by Tom Lloyd
‘Here’s the plain,’ said Certinse, his finger stabbing down at the map. Isak moved forward to look over Lahk’s shoulder. With a grunt the general slid around the table to afford Isak a better view. The curves and lines meant little to the Krann but he kept quiet. A wagoner knew the lie of the Land from his own travels and the accounts of others, not paper, but he had to learn.
‘There’s a rise that runs much of that side, we can ride hidden behind it, but if they try to go over they’ll be in trouble. It’s too rocky to get down that slope. They will have to wait until they reach the cleft where a small river cuts the ridge. It’s wide and brings you right round the other side of the plain.’
‘What else is there?’
‘The river. That cuts through the ridge like this and runs that way - it’s not deep, though. There’s a steep, flat-topped rise here.’ Certinse moved his finger north-east of the river. Nothing was indicated on the map, but neither duke nor general looked surprised. ‘There are some old fortifications on top, nothing significant, but it’s a safe place to have a good view of the field. Other than that, there’s a slight up-slope running east and a nice big space to pick them off in.’
‘What will the river be like at this time of year?’ interrupted Isak. He’d dragged enough horses through enough rivers swollen by autumn rain as a child to know how difficult it would be for an army.
Certinse glanced up, a flash of irritation on his face, but replied, ‘Not too bad; even with the rain we’ve had it’ll still be possible to cross.’
‘Good,’ declared General Lahk in a decisive voice. ‘That’s where we’ll attack. We can take the heavy cavalry through the ridge there and hit the enemy in the side.’
‘Alone?’
‘Not quite. Your legion of archers will be on that rocky slope, protected by one of the Lomin spear legions. We have one legion of light cavalry with our group, and a division will skirmish ahead to draw the trolls off that rise—’
‘How do you know they will be there?’ the duke interrupted.
‘It’s protected from cavalry, therefore that is where the trolls will go, ready to attack our heavy cavalry once we commit it. The division will be doused in every bottle of perfume and scent our fair knights have brought with them. My Ghosts have already searched the baggage of every man with us. Your hurscals will submit to the same, Duke Certinse.’
The young man went red with anger at being ordered about by a white-eye, but Isak’s question came out first. ‘Perfume? Have you gone mad?’
‘Firstly, the scent of trolls on the wind will alarm the horses,’ the general explained calmly. ‘Hopefully, this will help mask their stench, which in turn will help us to keep our order tight. Secondly, a troll relies on scent and hearing - they can only see very short distances. The archers will also be burning all the incense our priests have. I am assured that the direction of the wind will be favourable. By moving quickly enough, and with any help the mages can provide, we can at least anger the trolls. They will follow the unfamiliar smell as much as the movement of the cavalry, and when our horse break south, out of the way, I believe they will falter in confusion.’
‘That’s lunacy!’ cried Certinse.
The general straightened up to face the duke, but still no trace of annoyance showed on his face, let alone anger at the insult. ‘Well then, it is unfortunate for all of us that Lord Isak has approved of the plan, and it is he who was specifically appointed commander of our army,’ he said quietly.
‘Lord Bahl did not know a duke would be present!’ snapped Certinse in return. ‘If my father had been alive he would have been granted command as soon as he rode in. I demand the same right, as is the privilege of my rank.’
Isak raised an eyebrow at Vesna, but the count was not paying attention. His hand was creeping closer to his sword as the Lomin hurscals edged closer to the group.
It was up to Isak. ‘Demand whatever in the name of the dark place you like,’ he bellowed. The venom in his voice froze every man to the spot and rippled out through the air to reach the Ghosts camped all around Isak’s tent. Hands reached instinctively for weapons as they caught sight of Certinse’s hurscals and they immediately closed the respectful gap between men and generals. General Lahk was an emotionless bastard who’d sacrifice a division if he had to, but he’d kept them all alive time and time again for that precise reason. They trusted him as much as Lord Bahl and had no affection for the arrogance of household knights.
‘The first man who draws a sword here, I’ll call mutiny and run him through. That also goes for the first who tries to take my command, whatever his rank is,’ Isak continued. ‘I’ll answer to Lord Bahl for my actions, but no one else commands me.’ He glared around at every man there. ‘Now, does anyone wish to take issue with the plan?’
A moment of silence followed before Certinse opened his mouth again and blurted out, ‘The enemy’s numbers are too great. We’d have to cut our way through several legions to reach the trolls.’
‘General Lahk, would you care to explain further?’ Isak’s voice was quiet and controlled; something Bahl had said to Isak had emerged from his memory: the eye of the storm is when men have time to fear the other side. Show your anger, and then don’t use it further. They will expect it to return, and hesitate. One pause is all a soldier needs.
‘Of course, my Lord. To the south will be the rest of the foot, the Palace Guard infantry at their fore and the rest of the light cavalry. The Ghosts and cavalry will advance, then falter at the sight of the enemy before retreating in a chaotic fashion. I would prefer to keep the Ghosts up with our group, but they are the only ones trained for this manoeuvre.’
‘What manoeuvre?’
‘Flee under orders. Our enemy likes nothing more than a running foe; their commanders will not be able to prevent a pursuit. There can be no doubt of that. The fleeing men return to our line and reform - please trust me, Duke Certinse, I have seen to it personally that this will be done - and wait for the attack. The ground will become open enough for us to take the trolls without becoming surrounded.’
‘But it means we are dividing our forces against superior numbers,’ the duke said. ‘That goes against one of the most basic principles of warfare.’
‘And thus demonstrates Eraliave’s assertion that all tenets of war are fluid and a good general must be able to adapt to the current situation,’ finished Vesna. The duke glared at him, but obviously accepted that this was not the time for further argument.
‘Indeed, Count Vesna,’ the general said. ‘Now, with your permission, my Lord, I will give orders to the legion colonels.’
Isak gestured for Lahk to leave, even giving the general a nod of respect. It was hard for him not to smirk as the other men there did the same. Certinse had no choice but to follow suit, bound by the rules, laws and traditions of his class.
Suzerain Fordan then cleared his throat, his face a picture of innocent helpfulness. A pitcher of wine had not dimmed his intelligence: he could see that Certinse was about to leave and impose his own will on the execution of the plan. General Lahk was known for his utter obedience to authority; the last thing they needed now was for him to have to face down a superior.
‘Duke Certinse, Lord Bahl wrote to me recently expressing a concern that soon the dukedom of Lomin might be without an heir, knowing how ill your beloved father was. Since this unhappy situation has now arisen, and we have so many of your peers at hand, this would seem the perfect opportunity to discuss a betrothal.’
The duke squirmed for a moment and then shrugged. He had the sense to know when he was out-manoeuvred and forced a smile at the craggy old man, who beamed in return. It was over an hour before the matter was settled: a magnificent dowry would accompany his marriage to Suzerain Nelbove’s daughter. Nelbove was close to Tirah, and the suzerain knew he was suspected of treachery so he’d not risk angering Lord Bahl further.
With the evening’s work done, the nobles retired to await the morning.
‘No
w then, My Lady, don’t you think you’ve spent long enough in here for one week?’
Tila flinched in her chair, hands reaching for the armrest to push herself up until she realised it was only Swordmaster Kerin standing before her. He grinned and eased himself down into the seat opposite, sighing with pleasure as he turned his attention to the fire. Tila had kept it banked up throughout the day; by Kerin’s reaction she guessed it was bitterly cold outside now night had fallen. The Swordmaster was dressed in his formal uniform - as he had been every day since Lord Bahl’s departure - and it didn’t look nearly as warm as the leather and woollens he normally wore.
‘I’ve spent quite a lot of time in here,’ Tila admitted, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes as she inspected the Swordmaster, ‘but I don’t have any real duties until Lord Isak returns - and as you can see, I’ve quite a way to go yet.’ She gestured at the books and scrolls on the walls with a weary smile.
‘You intend to read them all?’
‘I intend to read anything I think might be useful to Lord Isak.’ She raised the book resting in her lap so Kerin could read the curling writing on its cover. ‘A collection of prophecies about the Saviour.’ She grimaced.
‘Do you think—’ Kerin began.
Tila cut him off. ‘No, but there’s been talk of all kinds since Lord Isak received his gifts. You must have heard the preachers out on the Palace Walk.’
‘I’ve heard about them,’ Kerin said, ‘but I’ve got better things to do than listen to a bunch of unkempt madmen. Anyway, as Knight-Defender, I can’t leave the palace until either Lord Bahl or a general relieves me of my duty; otherwise it’s desertion of duty and that means a trip to the nearest tree and a quick drop.’ They both smiled: the thought of Swordmaster Kerin even considering dereliction of duty was laughable.
‘My men have been bringing back reports of all kinds of preachers throughout the city, and talking about the Saviour isn’t their only favourite subject. There’s been no trouble though; they’re not rabble-rousers, just barking mad.’
Tila sniffed. ‘You might find one of them to be a real holy man, then you’ll be in trouble for dismissing them all as insane.’
‘Oh Gods, they’d be worse!’ Kerin exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat to emphasise his point. ‘As any man involved with keeping the peace will agree: merciful Gods, save us from the religious.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘I mean I’ve seen how some who claim to be truly religious behave, and I tell you, Lady Tila, no creature of the Dark Place would ever turn on its own kind for such small reasons as these will. Religious folk’ll burn or hang a man for smiling wrong.’ Kerin wasn’t smiling now. He sat gripping the armrests of his chair and glaring fiercely.
Tila thought better of trying to explain the difference between fanatics and the devout: some people had no interest in seeing one. ‘Well then, if people are going to act that way it would be sensible to be prepared for it,’ she said calmly. ‘We should be able to recognise whatever dogma they’re obeying.’ She tapped the open page of the book. ‘Have a read of this one and tell me what you think.’
She handed the book to Kerin who frowned as he scanned the lines of text. The prophecy she meant had come down on a stableboy in Embere one hundred years ago; apparently no one, not even the scholar who had written this book, knew quite what to make of it. The Swordmaster’s lips moved as he read - Tila recognised that amongst the palace’s soldiers who’d come late to education - and his expression became graver at every sentence.
‘Well I don’t understand half of it, but this is no Saviour I’d like to meet,’ he growled. ‘A shadow rising from the faithful of the West; his twilight reign to begin amid the slain.’
‘Comforting, isn’t it?’ Tila took the book back, placed it on the table beside her and stood up. Automatically, Kerin rose as well. ‘But it is better to know what madness our enemies might follow than to wallow in our ignorance.’ She presented her arm and nodded towards the door. ‘Come on then. If you think I’ve been locked away in here too long, let’s go and find some form of entertainment.’
CHAPTER 13
From one of the towers still standing he saw the damage to his beautiful home. From up there the ruin had an almost glorious quality, an air of decadence. Like paint on canvas, great sweeps of the brush had carved rents in the ground and spread the stones of the fallen towers with careless abandon. He remembered the rage of his return, and the misshapen beasts capering in the destruction. Heavy jutting muzzles gnawed with relish; curling tongues lapped at the dark pools of dirt and blood. They’d screamed as they died, knowing agony for their crimes, and yet there had been so many. Wounds unhealed had been overlaid by fresh burning hurts, and as he lay beside those dear to him, broken and alone, they tasted his blood.
A name had saved him. A single word that hung thick in the air and ate into the stiffening wounds on his body. The sweet stench of corruption and loss lingered still, long after it had twisted his attackers into grotesque ruin. He felt himself contaminated, infected with something there could be no cure for. Desperately he searched about for some means of escape, some possibility of redemption. Running down corpse-strewn corridors he came to a decaying garden - so recently his refuge from the horror of life. Now it was dead, along with the creatures that had once been his beloved pets. Some no doubt had fled, but most lay in stinking heaps, their bones breaking with tiny snaps under his heel as he walked to a clear, serene pool. Looking in, he caught his own reflection - and felt the grip of damnation as he saw a face that was not his own. The face screamed and he heard himself echo that scream as the colour faded to black.
In a tangle of sodden blankets, Isak awoke with a gasp. The clammy touch of early dawn whispered over his skin and a shiver ran down his back while the memory of his wounds from the dream burned hot on his body. It was dark inside the tent, and distances were treacherous in the weak light, shapes shifting subtly in the corner of his eye. He closed his hand around Eolis - the blade always found its way to his side as he slept - and raised it to see his reflection. The silver gave him a slightly distorted picture, but he’d settle for anything resembling his own face after that dream.
His hand trembled with the effort and when a figure at the entrance twitched at his movement he almost dropped Eolis in surprise. The hairs on Isak’s neck prickled with panic and the long blade was drawing back, ready to strike, even as he recognised General Lahk. The white-eye’s hands were demurely clasped together, a strange pose for a knight in full armour.
‘What’re you doing, General?’ Isak thought his voice sounded drunk and uncertain, but the general gave no sign that he had noticed.
‘It is time. We must ride before dawn.’ He was staring intently at Isak, as though he was trying to see what had set them apart - what qualities Lahk was lacking to set this boy above him. ‘Do you want me to fetch a page to help you with your armour?’
Isak frowned for a moment, then remembered why he had refused a page in the first place. Grabbing at the blanket, he pulled it high up to his neck, re-covering the scar on his chest. ‘No, I’ll be fine. How soon do we ride?’
‘When you are ready, my Lord. I have told the infantry to be prepared within the half-hour. I received a rider in the night from Suzerain Torl; he engaged the enemy twice yesterday and forced them to change direction both times.’
‘We’re still going to be badly outnumbered, though.’
‘Not greatly. You have not seen disciplined troops standing against a rabble. I would happily form the foot legion of the Ghosts into a square and let five times our number of untrained men attack all sides. The enemy are cowardly and weak. If there are members of different houses, then it is even possible some troops will never engage but abandon the field, take their booty and return to usurp those they abandon.’
‘And the trolls?’
The general paused at that. He opened his mouth a fraction, then paused again, before saying, ‘They are animals, not s
oldiers. They were one of the warrior-races created by the Gods during the Great War - they were not intended for sophistication, nor intelligence, only to be driven towards the enemy. They like to destroy; they like to fight. They won’t run like the others.’
It looked like he wanted to say more, but nothing came. Isak waited a few heartbeats, then realised they were wasting time. ‘Go and see to the men, I’ll get ready.’
‘Yes, my Lord.’ A short bow and Lahk was gone. Isak could hear voices calling for the general’s attention, but they didn’t intrude on his space and he was glad for it. He relieved himself into the brass pot by his bed, then jammed a dry crust of bread into his mouth and began to fit his body into the under-suit laid out next to Siulents. As Bahl had predicted, the larger one was now a better fit. Once that was on and the toggles fastened, he swallowed the last few pieces of bread and clipped on the mail skirt and codpiece that would lie underneath the main plates of armour.
Carel had said that a cut to the groin was one of the fastest ways to bleed to death. Now that Isak was dwelling on that image, he could feel the hot pulse beating under the leather. Next came the cuirass. He opened the hinge to fit the two plates around his torso. As it snapped shut, a close fit moulded to the curve of his muscles, the seam and hinge melted from view. The fact that he’d grown in size didn’t seem to bother Siulents one bit. Isak couldn’t resist running a finger down that line one more time, feeling edges that his eyes couldn’t detect.
As the pieces came together, a warmth settled into his skin, driving away the morning chill and bringing the hint of a smile to his face. For the moment, trepidation was a distant memory. Shrugging his shoulders inside the plate, Isak felt hardly any restriction or weight. The illusion of a seamless liquid-metal casing over his body increased his confidence in his own strength and speed. Passing Eolis through a few strokes, Isak felt his already supernatural skills enhanced even further. The weapon in movement felt like it was fused to his arm.