed wheat more.”
Thaskil stood in silence and watched as the red light of the sun washed over the city walls. Arrlun felt a shiver creep down his back. The light of the sun held no warmth this morning.
*
Arrlun poured Thaskil a cup of steaming coffee. “Here, get that into you.” Thaskil was clearly troubled by the apparent decimation of the famed poppy fields of Apula. Arrlun touched Thaskil on the elbow and indicated that his friend should follow him away from the more crowded elements of the mess tent.
He had been thinking about what he had witnessed on the ship that night. Why would Major Bergnon be upset and throw a key overboard? Before they had departed, there had been rumours that the senior clerk within the High Command had been murdered when on the run after the assassinations. Although he could not be sure, or place faith in rumour, Arrlun had absently heard a city guardsman mention how the clerk was found in a room in a bunk house by the docks, locked from the outside.
Arrlun lurched from one thought to the next. He admired and respected Major Bergnon. The man had been as a mentor to both he and Thaskil. He had shown nothing but pure devotion and commitment to the cause of defending the Free Provinces, even now working tirelessly, and forgoing food to prepare the defence of Apula.
“What is it?” Thaskil said as he slurped down a gulp of the bitter brew.
Arrlun rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked up holding his friends gaze. “You’ll think me mad when I tell you. Promise me you will hear me out, and tell me what you think, because I don’t know where my own mind is anymore.”
“Of course,” Thaskil replied, his expression shifting to one of concern. “What is it?”
“Well, I wasn’t able to sleep one of the nights we were sailing down the Valeswater, when Major Bergnon was on watch, so I got up and went above deck to give him some company. You know what a long watch can be like.”
“Aye. Was that the same night I was awake?”
“Aye, the same. I saw him at the stern of the ship looking upset by something.” Arrlun paused.
“These are troubled days. Shouldn’t think there’s anything unusual about that,” Thaskil interrupted.
“There’s more,” Arrlun mumbled, before carrying on. “He was talking to himself, looking at something he held in his hands. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, nor could I, at first, make out what it was he held. It was when he went to throw the thing in the water that I saw it. It was a key.”
Thaskil looked confused and snorted, “So? It was only a key. I don’t see the significance in that. What’s your point?”
Arrlun avoided Thaskil’s eyes and looked at the ground. He felt the blood beginning to pulse in his ears. “You see, I…I overheard the City Guard in Carte say that the command clerk who was murdered was found dead in a room locked from the outside. The clerk is linked to the assassinations.”
Thaskil lowered the mug of coffee from his mouth as a look of cold anger dawned on his face. “Arrlun, you can’t be suggesting what I think you are?”
“I can’t honestly tell you what I think,” Arrlun replied. “I’m not even sure I fully know myself.”
“Not another word on it.” Thaskil’s words were low and deliberate. “I‘d advise you, as your friend, to shake those thoughts from your head and get yourself together right now. Stop being such
a bloody fool!” Thaskil spilled his coffee as he pointed at Arrlun with his mug. “That man is probably the greatest chance we have of defending Apula, and with it, the Free Provinces. The last thing he needs, and the last thing the Free Provinces needs, is for her defenders to lose their heads. And the last thing I need is for you to lose yours!” Thaskil’s moment of ill temper passed as quickly as it came to him and he regarded the doubt in his friend’s eyes. “It’s a hard time on us all. Just try to keep your head straight.” He slapped Arrlun on the shoulder and headed back towards the main body of the camp, leaving his friend looking over the sea of wheat before him.
Arrlun breathed in deeply through his nose and muttered to himself, “You’re a fool, Arrlun. A damn bloody fool.”
*
Bergnon stood flanked by his lieutenants, Thaskil and Arrlun, as he addressed his stern-faced company sergeants. “Sergeant’s Wulff and Threftan, I want your companies to start work on the reinstatement of the palisade by the time I return. Salvage what you can of the last compound. Dispatch platoons into the woods for what you need. Sergeant’s Holleck and Felfarnen, I want your companies to set to work opening up any of the old trenches that have collapsed in on themselves. Let’s get this city battle ready.”
The sergeants saluted and withdrew to their business.
“You two, follow me,” Bergnon said to Thaskil and Arrlun before galloping off in the direction of Apula.
They rode for ten minutes through the edge of the plain and into the buildings and stockyards that radiated outward from the city walls. They slowed as they ascending the broad access ramp which led into the main body of the city through the portcullis.
“The gate’s not normally shut this long after sunrise,” Thaskil said to no one in particular.
“Words like ‘normally’ don’t apply here. Nor is it likely to apply in many places, if our fears are to be realised,” Bergnon responded with a neutral tone. He cleared his throat and then called out to the unseen watchmen who had undoubtedly observed their approach. “Ho there, officers of the High Command seek access to deliver dispatches to the city Command. I am Major Bergnon.”
His address was greeted by silence.
“May we enter?” he shouted at the portcullis once more.
After several more minutes of silence, a reply came from behind the cover of the gatehouse walls. “Major Bergnon, Major Metvani addressing you. Please excuse the caution, but we’ve had a spot of trouble here of late. I noted your arrival last night. Figured you were friend when you came from the west. Then your corporal arrived with word.”
Bergnon whispered to the two lieutenants on either side of him, “I know Metvani. He’s an ass. No scouts posted last night, and he allowed a battalion of heavily armed troops approach his walls on the assumption because they came from the west they were friend and not foe. It’s not good news at all if he’s leading the Command here, and Dajda help us if he sets the standard for a defender of our border.” He turned back toward the walls and greeted the major, “Major Metvani, we come with dispatches from the governor of Carte, Lord Harruld. He is acting chief of the High Command. There has been a coordinated strike across the Free Provinces High Command. We have lost many men. I carry urgent orders.”
There was another prolonged silence before the portcullis groaned into life, opening before them.
Major Metvani called out as the three officers trotted towards the entrance, “Nothing rash until we confirm your identity. We have archers on you.”
“Isn’t it a bit late for caution?” Bergnon mumbled.
They made their way inside the walls and looked up at the dozen bows aimed down upon them.
Bergnon looked around him and smiled. “Good morning, chaps.”
“Sorry about the hostile welcome, old boy,” Metvani said as he descended the stairs from the ramparts. “Just being careful. You understand, I’m sure.” He approached as Bergnon stepped off his horse, and offered him a trembling hand in greeting. “You mentioned a coordinated attack on the High Command a moment ago.” Metvani leant in close to Bergnon and lowered his voice, “We’ve lost a significant number here also.”
“As I feared, Major,” Bergnon replied. “We can discuss this in more depth in private, but first I must deliver dispatches from Carte to the commander.”
Metvani extended his open hand. “I’ll take them,” he said solemnly. “There is no one more senior left alive.”
“Colonel Alabasi?” Bergnon asked about the esteemed siege expert.
Metvani shook his head. “The colonel was killed.”
Bergnon sighed. “Well then, we have much work to do.” He guided Metvani towards Thaskil and Arrlun. “My lieutenants, Thaskil and Arrlun. Thaskil here is a native of Apula.”
The major greeted the two lieutenants with a raised eyebrow. “Aren’t they a little…fresh?”
“If we are to stem the coming tide, it will be largely done by the hands of young men such as these, Major. After all, we have lost much of our experienced men,” Bergnon replied.
“Quite,” Metvani replied. “We’ve lost fourteen senior officers and veterans here alone. I dread to think what our combined loss is. Come, let’s have a look at these dispatches and perhaps you can enlighten me as to what on earth is going on here.” He ushered a young soldier over with his horse and mounted it. “Do your men need any supplies or assistance pulling the old encampment together?” Metvani asked, his disinterest edging out any hint of sincerity in his voice.
“Not necessary, Major,” Bergnon replied as he and his lieutenants mounted their horses. “The men are well drilled. They should manage just fine.” Bergnon’s words smacked of his own disinterest in the major’s fragile offer.
“Excellent,” Metvani replied. “Let’s be off to my office then.” He spun his horse on the cobbled street and trotted off with Bergnon and the two young officers riding behind in silence.
*
The revelation of the intelligence and evidence, both solid and circumstantial, seemed to leave Major Metvani cold. His hand trembled as he poured himself a glass of chilled wine.
“Grunnxe is alive,” he murmured to himself. “I though Kalfinar ran him through? He was dead, was he not?”
“He did. And he’s not. Or so it appears,” Bergnon responded, not bothering to look at Metvani as he spoke. “Kalfinar himself is quite adamant about the extent to which he put his sword into him. He gets all misty eyed talking about it.” Bergnon afforded himself a slight smile as he watched Metvani’s grimace grow.
The coward’s eyes searched the surface of his desk, as if an escape route would somehow appear and offer him freedom.
“Nevertheless, it appears Grunnxe has the assistance of someone or something of great power. The thought on the matter is that he has aligned with another, and is utilising their strength.” Bergnon had not yet mentioned the discovery of the Ravenmayne, fearing it would be too much for Metvani. “It seems some Gods must be quite adept at undoing the odd skewering.”
“Dajda,” the major gasped. “That’s preposterous.” His face bristled with righteous indignation. “Despite their flaws and madness, the Solansian people are still children of Dajda. Setting aside our differences, they are still our brothers in God. How can that vile monster abandon our faith for another?” The major was furious, his religious fervour being until now unknown to Bergnon.
“I fear his conversion was somewhat opportunistic and borne out of a rather pressing necessity,” Bergnon replied. “When three feet of steel have passed in and out of a man, I would think one’s conviction could be swayed a touch more easily than normal. Don’t you?” Bergnon glanced slyly to the young lieutenants and rolled his eyes as the major fumbled with his thoughts.
“Not I!” Metvani barked. “I myself received a wound during the last skirmish season. Here.” Metvani rolled up his chain mail and pointed to a short, thin scar running above his hip. “See. A Solansian spear thrust in the trenches. No, Major, my conviction is like oak. Perhaps with w
eaker men the heart can go in such times of war.”
The most glancing of touches from a spear, if indeed. What a blustering prick. “The dispatches.” Bergnon handed the scrolls to Metvani.
Metvani’s face set piously as he began reading the dispatches. His brow furrowed and his bottom lip trembled before he coughed and spoke, “Governor Harruld’s dispatch states that if there’s to be a follow-up strike, it is likely to come here at Apula.” He glanced down again. “The command also reads that should Colonel Alabasi fall, that you, Major Bergnon, are to assume full command of the defence of Apula. Well, it appears I must hand over authority in light of your superior knowledge and skill in such matters of defence.” Metvani’s face was a conflicted mask of relief and damaged pride. “I’ll do all I can to assist you. Just ask and I’ll see it is so.”
“Thank you, Major,” Bergnon replied. “Your understanding is appreciated. We should receive regimental backup within the next four weeks. Until then, we’ll have to prepare all that we can in order to withstand any initial attack. How many men have we garrisoned in the city full-time?”
“We have around eight hundred permanent troops in the City Guard.”
“That makes sixteen hundred, counting my battalion.” Bergnon thought momentarily. “Major, mobilise the local militia and have them stationed within our encampment. I want them all brought in within three days.”
Metvani scribbled the orders down.
“And major, can you ensure an administrative officer sends me a list of all retired soldiers known to live within or near to the city. We’ll be wanting the veterans brought in, too.”