The land was green. Soft, pillowy grasses made an ideal blanket for the labors of battle preparation; it did not hurt as much when you were knocked to the ground, and was comfortable enough to sleep on without a pallet. Amurel saw men diligently working and, by the time he finished his inspection, was satisfied that whatever foolishness had occurred in his absence had been duly corrected by his arrival. Sir Kilborn’s value, evident once more.
When he entered the command tent, Amurel found more than just his second officer waiting. Saffron, her younger sister, and a man around his own age had gathered as well.
“Lady Saffron, how are things with you?” Amurel removed the mail gloves from his hands. As usual, a table centered his tent and he limped over to take a seat on the bench behind it, beside Sir Kilborn. “I planned on wading through some bureaucratic necessities,” he gestured to the unrolled scrolls on the table, “but if there is a matter you need to bring to my attention first, I am more than happy to assist.”
“My thanks, Sir Golddrake. I do not wish to waste your time, but Dhania pleaded to me on behalf of this man.”
“His name is Bremmil,” Dhania insisted, “and he has something very important to tell the Master.”
Amurel considered the younger sister for a moment, and then turned his attention to the man. “Is this true?”
Bremmil flashed a smile at Dhania before adopting a more serious appearance. His olive complexion and thick, dark hair reminded Amurel of Baron Rogan. “Yes, your lordship, I believe it is.” His accent was thicker than Rogan’s, and clearly cemented his origin as Chelpian.
“Sir Golddrake will do. Are you from the Empire?” Amurel had to address his identity before moving further.
“I was born and raised a few leagues from Lucnere, yes.”
“And you have come all this way to join the Order of the Rising Moon? You know we intend to defeat your native King?”
All remaining pleasantness drained from Bremmil’s features. “I cannot serve such a tyrant. I know what my land was like before him, and even though life was sometimes hard, it was never so bleak. This King is not good for the country.”
“And how did you hear of our Order, specifically?” Sir Kilborn followed, picking up on Amurel’s suspicion.
“I did not know of it until I came north. I was conscripted into service in Lucnere. I trained in the army with no choice, but knew I could not serve and fight for that ruler. When I saw the chance, I deserted. I could not go home, so I came north to these lands and this great city. Now, as a man free to choose, I wish to fight against the King who gives so many others no choice.”
“He is very brave,” Dhania broke in. “He told me last night all about the incredible odds he faced to make it this far.”
Saffron shot her sister a look. “Let the man speak for himself, Dhania.”
Amurel drummed his fingers on the table before speaking. “I am impressed with your resourcefulness, Chelpian. It could not have been easy to escape your unit, and then travel so far without being caught. I am sure the Blood Tear Brotherhood loves to make examples of deserters.”
Bremmil showed his teeth again and shrugged. “Luck has been on my side.”
“Indeed. And so, what is it you wish so desperately to bring to my attention?”
“My Lor—Sir Golddrake, everyone knows the common way north into the Cradle, the valley your men call the Gap of Halidor. It is by far the easiest way to bring an army from the Empire. But the King of Chelpa now knows another – and I overheard his commanders planning to use it.”
“Have they found the Harpy Pass?” Sir Kilborn directed his question at Amurel, ignoring the southern informant.
“It would not surprise me,” he responded. “We were ambushed not far from it after leaving Greyhorne.”
“Yes,” Sir Kilborn agreed. “A difficult place to keep troops supplied, but we should dispatch scouts to watch over it and give us warning.”
The tall form of Illicurus ducked beneath the canvas and entered the command tent, unannounced. “Pardon, Sir Golddrake, but Ellingle just arrived from Selamus at the behest of Sir Luminere.” Illicurus stopped moving and speaking and stared straight at Bremmil, who was likewise openly assessing the Aasimar. The feathers of his wings bristled, their icy blue tips twitching, as if in warning. His voice began before his gaze shifted back to Amurel.
“One of the nobles from the northeast province has petitioned the prince for aid, claiming orcs from the Black Hills have been massing on his border. He fears invasion.”
“Grace of Criesha, is it not enough we have the King-priest to contend with?” Amurel stood from his seat, placed his hands on the table, but did not move his feet.
“The young knight you left in charge might be unsure of what is needed, but I have experience in strategies of war. I could move quickly to assess the situation, and give my recommendation to the Order in Selamus. I could be back to this camp in under a fortnight.”
Amurel was surprised to hear Illicurus volunteering for such a task, but he remained still, not showing any emotion.
“Ellingle could coordinate the Aasimar in my absence...”
Finally, Amurel nodded.
“I am sorry to hear of even more troubles, Sir Golddrake, but I was not finished with my own news.” Bremmil boldly stepped to the other side of the table and mirrored Amurel’s stance, placing his outstretched fingers upon the flat surface. “I fear the secret path through the Wyvernwatch Mountains is farther north than you suspect. They said it followed a finger of the River Chelhos, winding around the peaks into the hills west of here.”
Sir Kilborn failed to hold in a gruff snicker. “That’s absurd! I think the people of Rosegold would be aware of any track that led through the mountains into their territory.”
Amurel nodded but held the gaze of the foreigner, who annoyingly seemed to be amused.
“Disregard the intelligence if you like; you know your business. I thought it my duty to inform my superiors, as I will be taking my oath shortly.” Bremmil brought his hand up in salute, and then turned to leave. He side-stepped Illicurus, then held his hand out to Saffron’s sister as he was about to exit.
Dhania looked from Saffron to Amurel before taking the new-comer’s hand, and leaving the command tent.
“Smug one, isn’t he?” Sir Kilborn fingered his beard and snickered again. “I wonder if he knows joining up means holding hands is about as far as he will get with the ladies.”
Amurel saw Saffron shoot his second-in-command a rebuking look before she stepped toward him. “Nevertheless, you should send a scout west as well,” she said, coolly.
“I intend to. The way news is going today, nothing would surprise me. We will hope it is just smoke, but I want to be ready to ride as soon as possible if the worst is confirmed. Saffron, will you make sure a hundred horses are prepared for tomorrow? I will send a rider today, and we will expedite the first initiation ceremony to this evening.”
“What are you planning to do, Amurel?” Sir Kilborn asked.
“I am going to make sure we are not taken by surprise and flanked.”
Amurel could sense it was going to be a restless night. He swore in the first hundred new members of the Order, and while such an auspicious occasion was traditionally followed by revelry, he had forbidden drink for the second straight night. He knew they might be leaving for war in the morning, and wanted their minds sharp.
The sun had gone down, but most of the camp had yet to retire. Soldiers were too wound up with the promise of potential glory rising with the morning sun, and seemed intent to greet it. Amurel leisurely patrolled the camp from horseback, along with Sir Kilborn. He wanted to be seen and project a countenance of resolve to his followers. He hoped they saw him as neither frivolous nor grim – merely one whose mind was firmly set upon future action.
Campfires spotted the field, but were kept low. Further warmth was no longer a concern, as the nights had lost their bite, growing comfortably cool near the onset of summer.
As Bastion bowed his head to nibble the leaves of a low shrub, Amurel let his gaze wander to the southwest, where the blue-green glow of Hurn and Criesha, the dual moons, highlighted the rooftops and tower walls of Synirpa.
Though the King-priest had not lain siege, the city’s populace had been indirectly decimated by the evil power of his god. Amurel made a silent vow to spare them from a second scourge, be it sickness or the sword.
“Look at that,” Sir Kilborn interrupted his thought.
Following the direction of his comrade’s gaze, Amurel spotted the bright feathers of an Aasimar’s wings, nearly a hundred paces off. They belonged to Illicurus, who curiously seemed to be conversing with the Chelpian who brought the tale of the hidden path through the mountains.
“Our Marshall did not seem so warm with the foreigner this afternoon.”
Amurel tried to get an idea of the nature of their current exchange, but it was difficult at such distance. “Who does Illicurus seem welcoming to?”
“There is the bare truth,” Sir Kilborn conceded. “Perhaps he’s trying to gather everything useful he can out of the lad, or using a mind trick to determine whether or not the newcomer is feeding us a load of horse manure.”
“Stranger or not, he is one of our brethren now,” Amurel said, soberly. He turned to look off to the west. “If our rider made good speed, we will learn for sure in the next day or two whether he can be trusted.”
Just as Bastion lifted his head, content with his late snack, Amurel watched Bremmil turn his back on Illicurus and head for the nearest campfire. He noticed Saffron’s younger sister stand and greet the man with an embrace, though Saffron herself was nowhere to be seen.
“Remind me in the morning, Geldrick, to ensure our captains emphasize the importance of maintaining all our vows to their subordinates.”
“Aye,” answered Sir Kilborn, and with a flick of his reins, the two continued their patrol of the camp.
Illicurus left sometime before sunrise, and was already on his way north by the time Amurel had dressed and emerged from his tent. By midday, Saffron reported the horses and supplies were ready should they need them, leaving only the uncomfortable waiting Amurel loathed.
He oiled both his sword and armor, and went through the roster of recruits once again, preparing lists of training regimens and prospective future assignments of command – anything he could think of to kill time. At last, a soldier notified him that not one, but two riders approached rapidly from the west.
Sir Kilborn was beside him by the time he grabbed his crutch and made for the wide field that rested beyond their camp. Amurel saw his scout, dressed in his white tabard adorned with the crescent moon, pushing his brown steed straight for them. A second man, wearing brown leather and keeping to the scout’s flank, rode just as hard. They only slowed when necessary to avoid crashing into Amurel and the entourage surrounding him, all eager to hear the fate lying before them.
“It’s true, Master Golddrake!” the scout shouted, his breath short as if he and not the horse had been pushed. “I got as far as the village of Holjek, and they were already preparing for the worst. A line of dark-clad men bearing black standards were spotted coming down from the hills.”
“I hail from Lodale at the base of the Wyvernwatch,” the man in brown followed. “We have already been overrun, and I was dispatched by our town warden to beseech aid from the Duke.”
Amurel felt something in the pit of his stomach tighten. “How many?”
“Four or five score, I was told,” answered the scout.
“That again or more assaulted Lodale,” said the second.
“I suppose the waiting is over,” Amurel shared with Sir Kilborn. “Pick a man you trust familiar to Sir Luminere. Have him escort Bremmil north to Selamus so he can brief Jaiden on everything he knows about the Chelpian army. I want him to ride for Windhollow as soon as he is able. The Prince will have to deal with the Black Hill orcs, should they pose a threat.”
“Aye.”
“I will prepare the troops. We’ll take two companies west, and leave the rest encamped here. I will ask Lady Saffron to join us, and request Ellingle send what Aasimar she can spare.”
Sir Kilborn nodded. “So it begins.”
Amurel returned the gesture and looked west, over the vast pasture of green spreading to the horizon. “So it begins,” he repeated, barely more than a whisper.
Chapter 27
Matters of Trust
A murel and his unit arrived too late to save the structures of Lodale, though not to exact revenge for its people. Black smoke still rose from the burned-out houses as his cavalry came within view of the town, built at the eastern base of the Wyvernwatch Mountains. The terrain was steep in some places and uneven in most – unsuitable for a charge from horseback.
“We will ride closer, then engage them on foot,” he commanded, regretting it meant he would have to stay back from the fighting. Given the circumstances, he had little choice, though Amurel loathed being unable to partake in the danger he ordered others into. Sharing risk was a defining feature of true leadership.
He trusted they would be victorious, all the same. His men were well-trained and better equipped than what he had seen of Chelpian soldiers so far. It did not hurt that a pair of Aasimar came with him, as well.
They passed the citizens of Lodale in the high pastureland half a league east of the town. Fleeing first, they stopped when not pursued to watch helplessly as their homes were put to the torch. The enemy seemed more intent on looting and destroying than hunting down the evicted townsfolk. When Amurel got closer, it appeared the Chelpians lacked any organization at all.
Some clearly noticed the final approach of his men, but they failed to rally into any defensive formation. Amurel, astride Bastion, watched from a hilltop as his dismounted troops entered the town, systematically breaking any pockets of dark-cloaked resistance they encountered. The Aasimar descended upon the few looters keen to flee. The fighting was over in an hour. It was all too easy.
This cannot be the regular army, Amurel thought. So what exactly was going on? The question occupied him as he rode down to join his men.
“Skirmishers, and not very good ones,” Sir Kilborn confirmed as soon as Amurel found him. “Very little in the way of armor, and no discernable training in tactics. This was not an invasion bent on occupation.”
“Then what?” Amurel asked aloud, though the answer already crept to the surface of his thoughts. “You think we were lured here?” The possibility alarmed him, and Sir Kilborn’s dour expression suggested his second-in-command felt the same.
“Leave a single patrol to gather and guard the townsfolk. The rest of us ride immediately. We will regroup with Saffron’s unit and see if they encountered the same at Holjek. If so, we need to continue through to Synirpa as swiftly as the horses can manage.”
Within a quarter of an hour the bulk of Amurel’s unit was riding eastward, trying to cover as much ground as possible before sundown. The high country was beautiful, though tiring for the horses. To Amurel’s right, the horizon was a jagged line separating afternoon blue sky from pale purple peaks. To his left, seemingly endless hills folded upon one another, carpeted in long grass that swayed in the steady breeze, born of the altitude. This was the edge of the Cradle, and no doubt held many secret places, untouched by men, that still exuded the magic sacred to his goddess. The virgin wild, he knew, needed to be defended as much as the cities and towns of the Northern Provinces.
The uneven footing made it too treacherous to ride after dark, and unfortunately the sun set before his unit came within sight of Holjek. Amurel spent an uneasy night wondering if a deception more devious than what they encountered at Lodale had awaited Saffron’s squadron.
As the first rays of sunlight touched the rolling grasses of the highlands, Amurel had his men in the saddle and on their way to rendezvous with Saffron. In less than an hour they arrived at Holjek, which was still under the control of its citizens, defended by the Order
of the Rising Moon.
Lady Saffron seemed to have things well-in-hand, and Amurel found her instructing a small crowd on the basics of spear-fighting. He noticed women were among them, as well as a few he would still consider children. She looked his way as the sound of Bastion’s hooves upon the pebble-strewn earth announced his presence.
“I did not expect you from Lodale so soon, Sir Golddrake. Do you doubt my abilities so much you had to check on me after one night?”
Due to her accent, Amurel was sometimes unsure when she was speaking in jest.
“Never have I doubted you, Lady Saffron. The force we encountered further west was no more than a collection of raiding skirmishers, and I feared that meant your opposition might be the stronger.”
“It appears not. We arrived before the brigands attacked, mostly because the people here had the wits to prepare their own defense, which held them at bay. I thought it prudent to shore up a few weaknesses before venturing to strike, should another threat arise after we depart. I presumed we would have more time before your return, Sir.”
“You have done well, my lady. Now that we are here, what did you have in mind for your next move?” Even though he was formally in command, Amurel thought it would be informative to observe his various delegates in action. The need to share even more responsibility might lie just beyond the horizon, he guessed.
Saffron pressed the butt of her spear into the earth and lifted her chin higher. “The enemy backed off when they saw reinforcements arrive. They probably realize they cannot win, but have not abandoned their objective yet. I want to catch them before they do, and hopefully we can capture someone who will talk.
“I will send the Aasimar to fly behind their position and cut off escape. At the head of twenty cavalry I shall ride at them hard. If they surrender, so be it. If they break ranks, the archers creeping up from either side shall pin them with arrows. If they retreat whence they came, the Aasimar will cut them off with sword and song.”
Shiver the Moon Page 44