Soldiers’ Redemption

First Cohort Book 1

M. R. Anthony

Copyright

© 2016 M. R. Anthony

All rights reserved

The right of M. R. Anthony to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser

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Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Soldiers’ Redemption (First Cohort Book 1)

The soldiers of the First Cohort have fought on the wrong side for as long as they can remember. Led by their unflinching captain Tyrus Charing, they have travelled from one battle to the next at the bidding of the cruel Duke Warmont. The Duke rules with an iron fist, crushing rebellion and sacrificing his people to quench his endless thirst for death.

Just when it seems as though all hope is gone, a saviour comes – a bold young girl to rally the people and fight back against repression. For Captain Charing, this is a chance to haul his men away from the brink and pay for the sins of their past.

The Duke is not a tolerant man - his armies are vast and in his Circle of Five are his generals, each of them immense in their magical power and hatred. First amongst them is a dragon which even the Duke has not yet dared to unleash.

The men of Captain Charing’s unit have their own strengths and they have never been defeated, but this time they have taken on far more than they could possibly have imagined. For behind the Duke stands the ancient Emperor Malleus, watching and waiting to see what transpires in this far corner of his lands. And against the Emperor, hope has no meaning at all.

One

My name is Tyrus Charing. I have been known by many names: murderer, killer, destroyer. These names haunt me, but I am not able to deny them, nor defend myself against their truths. A man can regret his past, and I have so many regrets. I fear that if I become consumed by what I have done, I will lack the strength to lead my men to redemption.

“Captain?” I heard the voice call from outside my tent.

“Come in,” I said. A man pushed aside the thick, waxy flap that kept out the cold wind which blew across the heath on which we’d made camp. It was Corporal Langs, his smooth skin looking chapped and worn from its exposure to the relentless chill of the Northdown Moors.

“Captain Charing. Our scouts have detected a force of men gathered in the woods close by. Rebels by their livery. At least fifty and armed. No bows.” Corporal Langs was efficient to the last. He always gave me everything I needed to know in order to make a decision.

“They’ll be after our horses tonight and anything else they can steal or burn,” I replied. “Speak to Lieutenant Sinnar. I want to catch those bastards. And tell him to make sure that it’s not another one of their tricks. I’ve heard what they did to Warmont’s men.” With that, Corporal Langs offered a salute and backed out of the tent, leaving me alone once more.

The rebel forces from Nightingale were proving to be tougher and more persistent than Duke Warmont had anticipated. They’d sent his regulars packing on more than one occasion, battered, bloody and with their tails between their legs. Most of Warmont’s regulars weren’t used to a real scrap these days - they’d grown fat and lazy, scarce able to march for a day before they started to talk mutiny. The men he kept stationed so far from Blades were hardly worth their pay, but he had many others that he kept close to his core that were battle-hardened and tough. Warmont’s lands weren’t at peace. He pretended that they were, in order to placate the Emperor, but they never truly would be while the people were punished by death for even the smallest transgressions against the law. Even so, the Duke still maintained a healthy fear, walking a fine line between keeping his people in check and driving them into outright rebellion. The Duke was not a nice man, if indeed he was still a man at all.

I sighed and stood up, stretching in the chill air of the tent and feeling the tension in my muscles. I was ancient by most measures, though you would not have thought it to look at me. I’d been sitting too long in the tent and felt the need to take matters into my own hands. I did not like inaction – the thought that an opportunity had slipped by while I pondered or worried was anathema to me. The men knew this and they trusted my choices, my decisions. It was what had kept them all alive this long.

I left the tent and strode across the hard, churned ground. I knew what Lieutenant Sinnar would be doing – stalking menacingly around the camp, mentally selecting the men who would take part in the coming hostilities, anticipating the coming orders. I was not wrong. Sinnar was a brute of a man, well over six feet tall and built like tavern brawler. His face was broad and cruel, but intelligent with it - a good man to have in a fight. The men had feared him once, but he had earned their respect through a hundred battles, a thousand minor skirmishes. He was a rock against which many of our enemies had been broken.

“Lieutenant Sinnar, please report.”

Sinnar turned to me, snapping a perfect salute. “Captain Charing, sir! We have approximately fifty rebels watching us from those woods, half a mile to the east. They’ve picked their position well – we can’t reach them without being seen and giving them time to scatter and regroup.”

“Then they can’t reach us likewise?” I asked. A band of fifty rebels was nothing more a thorn in our side - a distraction. Nevertheless, a distraction could become a major problem if they stole our supplies or torched our camp.

“No sir, they can’t reach us either. Are we going to have them?” Sinnar replied.

“We can’t allow them to harry us when we take Nightingale. Ragar has already shown himself to be resourceful and tough. I’m not going to give him an opportunity to outmanoeuvre us.”

I looked at the moorland around our camp. We’d chosen a good place to stop for the night. The ground was clear and unbroken for at least a mile, apart from the trees where the rebels hid. There’d be no traps here and nothing to catch us off-guard.

Sinnar stood patiently by, awaiting my instruction.

“Take one hundred men, Lieutenant Sinnar. Flush these rebels out before it gets dark. I want everyone to get some rest tonight.”

“Yes sir,” said Sinnar, with another salute.

“And Sinnar? Take care. Something feels out of place.”

“Sir,” he repeated. I knew he’d take my warning seriously.

I stood by, watching as Sinnar strode through the tents. “Knacker, Scram, Sods, get up! You’re coming with me. You - Roots, Heavy. On your feet. We’ve got some action for you.”

A few of the men grunted as they stood to attention, armour plates rattling, shields scraping. We’d marched hard to get this far so quickly and they’d hoped to get some time to reflect by the camp fire, while they comforted themselves with a bowl of the cook’s foul stew. The life of a soldier in Warmont’s lands was not an easy one, and the First Cohort never got a chance to rest. I worried about what might happen to us if we did.

As the men gathered in the centre of the camp, Jon Ploster approached. He was a short, stocky man with a gleaming bald head, and a beard down to his waistband. He was in a hurry, but even so, he gave the appearance of a man in comfortable serenity.

“Captain Charing. I see you’re sending some men out to the woods.”

“Fifty rebels, Ploster. We can’t have them at our backs.”

“No indeed. They have a caster with them. She’s hiding herself well, but she’s out there.”

“A caster? Why would Ragar commit one to such a tiny force?”

“I don’t know, Captain. You have assumed them to be lying in wait for us? Perhaps they are simply here by accident.”

I squinted at the woods - a miserable little clump of a few hundred trees. The Northdown Moors were covered in similar patches, all across their three hundred bleak miles. A caster was not a good portent, but the men would not be cowed by one. They had seen sorcerers before, beaten down their walls and brought their towers down around them. There was little the First Cohort had not fought and we were still there, while our enemies were dead, rotting in the ground.

“Ploster, please join Lieutenant Sinnar and his men.”

“Of course, Captain.”

I watched Ploster join the men, his rough, grey robes marking him out as different to the others. He’d been with the First Cohort for as long as I could remember as my adviser, and the closest thing to a friend I had. A man needs advice - if there’s no one he can trust or listen to, then he risks becoming a stranger to what he once was. Every opinion needs balance, else every decision becomes a matter of stubbornness and pride. I would never walk down that path, not while there was breath in my lungs.

In ten minutes, Sinnar had his muster. They set off across the grass in a loose formation, ten men by ten, Sinnar in the lead, the front and sides with shields lowered but at hand. I would not usually have chased a group in woodlands, but I planned to strike at Nightingale by first light, to catch them unawares. It would not have been wise to leave a force at our backs, however small.

The men covered the half mile in quick time and crossed over the boundary into the trees. We were all fit and strong, with not an ounce of spare fat across the First Cohort. Even Ploster was lean and hard, though his robes gave the mistaken impression that he was carrying an excess of weight. In the camp, the men had an air of indifference, like they cared not a jot for their fellows, nor had any concerns for their safety.

“Sinnar’s going to flush them rebels out, huh, Captain?” said Stabber, sat on his pack near one of the fires we’d set. I looked at him. He’d been a thief in a previous life. He was thin and wiry - even in his armour - his face pinched, his cheekbones high and a permanent trace of dark stubble over his chin. Everything about him suggested that he was a pickpocket. We used him as a scout and a spy - even after many years in the First Cohort he’d lost none of his skills in subterfuge.

“Nothing to worry about, Stabber,” I told him. “A skirmish is all.”

Another of the men, Chunky, had something to say, but I could tell he was nervous by the way he cleared his throat. The men knew when they could speak to me and knew when it was time to stop.

“Captain?”

“Speak up, Chunky.”

He looked into the flame as he spoke. “Sir, the First Cohort is my life. It’s all of our lives.”

There was something important on his mind that he had to speak, but was afraid to. I let the silence hang until he resumed. Another dozen faces around the fire hung on his words.

“It’s this Ragar fellow. Well, he’s just doing what’s right, isn’t he? Protecting his family and all.”

“Enough of this Chunky,” I warned him. “You know who pays our wages.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

I stared at the men nearest. They looked weary. Not just weary from the march, but deep down weary. As if the burden of life was too much for them, but a burden that they were determined to carry for fear of what would happen if they put it down.

“It’s been a long campaign,” I said. “Once it’s over we’ll have a few days off in Blades, eh? Try out some of those famous taverns and get falling down drunk.” Even as I spoke the words, I knew them to be false. The First Cohort was too much in demand to be given time to rest. As soon as we returned to Blades, Warmont would have us off again, to another bleak moor and another rebel town with another good man leading them to their deaths in a futile stand against the Duke. The men didn’t look convinced, but none of them said a word. They’d follow me to hell and back if I asked them to. Not just for me, but for the First Cohort. They knew they were part of something greater than they. The First Cohort had taken them in and treated them as true men, given them a new start.

From the distant trees, the faint sounds of metal upon metal reached us, becoming fainter and louder as the wind swirled and gusted over the ground. A few dozen men clustered along the edges of our camp, staring over with a practised nonchalance as if the skirmish beyond was scarce worth their interest or their time. I walked amongst them, clapping a few on the shoulders, uttering platitudes about the rebel scum.

Evening approached and at this time of year the night darkened quickly. I would not have been so foolish to send my men into a fight amongst trees were it dark, but a gloominess embraced the moors. Suddenly, over the woods, there was a bright white flash, visible to us all. Shortly after, there was a stirring of the trees, with branches and leaves tumbling, easily discerned across the intervening space. The sound of a heavy concussive thump reached us. I didn’t know if it was Ploster who was responsible or the rebel caster, but this one lacked the signature of the First Cohort’s sorcerer.

“Shit that’s a big one,” muttered a man close to me. Several of the others shuffled nervously. The light did not reappear and the sound of combat ended after a few minutes.

“Look, someone’s coming,” said one of the soldiers, pointing.

Men emerged from the woods. There were a few exhalations of relief as it became apparent from their formation and their colours that it was Sinnar returning. Even from here I could see that there was less than one hundred and two men in the group. Coming with them was a cart, drawn by two horses.

“Lieutenant Sinnar, report,” I commanded, when the small force reached our camp. The men were dismissed immediately and they filtered back to their tents and the fires, preparing to fill eager ears with tall tales about their prowess.

Sinnar offered me his salute, Ploster stood at his side. “There were fifty-three of them, Captain. Guarding this cart by the looks of things. They put up a fight, but their armour was shit and their swords old and dull.”

I knew the sort. Men whose minds had been filled with tales of bravery and battle, dressed in their grandfather’s old armour, hoping that the righteousness of their cause would defend them against battle-hardened soldiers. The First Cohort had fought men like this on a hundred, aye a thousand, occasions and we’d beaten them all. It used to seem like a game to us, slaughtering them as they threw themselves against our shields. We’d laugh as we slew them, cutting them down and trampling them into the mud, caring not at all for their wives and children. Now there was nothingness. I could see it in the men’s eyes, even as they defeated the hopes and dreams of cities and armies. All that was left to them was the First Cohort and a loyalty to each other and to me, their Captain.

“How many of us?” I asked.

“Six. Custy, Front, Dirth, Ponder, Loots and Squint. The rebel caster burned them in their armours, before Ploster did the same to her.”

I shivered inside. Mageflame was not a good way to die.

“Ploster? What about their tattoos?” I asked. Now that he was close, I could see a trickle of blood oozing from one of his heavy-lobed ears.

“Their caster was young and inexperienced. Which is a lucky thing, because she nearly caught me with my guard down. She was still good enough to overcome a few of our wards and that’s not happened for a long time.”

Ploster looked rueful and rubbed a thick hand over the top of his head in a gesture which I’d long since recognized meant he was nervous or preoccupied. He didn’t say any more and I didn’t ask. The rebel caster was dead and he was not. That was all I needed to know.

“What’s in the cart?” I asked. It was more of a wagon than a cart and far too heavy for the two mangy-looking horses to pull comfortably over the rough moorland. It was piled high with wooden crates and sacks.

“Weapons, mostly. A few dozen helmets. Nothing worth our while to keep I don’t reckon,” Sinnar told me.

“Very well, Sinnar, I don’t need to look at them if you say so. Good work this evening. Assign some men to spoil these weapons and we’ll leave them behind. Get Horsemaster Tradis to look over the animals and see if we have a need for them. Slaughter them if not. It’s nearly two weeks since the men have had fresh meat. And have Chartus break open a barrel. We’ll have a toast for our lost.”

Sinnar nodded. “Aye, Captain,” he said, walking off to complete his final instructions. The cruelty of his features belied his true nature. He’d once been a teacher, though he did not speak of it often. I liked the man.

“Captain?” It was Ploster.

“What is it?”

“I need to speak to you.”

I led the way back to my tent. It wasn’t a grand affair, made of stretched brown cloth and with a disreputable appearance. Inside, there was room to stand up and space for a table and four chairs. We travelled light in the First Cohort. Without waiting for an invitation, Ploster dropped down into one of the chairs.

“That cart was heading to Nightingale, Tyrus,” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked, not doubting the conclusion.

“Scram read the tracks. They weren’t lying in wait for us – we just caught them by surprise. If they’d been more careful, we could have just marched away in the morning, without ever knowing they were there.”

“And destroyed Nightingale before they reached it,” I said with a wry smile.

“You know what it means, don’t you?”

“Yes. The rebellion is spreading and they’re starting to work together. Warmont’s worried, the old bastard. I can feel his fear every time I speak to him.”

“Scared of the Emperor or scared of rebellion?”

“Both. He can feel things slipping away from him. It won’t be long before he has us taking part in his cruelty, to send a message to the other cities.”

“Tyrus? I don’t think I have the stomach for murder. We’re soldiers, not killers. When are we going to draw the line?”

“We work for Warmont as we’ve been told to. We have little choice but to stay here until we’re done.”

Ploster’s voice became soft. “You know we’re hated now, don’t you? Hated and feared. Once we go too far along this road, there’ll be no turning back. I worry we’ve already gone past the point at which we can return.”

I knew what he meant. I’d lost track of the number of years we’d worked for Warmont and I couldn’t recall a moment where we weren’t fighting, or marching to one of the interminable battles that beset the Duke’s lands. On the edge of the Malleus empire it was hard for the Emperor’s nobles to keep the peace. The empire’s laws were cruel and eagerly imposed, even out here, nearly three thousand miles from Hardened. These people had inherited memories of freedom, passed down from their great grandfather’s grandfathers and their grandfathers in turn. Their lust for it kept them burning for change.

“One day we’ll be released from our duties,” I said. “And then we’ll march for ten thousand miles to the north or the south, until we find a place where no-one has heard of the Emperor or his poxy nobles.”

“You know he won’t let us leave, Tyrus. If we try, Malleus will have us hunted down and cut to ribbons, no matter how far or how long we travel.”

I snorted at that, more in bravado than anything else. “The Emperor’s a cruel bastard and no mistake, but he’s not stupid.”

“Aye, that he’s not,” replied Ploster, his eyes now gleaming in the fading light. “He’s heard the whispers of the Saviour too. And he’s been searching so very hard to find her. I’ve felt his sorcerers surge through the warp and the weft as they hunt her down.”

“Has he found her?” I asked, not even trying to feign a lack of interest. We’d all heard talk of the Saviour.

“No, he hasn’t found her. But he knows she lives. If the Emperor’s eyes fall on this dreary corner of his lands, then who knows what he’ll send down here? It would not be a good time for any of us, I think.”

“Fuck the Emperor!” I said, unable to help myself. “And fuck this old bastard Warmont! We’ll see this through and then we’re moving on. If we have to cut a path through Malleus’ soldiers, then so be it, but I will not allow him to stop us!”

Ploster rose to his feet without preamble. “Good night, Captain. I will need some sleep before the battle tomorrow.”

I followed him out of the tent, to find Chartus and his barrel. I had him cover the bottom of a cup in the sharp, harsh spirit we carried with us. I raised the cup in a toast and downed the contents, wincing at the burning potency of the Grask. We each remembered our fallen in our own way and in our own time.

Two

The last hours of darkness saw us on our way across the moors, and we’d reached Nightingale before the wan sun had half appeared above the distant, flat horizon.

“What a rabble,” said Lieutenant Craddock from off to my left. “Only eight hundred and forty men, by my count, sir.”

I surveyed the rebel army before us. I knew Ragar was clever, so I wasn’t surprised that he was prepared for us, though I’d hoped to enter the town without any bloodshed. Still, it made things easier if they were all in one place, though I’d secretly hoped that they’d have fled or disbanded.

“What are your observations, gentlemen?” I asked Sinnar and Craddock.

“They outnumber us, sir, but if the weapons on the cart are anything to go by, their swords will break on our shields and their armour will split in two blows,” Sinnar offered.

“I agree that they are poorly-equipped, Lieutenant Sinnar, but remember that they have beaten two of Warmont’s armies so far. A zealous man will die as easily as a coward, but Ragar has something about him that means we must be wary,” I said in response. In truth, I knew what tactics Ragar hoped would defeat us and already knew that they would fail.

The fields around Nightingale were flat and with nothing in the way of meaningful cover. Ragar had little choice but to face us here. If he’d had the opportunity, I was sure he’d have rather fought a campaign in the hills or mountains, keeping us guessing and wearing us down with lightning-fast attacks. I’d fought those campaigns before and they were rarely pretty or quickly concluded.

“Ploster? Any sign of casters?”

“Only the two we know about, Captain. Their signatures aren’t strong. I don’t think they’ll cause us any problems.”

“Keep them suppressed. I don’t want our line broken.”

I ordered the First Cohort forward. One of the first things I learned back in my youth was that a delay rarely serves a good purpose. Men standing around in their armour soon start to think of death. They worry about what might happen to them, or remember the screams of the fallen. Although we are mentally strong in the First Cohort, we are used to dictating the terms of our engagements, rather than waiting upon the decisions of another.

In a square, we marched across the field, the men with their shields raised in preparation of a withering rain of arrows from Ragar’s hundred bowmen. I held my own shield close, feeling the welcome weight of armour enclosing my chest. At other times, when we fought as part of a larger force, I would stand atop a hill with the other commanders, watching the engagement from a distance, leaving Sinnar and Craddock to push the men to glory. On this day, I knew my position was with the men, although I kept to the centre of our square. I was not afraid to fight, but I did not throw myself headlong into combat. Not as much as I had done so in the past, at least.

“Shields high!” bellowed Sinnar.

I heard the first smattering clangs as arrows landed in our midst, bouncing off our interlocked heavy shields. Ragar’s men had started firing too early. They should have waited until we’d crossed swords with their men.

“Fucking idiots, these ones, sir,” said Corporal Gloom next to me. I grinned over at him, even in the semi-darkness beneath our wall of metal.

“Fifty yards to engagement!” came the voice of Craddock. “Pick it up, men!”

The pace of our column increased up over the grass, our hardened leather boots churning up the ground. There was a roar ahead of us as Ragar’s men broke their ranks, running up to meet us head-on. I heard, almost felt the impact of the enemy’s front line clashing with our own. Swords clanged a dozen paces ahead of me and our momentum slowed, as my men cut and thrust at the army before us.

It was only a few moments until I sensed our line bowing out from the centre as Ragar’s men fell back against our onslaught.

“Hold steady!” I shouted. Discipline reasserted itself and the First Cohort’s line drew level once more. I knew that Ragar had thrown his weakest troops against us first, in the hope that our blood lust would make us run after them once they broke off in disarray. Then, he’d pepper us with his archers and strike our flanks with his better-trained troops. Against Warmont’s men, it had worked well for him. Against us, it did not and our formation held its shape.

There was a loud boom, followed shortly by another. The air swelled around us, buffeting at the men around me and knocking several to their knees. I saw their ward-marks glow brightly, even in the growing light of the day and they pushed themselves to their feet, dazed, but still capable of lifting their shields back into position to block out the sporadic fall of arrows into our midst.

Close to me, Jon Ploster looked lost in a trance as he moved his arms in a pattern, weaving his own magics in defence against Ragar’s casters. There was another concussion further along the column, throwing clods of dirt and grass into the sky, but the men continued to push forward unabated. I was older than any of my men and I knew the ways of magic. I could feel the surge of Ploster’s repulsion spells as he bombarded the enemy casters, tracking back along their power traces to find them and channel his own spells at their unprotected bodies. Against the Emperor’s Death Sorcerers, Ploster would crumble in seconds, but by the gods the man could shred most of his brethren.

After fifteen minutes, it was over. The rebels were not afraid to die, and attacked for much longer than even a well-drilled army would have done so. This was to their cost, and we killed them in their hundreds, leaving them screaming on the ground, looking upwards at the sky as they waited for death to greet them. Had Ragar been a better leader, he’d have had his men flee in the hope that we could not catch them in our heavier armour, and my respect for him diminished with his futile sacrifice. There again, he must have known what Warmont would do to Nightingale once we’d taken it. Maybe Ragar wasn’t so stupid after all.

When the sounds of battle had ended, I surveyed the scene. It used to give me pleasure to see a battle won so easily, but these days there was only emptiness. We’d turned life into death. Good, brave men, who left behind their families to the mercies of Warmont’s soldiers - rapists and murderers that they were. Even given that we did his dirty work, I still hardly classed us as the Duke’s men.

“Corporal Grief,” I called out to the First Cohort’s doctor. He came over to me, tall and broad, with shovel-like hands that seemed impossibly nimble when he worked.

“What do you want me to do, Captain?”

“The ones that will live, we’ll take with us. The ones that won’t see out the day, kill them.” I didn’t need to tell him to do it quickly. Of all the men in the First Cohort, Corporal Grief was the one with the hardest job. He did it with care and compassion and I never lost my admiration for him.

“I understand, Captain,” he said, acknowledging me with a firm salute. Then, “Slicer! Maims! Get over here! There’s work to be done!”

I didn’t even know what Slicer and Maims were called before they became Grief’s assistants – maybe they didn’t either. They got their names from Lotus after they’d patched him up one time and they’d just stuck with them, even though neither was a hatchet man. You needed a sense of humour when you were a soldier.

I caught the sight of a struggle nearby as Chunky and Flight hauled a man over towards where I was standing. Corporal Langs was with them, his sword at the ready and pointed at the prisoner’s back. I knew at once who they’d caught – there weren’t many red-haired men out here. Even fewer were well over six feet tall, though Chunky matched this prisoner for physical presence.

“Leader Ragar,” I greeted him.

“Fuck you, Warmont filth,” he spat in return. Chunky looked at me to see if I wanted Ragar punished for his insolence. I shook my head.

“You have done well up until today, Leader Ragar. It’s a shame you had to spend so many of your men on a lost cause.”

I took my helmet off and Ragar met my gaze. There was no hatred in his eyes, nor fear for himself. “You think I made a mistake, dead man?” he asked me. “I’ve heard what Warmont’s done to the other towns. To Church, to Fallow, to Sinew. Don’t you think I know what the alternative is? Fight and die here or surrender and have Warmont send in his justiciars. Even you know what that would mean for Nightingale and for the people living here.”

I knew exactly what would happen if Warmont’s justiciar’s came to Nightingale and it would not be pretty. “Perhaps you should have thought more carefully before declaring yourself free men,” I told him softly.

Ragar looked lost for a time. I knew he’d been a blacksmith in his former life and I wondered if, given the opportunity, he’d return everything to how it had been for him before.

“What happens to us now, executor of Warmont’s will?” he asked.

I didn’t answer him, since I did not yet have an answer to give. “Keep him with the prisoners,” I instructed and watched as Ragar was led away. From the slump to his shoulders I could tell that much of the fight and the bravado had already been knocked from him.

We had eighty injured prisoners to deal with and six of my men needed treatment for minor wounds. This had been one of the most unbalanced fights we’d taken part in for a long time. I estimated that two hundred of Ragar’s initial eight and a half hundred had fled. Some of them had retreated into the town, doubtless in the hope that they could hide in a cellar or loft, such that they might escape whatever punishment they feared we’d bring upon them. The rest had hot-footed it away over fields, scattering to the countryside. They’d be no threat now.

I walked amongst my men, patting a shoulder here and there, telling them how well they’d fought. In the past I’d have talked about glory for the First Cohort and seen their chests swell with pride at their infamy. These days, the rush of battle-joy vanished as soon as the fight was over, and the men would sink into themselves, reflecting on their deeds. There was little in the way of a soldier’s talk and brag. Every victory was another step downwards to whatever hell the men believed in, rather than part of a journey to eternal memory in the annals of history.

“A good fight today, Sinnar,” I said. He was looking afar, staring at the streets and buildings of Nightingale.

“A shame Ragar didn’t know when he was beaten,” he replied. “I saw how disappointed his men were when we brought him in with the prisoners. It’s a heavy weight for a man to carry.” Sinnar glanced at me. “A heavy weight for anyone to carry.”

Before I could respond, Sinnar continued. “I used to work in a town that looked just like Nightingale. A thousand miles away and over the Deeping Sea. I’d show the little ones how to spell and how the numbers worked together in a way that they could manipulate as long as they had the imagination to do it.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The Emperor came and burned it to the ground. Had his soldiers butcher one man in every two. Let them have their way with the women.” I saw Sinnar’s face contort at the memory. “I’d long since moved on by then. To the big city.”

“And here you are, fighting for Warmont and the Empire,” I said quietly.

He turned to face me. “I’m fighting for the First Cohort, Captain. It’s all I have left. It’s all any of us have left.”

I moved on from Sinnar, seeing the same empty faces and distant stares amongst the men. I wondered how many of them had a similar story to Sinnar. The men were free to speak of their past, but they were free to say nothing at all. Many of them were a mystery to me, except that I knew they could fight and I knew they were loyal. I was sure that most of them were escaping from something they’d seen or done, though we’d not taken in new recruits for so long that whatever they were running from would have long since perished or been forgotten.

I felt a burning sensation at my chest. I found a place away from the men and drew out the little silver mirror that I kept hanging upon a chain around my neck. The glass did not reflect my face, instead, it blurred and shimmered as if it concealed an unpleasant secret. I was very familiar with what was happening and waited patiently while Warmont forced his spirit across the miles.

“Captain Charing, please report,” the Duke said. The mirror was small, but crystal clear. Warmont’s face swam into focus, his disease-ravaged features looking as repulsive as I could remember them. His magics had kept him alive for a long time, but each year it became harder for his will to overcome the dictates of his failing body and he had to take more and more of his subjects to sate his lusts. It was always the women that he drank after he’d used them. The younger they were, the better he liked them.

“Duke Warmont,” I greeted him. “Ragar’s forces are heavily defeated and dispersed. We are camped outside the town. I plan to subdue the populace and impose martial law.”

“Good work, Captain Charing. I knew I could rely on you to destroy these usurpers. What have you done with Ragar?”

“He’s held with the other prisoners.”

“Prisoners? I don’t need you to hold prisoners, Captain.”

“Ragar might have information that we need.”

The face of Warmont laughed, the sound a cruel and unnatural one somewhere between a wheeze and a cackle. “The rebels have nothing I need and nothing I want. I’ve found what it is that I’m looking for.”

I felt a shock at these words, but did not speak about it immediately. “What are we to do with the prisoners?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Kill them. Kill every last one of them.”

“Who will work the fields and the forges?” I asked. “Without these men, the town will fall into the dust.”

“What do I care about such a little town on the edge of my lands? You will hold until my justiciars reach you in two weeks. Don’t let anyone in or out of the town until they get there. I want to send a message to the other rebel towns.”

I knew what that message would entail. “Have more towns declared themselves against you?” I asked.

“Treads and Farthest. I’ll need you there soon.”

I suppressed a shake of my head. Treads and Farthest were rich, coastal towns, nothing like the minnow that was Nightingale. We’d have a real fight on our hands if we were called to storm their walls. A rebellion of that size might even bring the Emperor’s gaze upon this corner of his lands and no-one wanted that to happen.

The image in the mirror faded without a further word spoken – Warmont had dismissed me, knowing that I’d follow his instructions. For reasons I didn’t know, I felt a furious anger building inside me. Warmont was losing his grip and I was sure he’d resort to increasingly desperate tactics in order to quell the outlying towns and cities. That was not going to be good news for the First Cohort.

I marched back to where I saw Jon Ploster. He was on his haunches away from the other men, his expression unreadable.

“An easy win, Captain,” he said. I wasn’t fooled.

“Easy or hard, they come and go. We’re off to the coast next, Jon. Another town, another rebellion.”

“How long till Warmont calls in the Emperor’s beasts?” he asked, though I could tell he was not expecting an answer.

“We’re caught between the anvil and the hammer.” I paused for a moment at what I had to say. “We’ve been instructed to kill the prisoners - to a man. There’ll be justiciars here in two weeks to impose the Duke’s law on the town. This place will be a hell on earth.”

“Every footstep we take with Warmont is going to need a dozen to get us back,” he said. “This will be the end of the First Cohort, Tyrus.”

I knew he was right. Soon we’d be off to Treads or Farthest. Each of our victories would be tempered with the knowledge that the aftermaths would be increasingly cruel and barbaric. We’d become little more than murderers, each stride taking us closer and closer towards the abyss. In truth, we’d been teetering on the brink for a long time. I’d looked over the edge and seen what was below. The men had too – I could see it in their faces and hear it in their hushed whispers as they talked around the campfires at night. There was no way back for them and I was leading them forever forwards, damning their souls for eternity. I felt as if we were too far down the slope to scramble our way out.

“Lieutenant Craddock, Lieutenant Sinnar!” I shouted. They came over at once. “Get the men ready to move. We’ve been asked to hold Nightingale until relief arrives in two weeks. I want the men in teams of five on the street on a rotating shift to cover every hour of the day and night. I don’t expect trouble, but we will be prepared for it. We’ll use the town hall as our base. Tell Corporal Langs to find us a place to barrack.”

“Yes, Captain!” they acknowledged.

“For the moment, we use our own supplies. Anything we need or anything the men buy is to be paid for fairly.” I didn’t need to ask if they understood.

“What of the prisoners, Captain?” asked Craddock.

“Fuck it, they come with us for now. Find somewhere to house them and keep them guarded. Take whatever food they need from the townspeople. They can pay for their own.”

Three

Later that evening, I sat alone in a room on the upper floor of Nightingale’s town hall. It was a rough, old building constructed of wood and stone. I’d taken one of the offices for myself, clearing out a spluttering old man who’d thought the First Cohort’s arrival to be thoroughly rude. I chewed on my rations and sipped at a cup of wine from a bottle I’d found hidden in a cupboard. A minor theft, but one I could live with.

The rations hardly even filled my stomach, let alone my soul. The tough, leathery strips of dried beef tasted like ash in my mouth. A soldier’s rations had never tasted good for as long as I could remember eating them, and I’d eaten many of these sorry little parcels of food before. The wine may have been a good one, it may have been a single step above vinegar, I couldn’t tell. In the past, I had prided myself on my palate, paying out great sums for wines and brandies, while the men laughed and mocked me with their two-Royal mugs of rough ale. Now everything tasted the same to me. I ate through habit and drank for the memory of the ritual. I wondered what would happen if I stopped eating and drinking. Would I wither away and die or would I still function forever in the same way? Even sleep’s pleasures were slowly being denied to me. My need for it had reduced over the decades, to the point where I could put my head down for little more than an hour or two and awake with a feeling of readiness. If I dreamt, I didn’t remember them with any vividness. Occasionally, I returned to wakefulness with a fleeting memory of times gone by, but they no longer elicited any nostalgia or yearning.

The men were the same. I heard them grumbling about how they wished they could sleep for hours, and they talked about meals they’d eaten - a mother’s fresh loaf of bread or a meat pie bought in Ironsburg. Always it was the memory of what had gone before and a realisation that those memories were all that remained. I think we all had a craving to feel human again. Except we were no longer human. Or if we were, there were so few shreds of humanity left that we could only pretend.

The First Cohort hadn’t often been used to suppress a town’s population, but we were familiar with the drill. If there were sufficient armed men in sufficient places, there’d be little opportunity for trouble to foment. I’d found groups of five men to be the best – it meant that there were many different squads, making it easier to blanket-cover the streets. If the soldiers went in pairs or threes, they’d be vulnerable to attack. Squads of five were a much more challenging proposition for would-be murderers or groups intending armed resistance.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I said. Jon Ploster opened the door and entered the room. “Have a seat,” I bade, indicating one of the firm, wooden seats near the desk at which I sat.

“How are things on the streets?” he asked. Ploster had no particular rank and took no part in the command of the men. Nevertheless, everyone was aware his value and knew that he was First Cohort through and through. I sometimes thought I should give him the rank of corporal, yet was sure that he’d decline the offer.

“Everything has gone smoothly so far,” I replied. “The men have reported no trouble. Our name precedes us and no-one wants to see what depravities we might commit if our soldiers are murdered while they patrol.” I laughed bitterly at that. We did not commit depravities. We’d be leaving that to Warmont’s justiciars when they arrived and the justiciars were experts in that field.

“We’ve got a quiet two weeks and then we’re off to another one of Warmont’s fights, then?” Ploster already knew this was the case, he was just prodding to open up the subject again.

“Nightingale’s beaten and the people know it. They just don’t know what’s going to happen to them yet. They’ll keep their heads down in the hope that obedience will bring leniency.”

“It won’t, though, will it?”

I laughed again, another humourless response. “No of course it won’t. That old bastard’s going to take this place apart. The ones that aren’t dead will soon be wishing they’d spent themselves against our shield wall.”

“You could tell them all to leave,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as it spoke his sedition. His eyes looked hollow and sunken.

“You know I can’t do that. Warmont will guess what we’ve done. He’ll not speak of it directly, but you can be sure that we’ll be first into every breach and first up every siege ladder, until we’re so weakened by attrition that we will no longer exist. As the First Cohort’s captain, I will not see that happen!”

“Something needs to happen, Tyrus,” he told me. “Another year of this and we’ll have to march ten thousand miles to find a place we’re not despised. Otherwise the only person we can fight for is Warmont.”

“Or the Emperor,” I added.

“You got us away from his command before. Would you truly take us back there?”

“Never,” I said. “I have enough to atone for already. I do not wish to heap that upon my mountain of sins.”

“You are already heaping upon that mountain, Tyrus. Every day it gets higher and the First Cohort follows you willingly, because it is you.”

I gritted my teeth at his words. Not because I was angry with him – what point was there in trusting a man as an adviser if you shouted down his every opinion – but because I knew he was right. I’d allowed us to be forced into a corner, where all options led to damnation. The choice of fools. And all the while, Warmont could sit in his keep, laughing at how easily he played me.

“Jon, I am as grateful as ever for your willingness to deliver the bluntest of messages.” He knew me well enough to realise that the words were spoken in jest, albeit a poor joke.

“I am sure that whatever happens, you will lead us,” he said.

“Aye, that I will,” I said. “Now, please take for yourself a cup and I would value your opinion on this fine quality wine that I have unearthed in the local cellars.”

I poured him a good quantity into his cup and he took a sip of it. “Tastes like shit,” he volunteered. After another sip, he corrected himself. “Absolute shit.”

“I’d hoped you’d tell me it was the finest of vintages,” I told him ruefully. “So that my imagination could fill in the blanks from my mouth.”

The next morning, I woke while there was still darkness outside. I descended to the floor below and spent some time with the men who were stationed there, exchanging empty banter and the occasional story from the past, where a man was willing to volunteer one.

“When I was a young lad I used to eat so much, that I could hardly pull my pants up after I’d had a shit, because I was so fat,” said Sprinter, starting a familiar tale.

“And even now your breath stinks of it,” interrupted Roots.

“One day, I overheard a group of girls laughing at me as I struggled to get up the ten steps into the tanner’s shop.”

“You said it was the pie shop you couldn’t get into, last time you told us this tale,” said Loopy.

“It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Maybe it was the pie shop and maybe it was the tanner. Either way, the sounds of their laughter haunted me, it did.”

“I’ll bet you wanted to pork one of them, didn’t you?” chortled Scram.

“And ironically, if you’d eaten less pork, you’d have had more chance of porking one of them lasses,” said Roots, once more breaking into the narration.

“Anyways,” continued Sprinter, “from that day on, I decided that I’d lose the weight and become the slim man that I knew was inside me. I almost starved myself for months, and look at me now.” Sprinter was lean and fast. He could outrun almost anyone in the First Cohort with ease and we’d all won countless coins betting on him at tournaments in the past.

“Let me guess? You still didn’t get to tumble with one of those wenches that you were so hot for?” someone asked.

Sprinter went quiet, a sure sign that he didn’t want to speak further. The men left him to his thoughts.

“Are we staying here long, Captain?” asked Furtive. I knew what he was after.

“A couple of weeks, maybe. Don’t go getting yourself too comfortable though, and don’t go setting up any gambling rings out there. These people are poor enough as it is – they’ve already lost everything.”

Furtive looked disappointed that I’d identified his plans so easily. “It’s not everything they’ve lost, Captain. I reckon they’re about to lose a whole lot more when Warmont’s men get here. At least let me give them a chance to have some fun before…”

He tailed off at that point, not wanting to speak the words about what would soon happen to the people of Nightingale. I’d not made it widely known that the justiciars were coming, but soldiers aren’t stupid and I had often wondered how they managed to find out so much, even when I kept my lips tightly sealed. There had been times in the past when I could have sworn that my men knew something even before I’d known it myself. Perhaps they just speculated so much that eventually someone was certain to have guessed the future accurately.

“Let’s not try to second guess the Duke’s intentions, eh lads?” I said. They weren’t fooled.

“No need to guess, Captain. I think we know what’s coming,” Scram said.

I watched their faces intently. These men were all veterans – had each killed hundreds or more of our opponents – but they had a moral code. I’d never met a profession before which had such an overtly black and white view of right and wrong. There was little room for greys when indecision or uncertainty could see you with a spear in your gut. The men looked back at me and I saw something in their eyes which I’d not seen in a long time – it was hope. Hope that they’d be given some respite from having to shift their boundaries constantly, in order that they might see their actions as good, rather than evil. A man can only fool himself for so long and I could tell that they needed to see a future where black and white no longer moved, to stop the inner conflict that each one felt.

I had nothing to give them, yet. “We’ll wait and see what happens to Nightingale. We’re all used to the unexpected, aren’t we?” I didn’t even try to defend Warmont. It would have belittled me if I’d done so and I had no faith in the man or his motives. A few of the men nodded. They still had belief that I’d pull a rabbit out of my hat.

I left them behind and searched out Lieutenant Sinnar. I located him just inside our compound, which comprised the large yard surrounding the town hall.

“Any trouble?” I asked.

“Not a peep, Captain,” he said, almost with surprise.

“Without Ragar they must lack motive and leadership.”

“I wonder if they blame him for what’s happened,” said Sinnar.

“Send some men and bring him to me,” I told him. “Find Ploster and send him along as well.” At that, I left him and returned to my office to wait.

I wasn’t left for long. Within fifteen minutes I heard several pairs of feet approach along the corridor outside. I asked them to enter and three soldiers hauled in Ragar, with his hands tightly bound and his legs hobbled with more rope.

“Sit him there,” I said, just as Ploster entered the room.

The soldiers pushed Ragar to the seat and I told them to leave the room, which they did without hesitation or question. They knew I could defend myself, but I was sure it was Ploster’s presence that gave them the most reassurance.

Ragar met my gaze, evenly, like an equal. He still had some fight left in him, then. We sat silently for a time, taking the measure of each other, until I chose to speak.

“Why did you do it?” I asked. I think he was surprised.

“Do what?” he said.

“Rise up in a futile rebellion. You had hardly more than eight hundred men. Do you know how many Warmont’s got?”

“Many more than eight hundred,” he said. “But we beat them twice.”

“That you did, but Warmont can’t afford to send his main armies out so far – at least until he’s sure he needs to. He commands over forty thousand troops and not all of them are men. You only saw a fraction.”

“I gambled and lost,” said Ragar. “I thought if we could beat what he sent here, that he’d let us go. That we’d be more trouble than we’re worth.”

“You weren’t even taking a gamble,” I said. “There was no chance whatsoever that Warmont would allow one of his towns to declare so openly against him. If he hadn’t sent us, he’d have sent five thousand of his own. He’ll do whatever it takes, whatever the cost.”

“I have heard that other towns have risen in rebellion,” Ragar said, unwilling to name them in case I didn’t know which they were.

“Treads and Farthest have also declared themselves free. You can be certain that even now, Warmont is preparing to send his heaviest and best-trained armies to crush them.”

“And after that? There will always be another to take their place.”

“At what cost? The Emperor will not allow Warmont to squander his lands and Malleus is far, far more deadly than Warmont ever could be. You do not want to see what the Emperor can and will bring to bear against his own people. This is not a game of who will blink first, for neither Warmont nor the Emperor will ever concede an inch of the lands they rule. The time they do so will mark the beginning of the end for them both and they know this.”

“Why are you telling me these things?” asked Ragar.

“The First Cohort does not like to fight against untrained men and women,” said Ploster. “We are tired of battles that we cannot lose. We are weary of seeing the hopes of our enemies crushed beneath our heels as we defeat them!”

“Then do not fight!” snapped Ragar. “And leave these lands forever!”

“There is nowhere for us to go,” I said. “At least nowhere that would have us.” I changed the subject abruptly. “He’s found her, you know?”

Ragar couldn’t help himself and snapped up in his chair. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“The Saviour. Warmont has found her.”

“Impossible!” Ragar exclaimed. “She doesn’t even exist!”

The lie was an easy one to ignore. “I don’t believe he’s captured her yet,” I said to him. Ragar’s relief was palpable. “But it will only be a matter of time. You know how important she is to Warmont. And the Emperor.”

“He won’t find her. She’s too well hidden.”

“She is young,” said Ploster. “Warmont’s sorcerers are very, very old and they have ways of penetrating even the darkest of veils.”

“The girl will destroy whatever he sends.”

Ploster looked at me, before he responded. “Let us hope that she’s as powerful as you say.”

Four

I did not speak to Ragar again for the next twelve days. There was no unrest amongst the townsfolk and none amongst the prisoners. Although we did not let down our guard, I noticed that the people had begun to slowly and tentatively return to their normal routines, even if many of the shops and businesses remained closed. After all, we did them no harm and paid fairly for whatever it was we needed. They did not like us, of course; I’m sure they still hated us for what we had done to their husbands. Nevertheless, the people were stoic and with nothing better to do, attempted to return to as normal a life as they could manage. They must have realised that it couldn’t last, but in the absence of knowing what awaited them, decided to make the best of what they had.

On the thirteenth morning of our stay, I was alerted by Lieutenant Craddock that a column of men approached, from the same direction as we had entered the town. I was there to greet them as they rode in on their overworked horses. They were a hundred and one all told, and with them were many wagons. These wagons had bars in place of windows and they were all empty. I knew immediately what they were for.

The lead man was dressed in lightweight armour of hardened leather, with bands of metal fixed in place with studs. He carried a sword at his side, and a metal cosh hung from his belt. He dismounted smoothly in front of me.

“Captain Charing?” he asked. I nodded. “I’m Captain Fide. I’m here to relieve you and take command of this town.” Fide was a tall man, with an imperious face and his chin clean shaven, in spite of the journey.

“Captain Fide, we will go inside so that we can discuss matters.” I didn’t offer him pleasantries or refreshments. I was a soldier and since he was a justiciar, I knew him to be a torturing bully. I didn’t need him to like me, nor was I interested in whether he did so or not.

Someone else spoke. “Captain Charing, I feel that I should attend as well. I have certain instructions for you.” This second voice came from a hunched figure seated in the saddle of a black mare. The figure was dressed in black robes, covering most of his face. His voice was sibilant and strangely unpleasant.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The figure reached up and drew back its hood. Beneath it was a pale, white face. This man had a slack red-lipped mouth, flat nose and strangely yellow eyes. He had no hair at all and his pate was spotted with brown marks of age. “I’m Dag’Vosh,” he said. “Third of Warmont’s Five.”

“Sinnar, see these men to the stables and then let them alone. Craddock, let Ploster know that Warmont’s Third has arrived.”

I led Fide and Dag’Vosh over our compound and to my office. As we passed, the First Cohort’s men looked at the sorcerer with curiosity. They knew who he was and what he was. The men were not fearful, but knew that the sorcerer was by far the most dangerous man in the town.

When the was door closed, I didn’t bother to sit, nor to offer my guests the opportunity to do so. Dag’Vosh helped himself to a seat anyway. There was no point in further greetings or niceties - I was not a diplomat.

“Captain Fide. I assume you will want the morning to familiarise yourself with the town before you take on your duties. I won’t bother to make any suggestions – I’m sure you know what you’re going to do.” I turned my gaze to Dag’Vosh. “You said you have instructions for me, sorcerer.”

“Indeed I do,” he said. “Duke Warmont insists that the First Cohort follow my direct command until I decide your men are no longer required. You will assist me. Then you are to make all haste to Treads. War is coming and the First Cohort will be needed where the fighting is fiercest.”

“I command the First Cohort,” I snapped. “Any instruction comes through me. No one else will give orders to my men!”

The sorcerer paused and narrowed his eyes, evidently weighing up whether or not this was something worth challenging. I felt tendrils of his power snaking around me, probing at my mind as he sought to find any weaknesses in my mental walls. I saw his surprise when he found out that I was not so easily unravelled.

“Very well, Captain Charing,” he said. “All orders will come from me, to you and then to your men. Be prepared to act, though, for we will be leaving Nightingale as soon as we are able. Later this afternoon would be acceptable. We will need supplies for several days at least.”

I must confess I was surprised at this turn of events. I’d imagined we were to be sent immediately off to Treads or Farthest. I’d mentally begun to prepare for a real battle. The coastal cities would not be easily defeated if they chose to hide behind their walls and attempt to last out a siege. Warmont’s navy was hardly more than a dozen warships - I doubted he could maintain any sort of blockade against these cities, nor bombard them into submission.

“We will make the necessary preparations and will be ready to move by the middle of this afternoon.” I said these words with certainty. We were always ready to move.

“Captain Charing,” said Fide. “On our approach, I noticed that you have almost thirty of your men stationed outside of a storage building of some sort. Have you had trouble?”

“No trouble at all. The people of Nightingale have been defeated and they know it. The building you speak of holds the prisoners from their beaten army.”

“Prisoners?” asked Fide. “I was told there were no prisoners.”

“There are always prisoners, Captain Fide. Not every man dies in battle. Some run away and are captured, while some fall with injuries from which they will recover.”

I had never met Captain Fide, but already I thought that I hated him. I doubted he’d ever fought in a real, proper scrap, knee-deep in shit and guts, where the screaming of the living and the dying were the only sounds you could hear. Where you strain every sinew to overcome the enemy, knowing that they are equally determined and the only thing that distinguishes them from you is your will to beat the odds. The justiciars never fought a fair fight. They used cruelty and fear to cow people who were not fighters – farmers and shopkeepers were their usual opponents. The odds were never against them; hence they never knew the fear that they might one day lose.

“You will have them killed!” Fide spluttered. “The Duke demands it!”

I took a stride towards him. There was no threat in the movement, but Fide’s brain forced his mouth closed before it could say anything that would get him into trouble. I am not a small man. The tattoos and scars that criss-cross my face tell their own story about my past.

“The First Cohort are soldiers,” I told him quietly. There was no need to give him further detail – he either understood or he did not. All I needed was for him to keep quiet and in this he obliged me.

“Captain Charing, we will take our leave from you now,” said the sorcerer. “I will expect the First Cohort to be ready to move out at the promised time.” I didn’t reply and they left my office.

The sun was past its mid-way point in the sky when we gathered in the compound. Five hundred and eighty men, fully armed and with enough provisions to see us through a month of hard marching. I doubted we’d need so much, but I was a firm believer that you should take full advantage of the ability to prepare. A soldier never died because he was overprepared, whilst many was the army that had foundered through a lack of provisions and materiel. I would not be a man who lost a battle because of my own failings.

Warmont’s Third was upon his horse and he looked around him knowingly as we stood muster.

“Can you nullify him?” I asked Ploster. We were meant to be on the same side, but I liked information – I thrived on knowing it, though Ploster had often warned me that too much of it could cloud a man’s vision.

“No,” said Ploster without hesitation. “He’s the real deal, while I’m just a man who knows some tricks.”

“More than just a few tricks, friend,” I told him, but took the warning on board. Until I knew why the sorcerer was here, or what he wanted, I wasn’t willing to trust him. Warmont’s Third or not.

Waiting was a game I had never enjoyed, though some would say that a man never enjoys a game that he is not good at. I knew we were headed north, through the far fields of Nightingale, so I raised my arm in a signal to show Craddock and Sinnar that it was time to move. Even as I lowered my clenched fist, I saw billowing smoke from near the outskirts of town. The steady wind brought more than just a chill and carried with it the faint sounds of voices shouting in panic.

“The prisoners, Captain,” said Sinnar. “The bastards have set the building alight.”

I knew that Lieutenant Sinnar was correct and as we marched out of our compound in perfect order, my eye caught sight of Captain Fide upon his horse. He had a victor’s smile on his face and tried to meet my gaze as we walked past. I didn’t give him the satisfaction, but marked him as a man who would suffer an accident should our paths ever cross again. The First Cohort had many men with no past who were skilled in the arts of murdering a man without being seen.

As we marched through Nightingale’s central square, the doors of the town’s ancient clock opened and a carved wooden bird emerged on its stand, to sing most beautifully while we walked beneath. As far as I knew it hadn’t sung once in the two weeks since we’d arrived. The emotion of music was the one thing that many of us had remained susceptible to, even after the changes wrought upon us, and I noticed several of the men wiping at imaginary motes in their eyes as they heard the bird’s exquisite voice.

Behind, there was the harsh clatter of horse’s hooves across the uneven pavement of the street. The rider guided his horse through the men, until he walked close by me.

“Keen to be off, Captain?” asked Dag’Vosh.

“I always keep my promises, sorcerer,” I responded. Neither of us smiled.

The afternoon wore on and the sorcerer kept us directed with the occasional point of his finger, or wave of his hand. I could tell that he wasn’t certain of his exact path, for he would stop often, sometimes staring ahead as though he was in a trance. I was sure he was searching, though he gave no clue as to what it was that he sought. Nevertheless, the presence of Warmont’s Third was sufficient indication that we were looking for more than a lost bracelet.

Night came quickly and the sky darkened, leaving only the brightness of the moon for illumination. It was clear and cloudless, making the night colder, though no one complained at the lateness of the hour or the lack of warmth. The rolling fields had long ago given way to a lumpy and uneven scrubland, with hidden pools of brackish water and loose rocks hidden beneath the tussocks. It was not a land safe to cross in the darkness, unless you wanted to risk a broken ankle, or worse and we brought few enough horses with us that we’d want one of them slaughtered for a broken leg.

I ordered the stop. I’d expected complaints from Dag’Vosh, but he uttered none, simply dismounting and handing his horse over to Horsemaster Tradis’ care.

In less than half an hour we’d established a secure camp, with guards stationed around the perimeter. I didn’t know these lands and wasn’t eager to fall prey to the unknown. In my youth, I’d been berated for my recklessness. As I’d grown older, that recklessness had been replaced by caution, though I was not averse to taking risks where the rewards were great enough. I told myself that it was wisdom and had yet to hear a convincing argument that it was something other.

After we’d eaten, I retired to my tent with Ploster and the First Cohort’s two lieutenants to discuss what we knew of Treads and Farthest. Only Lieutenant Craddock had been to either.

“I was there as a nipper,” he told us. “My old man was a wine merchant and he took us all to Treads as part of a trade caravan. He reckoned it would make our fortune and he took his finest wares with him. Stuff it took him months to afford. Anyway, we got attacked on the coast road by bandits. They killed my ma’ and my sister. My old man wasn’t a fighter. He managed to gather me up and ran with me. He told me later that the bandits chased him for a while, but they’d got what they’d come for, so didn’t bother with us. We got to Treads and lived there for a few years, but he was never the same again.”

The wan candlelight in the tent scarce illuminated our faces as we sat in silence. I couldn’t recall Craddock speaking so much about his past, at least in one go. From the set of his jaw I could tell that the memories were strong, even with the passing of time.

Our reverie was broken by the arrival of Dag’Vosh, who pushed his way into the tent without announcing himself.

“And there’ve been no bandits on the coast road for fifty or a hundred years, until recently. I know the Duke is not a popular man, but he brings the rule of law and he upholds it, no matter what the cost.”

“I won’t give you an argument on any of those things, sorcerer,” I said. “We’ve fought for Warmont for long enough to know what he stands for.”

“You sound as though you have doubts,” replied Dag’Vosh. It wasn’t clear if he asked a question or spoke rhetorically. Either way, the words were too laden with potential pitfalls for me to venture an answer.

“You were talking about Treads, I believe,” the sorcerer continued. “In that at least, I’m sure we all share a similar interest.”

“Aye, that we do. Lieutenant Craddock, please continue.”

“I’m not sure I know much of the town that will be of use to us now, Captain. It was another lifetime that I lived there. I remember walls, as high as the eye could see, with turrets and spires of grey stone. There were great, wooden gates. They were never closed back then and I don’t even know if they worked.”

“I assure you those gates work,” said Dag’Vosh. “Treads is very old and has seen its fair share of wars, both within its walls and without. It will not be an easy town to overcome and even the First Cohort will taste hardship.”

“You sound like you’ve been there,” said Ploster.

“I’ve been to many places in the Duke’s lands, and beyond them. I am not a village boy, with sight clouded by the confines of the limited things which he knows.”

“What are we doing out here, sorcerer?” I asked. “Our path does not take us closer to the coast.”

“You are correct, Captain. Tomorrow we shall enter the Lower Rans. What I seek is there. When I find it, you will make haste for the coast.”

“You are not coming with us to Treads?” I asked, hopeful that our paths would soon diverge.

“We’ll see,” he assured me, with a smile that was neither friendly nor one of menace. Dag’Vosh had little use for human niceties and was poor at them.

“When we get to the Lower Rans, what do you need us for?” I was curious to learn what a sorcerer as powerful as Warmont’s Third might need so many men for. I already had an idea of what he hoped to find.

“There may be trouble.” He paused for a moment. “And I might need men to assist in the search.”

I was struck with a sudden realisation, from the way he spoke and the way he placed his words. Warmont does not know that he is out here. I had no way to be certain that what I thought was true, but I determined to speak to Ploster about it as soon as I could. I doubted that if the sorcerer found what he sought that it would be a benefit to the First Cohort. I never trusted a man whose motives were not clear to me. I didn’t mind secrets – everyone is entitled to keep that which is precious to themselves, and we in the First Cohort all had our secrets – but motives were what would drive a man to do things which benefitted himself to the detriment of others.

“If there is to be trouble, I do not wish it to take my men by surprise,” I said, my tone making it clear that my ire would be great if we were caught unawares by something that we might otherwise have received warning of.

“Rest assured, Captain. As soon as I have certainty on the extent of any perils, I will communicate them to you.” His muddy, yellow eyes glittered. “Believe it or not, it is in my interests and the interests of the Duke for the First Cohort to remain at full strength. It is not as though you can grow your numbers through recruitment, is it?”

After that, the conversation died. Dag’Vosh was not a welcome guest and no one wished to talk in front of him, lest something of importance be inadvertently divulged. The sorcerer did not seem to mind, and he appeared to have his own thoughts to deal with. Craddock and Sinnar rose to leave, excusing themselves that they might go and mix with the men - the bonding was important. Dag’Vosh did not stay much longer; he simply pushed himself to his feet and left, without offering a word.

When it seemed likely that distance was sufficient that he would not be overheard, Ploster spoke. “He’s a snake, Tyrus. We can’t trust him at all.”

“I know, Jon. I feel it in my gut that he’s here on his own business. If that’s the case, he won’t hesitate to do whatever he needs to in order that his own goals are met.”

“We’ve been away from Blades for too long. Away from the politics.”

“Politics!” I spat. “What do we need to know of politics?” Even as I spoke the words I knew that I was being glib. Of course we needed to know what was happening in Warmont’s court. Knowledge was power and there were too many powerful men with too many conflicting aims for me to dismiss the politics as being worthless to a soldier. It was by the order of such men that we might live or die.

“Keep an eye on him, Tyrus,” Ploster warned. “Warmont needs us, but it may be that Dag’Vosh does not.”

“How will he cover his footprints if something befalls us?”

“It may be that he has no concerns about it. Captain Fide belongs to the sorcerer – I could see it in the respect he showed. Treads is a long way distant. There is plenty of opportunity for something to happen to us as we travel.”

“He will not outflank me. I am determined of that. And you will do your best to keep him chained,” I said.

“I’ve started building my cage already, but he is old and cunning. It may be that I can’t delay him for long if it comes to a confrontation between our powers.”

“I trust you, Jon, as much as I trust any of my men.” I told him.

“I hope that I will not disappoint,” he replied with a grim smile.

Five

The following morning was the same as the one which preceded it, which is to say, cold and with the same, bitter wind that we had begun to feel embodied this misbegotten corner of Warmont’s domain. It remained dark for some time after we had roused ourselves. The men were restless to make progress, but the morning’s darkness was no less dangerous than that of the evening. I didn’t know if the First Cohort’s impatience with waiting was something I had instilled in them, or if it was a part of our changing. Maybe I was wrong when I said that I do not like to wait, as if it’s a trait I’ve always possessed. It could be that our past has defined our future more than I have imagined. I was sure that time would make things clearer, as it always did.

We broke camp and marched for half a day to the north. The rough grass remained, but the undulations became larger and higher as we entered what Dag’Vosh told me were the Lower Rans. He seemed more certain now, as if he’d spent some time last night using his powers to scour the lands ahead of our camp. I didn’t think he’d been to the Lower Rans before, though there was no reason anyone would want to come here voluntarily.

After a further hour, we started to see signs that people lived here. A few sheep dotted the hills, in fields enclosed by low, stone walls. There were huts visible in the distance, though our path did not take us close enough that we were able to speak to the residents, if anyone lived in them at all. If I had chosen the life of a shepherd, I was sure that I would not have made efforts to greet a contingent of heavily-armed soldiers passing by my shack.

It had been raining since the latter part of the morning, a miserable, fine drizzle that found its way into everything, leaving us blinking constantly to clear our eyes in order that we might see the ground ahead. It soaked our heads, leading many of the men to unhitch their helmets and put them on, willing to suffer the extra discomfort of the weight in order that the leather neck guards might deflect some of the rain away from trickling down their necks.

We didn’t suffer from the cold, or at least we suffered much less than other men did. Even so, I think we all longed for the feeling of sunshine upon our skin. The cold didn’t pain us, but we still had a preference for warmth and most of us still found the rain to be an irritant, even when the weather was warm. I had not met a soldier who liked the rain and had I ever met a commander who claimed that he preferred a battle fought on a wet field, I would have done my utmost to ensure I never fought for that man.

“What a shit hole,” muttered Corporal Langs, more to himself than anyone else.

“Pants chafing your balls again, are they?” asked Craddock cheerily.

“No, sir, my balls are doing just fine,” Langs responded, though his hand adjusted his armour in an unconscious gesture. “Just this rain looks like it’s set in for good now.”

I stared up at the sky. Where once it had been clear, it was now uniformly grey, as if the cloud had somehow coalesced overhead, rather than drifting across from elsewhere. I’d seen places like this before – if it wasn’t raining, it was because it was too cold to rain. The sun might appear briefly during a short few months of the year, but otherwise it would be unremittingly bleak. The people living out here would be stoic and hard, but their life would always be a struggle. Out here there’d never be a good year of plenty for them to look forward to. It would be lean year after lean year, with never a chance to put something aside for next year in order to make the future a little easier. I didn’t envy people like this. I wasn’t more ambitious than the position I held, but there should always be a chance, an opportunity, to make something of yourself. If you have no hopes of improvement or for something better to come, you may as well lay down and die with the animals, for your life is truly without meaning.

“Captain, please ask your men to stop,” said Dag’Vosh.

The First Cohort drew to a halt on the side of a low hill – no different to any of the others we’d travelled so far.

“Come,” said the sorcerer, as he guided his mare through the men, heading up the hill. I joined him, keeping up easily, since he made no effort to spur away. Near the top of the hill, he dismounted and led his horse the rest of the hundred paces it took until we could see into the valley beyond. He was silent for a while and I did not disturb him. Even in our short acquaintance I knew he did not use his periods of silence as a mechanism to try and prompt me into speaking something to fill the gap.

“What I seek is in there,” he said, pointing at the sprawling village beneath us. There were no walls to protect it and it contained perhaps three hundred dwellings, sitting to either side of a watercourse that contained what was little more than a broad, fast-flowing stream. Across the valley on the far side of the village, I could see that fields had been tilled and there were pens for cattle. Smoke rose from chimneys and a mill turned lazily in the breeze, to indicate that the village was not abandoned.

“What is this place?” I asked.

He glanced over at me. “I neither know, nor care. We aren’t even in the Duke’s lands anymore.”

I started at this news, though I already knew we were at the farthest reaches of his domain. This was the first time I’d left the Empire in many decades. Dag’Vosh saw my look.

“Don’t go getting a taste for freedom,” he said with a peculiar wink. I realised he had attempted a jest, though his words had struck home. When you fight for someone else’s cause, you may feel like you are free, but really you are not. The cause must be your own, freely decided upon. All you gain in fighting for someone else is an escape from making a decision of your own about what is right and what is not. Did that mean that we in the First Cohort were all cowards, too scared to choose a cause of our own? And was this something that I had led them to? The question came as a shock to me.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“I will know it when I see it,” he replied. I could tell he was being evasive. “I would like your men to surround these houses. No one must escape, but no one must be killed. Do you understand?”

“I’m in no haste to kill these villagers,” I told him. “I’ll make sure that the men know they are to disarm anyone who attacks.”

“How long will it take you to get into position?”

I studied the land carefully. “Less than an hour. They may already know that we’re here and every passing minute makes it more likely.”

“No one must escape!” he repeated. “It is certain that they will try and carry away my prize. Go, Captain! I will wait here until you have searched every hut and brought every villager to the centre square.”

I turned away and returned to the troops, gathering my corporals and lieutenants to me, as well as Ploster. We had no privacy as I explained the lay of the land, but we didn’t need any.

“Get the men into position as quickly as possible,” I said. “Run if you have to. We’re going to split off to the left and right, with a hundred men to go straight over the brow of the hill. They’ll split into groups of five. The sorcerer wants everyone found and flushed into the village square in the centre. There must be no deaths.”

“No deaths, Captain,” they acknowledged. None of them looked like they had a taste for it anyway.

Sinnar looked over his shoulder to see what Dag’Vosh was doing. He was still further up the hill, watching the village. “What about the sorcerer?” he asked. “Is he coming with us?”

“He’s going to stay away until the action is over. He’ll wait where he is.” I fixed Sinnar with a look. “I think we need some men to keep a watch over him, just in case he gets into unexpected trouble. But we don’t want him knowing about it, in case he gets the wrong impression.”

Sinnar grinned. “I reckon Stabber and Furtive might be able to look out for him. The terrain is a bit open, but I’m sure it’s nothing they can’t handle.”

“See to it, please. And let’s get ready to move.”

We were a well-oiled machine and there was little we hadn’t seen or done. Our wage was high, but he who paid it knew that he was getting something irreplaceable in battle. These words may sound like pride or bravado, but they were the simple truth. We fought for our fellows and we had a determination every time we entered battle that we would all come through it alive. Even the worst of us were proficient in several weapons; the best of us were masters of the blade. We all had skills of some sort that we brought to the group.

As the men split off into three columns, I returned to the top of the hill with Dag’Vosh. Two of the columns headed east and west, whilst the third stood with me below the hill’s brow. There was an occasional cough or rattle of metal upon metal, but otherwise we made no sound that would carry to the village below.

From my vantage, I saw that Sinnar and Craddock had managed to completely encircle the dwellings, separating into smaller groups in order to blockade the muddy tracks leading away. It was almost impossible to complete such a manoeuvre without being detected – a farmer in his field or a boy playing by a stream might see the soldiers before they were in position. A good attacking force accepted this and would have a contingency in place to prevent the plan from being ruined. On this occasion, we didn’t need to implement ours – just as our pincer was closing, I saw activity that denoted alarm and heard a bell ringing somewhere in the village. It was too late by the time they’d noticed what was happening and I lifted my fist into the air in order that Corporal Gloom and Langs would know that it was time to move.

We advanced at speed in two columns, our paths diverging as we approached the village. When it was apparent that there would be no significant resistance, the columns divided into teams of five and began the work of searching each house and forcing the occupants into the centre of the village. I heard shouting and cries, but there were no sounds of conflict. I was pleased, since I bore these people no ill-will. I thirsted for action, not for murder.

We had made good progress with our search and I was walking with Corporal Gloom along one of the mud-sticky paths between the houses when I happened to glance back whence we’d come. The sorcerer was gone from his position atop the hill. He could have simply dropped away out of sight, but I didn’t trust him for a minute.

“Dag’Vosh is gone!” I said to Gloom with a sense of urgency. The Corporal knew me well enough to fill in the unspoken words for himself: we must find him.

There was little difficulty in the search. Off to one side, up the hill towards the lone mill there was a rending crack, as if a thousand peals of thunder had been focused in that one place. A second later, a thumping concussion rolled over us, shaking the surrounding houses and battering at our ear drums. Rough-hewn planks were torn from roofs and thrown hither and yon, landing in the mud and leaving the houses open to the rain. Where I was standing, I could see the villagers in the square tossed from their feet, or fall to their knees and cower in fear.

“That way!” I shouted with urgency to the men closest. We broke into a run, weaving between damaged houses until we emerged onto the hillside below the mill. There were fifteen of us – those who’d been close enough to hear the command to follow me. The sails of the mill had been torn off, leaving only one of the four remaining, which hung splintered and unmoving.

There was another boom, smaller and more muffled than the first. I recognized it as Ploster’s. As we approached, I could see figures at the far side of the mill, one of them dressed in black robes. A swirling fog of darkness appeared to surround him as he moved his arms in the unmistakable patterns that accompanied the unleashing of power. I could feel the air around me being sucked inwards as the sorcerer drew his power along the warps and wefts. The man must have possessed immense power to have affected the air from such a distance. Suddenly and without warning, a figure appeared behind the black robed sorcerer, something heavy in its hand, which struck downwards onto the skull of Warmont’s Third. There was a bright, white flash and the figure was hurled ten feet backwards. At the same time, Dag’Vosh toppled over onto the ground and the darkness around him dissipated.

We arrived and I took in the scene. Ploster was pitched up in a heap next to the mill’s entrance. He was very still, his body contorted as if he’d been bent unnaturally backwards over a post. Stabber had been thrown against the wall of the mill and looked strangely crumpled. Furtive stood to one side, watching the black cloaked sorcerer. He pretended insouciance by throwing his dagger up into the air so that it spun thrice, before he’d catch it again by the hilt.

I saw movement in the darkened entrance doorway of the battered mill. Before I could focus on what it was, I felt a heavy, grinding vibration run through my body, which increased tenfold in its intensity. It gripped my body in a fist of iron, rolling through me with an indefatigable determination. I roared and clutched at my head as the vibration tried to shatter my resolve and destroy me. I saw my men fall to the ground, their ward-patterns glowing as their scant defence against the assault was overwhelmed. My own tattoos flared up brightly on my face and my body as they called on my will to erect internal walls of solid, black iron to protect my core within. The attack soared upwards, seeking to find a way over my blockades, faster than I could raise them.

“Enough!” I shouted, and abruptly I was no longer assailed.

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” The voice came from a young woman, in her late teenage years. I looked at her and knew at once who she was. Her face was serene and there was a depth of knowing about her, which even the most ignorant of men would have seen. With it, she had a disarming innocence, even in those few short words she had spoken -  a mixture of fear and curiosity.

I heard myself speak as if from a distance, as though a part of me I had long denied had pushed its way to the fore and voiced the feelings that I had felt for many years, but without knowing what these feelings were or why I felt them. “We are lost,” I said. “And if you will save us, we will defend you for an eternity.”

I felt tendrils of power reach out and gently caress my mind, searching my soul to see what was within. She was subtle but raw, and I allowed her to see what she would see, willing to let her judge me on what she found.

She stared at me, her eyes bright and a piercing blue. “But you died such a long time ago,” she said. “How can I save you?”

Six

There was a commotion behind me and I pushed myself to my feet. Even the pain felt like a relief. Men from the First Cohort were running up the hillside towards us. From as far as two hundred paces below they’d felt the outpouring of power from the girl. As the first of them arrived, Sprinter and Flight, I saw them stare at the small figure, who had now emerged from the mill’s entrance to stand alone on the worn ground. They stopped still and said nothing at all. As more of the men arrived, they too, did the same.

“Sprinter, Flight,” I said. “Take two men each and recall Craddock and Sinnar. Tell them to come with haste.”

I had never before been struck by such a feeling of certainty and enlightenment. Even so, I was not surprised that the part of my brain which was fascinated by practicalities took over and dealt with that which needed to be handled immediately.

“Corporal Grief, see to Ploster and the men. If they still live.”

“The ones I attacked are alive,” said the girl. “Though your caster has been badly hurt by the sorcerer. I will see to him.” She hesitated. “The man over there will not be coming back to this world. His body has been too badly damaged by the sorcerer’s defences.”

With fifty men staring mutely, this slender young woman walked to the prone body of Ploster as if she had not a care in the world, and stooped over him, her rough-cloth robes catching the dirt.

I moved over to where Dag’Vosh lay, front-side down on the earth, with his pale, red-lipped face canted to the left. Though he didn’t move, I could tell that he was alive. There was still an aura of power about him, gathering itself slowly as he fought to return to consciousness.

“Stabber hit him, Captain,” said Furtive, pointing at Dag’Vosh. “When we saw him and Ploster at it, we thought he was up to no good. His wards got Stabber, but not before Stabber’s cosh knocked him over.”

“It was the right decision Stabber made,” I said. “I don’t know how many of us he’s saved, but we’ll have a toast for him. We’ve lost a good man today.” Furtive looked at me with a pained expression. He and Stabber had been close friends.

There was a groan at our feet and I saw Dag’Vosh wince as his will overcame his body’s incapacity.

“Kill him,” I commanded softly.

Furtive drew a short dagger and plunged it into Dag’Vosh’s spine. The sorcerer shouted in pain and rolled onto his side, his eyes fixing on us with hatred. He raised a hand, the fingers sketching a mark in the air as his lips mumbled. I swung my sword, hard, taking the man’s hand off cleanly though it felt as if I had chopped through a thick tree branch. No blood flowed from the stump or the severed hand. Chunky appeared at my side and hacked at the sorcerer’s neck. Chunky was as strong as an ox and carried a hand-and-a-half sword, wielding it with one hand as easily as another man might wave a dagger. Even so, his first blow could only cut halfway through Dag’Vosh’s neck and Chunky grunted as he triggered another ward, which flashed up his blade and into his arms. We watched in fascination as the sorcerer spat at us, refusing to die, but his defences were weaker now that his power was diverted towards the renewal of his body.

With another swing of his sword, Chunky finished his work and the head of Warmont’s Third fell away from his body. To my disgust, the man’s eyes remained open and the jaw continued to work. Even with his head separated from his body, I could feel Dag’Vosh fighting to remain alive.

“Push some cloth into that bastard’s mouth,” I said. “Chop him into pieces and bury the parts deep, a hundred yards apart. Burn the head first, until it’s ash.” I tore Warmont’s necklace with its silver mirror away from my neck. “And throw this in with the pieces,” I told Chunky, tossing it onto the ground nearby.

I turned my back on the sorcerer, ignoring the wheezing and spitting sounds coming from his mouth. Shortly the wheezings were drowned out by the noises of chopping, as Chunky went to work. By now, there was over a hundred of us gathered here, as the closest of Sinnar’s and Craddock’s men reached us. I felt satisfaction when I noted that the men who’d been tasked with guarding the villagers had not left their posts.

“Go down there,” I said to Lotus. “Tell them to send the villagers back to their homes and then to attend with us here.”

Lotus saluted his acknowledgement and I watched him for a moment as he ran down the hill towards the village square.

Over by Ploster, the girl crouched still, her hands upon his face. His body was unmarked, but not all wounds appear on the surface. There was a faint thrumming, which I felt when I stood close by.

“Will he live?” I asked her softly. She didn’t answer at once, looking up at me with her brow furrowed and her face intent. Then, Ploster gasped and jerked awake, before he sat upright, blinking in surprise. Ploster was an intelligent man and didn’t waste his words on pointless questions. He saw the girl and the gathered men of the First Cohort.

“Dag’Vosh?” he asked.

I pointed nearby, where Chunky still hewed with undiminished vigour. “Stabber knocked him out cold. The sorcerer’s wards killed him, but he’d done enough.”

Ploster attempted to push himself to his feet. He lacked the strength, so I reached out a hand and hauled him up.

“Warmont has another four of those,” he said, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “I’d hoped not to see one of them again.”

“Or Warmont himself,” I commented wryly.

The men of the First Cohort continued to hurry to the mill. They’d all heard the sorcerer’s expulsion of his power, but had awaited orders before coming to see what had happened. Without being commanded to do so, they formed a semi-circle around where we stood, as if we who had been directly involved were a tableau of something with vast significance. To a man, they stared at the young woman. She had a radiance which surrounded her like an invisible halo and I wondered how she had remained hidden for so long. It may have been that her radiance was more clearly visible to us, as if we were intended to be her guardians. We all felt it, and no one had to speak - each of us knew that we’d found something so precious that we’d do everything we could to keep it safe. The eyes of everyone there had a light behind them which I hadn’t known was missing until I saw it lit anew. It was the light of hope.

I turned to the young woman, as she stood, looking neither uncomfortable at the attention, or certain as to what she should do. I walked until I stood in front of her, towering over her as she looked upwards with her unwavering gaze. I sunk to one knee, the top of my head still above the level of hers.

“My Lady? I am Tyrus Charing and these are my men. Will you have us?” I asked. I felt no sense of desperation, just the same calmness that always pervaded my body before the hardest of battles.

“Rise Tyrus Charing, I will have you.”

With those few words, the Saviour began healing us all. A hollowness I had always known lay inside me, ever since we’d first been changed two hundred and fifty-three years before, became diminished, though the space was too great to be filled so quickly.

“My lady, Duke Warmont must know where you are now. Will you come with us? He has more resources he can call upon than just this sorcerer.”

“And we must hope that he has not told the Emperor that you have been found, or all the legions of Hardened will descend upon this land and they will burn and murder without mercy if they think it will hasten your capture,” said Ploster.

I saw her face twist in worry at the enormity of what she’d been told and I was reminded that for all the power within her, she was still young and if she had lived here all her life, would have been sheltered from so much of the world.

“These people,” she said. “They have raised me, protected me. Even been my friends. Must I leave them so quickly?”

“My lady, you are doing it for their sakes as well as your own. If Warmont’s eyes fall upon this village, he will not be so gentle as we were. His men will murder those who are not taken to appease the Duke’s lusts and this place will be burned to the ground and forgotten as if it were never built.”

From her face, I could see that she knew this to be true and I thought for a moment that she might cry. “Oh, why did I have to be born like this?” she asked herself. It was the first and last time I heard her express a hatred of how she was. Her face steeled and she spoke to me. “Captain Charing, we will leave tomorrow at first light. Your men will make camp outside of the village and I will spend the day saying my goodbyes.”

I didn’t give her an argument; I could tell at once that I’d have been wasting my time doing so and I was old enough to tell when a task is futile and wise enough to not try and alter the inevitable.

“Of course, my lady,” I said. “I would like to post guards on the roads close by. I do not expect the Duke to get here soon, indeed he may never hear about this place, but I should not like to take the chance when there is no need for the risk.”

“That will be fine, Captain Charing. I am sure your men will prove to be excellent sentries.”

We left her to it and made our way out through the few streets that comprised the village. The hill from which we’d first overlooked the houses below was as good a site as any for us to camp and we pitched our tents there, where we had a vantage over the valley below. Craddock arranged for patrols and guards to be set, as I was wary of the unexpected.

The First Cohort usually travelled in silence. We’d seen so much that even a soldier’s bravado seemed like a waste of effort. All the tall tales had been told long ago, though a few of the better ones were occasionally reincarnated for a repeat telling. This silence had remained as we made our way back to the site of our intended camp, but once the ration packs were out and we’d offered our toast to Stabber, the talking began. When something changes, and does it gradually, it’s easy for this change to happen without being noticed. It’s the sudden changes that seem jarring. This was how it happened on the first night that we found the Saviour. Our camps were usually muffled, quiet affairs, even when we were in safe lands. On this evening, the men talked more than I’d heard from them in many years. I wondered if it was my own failing that I’d let things go so far. I often walked amongst the men in the evenings, talking about old times and what our futures held. I think we were all affected by what we’d become, and I had not escaped those feelings either.

“Did you see the look on that dark-hearted bastard’s face when Chunky cut his head off?” said Scram. “Looked like he was shocked that we’d dare!”

“He flopped and turned even as I stuck his bits into a sack!” said Chunky. “But his head stopped its complaining when the fire got hot!”

“No one kills one of us and gets away lightly. Not even Warmont’s specials.”

I walked to a campfire close by that they’d somehow managed to coax out of the wet, wiry scrub that they used for fuel. There were more soldiers huddled around, speaking like men who looked towards their future, rather than pretending that it didn’t exist. I didn’t tell them that we’d had it easy for the last few years and that what we’d done today was going to turn out to be the hardest thing we’d ever done. I doubted they’d care – a man who fights and dies for something he believes in has lived a better life than he who dies of old age having accomplished nothing. I thought again of the rebels we’d defeated recently outside Nightingale and their leader Ragar. It could have been that they weren’t so different from us after all – they’d only had the bad luck to start a fight they couldn’t win. Just like we in the First Cohort had done on this day.

“Is she really the Saviour, Captain?” asked Heavy, squatted down with a group of other soldiers. He knew she was, he was just looking to hear it affirmed by me.

“That she is, Heavy. I felt her power – she’s like nothing else I’ve come across. Not for a long time at least.”

“What’re we going to do now? Can we hide her from Warmont?”

“I need to think about it. Give me an hour or two. We’ll be leaving at first light though, so don’t get too comfortable in your arse print.” I smiled at his impatience. I didn’t see it as a sign of weakness that I admitted uncertainty. They knew I wasn’t hasty and besides, when I thought about something for a while it was always because it was something that demanded its due consideration.

“Captain?” asked Newt. “There’s something special about her, isn’t there? Even if she wasn’t the Saviour, she’d be wasted out here.”

“I reckon,” I replied.

“I had a daughter like her. Brown hair, sharp eyes. She wasn’t afraid to tell her old da’ off, even when she was only knee high,” said Dueller.

Had he told us this even one night before, the conversation would have tailed off into silence, as morose faces stared into the empty space before them, lost in fleeting memories of earlier times. Tonight was different.

“Aye, you’ve always been easy bullied, Dueller,” said Knacker. “I reckon your wife had you right under her thumb and that’s why you was two feet tall when you joined the First Cohort.”

“He’s hardly even two feet tall now, is he? They say you shrink when you get older. I’m sure he’s getting smaller.”

Dueller was short in stature, hardly up to my chin, and outside of the First Cohort didn’t tolerate it being mentioned. He’d fought many an outsider over the matter and he was good at it, hence his name.

“Is that so? Well it’s a wonder you’re bigger than a foot, isn’t it, you old sod,” replied Dueller to the mocker. “At least I’ve got a cock and two balls to sow my seeds.”

“Your balls have dropped then, have they, Dueller?”

I smiled at the campfire raillery and pushed myself to my feet, clapping Dueller on the shoulder as I did so, to give him moral support for the ongoing battle of wits.

After another hour, during which I spoke to most of the men, I headed back to my tent for some contemplation. I wasn’t surprised to find Ploster waiting for me. He looked tired and haggard.

“You look like you’ve been kicked by a horse,” I told him honestly.

“I feel like it, I assure you.”

“At least you’ll sleep well tonight.”

“Maybe. That would make a nice change. What do you think of the Saviour?”

I hadn’t imagined that he’d come to my tent to talk about his sleep, nor anything else that we might occasionally talk about to pass the time into the late hours.

“She’s got power. A vast well of it. I doubt she has the faintest idea what she’s capable of,” I said.

“I felt that power too,” said Ploster. “She’s inexperienced though. If Warmont’s Third had been given the opportunity, I think he might have overcome her. He was a vile old creature, but clever with it. I don’t think he’d have come out here if he didn’t think he could chain her.”

I couldn’t deny what Ploster said. I also knew what the Emperor commanded and he could call upon powers far in excess of what Warmont had available to him. “She’ll grow into it,” I ventured. “We’ll take her far away until she’s old enough to know what she needs to do.”

“There’ll be a lot of death in these lands while we wait.”

“There’s been death in these lands ever since Malleus smashed the gates of Hardened and sent in his murderers.”

“We were amongst them, don’t forget it.”

“I’ll never forget! And now we’ve got the chance to forge a new path for the First Cohort. I feel it, Ploster. I never knew it until I met her, but now it burns within me!”

“You’re already changed, Tyrus,” he said with a slight smile. “I can see it in how you look and how you carry yourself.”

“I’ve led us to do some bad things. Always in the name of the First Cohort. I know now that I have not always chosen the best path for us.”

“We have all made mistakes, and we all follow you willingly, with our eyes open.”

“I have often thought that the Cohort is like a cage on wheels. Within the cage, we are free to move and act, but always there is the hand of another directing the cage itself. No matter what I’ve tried, that cage has taken us forever, inexorably, along a path that is not of my choosing. The Saviour is the key to our cage, Jon. I will risk everything for her.”

“Even the First Cohort itself?”

“We have cast our lot with the Saviour. I have told her that we will defend her for an eternity, if she will save us. The bargain is made.”

“And what of our bargain with Warmont?” he asked softly. I knew he was not against me, and asked his questions that I might be able to work it through in my own head.

“Fuck Warmont! I have made my decision. If he tries to stop us, I will drive my blade into his throat if I am given the opportunity!”

I knew it sounded as though I had the zeal of the converted, but in my heart I felt as if a door had opened – the door to the metaphorical cage I had described to Ploster. Sometimes a man can be trapped for so long, that even when he is offered his freedom he is scared to take it. When a man who has been imprisoned for all of his life sees that his cell door has been left open, he can be too scared of the unknown to dare look and find out what is beyond the door. I was not that man.

Ploster’s next words surprised and frightened me. “Welcome back, Tyrus. Welcome back.”

I had not yet recovered from this shock when I was delivered of another. The chatter of the camp died away outside, it’s manner so sudden that both Ploster and I noticed it at the same time.

“Captain Charing,” someone said from outside my tent. I recognized the voice as that of Corporal Gloom.

“Yes, Corporal?”

“Our lady is here to see you,” he said.

I went immediately to the tent’s entrance and pulled it back. “Don’t stand there gawping, Corporal,” I advised him. Then, “Come in, my lady.”

She hardly needed to duck to enter. She was dressed in practical clothing for travel and had a pack over her shoulders. It seemed pitifully small and seeing it, I doubted that she’d had much experience of travel. We had plenty of that to go around and enough supplies to cope with most eventualities.

“Am I stuck with ‘my lady’?” she asked, looking confused at the formality.

“I’m afraid you are,” I said, smiling so that she knew the title was not meant to be anything for her to concern herself with. I offered her a seat and she took it.

“I have spoken to my friends, such that I had. I had hoped they would be upset at my leaving, but I felt only their relief. Am I selfish to have hoped that I would be missed?”

“Not selfish, my lady,” said Ploster. “They have been brave to have sheltered you. I’m sure they knew what the consequences of it might be.”

“I am lifting a burden from them by going away.” She sighed, running fingers through her shoulder-length chestnut hair. “I suppose I can’t blame them.”

“You have been given the greatest burden of all,” said Ploster in reply.

Her face told a picture, albeit only briefly. Then her expression hardened in a way that I would become used to as either the young woman or Saviour came to the fore within her, though of course they were one and the same.

“What are we to do?” she asked.

“I had planned for us to march to the north. As far from Warmont’s lands as possible.”

“Have you been to the north, Captain Charing?” she asked.

“No, I have not. I hoped to find a city where we can work.”

“Until I have grown old enough to fight?” she asked, with a glint in her eye.

“Until you have grown into yourself, my lady,” I answered.

“North of us there is nothing. Five hundred windswept miles of bleak, treacherous moors and marshlands, with hardly a town or village to see. Then there are foothills of stone and scree, where snow falls for half of the year, barely thawing before the new year’s blizzards begin again. After that, there are mountains. These are colder and higher than any in the Emperor’s lands and here the snow never melts. There are no people, but there is life, cruel and ancient. You do not want to fight it.”

“How do you know this?” asked Ploster.

“I have flown there. I have ridden the warp and the weft until I saw them.”

“What is there beyond the mountains?” I said.

“I don’t know. I was not able to go past them. Either there is no warp and weft so far to the north, or there is something which blocks it.”

Ploster looked worried at that thought, for the girl’s words had more significance than she realised. He was given no chance to pursue it.

“Tell me what fares in Duke Warmont’s lands,” she told me.

I assumed that she had learned enough about Warmont himself that she did not need to hear me repeat it. “There is rebellion,” I said. “Not enough to unseat him – the Emperor won’t permit that – but enough for him to be discomfited by it. As soon as he crushes one minor uprising, another begins.”

“Why does the Emperor allow it to continue?” she asked.

“The Emperor’s motives are his own. Maybe he is happy with an excuse for his nobles to exercise cruelty. It could be that he likes to see hope rise in order that he might crush it utterly. He is not a man I ever understood.”

“Though of course he is not a man, is he?” she asked.

“No, not anymore. Not for a long, long time. There may have been some dregs of humanity left within him when we served, but I know he embraced the darkness willingly. It took him and he welcomed it.”

I could see she had many questions and I would have answered them honestly, even though it would have shamed me, but there were more pressing matters for us to resolve. There would be time to speak of history later and I was relieved that I would not have to deal with it now.

“We won’t go north,” she said with finality. “Where else can we go?”

I knew the answer. “The Duke’s town of Treads is in rebellion. It is a long march, but it has high walls and backs onto the sea. Farthest is also in rebellion, but as its name implies it is further along the coast. Warmont will need to come through Treads before he can take Farthest. If you agree, we will make the journey to Treads and hope that we can reach it before the Duke’s armies lay it under siege. And pray that we can convince the people to let us within.”

“Captain Charing, we will go to Treads.”

And with those words, it began.

Seven

By the time night’s gloom had been replaced by a weary morning light, we’d had our belongings packed for almost an hour. An early start like this was still much longer than we usually slept. The sun was not visible through the clouds and as soon as dawn arrived it brought the drizzling rain with it. The thought of a day marching in the penetrating dampness was not enough to quieten the hubbub of the men, who were impatient to be off.

The village had furnished the girl with a short, sturdy horse of the type suited for riding in the hills and over the moors. It was a vicious beast, except towards the Horsemaster and the girl. Given the scarcity of horses in these wild lands, I knew that it was a precious gift and I was sure that the girl was aware of the sacrifice the villagers had made to lose the animal.

I was good with directions in towns and cities – I could usually find my way to where I needed to be, without getting lost or confused by alleyways or back lanes. I was also good with directions in the wilderness, but here on the moors, with their seemingly unending and featureless plains, it was easy to become fooled and I found that I was second guessing myself as to which was the correct way to travel.

It was fortunate for us that Lieutenant Craddock kept a flock of pigeons in his head. Or at least that’s what we accused him of, for he could navigate his way unerringly across a desert, picking out every oasis on the way. He’d got us safely out of dangerous terrain on more than one occasion.

“Take the lead, Lieutenant Craddock,” I told him, as soon as it became apparent that I was less certain of the route than I wanted.

“Yes, Captain,” he said with a salute. There were a few chuckles from the men nearby and one joker commented that I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag.

“Watch your tongue, Warble,” I told him with mock threat. “Else you’ll have the watch every night until we reach Treads.”

The men knew where we were headed, because I had told them. The news had perked them all up.

“We’ll not be fighting for that old bastard, then?” one man had asked.

I’d shook my head. “We don’t fight for Warmont now. This time we’ll be inside the walls, looking out.”

“About time too, if you don’t mind me saying it, Captain. We can’t have him laying his filthy old hands on the Saviour, can we?”

“He’ll see what the First Cohort is made of if he tries,” I’d responded. The men had even broken into a loud, long cheer. I’d underestimated how little they had liked fighting for the Duke and how much faith they had in me to have followed so far down this bad road. I would not let them down again, no matter what it cost me.

The rain did not let up on that first day and its persistence began to wear the edges away from the good-natured talk amongst the men. It did not suppress it entirely, but it became more muted, and I hoped it would not be much longer until we escaped from its dreariness. In the centre of our line, the girl sat upon her horse, riding it with an effortless grace as if she had been born in the saddle. I asked her about it and she told me that the villagers had tried to stop her from learning to ride, fearful that she might fall and injure herself, but that she had insisted until they relented. She was headstrong and did not like to have terms dictated to her. I fancied myself as a good judge of character and I could see that she would become a formidable opponent to anyone who showed themselves to be her enemy - as long as we in the First Cohort could keep her alive long enough to reach her potential.

As we marched, I pondered about my certainty and why I had been so willing to risk everything for her. I was not a rash man, yet I had pledged my life and my troops to this young woman with an ease that astounded me. I had no regrets and would never experience them. Sometimes you know when you’ve made the right decision. It may be that we find it easy to fool ourselves, but it seems to me that you’re not fooling yourself so much as doing that which you should do anyway. When we call ourselves fools, it’s just that lurking, scared part of our minds trying to undermine us and weaken our resolve. I didn’t know if I was contradicting myself when I thought these things. I was not perfect, nor did I strive to be so. The greatest fool of all is the man who is the most certain that he is right in everything.

By the second day, we were close enough to Nightingale that we could see the black smoke rising into the sky, from where Captain Fide had burned the prisoners alive. The rain was evidently not sufficient to douse the smouldering, even after these few days. The girl drew her horse alongside me.

“Where’s that smoke coming from?” she asked.

“That’s Nightingale, my lady. It was in rebellion and we defeated their army only a few days past.”

“Did you burn their homes to the ground also?” she asked tartly.

“No, my lady, we did not. We were given orders to hand the town over to the Duke’s justiciars and then his sorcerer led us on the hunt for you. As we were leaving, they burned alive all of the prisoners we had taken.”

“I have heard of his justiciars,” she said.

“They are not, by and large, pleasant men. They are trained to be cruel and are not punished for their excesses. The nature of their duties ensures that they only attract the people best suited to fulfil them.”

“Were you like them, before you pledged to me? I did not see any cruelty inside you.”

“No, my lady. We have never been like them. Our place has always been on the field of battle. We are hated for what we have done, but we have only ever been true to ourselves as soldiers. We have revelled in it more than we might have done, but that was a long time ago. We are weary of what we had become.”

“But now you are not weary of it?”

“Look around you at the men. These are soldiers who have fought on the wrong side without knowing or caring about it. That changed a lifetime past, but by the time they started to know and started to care, then it was too late to correct it.”

“Everyone can change,” she said. “Sometimes you just need the courage to do it, whatever it may cost.”

“Aye. We are not lacking in courage, my lady. As I said to you, we have been lost for a long time.”

“Sometimes you are so lost that you don’t even know it,” she whispered, looking down at my haunted face. Then she raised her voice. “We will take back Nightingale and drive out the justiciars. Kill them all, if you can.”

There were times when she spoke that the tone of her voice made it clear that she would brook no dissent. I quickly learned to recognize those times, as would any good soldier. On almost all of those occasions, I would accept that the decision had been made and apply myself to offering a solution to accomplish her requirements. I remembered the certainty of youth.

“What of the townsfolk in the aftermath?” I asked her, already fearful of what her reply might be.

“At the moment, they have little in the way of choice and I am sure their lives are miserable in the extreme. What will happen to them when their overlords are killed?”

“I don’t know. The Duke is unlikely to send a significant number of men this way any time soon. Treads and Farthest will keep him occupied for weeks. Months if we can get there in time.” I said this latter without fear of immodesty.

“Can they come with us?” she asked. My heart fell at the question, worried that she’d already made up her mind.

“I would rather they did not, my lady. There are other options for them beyond attempting to walk forty miles a day with our men. Lieutenant Craddock estimates it to be six hundred miles to Treads. There are many smaller towns and villages within a hundred miles of Nightingale which would make more suitable destinations. Or they could stay in Nightingale and rearm themselves. We didn’t kill all of the men.”

“Very well,” she said. “We’ll take the town first and see what happens afterwards.”

“And we are not to allow Warmont’s men to escape?” I asked, to hear her repeat it.

“No. If they escape to any town with a big garrison, they’ll just return as soon as we’ve gone.”

We did just as she’d asked. I insisted to our lady that we would not risk her within the streets of the town, so left her near the outskirts with a guard of a hundred men. I sent groups of fifty to blockade the main streets out of the town, confident that we’d be able to manoeuvre into place before the justiciars realised we’d switched sides.

Bold as brass, I entered the town in a long column, ahead of one hundred and fifty fully armed men of the First Cohort. Captain Fide had either been too lazy to find somewhere else to barrack or he’d agreed with my choice, so I found him at the town hall. A number of his men lounged around lazily, ignoring the screaming sounds that came from upstairs. They’d obviously decided to try out a few of the ladies of the town for themselves before sending them on to Warmont.

“Captain Charing?” asked Captain Fide in surprise at my arrival with a squad of thirty soldiers. He sat at a table with three others of his men. “I wasn’t expecting you to come back to Nightingale.” His expressed shock was compounded by the sounds of metal striking metal, which drifted clearly in from the yard outside.

“What’s that?” he shouted, surging to his feet. I punched him with a thundering blow. I felt his jaw shatter as I struck him and his pristine white teeth flew into the air. I was not the biggest man in the First Cohort, but I was not far off and I had an imposing presence. I also had a strength that belied even my large size.

I drew my rune-etched sword and beheaded the closest of his men with a backhand blow. He didn’t even try to defend himself. My men drew their own swords and set about them, slaughtering the fifteen or twenty men in the room. There was little honour in it, but we were only here to kill them in order that we could resume our journey. A good soldier does not give up his advantage in battle. If you let down your guard, or try and fight on the enemy’s terms, you are committing the worst of crimes against your own men, for you are effectively saying that their life is no more valuable to you than the life of an enemy. Whether this was right or wrong I did not care to worry - it is what you must do as soldier. The time to reflect is when the war is over, but in the First Cohort we never had that luxury. I thought it was for the best.

As the butchery continued both inside and out, I called across five of the men and indicated that we should go upstairs. I paused only long enough to push my sword all the way through the skull of the unconscious Captain Fide and then clambered up the stairs. I knew the building well and it was cramped upstairs. I drew forth a short dagger with my left hand and kept my sword in the other.

The screaming upstairs had stopped when I arrived, replaced by the sounds of a girl sobbing behind the nearest door. I kicked it open with the sole of my boot and strode in. There were two men there, struggling to get back into their trousers. I saw their scabbards on a table nearby and did not hesitate in stabbing the first justiciar in his guts. The dagger went up to the hilt in his belly, lifting him from his feet as he gasped out in surprise, the agony of it yet to reach his brain. I pushed him away with the clenched knuckles of my sword hand and marched at the second man, who backed away in fear. I thundered a headbutt into his face and he collapsed to the floor with a scream. I crouched and stuck my dagger into him in one smooth movement, killing him quickly. The first man had curled up into a ball, with his hands over his stomach, whimpering as blood oozed out through his fingers, his face as white as a sheet and his jaw set.

On the bed was a girl, naked and probably no more than sixteen. She had blood between her legs from where they’d brutalised her. She closed her eyes at the pain and in fear that I was about to do the same. I killed the justiciar who had been party to the cruelty and spoke to her.

“Get dressed and go home. The men who did this will all be dead by the time we are done.”

From the look in her face I could see that she was too scared to take the chance she’d been offered. Given the time, she would eventually find the courage to take herself home.

I left her to her misery. It is not that I was dismissive of the sufferings of others, but I could not let myself be consumed by it. If I let myself think of that girl as a woman with hopes and dreams, or if I did the same each time I saw the horrors that men commit, I would add their burdens to my own. I didn’t know if this made me weak, and if I was pushed, I would probably confess that I was fearful to go along that road. We each have our own way of dealing with the things we see and this was mine.

In the corridor outside, I was just in time to trip a third justiciar as he tried to flee the sword of Loopy. The man stumbled and Furtive was there before me, to plunge a blade into his neck. Others of my men emerged onto the corridor from the side rooms they’d searched. Two of them had bloodied daggers in their hands.

“All done?” I asked.

“Yes Captain,” volunteered Leaves. “We’ve got them all. Up here at least.”

Our business was almost done. In terms of resistance it was definitely over, and all that remained was for us to kill whatever justiciars were left. Runners came in with their reports from the groups I’d posted on the city’s outskirts. There were two reported injuries – one of my men had been cut in the leg, but we’d sling him over a horse and he’d survive. Another man, Spangle, had slipped over on a horse shit and split open the skin on his head because he’d stupidly left his helmet on its cord hanging from his pack, rather than putting it on. He’d live, though he’d never live it down.

A count of the bodies revealed that we’d killed ninety-two of the justiciars. Mindful that the girl had ordered that they all be killed, I split the men into teams of five and we spent the afternoon knocking on doors and searching the houses. We were remembered by the people, but we had become the lesser of two evils. News travelled fast, even when everyone had their front doors locked and tightly bolted. Mouths were very happy to give the details of where these men were to be found and find them we did, killing them without mercy.

It was late afternoon when we trudged out of Nightingale, leading a number of the horses that the justiciars would no longer require. The magical bird was silent this time, though many of us had been hopeful we’d hear it sing again.

“Captain Charing?” she asked when we arrived.

“One hundred justiciars arrived, one hundred justiciars are slain,” I reported.

“Thank you, Captain. We have done the right thing.”

“Yes. We have spoken to many of the citizens as we searched their houses, and I spoke to an old man who claimed to be mayor.”

“And?”

“They will not leave Nightingale. It is my feeling that their defeat weighs too heavily for them to come with us.”

She nodded. “Travelling with the men who killed their husbands or friends would be hard. I was foolish to think it might be otherwise.”

“Naïve, not foolish, my lady. You will learn to succumb to neither.”

She didn’t reply, so I spoke of other things. “We’ve still got an hour of light before the darkness will make it too perilous to travel. We should get on our way.”

“You are correct, Captain Charing. Let us go without further delay.”

Eight

While many would deny it, most soldiers like to march. The journey is a time of mental comfort, and if you allow your mind to ignore the future and enjoy the present, it is free from worry. It is true that many soldiers also like the destination, for here lies warm beds, fresh bread and, most often, battle. The younger and more inexperienced soldiers will look forward to the destination simply because they know that it means there’ll be a scrap. After they have seen their friends writhe in screaming agony, or lost a few fingers of their own, that young man will become a veteran and will begin to appreciate that much of a soldier’s time is spent travelling. Here is where much of the bonding takes place. I’ve heard it said that men bond in battle, but I disagree. In the heat of a dirty, bloody skirmish there is no bonding, only the drive to kill the men before you, to overcome them through guts, will, or simply force of numbers. It is the aftermath where the men bond, when there is time to brag, for everyone knows that another soldier’s boasting is simply his own way of expressing his fears without leaving himself open to accusations of being too sensitive. All soldiers have to boast amongst themselves – it is how they cope.

The First Cohort had seen almost constant combat over the years. We’d moved from one miserable field to another, at each one overturning the forces arrayed against us, often where we faced vastly superior numbers or were disadvantaged by terrain or poor commanders. Even with this period of fighting and moving, the banter had become almost a forgotten element of the march, as if it were somehow frowned upon. I recognized too late that this was a symptom of the shame we felt about what we were doing and who we were fighting for. You can only brag about something that makes you feel proud. In the days after we set off from Nightingale for the second time, the men talked of themselves as liberators, as if they’d saved fair maidens from a dragon’s breath. We all knew it wasn’t true, but didn’t let that get in the way of spinning a good yarn.

We remained on the Northdown Moors, but the skies had taken pity on us and the clouds had cleared, sparing us from the incessant rainfall that had plagued us further east. The wind knew no such pity and scoured our faces remorselessly, though it only really bothered our lady as far as I was aware.

“Do you not grow to hate the wind?” she asked on the morning of the fourth day.

“How can you hate the wind?” I asked. “It is just there and we can’t change it.”

“But it’s bloody freezing!” she exclaimed with the dismay of a young woman. “Back at the village we could hide indoors. I used to live with Margie – she was the miller – and her house was always warm, even in winter.”

I regretted that we had not used our opportunity in Nightingale to procure some warmer clothes for her. The clothes she had were suitable for a time outdoors, but I imagined the wind would cut through their protection as the hours wore on. As I have mentioned before, none of the First Cohort were bothered by inclemency.

“I apologise, my lady. We are not used to travelling with people who feel the elements. We require little heat and even then, it seems only for contentment, rather than it being a necessity.” I paused. “I will do my best to ensure that I give greater consideration to your needs. I appreciate this is all new to you.”

She shivered and huddled closer into her garments, leaving me with feelings of guilt over my lack of care.

“Lieutenant Craddock?” I asked.

“Captain?”

“I estimate ten more days until we reach Treads.”

“That’s correct, Captain.”

“My memory fails me. Do you know of any towns or villages on the way, that we might pass close by?”

“Of villages, I am uncertain, but there is one fair-sized town. Turpid, if I remember it correctly. I reckon we’ll be past the moors in another two days and then it’ll be another two days till we reach Turpid. It’s been a long time, though, so don’t take me at my word.”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant Craddock, though I can’t recall the last time you got it wrong.” He grinned back at me.

We journeyed onwards. Each night that we made camp, the girl walked freely amongst the men. She didn’t need an escort. Even without any further displays of her power, they were in awe of her. The radiance we’d felt when we first pledged ourselves to her still glowed like a beacon. Occasionally I worried that if it was so clear to us, that it might bring Warmont’s men to her as well. I resolved to speak to Ploster about it.

“Captain?” he asked me later that same evening.

“It is about our lady, Jon. I am worried. Do Warmont’s men sense her as clearly as we do? We have joined with her for only a week, yet I can tell she is here even when I can no longer see her. I know she is in our camp and I will know if she leaves, I think.”

“Don’t be fooled, Tyrus,” he told me. “She is only young, but controls her power with an adroitness which belies her age. We can sense her because she allows us to do so, nothing more. She knows that we need to feel the closeness as we bond with her. Warmont’s forces will not find her quite so easily.”

I was reassured to a degree. “They will be searching ever harder for her, now that Treads and Farthest have declared themselves free.”

“That they will, but their time is limited by the need to crush those towns. Warmont does not have the men to flood the countryside at the same time as he lays siege to a major town. Not if he expects an easy win.”

“The Duke must be desperate,” I said, chuckling without humour. “When it becomes widely-known that the Saviour has declared herself, he’ll have another dozen such towns in rebellion, with a further dozen watching carefully to see how events unfold.”

“And not long after those dozen towns declare themselves for the Saviour, the Emperor will start to gather his own forces. He will not allow Warmont to fail.”

“We are a long way from Hardened. The Emperor may find it more difficult than he expects to win a campaign so far from his capital. Especially if he only sends men.”

“You know he won’t only send men, Tyrus. His men aren’t cruel enough for his liking, as much as he might train them to be so. The Emperor can’t risk letting the Saviour establish herself, even in these distant lands.”

I knew Ploster to be speaking truly – it didn’t take a prophet’s grasp of the world to guess at the conversations taking place in Warmont’s keep, and to realise the interest the Emperor would have in these events.

“We’ve cast our lot now, Jon, whatever comes of it. I’ve never claimed I can read the future, but I am certain I will not have any regrets over what we have done.”

“We have lived a very long time, have we not.” He didn’t quite say it as a question.

“I sometimes think it’s been too long. Perhaps the Saviour will bring peace to our souls,” I said.

“It may be that she is our last chance.”

The following morning, we continued our march. In the distance to the north we could see high mountain peaks and spires, partially obscured by mists. Every so often, the mists would inexplicably clear, allowing us to see the snows covering this vast range.

“Those are the mountains I was unable to see beyond,” said the girl from her saddle.

“Lieutenant Craddock, do you know those mountains?” I asked.

“No sir, I don’t know them. We could be more than a week’s march away from them if we chose to head that way.”

“We’ll not be heading there, Lieutenant. Onwards to Treads.”

The following day we left the moors. I say that as if the transition were an immediate one. It was not – rather, the ground underfoot become gradually easier to traverse and the grasses became lusher and greener, rather than the wiry clumps we’d become used to. The rain stayed away and the high spirits of the men continued. Even the wind had ceased its endless blowing, and now arrived in the occasional gust.

After another day and a half, we came across signs of civilisation. A few miles to the south of us there was a pall of smoke gathered over a valley between two rolling hills. The sun glistened across water, causing it to sparkle in the bright light of the early afternoon.

“That’s Turpid,” said Lieutenant Craddock. “It sits either side of the Pollus river. That’s what those reflections are.”

I squinted, though it was more for effect than to focus my eyes. “Is that smoke indicative of trouble?”

“I doubt it, Captain. Turpid has always been an industrious town. There may be a hundred or more places burning wood and coal. They’re sheltered from the winds in their valley, so the smoke lingers long after you’d have hoped it would depart.”

We weren’t desperate, but I thought this a fair opportunity to replenish our supplies. I have said that most of our sustenance tasted flat in our mouths, but meat, bread and cheeses still brought pleasure from the memories they invoked. Though the weather had cleared, I was aware that the girl’s journey would be improved if she had some more suitable clothing. Treads was a few days away yet.

“I’ll take a dozen men and a cart to get supplies,” I said. “We can be there and back in under three hours.” I hoped to be back in time for us to get another hour’s march before daylight faded, but I wasn’t fooling myself. “Craddock, you’re in charge. I’m not expecting trouble, but let’s prepare for the worst.”

“Yes sir,” he replied. “I’ll send out scouts and ensure we’re not surprised.” Craddock and Sinnar were both lieutenants, but it was Craddock who was the senior of the two when push came to shove.

“Lieutenant Sinnar! Find ten men and a cart. We’re paying a visit to Turpid over there.”

“I want to come with you,” said the girl. I guessed she hadn’t seen much in the way of established towns before. I’d hoped to speak with her more than I had managed up until now, but for whatever reason it hadn’t happened. There was a great amount still unspoken that I needed to hear from her and I resolved to ensure that it happened at the earliest opportunity.

“My lady, you can’t come with us,” I replied, noting the set of her lip. “We have not heard that Turpid has declared rebellion, so we must assume that it is still with Warmont. Tales of the Saviour are told in every tavern in every city. It would not bode well for us if someone in the town managed to identify you before you were ready for it.”

I could tell that she considered ignoring my advice, but in the end she simply sighed, a long, drawn out note of reluctant acceptance. “Very well, Captain. I understand what you say. I will stay here with the men.”

Before we set off, I instructed everyone to remove their shields, helmets and livery. I doubted that Turpid was aware of the First Cohort’s mutiny, but it made sense for us to be cautious. A dozen armed men with a wagon would not have been deemed an unusual sight all across the Empire. Though the rule of law was violently enforced, it would be a fool indeed who journeyed without the ability to take steps in their own defence. The Empire was large and the enforcers of the law could not be everywhere. In Warmont’s lands, they were increasingly hard to find, since most men who would wield a sword in the Duke’s name were either fighting or marching to somewhere in order to fight.

We had avoided roads during our march, crossing over them with haste where they were unavoidable. Now we sought out the closest one, so that we could travel as quickly as possible with our empty wagon. The road we found was a mixture of churned clay and rough cobbles. It’s pointless to build a road if you don’t maintain it. Unless it’s perfectly laid, a well-travelled road will hardly last more than two or three seasons before it falls into disrepair. While not exactly a quagmire, the road that took us towards Turpid was little quicker than travelling over the wild grass. One of the men trod ankle deep into a slippery, water-filled rut and swore loudly at the state of his boot. I smiled to myself that he still cared about the appearance of his footwear.

Anyone who has travelled on foot for much of their life will be aware that the eyes can play tricks on the mind, even when you are aware of the possibilities that it can happen. The eyes pick up cues from landmarks and terrain and the brain interprets this information and suggests how far distant something is from the viewer. Unfortunately, many things can lead you to misread how far away something is, such as the amount of light, the size of objects on the land, or even a slight haze in the air. So it was here, and in the end it took us almost an hour and a half until we reached the outskirts of Turpid.

The town was bigger than Nightingale, yet not so huge that its occupants had any illusions that it might one day become a city. The smoke we had seen from afar hung low, but up close it was not as darkly clinging as I had imagined it would be. Turpid had no walls – most towns did not – and no soldiers or guardsmen stood to observe who came and went. It bore all the signs of being a normal small town at peace. Then it occurred to me – most of our experience in the First Cohort had been with towns and cities in conflict, or at least towns and cities near to where conflict was acted out. There were still vast swathes of the Duke’s lands where the population were either content with their lot, or had no intention of speaking out against Warmont’s rule. Turpid was one of these places and consequently the Duke had left it alone, though I was sure his tax collectors would pay frequent visits.

We entered the town, finding the road in a much better state of repair once we’d come into the outskirts. It was mostly rough, grey stone dwellings here. The people were poorly-dressed and their activities were tired, rather than full of the teeming bustle we’d found in other places about the Duke’s lands. No one seemed alarmed at our presence, though many hollow eyes watched our progress. We in the First Cohort were not inconspicuous and I was sure that many knew us by our tattoos, in spite of our travelling without armour or livery. If they did, they did not give an indication that we were known traitors.

Towards the centre of the town, the signs of modest wealth were more evident. The people were dressed in better-quality clothing and strode with purpose towards their destinations. There were shops and taverns, as well as signs of industry. The houses here were taller and more sturdily constructed, though I would not have called them grand as such. The town was not so large that it took us long to find what we required.

“Lieutenant Sinnar, please take the wagon to that merchant store over there and obtain provisions for the men. I’m going to find items to improve our lady’s comfort. Remain at the merchant until I return.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, holding back the salute. We didn’t want to bring any more attention to ourselves than we needed to.

I watched for a minute as the cart rattled off down the street, drawn by its two obedient horses. Then, I made my way to the clothier we had passed only a few minutes earlier. The shop keeper within proved to be a keen haggler and I was happy to play him at his game. I had come from a part of the world where it could often take five minutes to settle on the price of a loaf of bread and while I didn’t participate in the game regularly anymore, I expected to be finished my business more quickly than Sinnar, so was not in a rush to conclude. That changed immediately when the door to the shop burst open and Knacker came inside.

“Sir,” he said. “Bonecruncher is here.”

Nine

Bonecruncher. Warmont’s Fifth and as big and evil a bastard as you’d ever see. The First Cohort knew Bonecruncher well. He’d been in charge of us in a shitty, dirty fight over in Graster, way back when Duke Warmont had been establishing himself as the Emperor’s designated ruler of these lands. When we were still more human than not.

Bonecruncher’s only goal was to win, whatever the cost. He knew nothing about tactical withdrawals to limit casualties, and he knew nothing at all about retreat in order to regroup and fight another day. The only thing he saw, was pieces to move around a battlefield to bring him glory. No soldier in Warmont’s armies wanted to serve under Bonecruncher, though the fear of him had been enough to snatch victory from defeat on many occasions. There was nobody who wanted to survive a lost battle and then explain to Bonecruncher why they had been on the losing side. I was not so easily cowed and though we had lost almost a hundred of our number to his suicidal assault on the walls of Graster I had not been afraid to pull back the First Cohort, nor to look Bonecruncher in the eye when he asked me why. We had history between us.

Knacker led me along an unfamiliar side street, stopping to point at one of the less salubrious taverns that dotted this area. I saw my men languishing in doorways, or loitering in what they thought was an inconspicuous manner in groups of two and three. Even an untrained eye would have known them to be up to no good – they were soldiers, and only a few of them had been trained in the arts of deception. I joined Sinnar at the corner of an alleyway, which had a view onto the tavern’s doorway.

“I thought it would be good for morale if we brought back a few barrels of ale,” said Sinnar, heading off my question about what they’d been doing in a tavern. I was not unhappy and wondered why I hadn’t thought of it myself. “I sent Roots in to do the talking. Fortunately for us, Bonecruncher wasn’t looking at the door.” Bonecruncher would have known a man from the First Cohort at once. “What are we going to do, sir?”

Inwardly I cursed that I’d only asked for a handful of men to come with me, rather than fifty. Chunky and Sinnar were with us, but I wasn’t full of confidence. I’d liked to have sent someone back to our camp, but couldn’t risk dropping our numbers even by one.

“Fuck it, let’s take the bastard,” I said. Bonecruncher was a prize worth the chance.

Sinnar smiled back at me, his eyes gleaming dangerously. There was no one in the First Cohort who would not have relished the chance to stick a blade into Bonecruncher. It looked like we were to be the lucky ones.

Sinnar leaned out into the street and signalled to the men. We had a very simple sign language that we used to communicate, when silence was imperative. The gestures were few and their meaning straightforward. Sinnar made the sign for ‘wait’ and then drew the edge of his hand across his throat. The men nodded in response or lifted a single thumb in acknowledgement. By now, the townsfolk who had been milling aimlessly in the street had started to realise that trouble might be brewing. The more perceptive ones hurried along, avoiding eye contact. I hoped that Bonecruncher would finish his business soon – I didn’t want a civic-minded resident summoning squads of armed guards into the neighbourhood. That would definitely have made our lives harder.

We waited ten minutes, then twenty. I saw a few people go into the tavern, but none of them stopped for a drink when they saw what was inside. I bet myself that the bar keep was praying for this day to be over. It wasn’t going to get any better for him. After thirty minutes, I decided that we’d waited too long for Bonecruncher to come to us.

“We have to go in, Lieutenant Sinnar. We can’t risk him staying there all day.”

Sinnar was a good soldier and didn’t need telling twice. Using his fingers, he pointed at men and instructed them as to which order they should enter the tavern, naturally placing himself in the lead, with Chunky at his side. I was in the middle – I itched for the fight and knew that I was being stupid to risk myself, but I could not help it. The men knew I never asked them to do something that I would not do as well.

Once we were inside, there’d be no stand-off as we faced each other. There would be no words or threats, or mock surprise - there would only be violence. We each drew our weapons – swords and daggers. Sinnar strolled up towards the tavern’s entrance as coolly as if he were thinking of little more than a cold ale. He did nothing so dramatic as kick open the door, which would serve only to waste a second or two of our surprise. He used his knuckles to push it aside and stepped through.

The tavern was large and with high ceilings - presumably why Bonecruncher had picked this one. Wooden tables and chairs littered the sawdust-scattered floor. I passed within and filed to the left, as did the man behind me. Others filed to the right, in order that we might encircle Bonecruncher and whittle away at him. I saw him at once, straddling two of the chairs in order that they might support his weight. There was a cup on his table, looking tiny next to his thick, broad hands.

He turned his head as we marched in. When he saw we were but a dozen, he snorted, a contemptuous, dismissive sound. He knew who we were and he knew we no longer worked for Warmont. It was probably of no matter – even if we’d been on the same side, I would have still tried to kill him.

We swept aside the tables and chairs, swinging them sideways into the corners and out of the way. I watched as a man behind the bar ducked away into the rooms at the back, surely already aware that his life and livelihood were at risk.

I had miscalculated slightly and had expected us to be able to walk inside and hew at Bonecruncher without a pause. The tables would have encumbered us more than our opponent, so we had wasted our moments of surprise in the extra preparation.

Without warning, Bonecruncher rose to his feet. He was over eight feet tall and almost as broad. The skin of his face was strangely slack, making him look like a simpleton, though it only exacerbated the surprise when you found out how cunning and calculating he was. His arms and legs were muscular, visible outside his leather breastplate and beneath his protective leather skirt. I’d once seen him pick up a fully-grown cow, dash it off a wall and then bite into the bellowing animal, not giving it the respect of death before he began to consume it. He was fast too; much, much faster than you’d have expected from looking at him.

He swatted his table aside as we closed in, our swords pointed at his belly. Not content to allow us the privilege to dictate events, he took a single, long stride towards Sinnar and Chunky. As he did so, two slivers of metal appeared in his side, thrown by Furtive. Bonecruncher grunted and hardly paid them any mind as he swung an enormous fist at Sinnar. The Lieutenant brought his sword across in time to meet the punch, opening a bloodless cut along Bonecruncher’s arm, but taking a blow to his shoulder, which knocked him away, catapulting him fifteen feet to one side and into a collision with the wall.

Chunky sent down a powerful overhand chop as Bonecruncher’s arm went by. Warmont’s Fifth had tried to connect with both men with his punch, but we were more than we used to be and Chunky was quick enough to lean back away from the blow.

Two more of Furtive’s throwing knives appeared in Bonecruncher’s back, embedding right up to their hilts. They hardly even brought out a flinch.

“Come to pay your respects, Charing?” Bonecruncher asked, with a low chuckle. I didn’t bother to reply, and advanced with my men, trying to get behind him in order that we could wear him down with our attacks. Against the far wall, I saw Sinnar push himself groggily to his knees, shaking his head as if to clear it. He was a brawler through and through and never let physical punishment get the better of him.

The fight was not clean, nor was it one I enjoyed. Bonecruncher was fast, strong and lacking in fear. He hadn’t reached the position of Warmont’s Fifth without challenge and he thrived on his own anger. His attempts to instil fear in us might have worked better on less hardened soldiers, but the First Cohort had seen it all. The strength of our hatred and the power of our new-found purpose were a match for Bonecruncher’s anger and gradually our blades started to find their marks with increasing regularity. Like the sorcerer Dag’Vosh, each blow felt as if we were striking hard wood, but even against wood, sharpened metal will make its mark.

I took a glancing backhand blow to the side of my head, Bonecruncher’s knuckles making it feel like I’d been hit by four blacksmith’s hammers at once. I reeled away without control over my legs, but noted with satisfaction that my own sword had taken off two of Bonecruncher’s fingers. They dropped to the floor with heavy, unyielding thumps.

With a roar, Bonecruncher came after me, his arm outstretched to take me by the throat, heedless of the fact that this move left him open to my men. Seeing the opportunity, Sinnar and Chunky, acting in unspoken concert, hewed at the shoulder of Bonecruncher’s reaching arm, grimacing at the effort. As I rolled clumsily onto my side in order that Bonecruncher might miss me, I saw Chunky strike a second blow in the same place as his first. His hand-and-a-half sword bit deep, cutting through muscle, bone and sinew, leaving Bonecruncher’s arm hanging limply by a thick flap of skin.

With a snarl of hatred, Warmont’s Fifth kicked out. Chunky had been unbalanced by the success of his strike and received the brunt of the kick in his chest. Even as I recovered from my prone position I saw the soldier’s rib cage crumple inwards and Chunky was smashed into a wall with several of his shattered ribs clearly visible where they protruded through his clothing.

It was then that Bonecruncher took us all by surprise, by barrelling through two of the men who blocked his way to the door. Hardly pausing, Warmont’s Fifth collided with the heavy wooden frame as he ran out onto the street. Sinnar was first after him, and though I tried to follow, my feet were reluctant to do as I instructed them and I had to lean against a wall for support as those of my men who were able followed Sinnar.

It only took moments for me to gather my wits and stumble out onto the street, just as Lieutenant Sinnar came jogging back along the street towards the tavern.

“That fucker can run like a champion,” he said. “Even with his arm dangling off his shoulder. I lost him, Captain.”

I nodded. “Probably for the best, Lieutenant Sinnar. I would not have liked you to have caught up to him alone.”

Sinnar looked as though he wanted to suggest that he’d have finished Bonecruncher off with ease, but refrained. “He was a tough bastard, right enough sir. Though we already knew he was more than just talk with no trousers.”

“He’s not so brave that he stayed around to find out how many pieces we’d cut him into.”

“If only he’d learn how to treat his men with the same respect that he treated himself. Maybe we’d have to worry about him a bit more, Captain.”

I was suddenly worried. “We need to get back to the First Cohort,” I said, but there were other things to deal with first.

Chunky was dead, I could see it immediately. Whatever he kept within his chest had been flattened by the kick until it was half the thickness it had been this morning. His head lolled to one side and his eyes remained open, staring lifelessly towards the far window. I put my hand on the top of his head and drew it over his tattooed face, pulling his eyelids shut as I did so.

“Sleep well, old friend,” I whispered to him.

“Fronter’s gone, too, Captain,” said Furtive. Fronter had taken a punch on the side of his head when he’d tried to hamstring Bonecruncher. A bold move and one which had seen him make a soldier’s last journey. I gave him my respects in the way that I had done for Chunky.

“Leave them here,” I told the men who remained. “We need to get back to the camp - quickly.”

We left the ruined tavern and abandoned our horses and the cart. Two abreast, we pushed our way quickly along the streets we’d come earlier. At one point we encountered a patrol of four guards, three of whom were little more than boys. They had good cause to stop us given our appearance, but they wisely chose not to. I would not have wanted them to come to harm when there was no reason for them to.

Once we’d left the outskirts of Turpid, we were able to break into an easier run, eschewing the treacherous wet-clay road and taking the most direct route over grassed fields to where I’d left Craddock in charge of the First Cohort. It was becoming dark now, but the grass seemed the safest option. The Lieutenant had made camp on the lee of a hill in order to reduce the chance the soldiers would be detected by people from the town, so I could not see if all was in order until we got close by and I was able to speak to a sentry. The appointed man appeared from the gloom as if he’d been waiting specifically for our return.

“Nothing to report, sir. All’s been quiet since you left,” he said.

“Thank you, soldier,” I told him. “Remain at your station until you are relieved.”

“Yes, Captain,” he said, saluting.

I slowed us down to a fast jog until we reached the camp. We had endurance beyond what you might expect and we were not exhausted by our efforts to return in haste. I found Lieutenant Craddock and cut to the chase.

“We saw Bonecruncher in town. He escaped us, but I can’t imagine he’s out here for the good of his health. He got Chunky and Fronter. Any sign of trouble?”

Craddock’s eyes stared straight ahead for a moment as he absorbed the news about our dead. His coping mechanisms kicked in and he focused once more, answering my question. “Nothing at all, sir. I have sent out scouts and posted sentries. They haven’t reported anything of concern.”

“Shit,” I muttered - I was worried. It was not unknown for Bonecruncher to travel alone, but it was unusual. I had started to think that he might have a force billeted in the town or camped somewhere close by. Whatever the truth, I needed to take the possibility into account that there was an army nearby, numbers unknown.

“Where’s our lady? And Ploster?” I asked.

“They’ve been talking for most of the afternoon, Captain. In your tent.” He looked at me closely. “You look like you’ve been hit with a sledgehammer,” he told me, revealing something I already knew.

Craddock was aware I had no problem with visitors and I left him to his duties and went to where my tent had been erected in the centre of the camp. I heard voices within.

“Captain,” said Ploster when I entered.

“Captain Charing,” said our lady. She stood up when she saw me, concern on her face. “What has happened?”

“We found Warmont’s Fifth, my lady,” I responded. “And he is an evil brute. Our efforts to kill him failed, though he has been injured.”

“He has killed two of us,” the girl said. “Irreplaceable, brave men.”

“That he has. We will raise their toast before the night is done,” I told her. Then I saw that she looked worried as she spoke:

“That other man – Dag’Vosh – I knew he was coming for me. I had sensed his searching as he closed in on my village. I did not flee, without knowing why at the time, but now I know it was because my power was guiding me to a meeting with the First Cohort. Why did I not detect this Bonecruncher that you found? Although I have not spoken of it, I have searched ahead and around us for more of Warmont’s allies, but today I felt nothing.”

“You would not have, my lady,” spoke Ploster. “Bonecruncher is not magical in nature. Indeed, he is almost immune to magic. Warmont often sends him to fight battles where the enemy have many casters.”

“Ploster is correct,” I said. “The way to defeat Bonecruncher is to cut the bastard into pieces. Anyway, we’re stuck here for tonight. I would prefer that we made it to Treads without fighting whatever forces Bonecruncher has brought with him, but if we are pushed to it, we’ll finish the job we started this afternoon.”

She looked at me with her wide, blue eyes and then struck me with a blindside. “I also notice that your hands are empty, Captain Charing. Am I to understand it that you forgot to get me any warmer clothes in your distraction?”

I admit that I gaped for a few seconds. And then she broke into a giggle as she saw that her jest had got me nonplussed.

“Don’t mind him, my lady,” said Ploster. “Captain Charing has forgotten how to laugh these last hundreds of years. Though I’ll admit that I am uncertain if he ever learned how.”

I knew it to be only said in fun, but the words struck close to home. As the Captain of the First Cohort, I was close to my men, able to mix with them and join them at the campfire without my appearance stopping the conversation. Nevertheless, I had to remain aloof to a degree, in order to maintain the discipline that any fighting force needs. I wasn’t certain if Ploster had unwittingly suggested that I needed to show a greater humour and warmth. I didn’t know if I had it in me. For some reason, the thoughts reminded me that I owed an apology.

“My lady. We have travelled for several days now and I feel as though I have mostly ignored you.”

“You have, Captain. You have also ignored my clothing requirements.”

“She’s not going to let you off the hook with that one, Tyrus,” supplied Ploster helpfully.

“I am sorry, my lady. Your arrival is something that the First Cohort has needed for so long, that I have taken you from your village on a journey to a place you have never been. You know yourself to be the Saviour, but I have not asked if you know what that means. Indeed, if you even wish to fulfil the hopes that everyone has for you.”

“There is nothing to apologise for, Captain. I am young, but I have a voice and I knew where to find you. Some things need not be spoken. When we first met, I knew at once that my time of safety in the village had ended.” She looked me in the eyes, her features set in concern. “Remember that I have looked into your mind, Captain. I am the Saviour and I have seen who you are, what you were and what you have become. If you were what you had been, I would have destroyed you and all of your men.” Then the confidence seemed to drain from here. “At least, I think I would have. You protect yourselves so well.”

“We all have our walls, my lady. Some of us have walls that are higher and stronger than those of others.”

“Your walls were so very high, Captain,” she whispered. “You told me that you are lost and when I heard you speak those words, all of my doubts vanished. The Saviour is a beacon of hope in a time when hope has been destroyed. The Saviour is a rallying point for all people who are brave enough to fight for their freedom. If I can turn even the First Cohort away from Warmont’s evils, then I have confidence for the road ahead. I will not turn away from it.” She paused, smiling. “And that, Captain, is why I have not needed to speak to you. I am not a wavering girl, worried about the paths ahead. I know what is to come and I will have you and your men at my side during the coming darkness.”

I glanced at Ploster and he nodded imperceptibly to show that he echoed my own thoughts. We were doing the right thing and though it had taken so long to reach this point, I knew that it was not too late for us.

Ten

We broke camp the following morning and set off at the first glimmering of daylight. I was concerned that it was still too dark to march in safety, but I was more concerned that Bonecruncher might be waiting for us on the other side of a distant hill, with ten thousand infantry under his banner. I told myself that I was worrying too much and that Warmont was unlikely to have so many of his men out here. The majority of his troops were usually stationed in Blades or close by and the journey from Blades to Treads would not take them close to Turpid. It seemed more likely that Bonecruncher had been sent to these remote lands to search for the Saviour, either alone or with a token force.

Before we headed out, I had a surprise for our lady. It had not taken long to find two suitably-experienced volunteers to go with Furtive and make the trip back into Turpid during the night. Once in the town they had successfully broken into the clothier’s shop I had spent some time haggling in the previous day, and made off with a quantity of goods. I try to keep us honest in the First Cohort, so had bade the men leave behind a suitable purse of coins to cover the value of their theft. I considered myself a skilled haggler, so warned them not to be over-generous in their payment.

“These are for me?” she’d asked, when, without ceremony, I handed over a set of warm clothing and cloak.

“The men didn’t want to see you disappointed, my lady. They knitted these themselves,” I told her with a straight face.

“Captain Charing, is that an attempt at humour?” she asked me, raising one eyebrow archly. I stared ahead and pretended that I had not heard.

When the sun raised itself above the far horizon, we had already made some progress away from Turpid, even though we travelled at a reduced pace, keeping to the valleys amongst the low hills in order that we would be less visible to any hostile forces.

It was Lieutenant Craddock who saw them first, on the brow of a hill, half a mile from us.

“Captain, horsemen up there!” he called. “Wearing Bonecruncher’s colours.”

I cursed aloud as I watched them wheel about and vanish over the brow of the hill. They had numbered fewer than ten – a scouting party.

“Corporal Gloom!” I barked. “Take fifty men and get up that hill on the double! See what you can see.”

“Yes sir!” said Gloom. He had fifty men peel away from our column and sprint up the shallow slope towards where the horsemen had been seen. They carried their swords and shields, in case the horsemen decided to return and send over a few arrows. No foot soldier liked a horseman and this was true in every army I’d fought in.

Further along the brow of the hill, there was movement. A few of my men had seen it too – more horsemen.

“Fuck!” I said. “Lieutenant Sinnar, get Gloom back, now!” I asked this not because I am pretentious and insist that my lieutenants issue every command for me, rather because Sinnar had a voice that could blow the cobwebs out of a castle ceiling.

“Gloom! Get back here! Now!” he thundered across the slope.

At first I feared that we were too late, but Corporal Gloom raised his hand to bring the men to a stop. He didn’t need to be told twice what ‘now’ meant, and in seconds they were running towards us. More horseman came into view – it was hard to count their exact numbers, but I could see at least two hundred of them.

“Lieutenant Craddock, form a square. We’re going to move out of this valley and up that slope,” I told him, indicating the hill on the other side of the valley to the horsemen. A valley was not the best place to be when facing mounted troops and we needed to reach higher ground. Horses did not like to charge up hill, and their riders did not like to see a shield square atop such a hill, especially if it was bristling with swords and spears.

Corporal Gloom and his men re-joined us, merging smoothly into the square we had begun to form. At that point, the riders decided to approach, with more of them coming into view over the brow as the others trotted down the slope. There was something disdainful about them, contempt oozing out of them – I could sense it even over the intervening half mile between us. I say it without pride or boasting, but I thought to myself that these men did not well enough know who we were.

Horsemaster Tradis was fiercely loyal towards his charges and he had already reached the summit with our meagre supply of pack animals and carts, before we were much more than half way to the top. By now I was able to get a better idea of the troops we faced.

“I make it four hundred, Lieutenant Craddock,” I said.

“Aye, that’s what I count, Captain.”

“Four hundred bastards, each one desperate to go home and suck on his mammy’s tit!” I said, raising my voice so that the men could hear me. There were chuckles.

Below us, the horseman had crossed the bottom of the shallow valley and spread themselves into a line, five deep. I saw their leader, in a bright red leather breastplate, with a tassel hanging from his fine helmet. At a raising of his hand, all four hundred drew their swords, almost languidly, as if they feared us not at all. In reality they were not in a great rush to engage us. The First Cohort carried spears in one of the carts. There were not enough for every man, but there were sufficient for each man at the edge of the square to hold one and point it outwards. A horseman might be brave or stupid enough to charge at a spear-lined infantry square, but his horse was not and the beasts would invariably balk when they were pushed into charging at something they could not jump over.

When we reached the top of the hill, I saw the reason why the horsemen were in no rush to fight. Almost a mile away, a line of infantry appeared on the opposite hill top. They marched purposefully over and down the slope, heading to where we had taken up our positions. After the first line came another, then another and their heads kept on sprouting over the distant hilltop like a never-ending field of weeds.

“Looks like Bonecruncher had an army with him after all,” I said to Lieutenant Craddock.

“Most of Warmont’s bastards, from the looks of things,” he replied as the lines of men continued towards us. There was a larger figure, clearly visible and walking behind the men: Bonecruncher.

“I make it eight thousand, plus the horsemen,” I said. “That’s a big chunk of what the Duke can muster. What the hell are they doing out here?”

We were holding our position as I spoke. Emboldened by the arrival of the infantry, the horsemen had cantered further up the hill and strutted along in front of us. Every now and then, the captain in charge turned his horse’s backside towards us and smacked it on the rump, which caused it to flick its tail upwards and reveal its anus.

“Cheeky bastards, aren’t they?” I said to Lieutenant Craddock wryly.

“I’ve never met a horseman who wasn’t,” he told me.

We needed to act quickly, but I liked to give the men a token boost of morale. The soldier I was looking for was close enough by for me to speak to him without the chance of my voice carrying to the horsemen.

“Shooter?” I called – he was one of our grand total of two archers.

“Captain?”

“Think you can see well enough to put an arrow in their captain’s eye? Do it quickly.”

“I reckon I can have a go, Captain,” he said, unslinging his black wood bow. I didn’t know where he’d got it from – it had always been with him – but I swear I’d seen him land an arrow in a man’s chest from three hundred paces before.

The men close to him were silent, holding their breaths as they willed Shooter’s arrow to put an end to the enemy captain’s posturing. A few of them shuffled aside so that he might get a better sight of his target. I watched as Shooter pushed his tongue out of his mouth in concentration and drew his bow in one smooth motion. It was as if this single arrow had become the most important object the First Cohort carried with us.

And then it was away, an impossibly fast, dark blur, accompanied by a faint twang from the bow. The arrow didn’t take the man in the eye, since he had turned his horse’s backside towards us, but it took him in the neck, slicing through the thin leather guard of his helmet. We’d hoped he would be pitched from the saddle, but instead he keeled over and spurred his horse into a gallop away down the hill, the feathered end of the arrow jutting from his neck. As we cheered, he righted himself, in order that he could cling onto the horse’s mane and keep himself more securely in the saddle.

“Good one, Shooter,” said a soldier.

“Think you got him?” asked another.

As I ordered our shield square to move, the answer was provided, and we saw the injured captain fall from his horse, though his foot remained in the stirrup. The beast did not slow its gallop and it headed off along the valley with its former master in tow. These small victories were what kept morale high in the face of adversity and I heard many a laugh at the expense of the fallen horseman.

On the field of battle, speed is a vital tool in every commander’s arsenal. If you can position your troops efficiently and have them move to a new location quickly, you swing the odds in your favour when things are evenly balanced. Coupled with this speed there must also be an ability to retain formation, for a thousand men sprinting across a field in order to join the fray will easily be cut down if they meet organised resistance.

Moving a shield square is one of the most difficult tasks for a commander. The more defensive a formation is, the slower in general it will move and the shield square is the epitome of a formation designed to repulse attacks. If we let our guard down, we would give the horsemen a chance to strike at us and whittle down our numbers, or split our formation completely. I was infinitely glad that these horsemen did not carry bows.

“Lieutenants Craddock, Sinnar? We make maximum speed to the north-west. If we can get a distance from their infantry, we might get the opportunity to show those horsemen what real infantry steel tastes like!”

“Aye, Captain,” they responded, both of them eager to turn the odds in our favour. We were good, but we were not foolish enough to think that we might easily win this fight against horsemen and infantry.

It was something we had practised on many occasions. Firstly, on the training ground and secondly, in battle. Every man spun to face the same direction and the corporals and lieutenants kept them in formation, barking orders and maintaining control. Then, we broke into a semi-run, something more than a trot, but not quite a full sprint. The idea was that we could stop and re-form within a few seconds if the enemy decided to try and take advantage of our retreat.

It was to our good fortune that the horsemen had fallen into disarray, as so often happens when the head is cut from the body. A few of them kept pace with us, but the others waited behind for Bonecruncher and his infantry to arrive and provide further orders. Warmont’s Fifth would not be happy at their indecision.

The enemy’s lack of discipline allowed us to make fast progress in our retreat. Behind us I heard the bellowing of Bonecruncher’s voice, carried on the wind, as he drove his infantry ahead of him. He’d seen us use this defensive retreat in the past and didn’t want us to get away from him. It was his mistake, though, and of the sort that he was prone to. In his bloodlust and his anger, he exhausted his infantry by having them run up the hill behind us. Even the fittest of his soldiers would not be immediately ready for combat after a hard sprint uphill wearing armour and with a sword in his hand.

Luckily for these soldiers they did not have to face the First Cohort so soon, as we were already some distance ahead of them, with our escort of fifty horsemen keeping pace to our flank. We had descended into another valley and kept up a good pace over the long grass. I glanced at our lady and noticed with some pride that she was lacking in fear, sitting straight in her saddle as though she were no more concerned than if she had been out for an afternoon ride. She watched and listened, taking everything in. This was the first time she’d been involved in an engagement and she needed to learn fast. Even the Saviour would find it hard to lead an army of rebels if she showed herself to be weak and indecisive.

Bonecruncher was a hard and effective shock commander, but I knew his weaknesses. He would not be able to stand and watch helplessly as we outmanoeuvred him and completed our escape. Sure enough, he used the only tool available to him.

“Captain Charing,” said our lady. “I believe the enemy commander is ordering his horsemen to attack.” She had the best vantage point amongst us all.

“Lieutenants Craddock, Sinnar.” I shouted to them. “The horse are coming.”

We didn’t slow down. Even when the sound of thundering hooves reached us, we continued without pause. As the sound of the approaching horsemen reached a crescendo, Lieutenant Craddock gave the order. We stopped and reformed our square, shields raised and spears pointing outwards. The timing was crucial – there had to be the opportunity for the horsemen to break around us. If we stopped too late, they would have little choice but to smash into our ranks.

We pulled it off – just. As our shield wall formed, the lead horses shied and bucked as they tried to stop their headlong rush. Two of the beasts were too close and spears found their chests, toppling them over, screaming and throwing their riders.

The rest of the horsemen split around us, as though we were a rock protruding from a fast-flowing river. The riders’ momentum carried them on and past us as we remained still, daring them to come close enough for us to drive our blades into them. Back where we’d come from, I saw that Bonecruncher had drawn his men into a wide column and marched them towards us at the double.

Without their captain, the horsemen struggled to regain their line after they had split around our square. Some of them regrouped to our left, some to our right, whilst another eighty or so remained ahead of us, the horses pawing uncertainly at the ground. To one side, I saw one of the enemy railing at his comrades, chopping with his sword and pointing at us. I could make out his voice as he urged them to come back at us again. They had little hope of breaking us, but every moment they harried brought the bulk of the enemy infantry closer to us.

“Ploster, kill that fucker,” I said calmly.

Without warning, the horseman ceased his exhortations and burst into a bright, blue flame. He was almost sixty paces away but I could clearly see the skin of his face melting beneath his helmet. If he’d tried to scream we didn’t hear it as the intense heat of Ploster’s flame sucked greedily at the air in his lungs. The man’s horse shrieked as its burning rider become fused to its flesh, and the beast took off at a gallop. The sight of the flames and the sounds of agony stirred a number of the other horses into their own blind panic and a number of them reared, tipping their riders.

“Go!” I shouted. My lieutenants and corporals took over, using the power of their wills and their voices to twist the First Cohort into marching as a unit. We continued along the shallow valley, our feet striking a steady cadence over the soft ground.

The horsemen continued to harry us, but they lacked direction and coordination. It didn’t appear that any of them were willing to risk the agony of being burned alive, so they remained divided and ineffective. Occasionally a group of fifty or so would pluck up the courage to sally towards us, but it was all for show and they fluttered at our flanks as harmlessly as a summer butterfly. The largest of armies can crumble if they are deprived of direction, but these horsemen were poorly-motivated even by the usual standards of Warmont’s regulars. The Duke had other, more dedicated, units in his armies and I was glad that they were not serving under Bonecruncher on this day.

With our changing, we of the First Cohort had become more than men. In my quieter moments, I had reflected that we had also become lessened. However, I was always grateful that our stamina seemed to know few limits. This, in particular, had served us well, and preserved our unit where others may have perished. And thus, we continued without respite, eating up the miles until Warmont’s infantry was left far in our wake.

Morning went and afternoon came. The day wore on but our pace did not abate. Those men who desired the ritual of eating and drinking did so as we travelled, pushing lumps of dried, chewy flesh into their mouths and passing around skins of warm, stale water to share. With us came our unwanted escort of horsemen. They had formed a group and cantered along two hundred paces to our left. They seemed sullen and afraid, as well they might. Bonecruncher did not enjoy failure and would take great delight in punishing them later.

The land made for easy foot travel – rolling hills of rich grass, occasionally broken by wide, shallow streams or rocky outcrops. My men showed little concern for the horsemen, now that the eight thousand infantry they’d had with them were several miles to our rear.

“Is it always a stalemate between men and horse?” our lady asked me.

“Only rarely,” I replied. “A well-deployed cavalry can be devastating against infantry. That’s why infantryman and horsemen are never friendly, even when they fight for the same side.”

“It seems odd that one soldier would hate another,” she said.

“In the end, many soldiers are just there for the comfort of a life where their choices are made for them. Usually, they get to sleep in a warm bed, are well fed and paid regularly. Most of the Emperor’s lands are at peace and in those places a soldier can enjoy life’s comforts, with little fear that he may die at any time.”

“But Warmont’s lands are not at peace,” she said.

“No, they are not. The Duke has been blessed with a domain where the people have known freedom. They do not enjoy bending the knee or paying their taxes to a cruel man in a distant city.”

“Freedom is a joy for everyone. Why are the Emperor’s other nobles not beset by these problems?”

“It is the problem of every empire. The further from the centre you go, the more fragmented and difficult to control it gets. The Emperor has no give in him at all – he offers no concessions, even here, where we are as far from Hardened as you can get and still remain within his lands. A wiser man would let these far cities have some slack, permit them a degree of self-governance or to set some of their laws. Not so, Malleus. His control must be absolute. It is part of his nature.”

“Have you met Emperor Malleus?”

“Yes, my lady. We all have - it is a part of our history and our shame. When we have the opportunity, I will tell you about it.”

She could have pursued it, but chose not to, content at my promise to speak of it later. “We are hoping that rebellion out here will be the catalyst for a change throughout all of the Emperor’s lands.” It was half-question, half-statement she spoke.

“That is the hope, my lady,” I said. In truth, I knew the cause to be lost even before it had started. The Duke was more vulnerable than he had ever been and there was a chance we might cause him some great difficulty. In my confidence, I also thought that if the stars aligned in our favour, if the threads of warp and weft brought us good fortune, that we could even topple the man and crush his armies. The Emperor was the problem. I had never before seen such a focus of power, the ability to bend and force matter living or dead to submit to his desires. He was not a god, but he may as well have been - our Saviour was a tiny light against his all-encompassing darkness. Strangely, I did not care and knew that the First Cohort would fight to the last man for our lady’s cause.

After a time, the light faded. Our adversaries maintained their vigil, gradually becoming little more than silhouettes against the hills and the darkening sky. Their sounds gave them away more clearly than the light and I had no fear that they would be able to mount a surprise assault. I passed the word along that we should reduce our own pace, in order that we could maintain our formation, and I asked our lady down from her horse, in case it should stumble and cast her to the ground. Soon, the noises from the cavalry faded and I knew that they had ended their pursuit for the day. I was reluctant for us to stop, but a march in pitch blackness threw up its own concerns.

At last I decided that we had made sufficient progress and called a halt high up on a hillside, which come daylight would allow us an excellent vantage back over the land we had travelled. Bonecruncher would not have worried if he lost a few men in the darkness, but he would certainly not want his forces to drift out of formation such that they might be vulnerable. Even more importantly, he would not want to lose us in the dark – although our course had remained almost die-straight towards Treads, we had made one or two minor deviations, so that anyone who hoped to catch us by following the valley floors would end up passing us by.

I ordered that we set up a camp without tents or fires. In the lee of the hill, the now-sporadic wind was much less of a burden and the men were happy to lay out their rolls upon the grass. The Saviour found me during the preparations to rest.

“What will happen tomorrow, Captain Charing?”

“The same thing as happened today, my lady. Bonecruncher’s cavalry will send out riders to locate us at first light, then they will keep pace in the hope that something delays us. They will keep the infantry on a course to find us.”

“Are there any woods or forests for us to use to our advantage?”

“I have spoken to Lieutenant Craddock, and all that we can expect between here and Treads is more of the same. Hills, grass, streams.”

“How much further until we get to Treads?”

“Four days. Four and a half, perhaps.”

“I do not want us to be chased there every step of the way,” she said with certainty. Her eyes gleamed, though there was no light for them to reflect.

“What do you propose, my lady?” I asked her.

“The cavalry are three miles over yonder,” she said. “They have camped by a stream in order that their horses may drink and feed.”

I didn’t ask how she knew this. Ploster could travel the weave of power to find things that did not want to be found. He was not skilled at it, but his seeking had helped us on occasion.

“Lieutenant Craddock, Sinnar!” I called. When they arrived, I said, “Break camp, we’re going to find Bonecruncher’s horsemen. They’re three miles that way. We’re leaving our packs. Just bring what we need to do the job.”

“Yes, Captain,” they responded.

Sinnar’s voice rolled out across our camp. “So, who wants to stick a sword into a sleeping horseman? I’m calling for volunteers. I’ll need five hundred and seventy-seven of you!”

There was a ripple of laughter across our camp as the men clambered to their feet, searching for the weapons they’d need. There were a few shouts of ‘I’m in’ and ‘Are there any more spaces left?’, even though the numbers Sinnar had called for encompassed every soldier in the First Cohort.

The night was filled with violence, but we did what we needed to do. Ploster cast some sort of blanket around us that masked our footsteps and disguised the clanks and coughs from the clumsier members of the Cohort. Furtive killed two of their sentries, tracking them down and ending their lives with a sharp knife across their throats. We left fifty men to guard our lady close to where they’d hobbled their horses. The rest of us swept amongst the cloth tents, hacking and slaying the horsemen without pause. They had lit fires and a few of them managed to stumble towards us in the flickering redness, with their swords drawn. We butchered them all. A few tried to escape towards their horses, but the men I had left close by prevented any of the cavalry from escaping. After less than ten minutes, we were alive and they were not. I think a few chose to run, but in the darkness we did not pursue them.

We stole what supplies we needed and untethered the horses, driving them off into the night. Anything which remained that Bonecruncher’s men might have used, we burned, to deny them an advantage. We returned to our camp, successful and elated.

Eleven

We did not delay in breaking camp the next day. As we mustered, I asked our lady if she could sense Bonecruncher’s infantry.

“They are some miles behind us,” she said. “And they are moving already.”

“I am not surprised,” I said. “Their leader is not sympathetic to his men.”

“I sense a void with them, as if the strands leading there have been cut.”

“That will be Bonecruncher,” I told her. “He’s the least of Warmont’s Five, but magic is of little concern to him. I have once seen him stride through an onslaught from three casters in the streets of Blades, who had destroyed a hundred of the men he had sent to kill them. His flesh charred and blistered, but the sorcerers could not harm him greatly. They tried to escape, but he is fast and caught them. Their deaths were unpleasant.”

“I will kill him if he finds us,” she said. There was a sudden heaviness in the air and I knew she had gone away, probing at the void which surrounded Bonecruncher, looking for its reason and its weakness, learning about it. I stared up at her and I believed every word she had just said.

Now that we were no longer escorted by the enemy cavalry, we were able to set a greater pace. We usually made forty miles each day, but had the capacity to travel faster and for longer. With Bonecruncher’s men behind us, I wanted to reach Treads ahead of any siege. If we arrived late, we would be denied access to the town. I spoke to Ploster about it.

“Bonecruncher has caught us unawares. I did not think that Warmont would have committed so many men to this region,” I said.

“Warmont himself told you that he had located the Saviour. Just before we defeated the rebels outside of Nightingale. He did not tell you when they had found her and the Duke is a cunning man. He does not tell all of his vassals what he knows. We were a tool for him. A useful tool, but a tool nonetheless. If he told you about the Saviour, it is likely that he knew that the time for secrecy had passed.”

“He was wrong, then. I still believe Dag’Vosh was looking to double-cross his master.”

“Who knows?” Ploster responded. “Warmont is a capricious man, and it is not unheard of for him to spread mistruths and rumour, even when there is no benefit for him to do so.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” I said. “In the end, all that matters is that we have the Saviour and Warmont does not.”

“There are many enemy pieces on the map and they move all of the time. We cannot foretell the position of these pieces, nor hope to second-guess everything that might be a peril.”

I nodded at Ploster’s words. I had observed that as a soldier got older, he tended to develop a fatalist view of the world. Whatever would happen to him, would happen. As the First Cohort’s commander, I was not immune to these feelings either. I always had to answer to someone, was always at their beck and call, at least as far as I permitted it to happen. We were all pieces on that map.

I was not a caster, but had once heard Ploster describe the warp and the weft of our world as a thing of great beauty and order when viewed close up. Minor magicians and sorcerers could control this order with ease in order to cast their spells. When you stepped back, the warp and the weft became rapidly more complex – exponentially harder to fathom and control. Even the most powerful of sorcerers found their limits when they tried to pull at these threads and many were driven mad by their desire to control the impossible number of permutations and opportunities that the threads present.

If you pulled back further again, if your mind was capable of viewing the warp and weft in even a tiny fraction of its entirety, you would see that everything looked like chaos as threads wove hither and yon, without rhyme or reason. I think that without knowing it or seeing it, a soldier accepts this chaos and accepts that his life is at the mercy of many things that he cannot control. Those who can live comfortably with this acceptance are the ones who are best placed to move with the ebb and flow of their lives. It seems strange, but I believed that a man who is aware that his death could come at any moment is better placed to avoid it than a man who fears it.

I drew myself back to the present, to find Ploster patiently walking at my side.

“The citizens of Treads are not going to welcome us with open arms, you know?” he said.

“Of course they are not! We will have to earn their trust. It is in our favour that we have no history with this town. Had we crushed their armies and killed their people a dozen seasons gone, I would understand that they would hate us greatly. However, we have done them no great wrong, so it is our reputation upon which they will judge us. It is far easier to change the mind of a person when they can observe your actions to be in line with their own. Actions are provable, a reputation is subjective.”

“I hope it will be so simple, Captain,” he responded.

“I don’t think for one moment it will be simple, Ploster! We will be hated and feared by them. Even as we fight for them, they will treat us with disdain.”

Our lady had caught these words. “And will this disdain have been fairly earned, Captain Charing?”

“Aye my lady. That it will have been – twice over and more. We will have earned everything we get, but it will not turn us from our cause.”

She looked at me with sadness. “You are not evil men.”

“No, my lady, we are not. Most soldiers do not revel in what they do. They may talk as if it’s a game to them, but when the lights are out and we lie alone, most of us pray that if we are judged we will not be found wanting.”

“I will not find you or your men wanting, Captain. I have seen.”

“The Saviour has an open heart and the ability to heal, my lady. We all pray that it is enough.”

Again, there was that look. Pure, unbridled and unquenchable determination. “Captain Charing, if you believe in one thing, believe that it will be enough.”

I smiled at her. “My lady, I am starting to believe. Will that suffice?”

She smiled back. “It will Captain Charing, for the moment.”

After that, we marched, reaching Treads at mid-morning of the fifth day. Even when we were more than a half-day from the town’s walls, it was apparent that this was no small backwater like Nightingale or Turpid. There were well-paved roads for us to travel along, allowing us to march more quickly. There were fields to either side of the roads, with stone walls and hedges demarking their boundaries. It may have been my imagination, but the air felt warmer and drier. I must have been mistaken, since we were far to the north and the climate here was not renowned for its clemency. The wind which had been with us for so long had gone and our already high spirits were lifted once more.

Merchants and itinerant tradesmen passed us often, or we passed them. They gave no indication of poverty, with carts and wagons loaded with goods bound to and from Treads.

“What news from the town of Treads?” I asked one man who travelled on a horse-drawn cart with a lady I assumed to be his wife.

“Fear and worry. So business is booming!” he exclaimed, giving no indication that he recognized us from our livery.

“What about the rebellion?” I asked him in puzzlement. “Has the Duke not sent his men here yet?”

The man snorted. “The whole of the north-west is in rebellion! Warmont won’t send his men up here yet.” At that, his wife elbowed him firmly in the side.

“Assuming you are not the Duke’s men,” she smiled, apologetically. “We are simple merchants, you understand, with no interest in politics.”

“We are not the Duke’s men,” I told her. “Is there is no word or rumour about the Duke’s activities in the region?”

“Not a thing,” said the man. After a pause, “And I hope it stays that way too.”

We left them to their journey and continued on our way to the town ahead.

“The Duke will not give up his lands,” said our lady.

“You are correct - he will absolutely not give up his lands. It is a long way from Blades to reach here and some of Warmont’s men will be even further afield. It takes time to summon them all and prepare for an extended campaign so far away. Be certain though: his men will come and they will not leave until the Duke’s goals have been accomplished.”

“I can feel that he will seek to make an example of Treads and Farthest,” she told me. “I am not sure how, but I catch glimpses of a walled town in flames. If this is a vision of the future or merely a vision of a possible future, I do not know.”

“Have you had such visions before?” I asked her, troubled at the notion that the future of Treads might already have been determined.

“Only once. I dreamed of dead men seeking redemption.”

“The future is not yet decided,” I said with firmness. “Nothing happens until it happens, and if you have the will and the resolve, I am sure that the future can be moulded.”

“Let us hope so, Captain Charing. My vision was a simple, powerful image. Sometimes a picture needs to be accompanied by words, to put the image into context. We must not second guess ourselves in order to try and alter something we fear might come about.”

“I am not afraid of the future, my lady. Not anymore. My only fear is that no matter how hard we fight, that it will not be enough.”

She didn’t respond to that and I wondered if I’d been given too much time to think recently. The march had not been especially long, nor especially arduous, but I was prone to sinking into deep thought when given the opportunity. I always looked for answers and even when there were none to be had, I would often find my mind plagued by its own ceaseless wondering. I had not been so afflicted as a younger man, but the years had altered me greatly.

Soon, we came to Treads. The town had been built upon a low headland, jutting out into the sea. The walls were not as high as Lieutenant Craddock had remembered them, but they were a formidable defence of thirty feet high, with crenellations running their full length. From what I could see from afar, the walls did not completely enclose the town, merely stretching across the width of the headland. What spoke of prosperity was the number of dwellings which had over spilled the confines of the wall, and these had been constructed without the comfort of its protection.

The sky happened to be a clear blue on this day and seagulls soared high overhead, their plaintive cries reaching us where we marched far below.

“It’s quite pretty, isn’t it?” our lady said.

“It looks a lot nicer than most of the shit holes we’ve visited,” I admitted grudgingly.

As we came closer, advancing along a wide road which led over a gentle downward slope covered in cultivated fields, it became steadily more apparent to the trained eye that all was not normal. The town’s gates were shut, something which I would not have expected to see in peacetime. There was also dark smoke hanging low over the buildings, suggestive of industry. I had never visited Treads before, so perhaps this was usual, but it looked as though the town’s forges worked flat out. There was also a steady flow of foot traffic heading towards the city from the surrounding lands, but little sign of people leaving.

“It doesn’t look right,” I told our lady. “More importantly, it doesn’t feel right.”

“They are preparing for war,” she replied, staring into the distance.

“I am glad that they are under no illusions about what is coming for them. Times may be good for that merchant we met, but the people here are soon going to find out what they have undertaken.”

She could have responded with a rousing platitude about how our arrival would save the town or turn the tables on the Duke’s plans, but she did not. She was not prone to uttering empty words or promises.

When we were within a mile of the town’s outskirts, I had our standard bearer hoist up a flag of peace. I could see men between the battlements of the walls, standing out as tiny grey dots, watching us. I was sure that they would have already realised who we were by our colours and there would be a great deal of activity happening within Treads as a result of our approach.

The people we had passed on the roads earlier that day had seemed undisturbed by our presence, as if near six hundred heavily armed men with scars and tattoos was no cause for alarm. These other men and women who were heading towards the safety of the walls were not so sanguine, and I saw many hang back until we’d gone by, whilst others picked up their speed until they disappeared into the streets on the outskirts of the town.

Treads was well laid-out, even beyond its walls. A smooth, stone road led directly towards the main gates, several hundred yards away. The houses here were not the slums that you might expect. Treads was wealthy and the only thing it lacked was space. I guessed that some of the dwellings out here were well over a hundred years old, and built for permanency. As we got closer to the walls, these buildings loomed higher above us, crowding on either side. We checked the windows as we passed, not wishing to be struck by missiles hurled by eager citizens, or indeed have the contents of their chamber pots poured down onto our heads.

“It looks almost deserted,” our lady said.

There was little sign of life on the streets. I’d expected there to be a throng in a place like this one, accompanied by shouts of hawkers peddling their wares, or children playing. There were a few people here and there, but they showed no sign of industry. Many stared open-mouthed as we trooped by, others scurried inside, slamming their doors behind them – as if that would somehow prevent our entry were we of a mind to try and force it.

“Most of these houses look empty, too,” I commented. There is something about an empty house that makes it feel forlorn, even when the windows have no boards. I had no way to be sure that the occupants had gone, but this area had an air of the abandoned. “They know that war is coming – and soon.”

“It seems such a shame,” she replied, her eyes taking in the sights around her. “I imagine it was so full of life before this.” She may have been the Saviour, but her experience of the world had so far been limited, much of it to what she could see as she’d travelled the strands of power from her hiding place in the village.

“The price of freedom has always been high, my lady. The men who would take it from you will never return it graciously, and these men are always strong.”

“Warmont has strength, but he will not have our motivation. How can he?”

“People like Warmont do not think or act like anyone else. He is driven by his own needs and desires, which are so detached from the desires of other people, that you cannot possibly guess what drives him - at least not until you have done his bidding for years. I know the Duke and he is not lacking in motivation, though it is driven partially by fear of what the Emperor might do to him if he fails.”

The great gates of Treads were now close ahead. I studied them briefly – they were made from heavy slabs of black wood, almost twenty feet high and fifteen feet wide. I’d seen this wood before – it would be thick, ancient and as hard as steel. Holding the gates together were broad iron bands, painted in black to protect them from the sea air. Huge studs clamped wood and iron together, forming a barrier that was only slightly more vulnerable than the surrounding grey walls. To the side was a much smaller, but equally sturdy postern gate, just wide enough for a cart to enter. This gate was open, with people coming in and out. There would be a chamber behind it which could have a vast block of stone dropped within, effectively sealing the postern in times of extreme need.

It pays a soldier to take precautions when in uncertain situations. High above us, the men we’d observed were now clearly identifiable as archers. There were a hundred bows at half draw pointing down at us. We kept our shields at the ready, though we did not wish to appear hostile.

I called the First Cohort to a halt and made my way to the fore. Our lady followed unbidden, her horse gently nudging aside the men in her path. Lieutenant Sinnar and Corporal Langs made haste to follow her, their shields at the ready. She brushed them away, with a whispered comment that I did not hear.

I did not beat about the bush. “I am Captain Tyrus Charing of the First Cohort. We have come to join you!” I shouted. “Who might I speak to in order to gain access to your town?”

On the battlements above the gate, I saw a tall woman lean forward, as if she desired to look at us more closely. “I am Syla Frost, of the Treads Council. You are not liked here, Captain Tyrus Charing of the First Cohort. Please leave at once.”

“War is coming to you, Magister Frost. Duke Warmont does not tolerate rebellion in his lands.”

“Do you think we are not aware of this, Captain Charing? We are prepared and we will outlast any siege. Now begone, before I have my archers let loose upon you!”

“We no longer work for the Duke. We have found the Saviour and we have sworn to protect her. Your cause is our cause for as long as our lady desires it.”

“I don’t see any Saviour amongst you, nor can I detect a being of great power here. I sense your company sorcerer, but he is of only middling ability.”

I heard Ploster mutter to himself at this dismissal of his powers. He wasn’t a first-tier caster, but he had much experience and had learned many tricks.

Then, our lady spoke. Her voice had a peculiar quality to it, which made it carry upwards and outwards, so that we all heard it at the same volume, as if she were speaking to each of us in a quiet room. “I am the Saviour, and these are my men. We have travelled far to reach you. My captain’s words are not false – I know that the First Cohort is not loved, but they have come to me for absolution and I have accepted them as my own.”

“Go away, girl, you are not the Saviour,” came the response from Magister Frost. “These men have convinced you that you are something which you are not. Captain Charing, did you think to fool us into opening our gates by bringing a hedge wizard with you?”

I spared a glance over at our lady. Her face was set and her eyes fixed on a point somewhere before her. I recognized her expression as one of absolute determination and certainty. She was not angry – the people of Treads had every reason to view us with suspicion – but I could tell that she had come to terms with the fact that there was to be no hiding herself from now. These were to be her people and if they were to accept her, they must know her for what she was.

I have said before that I am not skilled with the power, but I felt that I was somehow attuned to it, though I had never chosen to pursue the matter to see where it led. At that moment, in front of the gates of Treads, I felt our lady remove her disguise as if she were shedding a thick, winter cloak. We of the First Cohort had all felt something similar before, back at her village after we had killed the sorcerer Dag’Vosh. She had kept it hidden as we’d marched here, but now her radiance shone anew, as if a great, golden light surrounded her, not quite seen but somehow visible to every man and woman watching from the wall.

There was a low, rumbling resonance beneath the ground and in the air about us. The air closed in around us, ruffling our hair as it soughed through the streets towards our lady. I had felt Dag’Vosh’s immense power as he had done the same, until Stabber had knocked him unconscious. Our lady was stronger yet and even still, I felt as if she were holding something back. The rushing of the air suddenly stopped, and we all held our breath as the vibration ground into our bones and sent slates cascading down from nearby roofs. The world seemed to pause, as if everything focused on this one young girl, tiny before the great gates of Treads. Just when I expected not only the gates themselves to shatter into a million pieces, but the walls around them too, a voice reached us, cutting clearly through the rumble as if the two sounds did not share the same space.

“Enough!” said Magister Frost.

Abruptly, the rumbling ceased to be and we all felt a relief that we had not seen the gathered potential released in an act of violence. Even as I thought that, I told myself that the Saviour would not have done anything so damaging to her people. She had given them a demonstration of what she was, nothing more.

“Saviour, forgive us. We have waited so long for your arrival,” said the magister.

Twelve

For some reason, I had expected the great gates to be drawn creakingly open, in order that we could gain entry to the town. As it became clear that we were to use the postern gate, I chided myself for my fanciful notion that the arrival of the Saviour would require the city’s defences to be swung wide for her. Most soldiers are prone to flights of fancy – we all tell ourselves that our actions can directly influence events and bring them into being. It keeps your mind occupied during the march and makes you think that you have some worth, beyond being a disposable number sent to die against an enemy force consisting of similarly disposable numbers.

Three abreast, we filed into the town, with me at the lead and our lady by my side. I was worried still about our safety. Even if the people accepted our lady as the Saviour, there was no surety that they would accept us amongst them. In fact, I thought that they would hate us still, even under the Saviour’s aegis. We had a long road ahead of us to win any sort of trust, though I wasn’t so sensitive that I desired it. The First Cohort had lasted this long on its own – we did not require the approval of others in order to become comfortable with who we were.

The rest of the day saw action, but not the sort of action that I enjoyed. The details and minutiae of planning are necessary, but I preferred action to sitting around a table talking about action. My men were provided with the lower floor of an old warehouse for our lodgings, presumably to keep us out of the way of everyone else. The floor was hard, but the roof did not leak, nor were there rats in any great numbers. We’d slept in many worse places, so we set our guards and made ourselves at home. They tried to take our lady to a grand room elsewhere in the city until she had protested that she wished to remain close to us. As a consequence, she was given a room in a modest house across the street from us. The woman who owned this property could do little more than stammer and gasp at her guest, and was too timid to offer any objections to the ten burly men I posted outside her front door at all times. Burly men with heavy swords and daggers close at hand, with tattoos upon their hands and faces, and eyes that had seen too much of death.

We met with the Treads Council, comprising two women and one man. They had the commander of the Treads army with them, a woman called Lucy Wolf. We exchanged the customary stares as we sized each other up. She was of medium height, with short-cropped hair and an athletic physique. She wore a metal breastplate and kept twin swords at her sides. I had seen people fight in the twin-blade style – all stance and posture. I preferred our own single-sword method of fighting, with a spare hand for a shield or a sharp dagger to dig into an opponent’s belly when things got close and dirty. In spite of this, I thought I saw something I liked in Commander Wolf.

For a time, I was ignored while the Treads Council spoke to our lady, as they desperately searched for something about her that would provide reassurance that everything was going to be fine. Our lady had no time for this and dismissed the questions easily. She was learning fast.

“It is not going to be easy, Magister Scafe. Nothing about the coming times, is going to be easy. We will fight and we will either win or we will lose. What did you expect would happen when you declared yourself free?”

Magister Scafe spluttered a little at these words, “My lady, we declared ourselves free because our forefathers were free. We no longer wish to bend the knee to Warmont’s men and kiss the arses of his justiciars when they come to collect his taxes. Always when they visit, they take with them a number of our children to sate the Duke’s vile appetites. Enough is enough! We would rather die fighting than have our children stolen from us and our best men conscripted into an army to kill others like us!”

“Magister Scafe, the town of Treads is doing a great thing,” said our lady. “I am young, but I know many things. I will be a rallying point for your army and the armies of others who would join with us. The rebellion of Treads and Farthest is the first real challenge to Duke Warmont’s sway over his lands. Let us ensure that his wounds are great.”

“His armies approach already,” said Commander Wolf. “Ten thousand of them coming from the direction of Blades, hardly more than a day away.”

“Ten thousand?” I asked. “Bonecruncher was not far behind us with another eight thousand, coming from the east.”

“Shit,” said Commander Wolf. “Our army is trained and prepared, but we had hoped for a delay before we saw the enemy at our walls. Eighteen thousand? It is a lot.”

“Warmont can field over forty thousand men. Far more if he calls in his reserves. I am not surprised that he has committed so many and so soon. He dare not delay,” I said. “Do you know who leads the ten thousand?”

“Our horsemen reported seeing a great hulk in blood red armour, striding around the enemy as they made camp.”

No one wanted to say his name, but I was not afraid. “Gagnol the Blackhearted,” I announced, giving voice to that which they already knew.

“Who is Gagnol the Blackhearted?” asked our lady.

“Warmont’s Second,” I replied, almost spitting out the words. “He is no longer a man, though I remember him when he was. The old sorcerers of Blades shattered his body when Warmont took the city. The Duke crafted some armour for Gagnol – it keeps him whole, but it sucks the life from the people it touches, sustaining the sorcerer within. Some of the men who have served under him for a long time have seen themselves age much more quickly than other men. It is said that Gagnol draws the life from his followers.”

“Is it only his armour we must fear?” our lady asked.

“Gagnol is the most powerful sorcerer who serves Warmont. He is almost as dangerous as Warmont himself.”

At one time in the past, Gagnol had challenged Warmont. In the duel, the Duke had ripped out his subject’s life force and now retained it in a crystal vial, which he kept to ensure Gagnol’s continued obedience. Even if Warmont’s Second ever came into possession of this vial, I thought that the life energies it contained would never be able to merge with the man from whom they had come. Gagnol had sustained himself on death for far too long.

“So, we face a sorcerer of enormous power and a creature which may as well be immune to magic. And eighteen thousand troops,” she said, without a flicker of concern. “And what do we have to fight them?”

“Two thousand five hundred infantry, three hundred archers and one hundred cavalry,” said Commander Wolf. “And some walls.”

“The First Cohort numbers nearly six hundred, and will add their weight to the defences,” our lady told them.

There was a momentary pause and I saw the members of the Treads Council exchange looks. Magister Frost spoke hesitantly.

“We have risen against the Duke’s rules at great danger to ourselves. The town is alight with thoughts of freedom, though many have not tasted it. I worry that they may back down from their cause when the realities of our situation strike home. As brave as our people are, they need someone to lead them. Saviour – will you lead us?”

She drew herself upright, the youngest person in the room by far. “I will lead you.”

The meeting was soon concluded, but by then the day was at an end. I escorted our lady back to her room, helping her through the narrow, cobbled streets of Treads. Down every street we followed, people stopped and stared, crowding in but not threatening us or blocking the path. I could feel the glowing warmth of our lady’s radiance, drawing them from their homes to see who it was that had come to them. Every pair of eyes was fixed on her, and she walked sedately and regally as though nothing was a care in the world for her.

“Is this what you were expecting?” I asked, with a small dose of humour.

“I don’t really know,” she said. “I have thought about it, but didn’t know what people would see in me.”

“They see their Saviour,” I said, and then, quietly, “And you need to behave like one, rather than as a lost waif.”

“Yes, you are right,” she replied, taking my words as advice rather than insult. “I am expecting them to flock to me and follow my direction. They need to see what I am, as well as know what I am.”

“You are wiser than your years,” I said with a smile. “You will need a banner and you will need clothes that separate you from others.”

“There is no time for these things now.”

“No, not today, and tomorrow I think we will fight. I will get your men to see what they can do about a banner.”

“They are still your men, Captain Charing and always will be,” she said.

“My lady, my men are yours and I am also. My job is to lead them to help in your cause.”

“And here it all starts, in Treads,” she replied.

“Treads might seem big to you and indeed it is compared to what you’ve seen before. In reality, it’s no more than a backwater to the Dukedom. A backwater that is just about to become greatly important, but still a backwater. The people here have taken a monumental step, but they have taken it without thinking it through.”

“Sometimes that is the best way to act,” she said.

“Sometimes it is. I used to be a rash man, now not so much. The biggest risks always have the biggest prizes, so it may be that the people here have done the right thing, but never lose sight of the fact that they will be scared to their boots about what is coming. Their doubts must not overcome them.”

“They need a victory, to quell their fears.”

“No, my lady. I think Treads will be lost and those who do not flee will be slain. The nature of the loss needs to instil battle lust in the hearts of young men and women elsewhere in the Duke’s lands. They need to hear tales of a heroic fight, where the oppressed rebel gives the Duke a bloody nose. The bloodier the better.”

“All is lost here?” she asked softly. “Before it has even started?”

“No, not lost. The war will be a long one, I think and this battle only short. Even were we to win here, there would be no peace while the Duke sits in his keep in Blades. Emperor Malleus will be watching this closely and we do not want him to get involved so soon.”

“Can we beat the Emperor? If all of our stars align and the warps and wefts favour us?”

I didn’t want to lie; indeed, I would have been incapable of doing so. “I do not think so, my lady. Warmont governs just a small part of the Emperor’s lands and they are not even particularly important, except for what they represent.”

“If we light the fire here, will the flames not spread to the other lands? Will Baron Vaks be in fear? The Queen of Swords? Duchess Callian? Do these other subjects of the Emperor sit in their lofty castles and worry that one day the problems that best Duke Warmont will become their own?”

“I do not know the answers to those questions. I have lived a long time and I have learned more than most soldiers, but I can only guess at what might happen.”

“Guessing is a game I will not play, where I can avoid it. We must act and speak with confidence in everything we do, else our cause is already lost without a fight! The thought of defeat sits badly with me, Captain and I demand that you do not countenance it! From this day, our cause is the defeat of not just Warmont, but the Emperor himself! If I bring Malleus to us sooner by saying these words, then so be it.”

I admired her even more for that which she had just said. For too long I had remained unchallenged by someone with such forceful views. Even when serving under Warmont, the Duke had not tried to control us, content to direct our actions from afar. I felt a strange relief as I replied – a burden I had not known existed was suddenly lessened. “As you will, my lady,” I told her with a smile.

With the prospect of fighting ahead, I returned to where the First Cohort had barracked. I felt a strange combination of calm mixed with a vibrant energy, as I always did before a tough fight. Damn but it made me feel good, though I should have been too old to suffer from such excitement. The men felt it too and there was a febrile intensity about us once word had circulated that battle was imminent. To add to the feeling of elation, I also felt something deep down in the pit of my stomach, long forgotten. That feeling was fire. It burned within me as my mind raced over the possibilities of what we might do to sting the Emperor. One part of my mind, detached and rational, warned me from these childish fantasies, but I ignored it for the moment, allowing myself this one time of youthful exuberance.

“Lucky for us, eh, Captain?” said Lotus as I walked close by.

“Why’s that, soldier?” I asked.

“We’re going to get the chance to cut Bonecruncher’s other arm off and we’re going to rip Gagnol’s helmet off and see what his withered, ugly face looks like after two hundred years.”

“I’ve often wondered how he has a shit,” said Lurch, interjecting before I could respond to Lotus.

“Lurch, you stupid tit,” said Dueller. “Didn’t you know the Duke sewed his arse hole up for him? He don’t need to shit anymore.”

“Yeah,” said another. “I reckon his cock has shrivelled up and fell off into his boots an’ all.”

“It’ll be like walking around with a stone in your shoe. That’ll be why he’s so pissed off all the time – because his dried cock is giving him blisters.”

Soldiers have a good imagination when they put their minds to it, and their sense of humour is an earthy one. I won’t deny that I enjoyed the occasional exchanges that I took part in. My enjoyment was interrupted by Corporal Gloom and three of the men who had been posted as sentries. They dragged with them two sullen-faced youths – more boys than men.

“We just caught these little bastards trying to torch the building, Captain,” said Gloom. “They weren’t much good at it though and this one here almost set himself alight.”

I loomed over both of the boys and locked gazes with each. I saw that the enormity of what they had attempted had sunk in and they both trembled, their faces stark and pale.

“Why?” I asked them simply. I left no room for denials.

“I hate you!” shouted the first boy, dark haired and slender. “You killed my father and I wanted you to burn!”

So many battles, so many deaths. I didn’t even ask the boy about his father, nor look to give an explanation or seek forgiveness. He had none to give. His father had likely been just another face opposite us in a field. He could have fought like a madman until he was chopped into pieces, or he could have died with a single thrust of a sword and dropped silently to the ground as we slew his comrades. There was nothing that could heal the boy’s hurt, and as we of the First Cohort sought to heal our own wounds it struck home that there would be nothing easy about our journey.

“I am sorry for your father,” I said to him. This time he did not drop his gaze when I looked at him.

I sent them away without harm. They might return; if they were wise they would not. I had no concerns that they would be more successful if they tried to burn down our building again. Regardless, the good spirits evaporated in those of the men who’d been close enough to hear the exchange.

Thirteen

The next day, I accompanied our lady up the stone steps which led to the top of the walls. With us were Jon Ploster and my lieutenants. The city’s archers were spread along here, far too thinly, for the wall stretched long across the width of the headland upon which the town had been built. I nodded at their leader, Captain Grange, as I passed him. He looked at me, but did not offer a greeting. As my party scanned the distant fields, I told them what they’d already seen for themselves.

“Bonecruncher has arrived,” I said.

“He’s getting lazy now that he’s only got one arm,” said Sinnar with a barking laugh. “He should have been here yesterday.”

“I doubt he’s in a rush to assail the walls by himself. Gagnol won’t want him to waste nearly half of their army by throwing men at us before he’s arrived with his own,” I said. The small silver mirror that Warmont had used to communicate with me was only one of many. His most trusted captains often bore one, so that they could speak across vast distances. Gagnol had the power to speak to Bonecruncher even without one.

There were several turrets along the walls of Treads, which provided an even better vantage of the surrounding countryside. The dwellings which clustered outside the walls were not tall enough to block our line of sight entirely, but they did cause an obstruction.

“He doesn’t look like he’s in a hurry,” said Lieutenant Craddock.

“They’ll be ready to go,” I warned him. “They’ll have had their camp somewhere close by and then a half-morning’s march to get here. His men will be as fresh as we’ll see them.” I turned to our lady, where she stood next to me, craning for a look at the infantry we faced. “My lady, can you sense if Gagnol is close? I don’t expect them to hesitate when he arrives. They will form up and come down this main street without waiting for our by-your-leave.”

“Will they bring siege machinery?” she asked, before it sunk in that it would not be battering rams that would tear down the gates.

“It will get bloody in the square behind the main gates,” I said. “The bodies of the dead will be piled high within the hour of Gagnol reaching us.”

Our lady took on a faraway stare and I sensed a part of her drop into the threads beneath the surface of the world we saw. This part of her flew out to the south, seeking to locate Warmont’s Second as he approached us. As I studied her face, she turned to me and smiled. This simple act hinted at the extent of her untrained skill, for Ploster had once told me that the act of searching took an enormous focus to ensure that the spirit did not lose its path back to the mind.

After a few moments her smile twisted suddenly into a look of pain, and her piercing, blue eyes closed as she sank to her knees. Ploster was there at once, putting his arm about her to stop her from toppling over. She groaned for a few seconds as we hardened soldiers fluttered around ineffectually, wondering what to do.

“What is it, Jon?” I demanded.

“She’s found Gagnol and the sorcerer does not want her to return.”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. “What can we do?”

Ploster smiled without humour. “Nothing at all, except wait.”

We didn’t have to wait for long, which was fortunate, since we were not used to the frustration of being unable to influence events. With a grunt, our lady pushed herself to her feet, wobbled once and then steadied herself.

“He caught me unawares,” she said, her voice weak. “And nearly cut off my path back.”

Then, with her voice becoming stronger she smiled again, though it was partly a grimace. “He’s made a mistake, the bastard. I’ve seen him now and he won’t catch me like that again. We need to speak to the Treads Council immediately. Gagnol will be here in two hours.”

The Blackhearted arrived as our lady had predicted, at the head of his infantry. By that time, every fighting man in Treads had been mustered and they lined the walls, or clustered in the narrow square behind the main gates. From their formation and discipline, I could see that they had been trained and drilled, but I doubted they’d seen much action. The cities of the Emperor’s realm were not permitted to maintain a standing army, though many had a trained militia, ostensibly to keep the peace or protect their base from bandits. In a town so far from Warmont’s capital, I wasn’t surprised to find that they had managed to equip so many men without detection. They weren’t quite a rabble, but I was worried that their fervour might quickly become fear once they saw what happened to a man when a sword was driven into his guts.

“Get Footsore up here,” I said. The men need to see what they’re fighting for.

Shortly, the First Cohort’s standard-bearer arrived. He was thickset and broad, with a heavy brow and a gruff sense of humour. He carried a tall, wooden pole in his hands. Atop the pole was a piece of cloth, hung from a horizontal piece of wood on the pole, so that it would be visible even when there was no wind to blow it. The flag was white and upon it was a bright yellow depiction of the sun.

“Captain Charing, thank you for my standard. Where is your own?” she asked.

“Your standard is now ours, my lady. If we are to be born anew, we must change from that which we were. This one is a bit rough up close, but it’s all that Footsore could come up with in the time he had.”

She nodded at that. “We will keep it as it is Captain Charing. I like the idea that perfection is only possible when looked at from far away.”

I looked into the town square once again. All eyes were focused on our lady’s banner.

“They need to see it at all times, or to know you are close. You have a radiance that gives them hope and will keep a wavering man with his comrades. You are now their leader and your strength and guidance must be apparent to all.”

“I understand, Captain Charing.” Again, she had that set of her face. I wondered to myself if the Saviour was nothing but this young woman I saw before me – a remarkable young woman, but a woman nonetheless – or if she was something more. Was she guided by a powerful spirit or even a demi-god that lived inside her? Could it be that there was nothing human about her at all and that she was merely a vessel, a plaything, for such a being, sent here to toy with the lives of men? If I had asked myself that question only a dozen years earlier I would have not cared. Perhaps I would not have even had the wherewithal to have asked myself the question. Now, on the walls of Treads, I found the question an unusually important one and I hoped more than anything else that our lady was a woman and nothing more than that. To feel that our success or failure could be guided by an otherworldly hand would diminish our own efforts, making us unnecessary participants in the war to come.

We turned our attention to the troops massing on the fields in the distance.

“All infantry, as far as I can tell, Captain,” said Lieutenant Sinnar.

“No, not all, I think, Lieutenant.” I strained my eyes to see. “They’ve got Mongrels with them. Not many. A couple of hundred, maybe.”

Sinnar’s eyes gleamed and he smiled. “Been a while since I saw one of those. I’ve often wondered what it would feel like to face them.”

“They’ll cause a mess inside the walls,” I said. “If they get too far into the city.”

“Will he send them over first?” asked Lieutenant Craddock.

“Possibly. Gagnol likes to use chaos as a shield for him to work behind. It could be that he’ll just send them in after we’re all occupied elsewhere, to kill as many people as he can. I am sure the Duke has told his Second to set an example here,” I told him. “Can any of you make out the liveries of the men with the Blackhearted? I think I know who they are.”

“Green on red, looks like to me,” said Sinnar.

“That’s what I thought. Regulars out of Graster. I wonder how he got them here so soon.”

“Last you told us there were only five thousand in Graster, Captain.”

“Now there’re ten thousand of the bastards. Five thousand of the Duke’s least capable troops, joined by five thousand new recruits. Things may be looking up, men.” I said.

“I’ll bet Gagnol was furious when he found out what he’d been given,” said Craddock. “I’ll bet it felt like a kick in his empty, shrivelled balls.”

I laughed at that. “I’m sure you’re correct, Lieutenant. Gagnol can travel a lot faster than his men but he’ll have realised the necessity of working with any tool he could lay his hands on. Though it’s good news for us today, it suggests that Warmont is building up again. If he can get five thousand extra out of Graster and strips Blades in the same way, he’s going to double the number of fighting men he has.”

“They’ll be nothing to worry about if they’re fresh off the training ground, Captain,” said Sinnar with confidence.

“I agree with you Sinnar. But in two years or three, they’ll have been knocked into shape. They won’t be battle-hardened until they see some action, but if they can hold a line, that’s enough to make them a threat.”

“Aye Captain. Let us hope that we face men who will run once they see who they face.”

I nodded. “And I want Bonecruncher’s head this time.”

Our lady had been standing by listening to our exchange, absorbing the words.

“Captain Charing, I have asked Commander Wolf to position her men along the walls and down in the square below. Where would you advise me to place the First Cohort?” she asked.

“Straight behind the gate,” I said with a grin. “I’m sure these other boys of Treads are brave enough, but they’ll need us to form their backbone. If I could spare him, I’d have Lieutenant Sinnar put in charge of their infantry, but I want him with me for now.”

“Maybe later, Captain,” said Sinnar. “When we’ve sent Gagnol’s men running from us with shit in their pants and had ourselves a look inside the Blackhearted’s visor to see what he’s hiding in there these days.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, Lieutenant. We’ll have two of Warmont’s Five for our trophy cabinet today. Bonecruncher’s head and Gagnol’s withered cock.”

I noticed our lady blinking uncertainly. “You have a trophy cabinet?” she asked, betraying some naivety.

I kept my face as straight as I could. “No, my lady. We have no trophy cabinet, but after today we’ll build one.” After all these many years, I still had the remnants of a foot soldier’s humour.

We were distracted from our verbal interplay by a shout from the wall.

“Someone approaches!”

Our position in the turret allowed us a fine vantage into the distant fields, but not into the main street that led from the outskirts to the main gates. We hurried back to the wall, so that we might see who it was that came.

“Gagnol!” I hissed.

He came towards the gates, seven feet tall in his blood-red plate armour. He walked jerkily and stiffly, but I had seen how quickly he could move if he needed to. It took him several minutes until he got close enough to speak. He stood without fear and within range of the Treads archers. For a moment, I considered suggesting that we throw open the postern gate and try to overcome the sorcerer, but I didn’t know if Warmont’s men had infiltrated the surrounding houses, waiting to strike if such an opportunity arose. Also, Gagnol would likely have ample time to escape if he saw what we planned.

He looked up at the walls. “Who is in charge?” he asked. His voice was a sibilant whisper, but cruel to the core. He spoke quietly, but we could all hear it, in the same way that the Saviour’s voice had carried when we ourselves stood at the gates.

“I am in charge,” said our lady, loudly and without fear. “Take your men and leave us, sorcerer-slave.”

From here we could see Gagnol’s eyes glowing a faint white through his closed visor. He chuckled to himself. “You are not in charge here. This the Duke’s town, to do with as he pleases.”

“This is the free town of Treads. We do not recognize Warmont’s claim to it. Go back and tell your master that change is coming. I am the Saviour and I will lead the people of these lands to victory over anyone who challenges our freedom.”

“Bold words, Saviour, but we will not be leaving here until the Duke’s wishes are fulfilled.” Then, Gagnol caught sight of me. “Tyrus Charing. You are on the wrong side of the wall,” he said mockingly. “I thought you enjoyed working for the Duke. Open the gates for us and you may be forgiven.”

It was all lies and Gagnol wasn’t even expecting me to believe them. I didn’t grace him with a reply and he continued:

“Bonecruncher is looking forward to seeing you again, after your cowardly attack on him recently. Twelve onto one? A very poor showing, Captain Charing. You will be pleased to learn that I have managed to save his arm. Next time you meet him, he will be as hale and hearty as he ever was.”

“We’re going to have his head this time,” I shouted back. “And we’ll have a look at what’s inside your plates. Is Warmont’s poker still up your backside, withered man?” I was not ashamed to exchange insults and was quite happy to anger Gagnol if I could – if you can change a man’s demeanour, you have shown him that you have some control over him.

Gagnol was an old hand and didn’t fall for it. “I am pledged to the Duke and to the Emperor above him. You would do well to remember your debt to Malleus.”

“All debts are paid, Gagnol. Except those we owe to the people of these lands. You know that the First Cohort always pay what we owe.”

“Bravo, Captain of the People. Let us see how you fare now that you have turned your back on the Emperor’s protection. I hope that your Saviour is everything you wanted her to be. When I bring her to the Duke, he will enjoy her so much more if she is.”

“You always did like to talk, Gagnol,” I shouted.

He turned without a word and put his back to us.

“Should I order the archers to fire?” asked our lady.

“No, don’t waste our ammunition. Their arrows can’t get through his armour.”

“What can, then? Must I face him with magic?” she asked.

I drew my own sword and showed her the blade. Runes and markings skittered along its length, catching the light and gleaming as I turned it slowly in front of her.

“My lady, we have lost battles we have been part of, but our unit has never seen defeat. We are feared wherever we fight and it is not merely because of our reputation. Gagnol will not want us to get close to him and that will be our advantage. It will start soon - you may want to order the blocking of the postern gate.”

The order was given and we felt an enormous, low shuddering from deep within the wall, as the pins holding a gigantic stone block in place were removed, letting the stone behind the postern gate fall into place, sealing that doorway permanently.

Warmont’s Second remained outside of the walls, with his back to us. As I’d expected, several of the archers thought they’d try their luck and a smattering of arrows sailed over, two of them striking the metal-clad figure below. The archers were using long bows and heavy arrows, which would punch easily through normal plate at this distance. Against Gagnol’s armour they did nothing, plinking away onto the ground as if they’d been fired into the side of a granite cliff. The sorcerer didn’t even acknowledge that he’d been struck, and continued to stare back towards the fields where he’d stationed his troops.

Except that they were no longer stationed there. They’d been marshalled, and marched towards the gates of Treads, six abreast in the confines of the street. Those at the front and for many ranks behind, carried iron-tipped wooden spears and shields to complement their iron-and-leather chest guards and helmets. Much further away from us, the back lines of the enemy had only short swords and wooden bucklers – the armaments of expendable men. Soon, the street leading up to the gates was full of Warmont’s men, who waited silently, watching for any arrows coming their way. There was a space of about fifty yards between the last building outside the wall and the wall itself, but the enemy didn’t venture here, staying within the shelter offered by the roofs and walls of the houses. If I’d had the time, I would have insisted that the buildings closest to the town’s main walls were demolished and their rubble scattered about in such a way that it provided no cover, yet was an impediment to foot soldiers trying to traverse it in formation. I had my regrets, but I never dwelled on what might or might not have been in a battle.

The air seemed to become still for a time as we up high looked down upon those below, each knowing that we’d soon be doing our best to kill the other. This was the time when hands would become clammy and jaws become tight. I knew that the men of Treads would be cracking jokes nervously amongst themselves, as a distraction from what was coming.

We only get one life and though mine had been longer than any behind the walls, I could still remember my own fear at the dawn of a battle, even where the odds were stacked in my favour. I found myself empathising with these people and telling myself that the First Cohort would do everything we could to keep them alive to fight another day, in order that they could become the veterans of our lady’s army. With a start, I realised that I had already started to change. It had been a long time since I’d cared for the lives of anyone outside of my men. Always in the past, I had felt nothing.

Gagnol the Blackhearted gave no visible sign, beyond turning once more to face the gates. He didn’t need to speak to betray his intentions. I knew I was much more sensitive than most to the flows of power, but even the blindest of men can tell when he is getting hit with a stick. There was a rush of wind, rapid, but which quickly dissipated. There was the shortest of pauses before I felt Gagnol release the energy he had pent up within him. There was a boom, hideously loud and centred on both gates. The noise reached us on the walls, the shock from it buffeting those who were not hidden completely behind the battlements.

“He’s grown stronger,” I said to Ploster and our lady.

“I am not sure if Warmont would relish another confrontation with his Second,” Ploster responded. “I’ll bet that he keeps that crystal vial well hidden.”

I chuckled. “The Duke may be grateful to us by the end of the day. Perhaps he sent Gagnol here in the hope that the Saviour will emerge victorious.” It was an interesting thought. “Ploster, do you think you can do anything to unbalance the sorcerer while he strikes at our doors?”

“I’d be like a summer’s breeze against him, Captain, but I know one or two things.” We both knew that Ploster could be as elusive as a lost wedding ring if he needed to be.

From below there was another crackling burst of Gagnol’s power, as he struck at the gates. “I don’t know where those gates came from,” said our lady, “but they have wards inscribed deep within the wood. It may be that they remain intact for longer than the sorcerer hopes.”

“Do you think you can do anything to surprise the Blackhearted, my lady? I would not risk you if there is a chance it would leave an opening.” Her power was immense, but it was raw and she was inexperienced. With time and tutelage, she would be a force beyond any bar perhaps the Emperor himself. Now, I admitted to myself that I was fearful that we might lose her if she committed to action against Warmont’s Second.

“I cannot hide away forever, Captain Charing. I will see what I can do.”

I stood by as she and Ploster studied the red-armoured creature at the gates. Another hammer blow thundered against the gates and I imagined I could feel them shudder at the impact. In the courtyard below, Sinnar and Craddock had brought the First Cohort through the waiting lines of the Treads infantry and my men stood silently and impassively just where the passageway through the walls opened out onto the square, their tattooed faces visible through the openings in their helmets. We planned to funnel the attacking forces through this narrow opening, yet still be able to focus more than one of our men onto every one of theirs. If we were pushed back, I hoped that Commander Wolf would be ready to plug any holes before the First Cohort suffered attacks to our flank. I’d already practised the run from my position on the wall to where I could join my men: thirty seconds it would take. Plenty of time for me to dally, yet still make it down in time if the gates were suddenly smashed open.

I saw Ploster drop into a familiar semi-trance and felt a plucking at the air around me. I watched Gagnol expectantly for a few moments, before I saw Ploster’s eyes focus again. He’d gone red and panted heavily. “Fuck he’s a hard bastard,” he said. Ploster was did not regularly turn to earthy language, so I knew that he was impressed.

“I tried to burn him. It did nothing – as if I wasn’t even there. I’m not sure if the bastard even cares.”

As Ploster recovered himself, I felt something more powerful gather in the air about us. It was our lady, though to look at her face you would have thought that there was no effort at all. Her eyes narrowed, and without any warning, several houses to either side of the main street crumbled, their walls toppling onto the road. It was as though a giant hand had swept down and through, knocking the rubble onto the men and the sorcerer gathered below.

There was no time for Warmont’s men to escape and I heard screams as chunks of brick and stone cascaded into the street. Many raised their shields and were saved from serious harm, but the shields could not stop the larger pieces of masonry from killing those unfortunate enough to be standing where they landed. Gagnol himself was struck many times, his armour almost buried beneath dust and stone, which made dull clangs as it rained upon him. The energy he’d been focusing for another attack on the gate dissipated and he pushed himself to his feet, with his armour now a dull grey, instead of a sickly red.

Ploster dragged our lady behind the battlements and I ducked away from sight myself.

“Do not let him look at you for too long,” hissed Ploster. “If he does so, he is likely trying to set you alight, or worse.”

“Thank you, Ploster,” she said. “He has already tried that and failed when he first arrived at the gates. He has brutal power and a cunning to use it, but I will not fall to such a simple trick.”

Ploster looked agitated, which I understood to be his concern that he hadn’t seen this attack on our lady when it happened. I had not felt it either, but the Blackhearted’s reputation as a caster was earned. I did not expect to be able to second-guess all of his attacks.

I looked out again, circumspect this time. Gagnol had resumed his former position and calmly gathered his power for another punishing attack at the gates. I had to admire his strength. It takes a brave man to admit to the admirable qualities in his enemies, but it’s better to acknowledge a truth than deny it exists. Gagnol was an evil creature, but he was not afraid to stand at the front of his lines and face down the Duke’s enemies.

“If only he was on our side,” I said to Ploster.

“Aye. We’d be able to defeat the world with six like him.”

In the street behind the sorcerer, the cries of the injured continued as men dragged themselves and their injured comrades from where they’d fallen. Thus goes the life of a soldier – however well-prepared you might be, you’re always subject to the capricious whims of luck. I had seen the best of men stumble at the wrong time and been slain because of it. We had lost six of our own only two weeks gone, to an untrained caster who just happened to be born with more power than she knew how to use. Life becomes death in moments for the unlucky.

Gagnol had more tricks than just magic for us. Evidently not wanting to give our lady another chance to divert him, the sorcerer called on his Mongrels. I didn’t see how he commanded them to attack, but I heard them coming, a rapid click-click-click as their claws sped over the stone ground and the slated roofs.

“Mongrels!” I shouted along the wall. Everyone knew what that meant, and the archers pulled back their bow strings and the infantrymen drew swords and clutched at their shields. “Get our lady down below! Keep her with Commander Wolf at the back of the square,” I instructed Ploster, watching for a moment as he led her away, with Footsore behind them.

I had forgotten quite how fast the Mongrels were. Or at least, I hadn’t forgotten, but the passing of time made the memories less fresh, so that I needed my eyes to remind me anew. They ran from the side streets before the walls, rushing forward on all fours. Our lady had clustered most of the town’s archers near to the main gates and this was the area of the wall they targeted. Arrows rained down, a few finding their targets, but most of them missing the fast-moving creatures.

I had no intentions of sacrificing myself on the walls, so I set off down the steps after our lady and Ploster, but not before I’d seen the first of the Mongrels bound up the vertical wall, almost as if it wasn’t there. Fifty yards away, the first of them reached the summit, seven feet of lean muscle, long limbs, sharp claws and blind, white eyes. As I descended the steps three at a time, I saw this first Mongrel cut down two archers and an infantryman, before it succumbed to a sword thrust in the neck. These creatures were despised and I watched a soldier spit on the dead body of the Mongrel as they threw it over the battlements.

More arrived, swarming over onto the top of the wall. They weren’t quite mindless, but they didn’t act in concert – that wasn’t what they were there for. I reached the bottom of the steps and ran to where my men were stationed, a dozen paces back from the passageway behind the gate. By the movement of her banner, I could see that our lady had almost reached her intended position.

“Welcome back, Captain,” said a soldier.

“Coming through soon, are they sir?” asked another.

“Wait and see, Tumbler,” I replied as I reached my position in the centre of our formation.

“I hear they’re unblooded, sir,” spoke a third soldier.

“Some of them are, Scram, but not all. And they’ve got Warmont’s Second and Fifth backing them up, so don’t go getting cocky - I don’t feel like drinking a mug of Grask in your honour tonight.”

“Scram’s a twat, though sir,” uttered a wit close by. “I’d stick I sword in his chest myself if I could drink a double measure for him.”

“Shut up Newt, you daft shit,” said Scram fondly. The other soldiers nearby laughed easily – I could tell from the sound that they were calm and I could feel from their demeanour that they were ready for a fight. This was their first real opportunity to show their loyalty to our lady.

There was another clang against the gates. Here in the square, it sounded like someone was striking a hollow metal pot with a ladle, only much, much louder. Dust shook from the gates’ mountings and even above the sounds of combat from the walls I made out the rattling noises of small pebbles falling from the stone of the gateway.

Most of us had our eyes craned upwards, where the Mongrels still attacked the men on the walls. They were savage and fearless. I heard a shout from elsewhere in the square and saw movement as men from below broke away from their units to assist those fighting above. There had been almost six hundred men up top, clustered around the gate area. Even so, they were hard-pressed by the Mongrels.

I counted myself as an excellent captain of my troops, but I was only a good commander when it came to a wider appreciation of the ebb and flow of a battlefield. I had known men and women both who could read every tiny nuance of a battle, predicting where to move their units, seemingly knowing each and every possible outcome and able to act accordingly. I did not claim to be so well endowed, but at the small scale I would have said that I was unsurpassed, or at least I would not bow to any other. I could read how the fighting above progressed. At first, the Mongrels had instilled fear, pushing the men of Treads back. Then, it became a grim stalemate, with blood, bodies and severed limbs dropping into the square where we stood.

While the body is the tool which does the killing, it is the mind which drives the body. I have said before that a man with zeal can die as easily as a man with none, and this is true. However, when two sides are close to evenly matched, it is the side with the mental strength which will win the day – always. I heard a bestial roar, seemingly too loud to have come from human lungs. The Mongrels always fought in silence, so I knew that this primal sound had come from one of the men who faced them. Then there was another shout, and another, as the fear which had kept the soldiers in check was blown away and their determination to win – to live through the day – became a controlled anger. At that point, I knew that the Mongrels would be destroyed, even before the relief arrived from the square.

I saw half a dozen, then ten, of the Mongrels scamper jerkily along the wall, heading away from our troops. They leapt into the streets below, thirty feet as if it were nothing more than a step, and then vanished into the houses. We couldn’t concern ourselves with it now, but those ten Mongrels might kill hundreds of the town’s people before they were brought down. I hoped at least some of the town guard had been kept at their posts, rather than drafted into the fight at the gates.

The gates suffered another reverberating blow and this time there was a splintering sound, heard by everyone. Two minutes later, there was another and three great cracks appeared lengthways down one of the doors. A hush descended upon us all as we awaited the next hammering impact. It came, and this time the gates were broken – the cracked gate was smashed into pieces, sending sharp chunks of wood clattering over the paving and into the First Cohort. Wood impacted the metal of our frontline’s tall shields and we stood firm. The second gate was torn away from its top hinge and sagged to one side.

I looked through the opening and watched Gagnol turn away and make his way back through his troops. His infantry stared back at us, near a hundred yards away. They knew who we were. A few dozen ranks back, a figure loomed tall amongst them, broader and heavier by far than anyone else on the two sides: Bonecruncher. Gagnol had not been lying when he said he’d saved Bonecruncher’s arm and I saw the giant raise both limbs as he thundered out his order to advance.

“Kill them all!” he bellowed.

With only a moment’s pause, his front lines raised their shields and marched towards us.

“Move us up, lieutenants,” I said.

Fourteen

I was taller than most men, which was useful when positioned in the midst of the First Cohort, for it allowed me to see much of what happened around us. Other commanders perched themselves atop fine horses, which was a practical solution to allow greater visibility when you were three hundred yards away from the front line. For an infantry commander, it was an excellent way to ensure you became the focus of every man with a bow.

As Warmont’s men marched double-time across the fifty yards between where they had sheltered and the shattered gates, I saw the dark blurs of arrows raining down into them as the archers above regrouped after the Mongrel attack. The infantry raised their shields, but I was sure that a number of them would succumb to the bowmen.

One of the gates still hung from its hinges and this worked to our advantage, disrupting our enemy as they had to adjust their formation to march around it. Gagnol would have been better off waiting until he’d knocked this one as flat as the other. When they came within twenty feet, they lowered their spears and roared, an aimless battle cry, which they taught you on the first day of basic training.

There was a crunching sound as they contacted our front line. We carried solid, square metal shields, four feet tall and two wide, which we could interlock when we needed to. A normal man could not have wielded such a shield effectively in battle – not while he tried to use another weapon as well. There was clanging and the sound of metal on metal, along with a duller sound – unmistakeable once you’ve heard it once – of metal cutting through flesh. Screams reached me as we hewed through their first ranks and I saw and heard my lieutenants and corporals, close to our front line as they shouted their orders, maintaining our formation.

We were unmoved for a time, as a constant stream of Warmont’s heavy infantry pushed themselves through the gates, only to die to our swords as we stood firm with our shields, cutting at their armour and bodies with our etched blades. I knew from experience that their shields would not deflect our attacks for long. Our blades are too heavy and sharp, the arms wielding them too strong and tireless. Nevertheless, their numbers were great and even as their bodies piled up, fouling the feet of those behind them, I could feel the weight of the enemy pushing us back, inch by reluctant inch. Through the gateway, I saw Bonecruncher as he surged onwards his men, trampling those too slow to get out of his way. Warmont’s Fifth had arrows sticking from his back and shoulders, their black-feathered shafts visible in numerous places. I watched as he snapped away three of the arrows, snarling in anger at the temerity of the archers who had tried to kill him. He was as tough as they come.

I had often wondered if my skill in commanding my men came from an unknown power I possessed. I had never spoken of it, even to Jon Ploster, but I was able to sense the tides of a fight when I was close by, even when I might not see them directly with my eyes. In my mind, I had a strange mental image of roots coming from my feet, descending not into the earth, but into the warp and weft which underpins everything. Through these roots, I could feel the vibrations of life and death and read from them how my men fared, or indeed how the men of my enemy fared.

As we inched back, I could sense that Bonecruncher’s exhortations to his troops were driving them forward, almost in a panic at what he might do to them. Their fear of him had become greater than their fear of us and this was what made Bonecruncher such an effective shock commander. As they pressed in through the gate, the men at the back pushed their fellows more tightly up against our front lines, and though we slew them in great numbers, the weight was too much and the inching steps back became bigger as we were pushed unwillingly away from the passage through the wall. The town square was wide and deep – it wouldn’t be long until Warmont’s men spilled around us, allowing them to attack our flanks.

I ordered the men in the back lines to break away from our square and to reinforce each of our flanks, effectively turning our square into a wide column. They complied flawlessly, three hundred men splitting to the left and right, extending our line to block the advance of the enemy. I cursed as I realised I was fractionally too late – the soldiers heading right were able to assume their positions, using their shields and brute force to push the enemy infantry away. Unfortunately, this gave only one outlet for Warmont’s men and with the pressure of their numbers, they were successful in breaking out into the town square to the left of the gate, knocking aside the men of the First Cohort I had directed to block their paths.

“Line! Four deep!” bellowed Sinnar off to the right.

“Dabs! Hold fast!” That was Corporal Gloom. “Woods, kill that little shit! Knacker, stop fucking about!”

Our line formed, four men deep, as we were jostled back into a diagonal across the town square. Warmont’s men swarmed through the gap in their hundreds, with more coming through. Men in battle are like the waters of a fast river, taking the path of least resistance as they charge headlong forwards. They flowed past us, gathering in the square to the left of where we fought.

From my periphery, I watched as Commander Wolf’s infantry marched to meet the threat, their first taste of battle looming unavoidably before them. The two sides clashed, equal in numbers for now, but with Warmont’s men flooding through the gates in support. I saw that Bonecruncher had been carried along by this human deluge of his own making and he chortled with glee as his infantry battered at our shield wall.

The volume of the battle increased, washing over me, and I felt myself dropping into that space where I drifted languidly through the currents of the battle. Everything slowed down, though the world remained in such beautiful, sharp focus that I often wished I could call this my reality, rather than it just being a temporary state.

“Trank, Herder, stand firm!” I heard myself shout, the voice distant and not quite my own. We were pushed back further, our line bowing in defiance of our will and strength.

“Planky, Brunt, lock shields! Sods, Lurch, stab that bastard! Do it now!”

I raised my voice to join those of Sinnar and Craddock, Langs and Gloom. This was the test, where the men needed our guidance, our threats and our encouragement.

“Good work, Chow, fucking good!”

Suddenly, I found myself standing in the second row of the battle, shoulder to shoulder with the men who would bolster those in front if they were to fall. I stooped to pick up a shield where it had fallen and saw a bloodless arm still attached to it. I kicked away the limb, not knowing whose it was. The man in front of me fell, a spear taking him in the guts and a sword taking his head half from his neck. I stepped into the gap, my shield held up and my sword to the side.

“Come to get your hands dirty, Captain?”

“Thought you might need a hand, Brunt.”

I swung at the enemy in front of me, a stout man of middle years with fire in his eyes. My sword cut the edge off his round shield, and took half of his arm away. Blood spurted, showering my face and armour. I bellowed, a sound of victory and resolve. The man I’d hit tried to fall back, but the crowds behind him ensured his death. I battered aside a weak thrust and stabbed a second man in his chest, saw the light fade from his eyes.

Another took his place, screaming at me in the hope that his voice could bolster his courage. My sword struck his shield twice, white sparks skittering away with the contact. His shield broke and I hit him with my own, before the man stumbled and was carried past me by the rush of battle. An axe came out of nowhere, striking the side of my helmet and knocking it free. I stumbled, but the man on my left – I knew him to be called Trank – stood firm and with his support I kept my feet.

“Hiker! What’re you playing at? The line, man, the line!” I thought that was me saying those words, though I couldn’t be sure.

A man with a dagger in each hand appeared in my vision – I didn’t know why he was armed so stupidly – but he thrusted and blocked with surprising skill. He cut a finger from the sword hand of the man to my right – Herder – and then aimed a thrust at me, just as Herder cut the man’s arm off, his own runed blade slicing through flesh and bone.

Screams and shouts rolled over and around me as they sought to disturb my battle calm. I ignored them all, headbutting one of the enemy and flattening his nose across his face, then punching another in the throat with the knuckles of my sword hand. Blood covered my face, my hair, running down into my eyes. A man behind me – I didn’t see who – reached across me with a cloth, wiping my eyes clear in one smooth, hard motion. I shouted my thanks.

“No problems, sir. Now kill them fuckers, will you?”

A shield smashed against my own and I almost lost my grip. The infantryman before me was almost as big as Sinnar. He died quickly and the man beside him as well. Trank went down soundlessly, his shield broken, two swords embedded in his chest. At least there’d be two of the enemy without their weapons. Another of the First Cohort took his place – it was Dueller. He fought with skill and finesse, his slim-bladed sword weaving in and out, striking the gaps between armour, while his shield fended away the enemy’s blows. A spear took him in the throat and he fell backwards into the man behind, who cast Dueller’s body aside and stepped into his place.

“Chow, Demon, Stacks, shore the fuck up! Don’t shit about!” That was Sinnar, now only a dozen paces away.

“Loopy I’m going to stab you myself, if you don’t move over!” That had definitely been me.

The spearman who’d done for Dueller died, though I failed to see who landed the blow. My foot kicked at something, one part of my mind realising that it was the severed end of someone’s leg. Blood slicked the paving beneath me and suddenly the fight became as much about keeping my balance as it was about killing the men before me.

We were pushed back again, another surge from the enemy threatening to swamp us with their numbers. I saw Bonecruncher enter the square, his cruel face twisted with desire to see us crushed beneath his advance. Where he passed, his men attacked with renewed vigour, their hearts swelled with their commander’s hatred, filling them with a fear of what might happen if they failed to overcome the grim, tattooed warriors who defied them.

Something else caught my eye – up on the walls, a figure had appeared in blood-red plate armour. I had no idea how Gagnol had got up there, nor did I waste time thinking about it. With a gesture, he burned half a dozen of the archers closest. His flames were strong and they had little time to scream. My distraction was almost enough to allow a man to embed an axe in my unprotected head. Herder was there for me, his sword killing the man with a single thrust.

“Thanks,” I grunted as a second man ran himself along my sword, pushed by those behind him. I kicked him away and he fell to the ground in agony, until the trampling feet crushed his bones and burst his organs.

“Close ranks! Corporal Langs, close those fucking ranks!” shouted Sinnar.

“Corporal Langs is dead sir!”

“I’ll bring him back and kill him again if he doesn’t close those fucking ranks!”

When things got deep down, blood-and-shit dirty, there was no better man than Sinnar in the First Cohort. If Langs had sprung back to his feet, called back from the nothingness by Sinnar’s battle anger, I would not have blinked twice at it. Before I knew it, Lieutenant Sinnar was at my side.

“Sir, get the fuck back, sir!” he shouted above the cacophony.

I knew I shouldn’t have been where I was at the front, but damn it had felt good. I dropped away, merging into the lines behind me, the men in front closing up seamlessly as Sinnar continued his efforts to single-handedly win the battle through the power of his voice alone. Someone gave me a helmet and I slipped it over my head. It was a bit tight, but it would do until I could find a better one.

With two men between me and the fight, I took stock without worry that I’d take a blade in the eye. Bonecruncher was away from us now, off to the left of the gate with his men crowded around, locked in combat with Commander Wolf’s soldiers. I suppressed a sneer – I should have known that he’d favour the odds against the Treads infantry. I quickly swallowed my foolish pride when I saw the banner of our lady, not twenty yards from where Bonecruncher towered above the combat. Perhaps Warmont’s Fifth had a better eye for the field than I’d credited him for. I swore that I’d see him killed today.

I had made my vows too soon – the swelling numbers of Warmont’s men pushing through the gateway had started to force a wedge between the First Cohort and our lady, splitting our forces into two and leaving our flanks vulnerable. Our line was now bowed inwards, with Sinnar and Craddock screaming their orders to keep the men in formation. The only way to keep together was to fall back, and this we did, step by bitterly-fought step, until we were thirty yards away from the gate, one end of our line still close to the town wall.

We’re going to lose this I thought to myself, looking about for an idea, an opening that might help change the tide of the battle. There was no hope of respite and Warmont’s men seemed to take heart from our forced retreat, attacking crudely, yet effectively through force of numbers alone.

“Spangle, Roots, you’re out of line. Shields together men, shields together!” Even in the tumult, a part of my mind still directed my mouth to speak orders.

I spared a glance over to where I’d seen Gagnol, what seemed like minutes before, but which had in reality only been seconds. The sorcerer was coming down the steps leading to the town square. I could see his helmet move left and right as he scanned the fighting. Every now and again, he would raise his arm in a gesture, and I knew that where he’d looked, people would have died in pain.

The Treads soldiers from the wall crowded him on the steps, their swords banging against the sorcerer’s armour, leaving nary a scratch or a dent. I saw three men attempt to grapple with the blood-red figure as they tried to throw him from the steps onto the stone below. Where their flesh touched the metal, their skin turned black and withered, the life sucked greedily from it as the power which charged the amour drained them dry. The three men, desiccated like thousand-year-dried corpses, toppled soundlessly away, as their sword brothers did their best to find a weakness in Gagnol’s plate.

Over to the left, I saw our lady’s banner, seemingly impossibly distant from us now, but only ten yards from Bonecruncher. There was nothing I could do about it and I hated myself for my weakness in the face of this unfamiliar feeling which was failure.

I had often been told that a man should not regret events which he cannot change or has no control over. These words are easier said than followed and they make for a good lecture around the camp fire at night. The listeners will nod sagely at the advice, for the logic is irrefutable and the words powerful. It is my experience that you should not allow yourself to be governed by this notion. It is more important that you come to terms with your regrets, rather than attempt to ignore them or pretend they do not exist. There was nothing I could do to intervene for our lady, and though it pained me, I could not allow the worry to govern my actions.

“Back line, reinforce right flank!” I shouted, making my way to the end of our line closest to the wall, with the men following my lead. As we did so, there was a violent, concussive surge nearby, and I watched as a dozen of the First Cohort were blasted aside, their bodies tumbling left and right. Two more near me burst into deep, red flames, which crackled and roasted their flesh. The tattoos on their arms and legs glowed a stark blue as the men’s wards fought the magic. Three others smouldered, thick smoke coming from them as they grimaced at the pain. We of the First Cohort did not suffer the flames of magic as easily as did other men. The first two slumped to their knees as another also burst into flame close by. Another concussion blew a hole in the middle of our line, battering the bodies of the men who’d stood there. Our ranks closed, filling the gap immediately and we were given a short respite from Gagnol’s barrage, when some more of the Treads infantry reached him, harrying him with swords and spears.

With the extra men behind our right flank, we pushed ahead. This close to the wall the fighting was less chaotic than towards our centre and left – Warmont’s men were concentrating their efforts towards the middle of the town square – so we were able to make some progress. Gagnol saw what we were planning and he hit us with another surge of force, this time close to where I stood. All about me, soldiers of the First Cohort were thrown aside. I felt the magic’s power clutch at me, but I stood unmoved. My protections were better than those of my men.

With one of the sudden, unexpected surges you see on the battlefield, our right made several strides in progress, reaching the bottom of the steps which Gagnol came down. I made for the steps, hearing the curses of the soldiers behind me as they struggled to stand up again after Gagnol’s attack. His air bursts would likely have slain the infantry from Treads if he’d aimed his attacks there, but we were made of sterner stuff. The Emperor had looked after us well.

As I reached the bottom of the steps, I saw the last two of the Treads men die for their bravery. The first one made a lucky strike before he perished to the flame – the tip of his sword found a gap between two of the sorcerer’s armour plates, and it penetrated eight inches through to whatever lay beneath. I heard Gagnol grunt in pain as he lit the second man and knocked him away with the back of his gauntlet. Warmont’s Second turned, with the sword still jutting from his hip, and saw me.

Without warning or gesture I felt agony grip my body, as the sorcerer commanded me to burn. I felt his power surge into me, instructing my flesh to char and light. The patterns and marks inked into my skin glowed as they impeded the assault, but Gagnol’s power was immense and I realised that my tattoos alone would not be sufficient to keep me alive. I did not know what happened, but somehow I quelled the flames before they took hold. I wondered if I had tapped into a hidden well of my own power that I didn’t know existed, or maybe an unknown being coursing the strands of power near to my life glow saw me and took pity, stifling the sorcerer’s magic. Whatever it was, I gave thanks and pushed myself on up the steps towards Gagnol, a dozen of my men behind me. Every soldier needs luck and I knew I must have been close to exhausting my own on that day.

Although the only part of Gagnol which was visible was his eyes, I was certain I sensed his shock when he realised that I’d lived through his attack. I must have dropped my shield at some point below, so I swung my sword two-handed at the sorcerer’s arm. It was a powerful blow I struck, connecting with his upper arm and deflecting away. My runed sword blade glowed briefly as its magics combatted those of the armour, leaving behind a deep scar across the red metal. Gagnol swung his arm and I ducked beneath, just as Fatch joined me. Fatch burst into flame, but not before he’d taken a hold of the sword hilt protruding from the plate mail and driven it deeper into the armour’s breach.

More men of the First Cohort surrounded the sorcerer and they hewed at him, their swords bouncing away from the armour with clangs and screeches. Gagnol burned three more of us, before Hurtle and Beamer dropped their swords and grappled with our foe. The sorcerer was tall and heavy, but the men wrestling him were strong, and they were able to unbalance him as Eyeball gave him a final shove and Warmont’s Second fell from the steps, ten feet to the hard ground with a metallic crash.

I jumped down after him, but Twist got there first, poking his dagger through the sorcerer’s visor and into the eye behind. Gagnol screamed in agony, the sound doubling in its intensity as Twist put his other eye out. I’d known he was a tough old fucker, but it took six of us to stop the sorcerer’s thrashing, placing our sword tips over the joins between the armour plates and leaning on the hilts until the points crunched through into whatever withered remains of the man hid inside. In the end, I had to stand on his chest and drive my sword through the red breastplate and into the organs beneath. I doubted if Gagnol’s heart still beat within his ribcage, but my sword was enough to stop him moving.

As I withdrew my sword, Hurtle kicked the helmeted head. “You fucker!” he swore, spitting into the visor. I saw that neither he nor Beamer had been drained by their contact with the armour. The armour could only draw on life energy and we had lost ours long ago.

With Gagnol destroyed, the noise of battle cascaded back into my senses. Sound is a peculiar thing when you are pushed to extremes – it can fade in and out, seemingly at its own whim. I had no doubt that there are parts of the mind which we can’t access, which work of their own volition, protected from interference by our consciousness as they decide which information our bodies need and which they do not, in order to maximise our chances of survival. Our vision is similarly affected, bringing the immediate dangers into sharp relief, while the objects on our periphery become even more blurred and faint.

In the brief time it had taken for us to kill Gagnol, I saw that the First Cohort’s lines had been pressed back once again and were close to buckling at the far left. I watched as Warmont’s men tried to circle around us so that they could attack from the rear. Sinnar and Craddock thundered their orders and the men did their best to overcome the odds facing them. It wasn’t going to be enough.

Our lady’s banner was still visible, so I knew that she hadn’t yet fallen or been taken. Bonecruncher was close to her now – only five yards away I guessed. In each of his hands he held the body of a soldier – his own – and he swung them ferociously like clubs, lifting them high above his head before crashing them down onto the people below. I’d seen Bonecruncher in his madness before and was sure that he was striking friend and foe alike as he forced his way towards our lady.

Then, something happened. It started as a gentle breeze; indeed, that is what I thought it was at first. The breeze became stronger and stronger as the air was sucked by us. It came from out of nowhere and was drawn through the packed scrum of the living and the dead who crowded the town square. Bonecruncher realised what it was first and he laughed – a cruel, knowing bellow as our lady gathered in her power to fight against the creature who was rallying the Duke’s men.

“Magic!” he shouted, the word clear and dismissive across the square.

As he swung the bodies he held, Bonecruncher’s laughter died away and even at my distance I could see his brow furrow in pain and he attacked harder, as if the physical exertion would help him to overcome the feeling. I joined Sinnar and Craddock, adding my will to their own as we shored up our crumbling line and I saw Bonecruncher begin to smoulder, slowly at first, the heat causing a shimmer in the air above him. Smoke billowed from him, thick and black. Warmont’s Fifth, the beast that counted himself almost immune to magic, burst into flame, bright and white. Bonecruncher screamed in agony and his efforts to reach our lady became increasingly desperate as the flames ate into him. The bodies he clutched also caught light and other screams reached our ears, distinguished from the sounds of combat by the extremes of pain they spoke of – Bonecruncher was burning the men around him as he tried to reach his tormentor before she charred him to the bone.

In moments, the outline of Bonecruncher could no longer be seen and the flames which consumed him became too bright to stare at directly. They surged and coursed as the creature inside fought to the last, continuing for what seemed like an impossibly long time. If the dying Bonecruncher made a sound, it didn’t reach us where we of the First Cohort were standing. Whatever remained of Warmont’s Fifth did nothing more than topple to one side, the flames extinguishing even as he did so. More screams reached us, as the burning remains fell into the densely-packed infantry.

There had been times, when a battle was at its fiercest, with both sides locked together and neither budging or giving quarter, that I had seen one side crumble, suddenly and totally. I sensed it first nearest to where Bonecruncher had fallen. The panic of men trying to escape the heat, combined with the visible death of their commander turned their certain victory upon its head. No longer did Warmont’s soldiers think about glory, now they thought about escape and survival, as those at the front turned on their heels, pushing and shoving at those behind. Once that began, there was no hope of recovery and the panic spread rapidly through Warmont’s infantry.

In front and to the side of the First Cohort, the enemy line sagged their infantry tried to see what was behind them, as well as fend off attacks from my men. Sinnar and Craddock could read these signs as well as I could, and they redoubled their efforts, shouting at my men to press forward and drive away the enemy. We did just that, shouting our own war cries in signal of our impending victory.

Warmont’s men trampled over each other to squeeze through the funnel of the gateway, and we pursued them, cutting them down without mercy, not caring that we were driving our swords into the backs of men. Across the square, I was able to make out the Treads infantry doing the same, hoping to destroy the Duke’s ability to use these armies against the town again. On the wall, the few remaining archers who had arrows to use, were sending their shafts into the exposed backs of the fleeing army.

I allowed the First Cohort to follow until we were close to the gateway through the wall, then I called us to a halt. In the past, I had allowed my men to pursue our enemies until they were all slain, but on this day I did not wish to do so. Perhaps a part of me knew that we might one day require these men to fight with us against a common enemy, or perhaps I felt that the men of our lady should be honourable. Honour is a strange concept and though the First Cohort had always possessed its own rules of combat, I did not think that other men would have considered them to be honourable. Whatever the truth of it, we had won on this day and the enemy had lost.

I heard a barked command from elsewhere and I watched as the Treads infantry ended their own pursuit. These were soldiers unused to combat or victory, so it took two repeats of the order before the most hot-headed of them realised that they were being told to stop. The banner of our lady had not moved at all from where it had been when she faced Bonecruncher, and I already knew that she would have been sickened by the slaughter enacted by the pursuers.

What felt like a complete silence descended over the town square, as the enormity of what had happened sunk in to the inexperienced infantry who had defended their town. I watched men stare dumbly around them, not quite sure what to do. One or two dropped their swords to the ground, as shock took over and they realised that they were standing not upon hard, familiar stone, but upon a vast red carpet of bodies, blood, severed limbs and smashed armour. I watched several sink to their haunches and I knew from experience that their eyes would be glazed and their minds seeking escape somewhere within.

“First Cohort! Close lines! Forward face!” I shouted. Under the direction of Lieutenant Craddock I had us move into position in front of the passageway through the wall. I knew the enemy wasn’t coming back, but I had no intention of turning victory into defeat because of my own stubborn certainty.

I left my men and picked my way across the town square towards our lady’s banner. I guessed that Warmont had lost six thousand men here today – a stinging blow for the man, but I knew that the loss of life would not concern him greatly. The Duke’s only concern was for victory and if he’d had to lose all eighteen thousand of his men today to ensure it, I doubted that he would have spared the matter too much thought. The death of Bonecruncher would cause enormous anger, but I could picture the Duke’s glee when he learned that Gagnol had also perished.

Our lady was surrounded by infantrymen, who stepped aside as I approached, one or two of them doing so grudgingly. I met their eyes as I brushed past and they looked back at me, with a new-found sense of their own worth.

“How are you doing?” I asked. I could see that she was as shocked as some of her men, but doing her best to conceal it. She attempted a smile.

“A great victory for us today,” she said.

“One that Warmont will not quickly forget,” I replied. “Nor these men from Treads either.”

“They fought well.”

“Far better than I had expected them to,” I admitted. Something caught my eye, a few yards away and half-covered in charred bodies. It looked like a huge, misshapen lump of cracked charcoal, about eight feet in length. “Bonecruncher’s surprise was great when you burned him.” I said.

“His resistance to my power was difficult to overcome, but I wanted him to be close before I destroyed him.”

I asked the simple question, hoping that she’d give me the answer I wanted to hear. “Why?” I asked.

She smiled weakly at me. “If I’d have burned him the moment he stepped through the gate, these men of Treads would have learned nothing. Now they have been pushed to their limits and beyond. They will come out of it much stronger for the battles that lie ahead. The war will be about men and women, not magic. I must have those who follow me be willing and prepared to fight with everything they have, rather than fight with half a heart as they wait for me to vanquish their foes with magic.” She dropped her voice. “I am not sure I am as powerful as they hope.”

I smiled back at her, though I felt remorse at the burden of guilt she would have to carry over the decision she’d made. The freedom of these lands would come at a price and the people needed a leader who was willing to pay it in order to ensure victory. I prayed to the gods I didn’t believe in that she’d be capable of balancing along the line between sacrifice for her cause and compassion for her men.

Fifteen

We cleared up the detritus of battle, though it took the better part of a day and the stains of blood and bile would take longer to swab away. None of my men enjoyed the task though they were inured to the emotional distress - when it came to the deaths of others at least. We had come through the battle with fewer casualties than had all other units, but with fifty-six dead and another eighty carrying injuries of some sort, this was one of the worst days we’d suffered in a long time. I knew that the other soldiers wondered how we escaped so lightly, when their own casualties numbered over one thousand, but we did not die as easily as other people. In order for one of our own to be killed, the trauma to his body needed to be great. Even disease did not seem to affect us anymore, nor gangrene set in around our bloodless wounds. I was sure that there were many men who would see our longevity and hardiness as a great blessing and wish for it themselves, but we had made other sacrifices to obtain these things. In all honesty, I would have been reluctant to give up what I had, but I couldn’t say if I would accept the Emperor’s gift were I once more back at the start.

I didn’t use the privilege of rank to escape these unwholesome duties, and waded in with the rest of the men as we tirelessly hauled the dead outside the walls and dumped them in a tangled heap, friend and foe alike. Once dead, a man has no enemies.

People from the town, alerted by news of victory, arrived in great numbers, many scanning the faces of the living, before turning to search amongst the bodies, wailing as they desperately prayed that their flesh and blood would not be amongst them. Everything was a confusion and I couldn’t blame them – how often were people put into a situation like this? By the time someone had arranged a team of soldiers to take an inventory of the dead, it was too late and the pile of bodies outside was too high to search through. They’d have to rely on memory and guesswork to compile a list of their dead and I pitied the relatives for the uncertainty of their future.

Wood was fetched, in great bundles, and packed around the bodies, along with sacks of coal fetched up from the city’s warehouses. The pyre was lit and it smouldered for some time as the flames struggled to take hold. Flesh does not willingly ignite and more fuel was brought as the townsfolk gathered around in misery, listening to the crackling sounds of flesh and fat as it slowly roasted in the flame. The prevailing winds, which invariably blew in from the sea, seemed to swirl and change direction, pulling the thick, black smoke and the stench it carried, back over the wall and into the town itself.

Our lady was young and inexperienced, but I knew that she was missing an opportunity to lift the hearts of these people before they sank into a permanent despair. I had determined to seek her out, when she appeared above us on the walls. There must have been fifteen or twenty thousand people from the town who had gathered to see the dead and her voice reached them all. It came soft into every ear and into every heart. No one took their eyes from the crackling pyre, but a warmth reached them – not the warmth on their skin from the dead who burned, but a comforting feeling of comradeship with the people around them and also those who had died.

“My people, your sacrifice has been great today. We are the first in two hundred years to have inflicted such a defeat upon the Duke. I weep for our loss, but our deeds will light the flames of rebellion across his lands. I know you do not crave glory, only freedom for yourselves and your children, but what we have done today is the noblest act that a man or a woman can perform. The debt for our hardships will be repaid a thousand times over by the people who will follow us. I thank you for what you have given today.”

I have heard great speeches before, given by great orators. The power of a voice can swell a man’s heart to bursting, making him feel that his individual action can have a significant effect on the whole, even when he might be one amongst a hundred thousand. Our lady’s words were not punctuated by a fist raised into the air, nor did her speech last for many minutes. There was nothing triumphant about what she said, but each person was given support and comfort by what they heard. I am prone to the occasional burst of enlightenment, and I realised that it was precisely because she was a woman that her words were so effective. Maybe the world had had enough of powerful men directing armies of men to kill other armies of men.

After a time, night fell and people drifted slowly away, back through the gates towards their homes. I later learned that the Mongrels had killed over a hundred people before they had been destroyed, so it came as little shock that people were in no hurry to return to their dwellings. Some parts of the civic machinery remained in operation and I watched in approval as gangs of organised men – carpenters and blacksmiths – did their best to restore the shattered gates. They were crudely patched up and new metal bands were riveted to the wooden surfaces, before others used a series of winches, pulleys and brute force to manoeuvre the battered gates onto hastily-repaired hinges. They wouldn’t stop a determined force from entering the city, but they were much better than having no gates at all.

I’d sent out my own scouts – Sprinter, Flight, Eyeball and Twist to find out where Warmont’s fleeing army had gone. I didn’t want them establishing a base in the buildings outside of the town’s walls. Building-to-building fighting could get thoroughly unpleasant if you had to prise out men determined to stay put.

My men returned, though Sprinter came back just in time before the repaired gates were swung shut. He found me in the company of our lady and the Treads Council at the town hall where we’d spoken to them just after our arrival. We were in a large room somewhere between an office and a meeting hall, with a large table and many chairs. Food had been brought – bread, cheese, meat and some wine – but I lacked an appetite, even after the exertions of the day. I sipped at a glass of wine as Sprinter made his report, unable to tell if what I was drinking was fine quality or sour.

“They’ve not stuck around, Captain. If any of them have hidden in the outskirts, it’s not enough to worry about. I looked in twenty buildings I reckon, and there was no one to be found.”

I nodded approvingly at his thoroughness. “Where’d they go to then?”

“That’s why I’m a bit late, Captain. I ran quite a few miles, but I had to keep hiding to stay out of sight. It seems like there’s a lot of them just running off wherever it is that takes their fancy. Most of them are heading to the south-east though. They’ve got a formation going as well, like someone’s decided to take charge and lead them.”

“Thank you, Sprinter. And thank you for your good work in the square today.”

“That’s all right, Captain. It’s what we’re here for.”

“Go back and drink your toast. I’ll be back later to do the same.”

Sprinter saluted and made his exit from our room. I turned my attention to the table, where someone had rolled out a map of the Duke’s lands. Even a cursory glance told me that it contained inaccuracies, reminding me that Warmont did not encourage learning. Even within his own domain, he allowed ignorance to flourish. The Emperor and his nobles were truly empty beings, ruling only for the sake of ruling and for whatever enjoyment they gained from having power over living creatures.

“If Warmont’s army flees south-east, then they are heading to Gold,” said our lady. “Gagnol the Blackhearted reached Treads far too quickly for him to have been sent all the way from Blades, so he must have been stationed there. Do we know why?”

I admired her incisive comments, but did not have an answer for her myself. The First Cohort was moved here and there around the map of Warmont’s lands and I wasn’t always told why.

“Rumours of insurrection in Gold reached us as far back as last year,” said Magister Rainshadow. He pointed at the town’s location on the map. “If you draw a line directly west from Gold, you cut through Septic and Bunsen on the coast. Perhaps the Duke’s troubles are more extensive than he hoped.”

“If insurrection becomes outright rebellion, it might easily spread across these three towns and then perhaps down the coast to Demox. It would cut off the northern quarter of Warmont’s lands,” said Magister Frost.

I studied the map as they talked. What they said made sense – Blades was a long way away and the Duke would not want to risk such a vast chunk of his lands taking up arms against him. Better to send a large force quickly in order that his message would be clearly heard. It was his bad luck that the men he’d sent hadn’t been enough to take Treads.

“Captain Charing?” asked our lady. “You know the Duke much better than any of us. What will his next steps be from here?”

“There is no person who knows the Duke, my lady. Maybe the Emperor does, though you can rule a man by fear without knowing what that man is thinking. Warmont will certainly know of his loss by now, and that Bonecruncher and Gagnol have been killed. If he doesn’t, it won’t be long before his journeys along the warp and the weft tell him what has happened. The Duke is full of cunning and every time I met him he surprised me with the extent of his knowledge about his lands – he guards them jealously.”

“Your point is taken, Captain Charing. Nevertheless, would you offer us an opinion?”

“Warmont keeps most of his troops in Blades, Furnace, Scar and Graster.” I pointed at these cities as I spoke their names. “The latter in particular has always been a problem for him and I suspect that it’s only the great wealth that the city’s commerce produces which stops him from burning it to the ground. Furnace is the closest city to Gold and the Duke may send his men from there to provide reinforcement, if he is sure that by doing so he won’t leave the city in revolt again. Scar is further away from Gold, but is loyal to the Duke. He may have men there he can send north.”

“Will he definitely send men to Gold?” our lady asked.

I shrugged. “He’ll definitely not allow Treads its freedom. The Emperor will be watching most carefully, I am sure.”

“We will take Gold before he reaches it,” she said calmly. “Send messengers to Farthest asking them to send men. Send others to Septic and Bunsen. Let the people of those cities know that the Saviour has won a great battle today and that I call them to my banner. We will gain a foothold here in the north before the Duke can prevent us.”

She had that look on her face that I knew meant she would not be dissuaded. It was probably not a risk I would have taken myself, but I would do as I was asked without fear or doubt.

“Captain Charing, you will take control of the Treads forces,” she said. Around the tables, mouths opened in surprise, mine being one of them.

“Saviour, the men will not follow the First Cohort!” protested Magister Scafe. “The hatred runs too deep.”

“They will follow,” our lady repeated. “Commander Wolf was killed today and Captain Charing is the only one amongst you with the experience to take over.”

It spoke volumes about how deeply their desire for the Saviour to lead them to freedom was ingrained, for no one offered any further protest about my unexpected appointment.

“My lady, should we wait for possible reinforcements from Farthest before we take to the field?” I asked.

“Can we afford to?” she asked.

“The town is almost two days to the north. I have been told that they do not have nearly as many men as Treads and we can’t assume that they will happily send them to us without the Saviour appearing directly amongst them to prove her existence.”

“I can’t spend four days on such a trip. Captain Charing, we will leave for Gold tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my lady,” I said.

Politics. Nothing embodies the threat to a soldier more than this word. As the captain of the First Cohort I knew I should have taken a greater interest in politics, but no matter how I tried, I gained no enjoyment listening to the plans of others, except where they directly pertained to my men. I left the room with some relief.

I knew that the next day would be an interesting one, but as I headed towards our warehouse barracks, I had other things on my mind. We’d lost a lot of men today – I knew them all and I knew them to be good soldiers, each irreplaceable in his own way.

When I reached our barracks, I saw the eyes of the men turned towards me expectantly and it was then that the numbness set in, as I realised that they really were gone and forever. These were men I’d spent countless hours marching with, fighting alongside and sharing reluctantly-divulged tales of love and loss around the camp fire. I already knew their names, had committed them to memory like a list of my own failings. I took a large mug of Grask, handed to me by Corporal Gloom and climbed onto a low crate against one of the walls.

I spoke the words the men needed to hear – that I needed to hear – my voice sounding distant as if spoken by a stranger. I didn’t eulogise them – we had no time for platitudes. I simply spoke the names of each in turn and added my blessing to each and thanked them for their service.

“Roots, Gawper, Lags. We give you our thanks. Fidget, Dueller, Rascal, Lotus. The First Cohort will not forget you. Times, Finger, Chuner, Whistle. You are ever a part of our past. Lowbrow, Trank, Corporal Langs.”

And so the list went on. Fifty-six of our men, each one of whom had been with us for over two hundred years, their bodies now lost in battle. At the end, I said something that I would not have usually finished with, but for some reason it seemed appropriate.

“These men were lost, but today they have found their redemption. As will we all.”

As I looked at the faces which stared back, I knew that each man present understood my words and I hoped that they would be heartened by them.

Sixteen

I did not sleep well that night. For the first time in many years I was left haunted by a dream of startling vividness. Mostly my dreams were faint, as if viewed from a distance through mist and rain. I had dreamed about the wife I had once had - her face had been as clear and perfect as it was in life, her hair soft and smooth in my hands as I ran my fingers through it. Even as I dreamed, I feared her loss again, scared that the dark recesses of my mind would create a death for her as I watched on helpless. I was spared this cruelty, but the end of the dream brought wakefulness and the memory of Jenna was more painful than any imagined death my brain could have conjured up while I slept.

I did not like prophecies and portends, with their implication that a man has no control over his fate, but my dream did not leave me in good humour. I had risen early and visited the Treads army in order to familiarise myself with what I had to deal with. Orders had already reached them that I was to be in charge and none of their officers looked pleased with the idea that they were to serve under the First Cohort. I had no time for their concerns, though I was aware of them. I was not so conceited that I could pretend they were of no matter at all, but the only thing of importance was that they followed my orders immediately, without allowing whatever bitterness or anger they held within them to cloud their actions. We all followed the Saviour now and I’d had to say these words more than once to Captain Grange, the commander of a much-depleted force of archers.

I’d been worried that I might have to lose Lieutenant Sinnar by giving him charge of the Treads men, but after I’d finished speaking to Captains Grange, Thresh and Foster, I was left with the impression that all three were loyal to Treads and the Saviour. They were desperate in their fervour to see their lands away from the yoke of Duke Warmont. If I’d thought that their hatred of me was stronger than their loyalty to the Saviour, I would have had them deposed immediately. In the end, I was as content as I could expect to be that they would do what I asked them to, without trying to subvert my command, or indeed stab me in the back if the chance arose.

I was a stickler for time keeping. I’d been told that we should be ready to march in the morning and although it took a monumental effort, the sun was not yet directly overhead when a little over two thousand armed men had mustered in the town square. The minutiae of details concealed by that single word muster were things that I walked through unthinkingly. In truth, the First Cohort needed little in the way of organisation: I simply gave the command, or asked Craddock or Sinnar to do so, and within fifteen minutes we were ready to fight. The men of Treads took more effort to prepare. They needed to be provisioned, their weapons and armour repaired or replaced. They needed time to say farewell to their loved ones. I could not begrudge them the latter – even I could remember when I had gone through such rituals. No one in the First Cohort had these ties anymore. I could not bring myself to say that these ties hold you back or weaken a man. I did not allow myself to think about it – if I did, I was sure I would find myself envying those who still had family that cared about them. It was true to say that the First Cohort was my only family, but I doubted that there was a man among us who didn’t occasionally yearn for something more.

Our lady was by my side, with Footsore several paces behind, as I faced the men before us. The First Cohort stared back, eyes alive in tattooed faces. I could tell that they were ready for battle again. Corporal Grief and his assistants had patched up our wounded. It was easier to sew up the damage when your patients don’t bleed. They’d all been able to re-join our formation today – if you didn’t kill us stone cold dead, you could be sure we’d be up and about the next day, cutting through the enemy lines as if our injuries hadn’t existed.

I’d walked amongst the men last night, my message to them unfamiliar: we were fighting for our lady now and her wishes were to become ours if we were to truly serve her as we had sworn. The Saviour did not bring with her a desire for revenge or vengeance for our own fallen. If we fought for those, we would diminish not only ourselves personally, but the First Cohort itself. My men were not stupid, but mostly they were not great thinkers. The fact that the words came from me gave them great weight, but I am sure that many of the men needed time to digest what I’d said. That is not to say that they only paid lip service to their vows to our lady, but for so long we had fought only for ourselves and for the pride of being in the First Cohort.

The men of Treads shuffled nervously as I walked along their lines. They didn’t know what to expect from me, which made both parties equal, since I didn’t know how much trust I could place in their abilities. I stopped in front of several and looked them in the eyes. Had these been unblooded new recruits, they would have all dropped their gaze after a moment, or a self-conscious smirk would have appeared. None of this happened - they all stared back, not sullenly, but with the pride of men who have seen battle and won against the odds. By the time I reached the end of their line, a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I clapped the last two men on their shoulders. One of them even smiled at me.

I had never been one for great speeches. I was aware of their value if properly delivered, but I’d never been that man. I cleared my throat and raised my voice, clear and loud in the chill morning.

“Men, we’ve kicked the Duke’s arse good and proper already. Killed his Second and his Fifth. If I know my men, one of them is wearing the Blackhearted’s tiny cock on a string about his neck.” There was some nervous laughter amongst the Treads lads, and a number of broad grins in the First Cohort, assuring me that someone had done something to Gagnol’s remains. I continued. “If Bonecruncher had been decent enough to have died with his head intact, we’d have it mounted on the gates of Treads to remind the Duke that free men and women live here now. Not that he’ll ever see these gates again, nor his men, for today we are marching towards Gold and we are going to kick the Duke’s arse again and again until every town in the north follows our lady’s banner. And rest assured, that we of the First Cohort are now sworn to the Saviour and we will fight and die for the same cause that you fight for.”

I fell silent and gave the signal that we should prepare to move out. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said so much in one go to the First Cohort, but these new men needed to get to know me. It certainly wasn’t the best or most inspirational speech that had ever been made, but I was content with what I’d said.

We moved out, the First Cohort in the lead, with our lady upon a fine white horse in the centre of our formation. I didn’t ask where she’d got the horse, nor the new richly-coloured red robes she wore. I was sure that the town had been generous in its gifts to the Saviour.

To our sides, the town’s people had gathered in their thousands. There was little in the way of cheering and I was left with the impression that they didn’t know what to do, or even know if it was a time for celebration. Certainly, all eyes were on our lady and her banner as they went past. We filed out through the town’s outskirts, the properties already having an air of the derelict. I doubted they’d be occupied again for the foreseeable future, though Warmont’s men hadn’t gone out of their way to do them any damage.

As we left the buildings behind and took to the paved road leading south-east, Jon Ploster fell in beside me. It felt like an age since I’d been allowed the opportunity to talk to him – a battle often makes it seem as if time has slowed down to a crawl, so that you feel as if events took place much longer ago than they did in reality.

“It’s most strange, Captain,” he said. I waited patiently for him to continue, and he obliged me. “These lands have had talk of a Saviour for at least a hundred years, probably much longer. It seems as though it has become so ingrained in the nature of the people that as soon as our lady appears, she is accepted willingly.”

“You have felt her radiance, Ploster,” I said. “And these people have been desperate to see a sign of the Saviour for as long as they have whispered about their hopes that she will bring their freedom. Is it any wonder that things have moved so quickly?”

“No, it is not and I had not meant to express concern that she has been so easily accepted. I am just worried that Warmont’s cities will not so easily fall into step.”

“Let us think about these obstacles when we need to, Ploster. Our lady embodies hope for these lands and we have witnessed the power of it already.”

“Warmont’s domain is one of the weakest in the Empire. I hope that tales of the Saviour are as prevalent amongst the other lands as they are here.”

It was something I’d never considered. I’d heard tales about the Saviour’s coming a long time ago. I couldn’t even remember where I’d heard it. Then I’d heard it mentioned again, in another place and many years later. I’d dismissed the stories as irrelevant to the practicalities of being a soldier. Whispered tales of Saviours, Liberators, Champions seemed like little more than a distraction. What did I or my men care for such things, fighting as we were on the winning side? Recently, the tales of the Saviour had become ubiquitous – heard everywhere that a man cared to listen for them. Only then had I started to listen to them more closely, perhaps even giving them some credence. I really couldn’t remember if the stories had been confined to the Duke’s lands. Maybe all of the Emperor’s lands had their own tales of their own Saviour, spoken by desperate people who needed something to believe in. It was a worrying notion – up until now I’d thought of our lady as being unique. Was she just one of many? I knew that since I’d committed myself to the cause of one Saviour, I had effectively committed myself to the cause of all Saviours if indeed our lady was one of many.

“You have sent my thoughts off along a road I would rather they had not travelled,” I said.

Ploster chuckled, unrepentant. “Only an ignorant man disregards possibilities which may be uncomfortable to consider. And I have never thought of you as an ignorant man, Captain Charing.”

I looked back to where our lady rode; she was in conversation with one of the men. I ventured to Ploster the idea which had just come to me. “Could she be just one of many?”

“I don’t know, Captain Charing. I must confess that I have wondered at it myself. If there are several, then there is greater hope that her cause will go far. If she is alone, then I just don’t know.”

He didn’t say the words, but we both knew that against the Emperor our lady would be crushed in an instant. The Emperor was ancient, his power vast and brutal, but tempered with an enormous intellect that rarely made a mistake. Against the Emperor, the Duke was a minnow, but I feared that even Warmont would be much more than our lady could manage.

“She is only young,” I said.

“Aye, she is only young,” he agreed. “With so little time ahead of her to learn.”

Our conversation ended at that moment, and my attention was brought towards matters practical rather than philosophical.

“Captain?” said Lieutenant Craddock.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” I asked.

“We need to slow down, sir. The Treads men are already falling behind.”

I cursed inwardly, having forgotten that we marched much quicker than did most other infantry. “Very well, Lieutenant, have us slow down to match their pace. Not too much though - those men need to know that our speed is important. The longer it takes us to get to Gold, the more the opportunity Warmont has to reinforce them.” I lowered my voice. “And we’re already facing far more men then I’d like.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Craddock. He definitely wasn’t stupid and one day would make a fine captain of the First Cohort, not that I intended dying in order that he’d be able to assume my position. He’d have known already that Gold would be another trying encounter for us. Thinking about it brought no benefit, so I hadn’t spent time worrying about it myself and I doubted it kept Craddock any more awake at night than he otherwise would be.

“Before you go, how many days to Gold is it, Lieutenant?”

Craddock scrinched his face and crinkled his pointed nose in thought. “Twelve to fourteen days, Captain. At our pace. At the speed of these men, eighteen days or more. I can’t be sure until we see what rhythm they settle into.”

“Warmont’s men don’t have that much of a start over us, do they?” I asked, my mind beginning to turn.

“Two half days, Captain. It depends on how motivated they are as to how far ahead they’ve got.”

“And there’s nothing between here and Gold, is there?”

“Probably a village or two. A few farms. Nothing worth stopping an army for, if you’re hoping to catch them on the march.”

“I think I’d prefer it if we caught them off guard to their rear, rather than trying to prise them out of the streets of Gold. I suspect our lady is hoping that our presence will tip the town over into outright rebellion, but I prefer the things I have greater control over.”

“Like killing them all before they reach the town?”

“Precisely that, Lieutenant. For now, slow our pace a little – just a little – and have Lieutenant Sinnar drop back until he’s with the Treads men. We’ll pick the pace up again shortly and we’ll see how much grumbling there is when Sinnar is shouting his encouragement into their faces.”

Craddock chuckled. We’ve all got a mean streak in us somewhere. “Aye, Captain,” he said with a salute.

A few moments later, I felt our marching speed slacken off. My men didn’t like to travel slowly and there were a few muttered grumbles about men marching with boys. I chuckled inwardly – there is no army that exists without a degree of internal conflict and competition. The trick is to keep it as good-natured as possible, and that way you can push everyone to greater efforts.

I sent some of the First Cohort’s best runners ahead to scout for the enemy troops. I suspected there was still the remains of a cavalry out there somewhere - probably only a couple of dozen left from those men who had harried us as we’d retreated from Bonecruncher’s eight thousand. The horsemen had not joined in the fight for the town, which was entirely unsuited to cavalry, and I must confess I had lost track of them, given how depleted their numbers were. With any luck, they had simply dispersed or fled to Gold far in advance of Warmont’s infantry. Either way, I didn’t want my scouts getting cut down by horsemen.

The land itself was not hostile. The air was cool but invigorating, rather than numbing. Here, so close to Treads, much of the soil was given over to farming and the road wove its way around hills and fields, with cultivated hedges and low stone walls to either side. I expected that the going underfoot would deteriorate as we got further away from the town, but for the moment everything was smooth and easy going. In a few of the rough, grazing fields I did notice a paucity of livestock and in one I noticed a pile of roughly-butchered animal remains. Warmont’s men were used to taking what they wanted in order to sustain themselves, and it appeared as though they had helped themselves to fresh meat as they went by.

Come mid-afternoon of the first day, we were back up to a more acceptable pace. Far behind I could hear Lieutenant Sinnar’s voice booming out as he threatened and cajoled the Treads men into keeping up. They’d hate him for the next few days and then they’d start to respect him. If they ever found themselves fighting at his side, and saw how his monumental will could single-handedly turn the tide of a battle, they would be in awe of him.

A couple of my scouts returned, running at speed, yet scarcely breathing hard. They’d seen signs of the enemy of to our flanks – not in great numbers and not a threat. These would be the men who invariably drift away from any army that is forced to flee after a defeat. A few of them would form robber gangs and murder some people. Others would appear in whatever town or village they could reach, where they’d lie about their pasts and hope to be accepted into a new life. They were not our problem.

On that first night, we camped off the road on the far side of a hill, in order to conceal our presence as much as possible. An old sheep farmer lived there in a ramshackle cottage with his wife and I spoke to them, gently questioning them as to what they’d seen over the last day or two. I was not exactly usual in appearance, but neither of the couple seemed to recognize me for who I was. Some people chose to keep themselves away from civilisation and who was I to argue with it? Farming was as honourable a life as any.

“We seen a few men going by. Heading south-east from their appearance. Shifty-looking they were and not at all nice,” said the husband.

“We’re lucky to be hidden from the road. Keeps us safe from their sort. And our sheep. We saw them, but they didn’t see us,” said his wife.

They didn’t have much useful to impart, other than to confirm what we already knew – the defeated remnants of Warmont’s men were travelling in the direction of Gold. I considered putting in an offer for twenty of their sheep in order to keep morale high, but we had hardly begun our journey and so I kept the First Cohort’s coins locked away.

We were up before first light. I did my usual rounds of the men, spending more time with the newcomers than I did with my own. They grumbled as they packed away their gear, but the sounds of discontent were muted. Nobody wanted to turn around and find Lieutenant Sinnar at their shoulder, asking what the problem was. I didn’t know their names yet, but I determined to learn as many as I could. Not only does it help in battle if you can call a man by his name, but it also helps the soldiers realise that their commanding officer cares enough about his troops to learn some basic facts about them.

Today there was no pretence of slowing our march. We set off briskly and maintained that pace throughout the day. I had no doubt that at least fifty percent of the Treads men had blisters, but blisters would bind up and the skin beneath would harden and become tough. A bit of pain in the feet was the least of their worries.

More scouts came back to report that they had seen no sign of the bulk of Warmont’s troops. I sent them out again and impatiently scanned the road ahead for the men I’d instructed to continue on until they found us something worth fighting. I hadn’t really expected to overtake the enemy in a day and a half, but I retained a small hope that they would be travelling at a very slow pace. They probably had no reason to reach Gold quickly.

That evening, I sat in my tent with Ploster and our lady. Jon had been spending an increasing amount of time with her, speaking about her powers and giving her his guidance. The First Cohort’s sorcerer was not comparable in power, but a tutor does not always need to have an immense talent in their field in order to provide learning to a pupil. I imagined that if Ploster had been born with a greater closeness to the power, he would have been a force to be reckoned with. We are not all lucky enough to have both the talent and knowledge to excel in our chosen life.

“You need to promote someone to Corporal Langs’ rank,” Ploster reminded me. I had not forgotten, but it somehow felt wrong to do it so soon. As if it would diminish Langs’ contribution to the First Cohort, or make us forget about him sooner. I needed to promote more than just one, but I’d see how well the new men integrated before I made my decision on that.

“I’ll have a word with Knacker. Soon,” I said. Knacker would make a good corporal – he was popular and had an eye for the battle. I’d noticed him step up to the role in Treads when Langs had fallen.

As we talked, our lady sat attentively and listened to us – how we made our decisions and why. That is what I liked about her. She knew when to speak and when to listen. It meant that when she chose to talk, it was always something worthwhile. I enjoyed discussions with others but was equally happy when people choose not to speak. A comfortable silence was more soothing to me than listening to the words of someone who had just opened their mouth out of habit. Camp fire banter was different – I took part in it willingly and I saw it as one of my responsibilities.

Ploster noticed it first – he was even more sensitive to these things than I was. Our lady had gone white, her already pale complexion faded and the small touches of red on her cheeks disappeared.

“Something is coming,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

Ploster looked immediately worried. “What is it, my lady?” he asked.

“Something big. And very old.”

I rose to my feet, the chair behind me tumbling over and the questions spilled out from my mouth. “Is it coming for us? Do I need to rouse the men? What can you see?”

She started to tremble. “It’s coming from the south-east. A few miles away off to our right. I don’t know what it is or if it is looking for us. It’s a huge, black beast. I can feel the warp and the weft twist away from it as it comes.”

“Is it looking for us?” I demanded.

“No, I do not think so. It flies above, looking at the land below, but in curiosity rather than with purpose. Whatever it is doing, it is not looking for us.”

I looked over at Ploster and saw the grimness of my own face reflected in his own. I was the first to say the words.

“Xoj-Fal the Wyrm. The Duke has wakened his beast once more.”

Eventually, our lady stopped trembling and raised her eyes from the ground. “It is gone,” she said. “To the north-west.”

“Do not mention it to anyone,” I said. “If you do so, you will break the spirit of the Treads men and they will flee back to their town. When they get there, they will find that the place they call home will be destroyed and in flames.”

“I saw that vision – Treads in flames,” our lady said, looking scared at that which she had foreseen. “I thought that by our victory we had prevented it from coming to pass.”

“There is nothing in Treads or Farthest that can stop Xoj-Fal,” I told her.

She wept, while we old soldiers looked miserably at each other.

Seventeen

The next day followed the same pattern as the one which preceded it. We broke camp before it became fully light and continued what I had started to think of as our pursuit. The road was still good, so I felt confident that even a modicum of light was enough to proceed safely. The defeated army ahead was unlikely to have the same impetus as we did. I knew that dejected men did not push themselves to their limits.

My scouts came and went, each time reporting the same thing. Wherever the Duke’s men were, it wasn’t immediately in front of us. My frustration built and I became ever more irritated that we had not come within sight of our quarry. In addition, I could not help but look at the sky regularly and several of the men noticed my new habit, which caused some muttering about why I might be doing so. By the evening, there had been no sign of Xoj-Fal returning to the south and I had started to breathe a little more easily at the thought that we might not have to face the beast while we were in pursuit of Warmont’s men.

We had just set up our camp for the night, away from the road again, when I noticed a disturbance as someone pushed their way through a nearby gathering of men. It was Sprinter.

“Captain Charing, I’ve found some of Warmont’s men.”

“Some of?” I questioned.

“I estimate twelve hundred, sir. They’re about twenty miles south of us.”

“South? Are you sure they’re not south-east?”

“No, sir. They’re definitely to the south.”

“What did you make of them?”

“They were all infantry. They looked organised, and marched in formation, though not at great speed.”

“Good work, Sprinter. Do you need time to rest?”

“I think I’m fine, sir. It feels good to stretch my legs.”

“Get back to them and see what they’re doing.”

Sprinter gave me a salute and headed away to obtain some more provisions before he resumed his chase. I called Lieutenant Craddock to me.

“Lieutenant, is there anything to the south of us that might interest twelve hundred men?”

“Nothing close, sir. Another twelve days further you’d come across Bunsen and Septic. Demox another two days beyond.”

“That many men isn’t enough to threaten one of those towns, is it?”

“I doubt it very much. They’re all bigger than Treads.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Craddock,” I said, dismissing him.

This news was interesting. It looked as though the remains of Warmont’s army had split into at least two parts. I couldn’t off the top of my head think why it might have happened. Even if twelve hundred men had been sufficient to take one of the towns in their path, I doubted they retained enough purpose to make strategic decisions in the circumstances of their recent losses.

An hour later, my quandary was doubled by the return of Flight. His first words gave me a sense of enormous déjà vu.

“Captain Charing, I’ve found some of Warmont’s men.”

I felt that peculiar sense of dizziness you feel when you think the conversation ahead of you has been mapped out and that you somehow know where it’s going. “Some of?” I asked.

Things quickly diverged from the recent report that Sprinter had delivered. “I reckon they might be somewhere between five and six thousand in number. I didn’t see any sign of another large force, but men are drifting away at every opportunity. I had a hard time not being spotted. Had to kill a couple of them once when they saw me.”

“Only five or six thousand?” I wondered aloud. “Are they making good progress? Where are they headed?”

“They’re a bit over twenty miles ahead of us, I’d say. Going straight as a die for Gold.”

I pondered on this information for a moment and then thanked Flight for the news. I asked him to hold off returning to his scouting duties for the time being. There was a decision to be made before I decided whether to send him out again.

A few minutes later, I sat with our lady in her tent. Her tent was as grand as mine, which is to say not entirely salubrious, and it was made from the same coloured red cloth as her clothes. Jon Ploster was with us. I did not need his input on all of my decisions, but I valued his council. As it happened, the choice that had to be made was not mine or Ploster’s to make.

“My lady, we have over a thousand men to our south. We have a further five or six thousand to our south-east.” I gave her the opportunity to work out the possibilities.

“So, more than two thousand of the enemy’s men who left Treads are unaccounted for?” she asked.

“Give or take,” I said. “Our scouts report that they are losing men daily. It is not unusual for a defeated force to lose a portion of its number.”

“Two thousand of them, though?” she asked.

“It’s possible,” I admitted. “The important decision does not concern these missing men, however.”

“You’re asking me if we should go south and defeat the smaller group, or continue south-east and face the larger force?” she asked.

I smiled. “This decision is yours to make, my lady. In truth I am not certain why the Duke’s army has split. We can catch either one, but it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to intercept both before they reach a major town.”

I watched her think about it for a time and when she decided to speak, she managed to impress both me and Ploster.

“Captain, I think you are failing to take into account the motives of why these men have acted in the way they have. The people of this region have wished for their freedom for generations and only now does it seem as though the chance of a popular uprising is real. This is the reason for my birth in this age, rather than a hundred years ago, or a hundred years from now.”

I nodded, though without understanding what she was getting at.

“It is my belief that the men to the south have been drafted in from the coastal cities, and trained to fight for the Duke, killing other men who feel the same way that they do,” she said.

Light started to dawn in my head as she continued.

“I think that these men have mutinied and broken away from the main force. They likely intend to return to their homes, having seen the Duke receive a bloody nose. Or they may intend to return to their towns in order to join forces with others who will continue the resistance.”

“If we reach them first, Tyrus, they may join with us,” said Ploster. “And goodness knows that we need the numbers.”

“I must confess I had not considered that these men might be minded to join with our cause,” I said. “But I am loath to allow the bulk of Warmont’s forces to reach Gold unmolested.”

“If they are well led, six thousand of them might be a difficult fight out in the open,” said Ploster.

I didn’t agree that they were well led, but certainly such numbers could cause us hardship, especially if the Treads men suffered early casualties. It seemed like our lady could read my thoughts as well now, or at least that was the impression I was left with when she continued.

“The men of Treads need to see that they are not fighting alone. They see the First Cohort close by, but your men only command respect because of your indomitable fighting skills. None of the Treads soldiers truly believe that you share the same hopes as they do. They do not like you, but they are content to have you along, but what they need in reality is to see that their town is not alone. They need other men like them, standing by their sides. If we have soldiers from Septic, Bunsen and Demox with us, it will look as though there is a full-scale revolt in the Duke’s lands. Some of the wavering towns and cities may declare themselves for us.”

I ummed and I ahhed, but I could not see a fault with her logic. Ploster hammered the final nail in:

“Gold has been on the brink of revolt for some time as well. Perhaps that is why the Duke had so many of his men there. If that town rises against Warmont, we may not need to fight his men at all, if the people do that work for us. If twelve hundred have left for the coastal towns, think of how many in the remnants of the Duke’s army could be native to Gold? There might be a chance to capture it without bloodshed.”

“What of Xoj-Fal?” I asked.

“You have told me yourself that there is no point in worrying about the things you cannot change, Captain Charing,” our lady said.

My own words, thrown back at me and teaching me a lesson as they struck home. It just goes to show – what we think and what we do are not always one and the same.

“Very well,” I said. “We will head south in the morning.”

And head south we did, hauling ourselves to our feet even before the sun had graced us with its light. I spent some time amongst the Treads men again, clapping a few on their shoulders and telling them that a soldier’s life was one to be proud of. Sinnar appeared at my side, with that big grin on his face.

“They’re good lads, sir,” he said loudly. “They just don’t know it yet. Look over there – that’s Tommo, that is. Tells me he stuck a blade into Bonecruncher’s arse when the bastard was burning.”

The man called Tommo swelled his chest out and showed me the bandages on his palms. “They’ll heal up soon, sir,” he told me.

“And that’s Grimshaw. Aye, the one who can’t tie his boot laces up. He knifed one of the Mongrels up on the walls. Probably saved twenty people from being killed in their homes, he did.” Grimshaw kept his head down, and I could see a pinkness reach his cheeks at the attention he’d received.

“Good man,” I told him. “We’ll have Warmont shitting himself in his keep at this rate and we’ll be knocking on his front door by next summer.” There were a few dutiful chuckles at my words. I told Lieutenant Sinnar to keep up the good work, gave him a wink and then returned to the First Cohort. I thought to myself that Sinnar had taken the Treads men under his wing and I was happy to leave him with them for the time being. They needed him more than we did at the moment.

Most of Warmont’s lands were temperate. The moors were cold and windy, and there were places where a man could freeze to death if he didn’t look after himself adequately, but overall there was little in the way of harsh or challenging terrain. Far to the north, way beyond the Empire, I had seen the snows on the mountains. I had little appetite to travel there, but had heard that people lived in those lands. The Emperor hadn’t tried to expand there. Perhaps he knew that he’d be sending his men and beasts into places that were not worth conquering, or maybe there was something beyond those mountains that even Malleus himself did not wish to challenge. I recalled how our lady had said that she had travelled north, along the warp and weft, but that something had blocked her way. I didn’t have enough knowledge to speculate as to whether it was a limit to her power, or if something had decided she was not permitted to see past the mountains.

With little to concern ourselves about, we were able to make good progress to the south. The roads deteriorated as I had expected them to and farmland gave way to vast expanses of grassland, covering low hills and valleys. Trees grew here and there, in patches a mile or so wide, but there were no great forests. I didn’t know if the land was infertile, or if the winds carried the seeds too far away from the protection of the others, such that new life was prevented from growing. It could have been that these grasslands were once forest and that men had cut them down a thousand years ago, damaging the land so that the trees could not grow back. This is what I liked about the march – my mind could soar or drift as I chose, following any path it liked, seeking answers that I knew I might never find. I took great comfort from these simple pleasures.

After three days of similarly effortless marching, Sprinter returned to us one evening.

“Captain, they are making camp for the night and they are close by. Two miles over yonder,” he said, pointing away to the south.

“What’s their discipline like?” I asked.

“It was a bit hard to see from the bush I was hiding in, Captain,” he said with all seriousness. “They’re out in the open. They’ve picked a good place to avoid surprise.”

I grilled him a bit more about what we could expect up ahead, before sending him off for a break from his scouting duties. I summoned my lieutenants and requested the presence of our lady in my tent.

“They’re just ahead of us. We will reach their camp by first light,” I said.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” asked Craddock.

“We hope they will become our friends, Lieutenant,” I told him, pretending I hadn’t seen his look of confusion.

Craddock stammered for a moment, but he was quick on the uptake. “I see. Do we entice them into friendship with a show of force, or shall I send over the dancing girls to charm them into liking us?”

“I think, Lieutenant, that I would prefer a show of force. I’m not yet ready to trust the men who until recently were doing their best to write the final chapter of the First Cohort’s long history.” I glanced at our lady. “Do you agree with my assessment?” I asked her.

She chewed at her lip for a moment, clearly torn. “Captain Charing, I agree that we should choose caution for now.”

With her agreement, we followed the path of discretion. The following morning, we broke camp at an earlier time than normal. The previous evening I had assigned Sinnar to the Treads infantry. Captain Foster didn’t like it, but the man was not what I was looking for in a commander. His troops liked him, but they didn’t greatly respect him and he hadn’t shown himself capable of taking control of a situation. I didn’t want to risk the bulk of my numbers to a man I had little faith in. The archers numbered hardly more than a hundred and I was content that Captain Grange could continue to command them. In truth, I saw these captains from Treads as no more than corporals and if it had been politic to do so, I would have demoted them without hesitation. The time would come for that later.

The men quickly realised that they weren’t going to spend the day marching, or at least not all of it. The First Cohort was ready first, standing in perfect formation, with arms and armour tweaked and adjusted until their owners were satisfied that a sword wouldn’t foul when drawn, a boot snag upon a leg guard, or any one of a hundred other small worries that each soldier has when battle looms.

The Treads infantry took a little longer to prepare and I watched as they hastily buckled on sword belts, clipped their leather breastplates into place and assisted other men to do the same.

I spoke to our lady. “Today they might have to fight for you. I suggest that you walk amongst them, so that they know that they are part of a greater whole.”

She looked chastised by my words. I hadn’t meant them to be harsh, but the time had passed for her to hide away. She was the banner now and a banner must always be seen. “You are correct, Captain Charing. Will you walk with me?”

It caused an additional delay, but walk we did. I provided an arm for support, though she did not need one. Where she passed, the men would pause and look at her. When she smiled, I could see the fears dissipate and in every pair of eyes, the determination that I had last seen behind the walls of Treads burned brighter than it had before.

“Do you see the effect you have?” I asked. “It is good that you ride upon your horse for all to see, but on the day of a battle, it is sometimes better to come closer to your men, so that they can feel gladness, even when they risk their lives.

“I hope that today there will be no loss of life, Captain Charing, but I note your point and thank you.”

Once we had gathered into our formations, with the First Cohort to the centre and the Treads infantry to our left, we set off, leaving our camp behind. Surprise was to be our key weapon on this day and I had my lieutenants push us to a fast march.

The first slivers of daylight were already beginning to glimmer on the horizon as we came across the first of their scouts. The presence of sentries suggested to me that whoever led them retained at least a semblance of control. I let their scouts run away unmolested and we followed their path, knowing that it would lead us directly where we wanted to be. As Sprinter had told me, they had chosen their camp well in order to avoid the possibility that they might be surprised. I guessed it to be little more than a precaution – in reality I’m sure they had doubted the possibility that they would encounter a superior force in the vicinity.

We marched over the brow of a hill and a quarter of a mile away I could see them, camped on flat land next to a stream, with good visibility all around them. Two of the scouts re-joined their camp just as we came into sight. It didn’t take long before the signs of an uproar become apparent to us and I could picture half-dressed men scrambling for their armour and their swords, as others dozed nearby, hoping against hope that it was a false alarm so that they could get back to sleep.

We were not a false alarm, and reached them before they were even close to prepared. As I had instructed in advance, we circled half of the camp, so as not to leave our lines too thin, and then we halted, fifty yards from the first of their tents.

“Who is in charge?” bellowed Lieutenant Sinnar, given the privilege on the basis that he had the loudest voice.

There was no sign that anyone was going to volunteer themselves as in charge, so Sinnar bellowed out again. “Tell me who is in charge or we will come looking for him!”

We didn’t have to wait long. A tall woman emerged from the scrum of the camp and made her way half way across the intervening space between the two armies. She was fully clothed in banded leather armour. She bore no shield, but had a long sword tucked into her waist. Her gait and the way she had arranged her armour and sword suggested to my trained eye that she was more than just a career officer. I got the feeling that she’d seen action, and a lot of it.

“I am Lieutenant Faye,” she said. Her eyes fixed not on Lieutenant Sinnar, but on me, and then our lady. “What is it you want from us?” she asked. As she spoke, I saw several dark lines blur through the early morning light towards my men. There were clanking noises as the arrows were deflected harmlessly by our shields. I gave thanks that my men always expected the worst and I held up my hand to ensure that our lines stayed back.

“If I find out who fired those fucking arrows I’m going to rip their balls off!” shouted Lieutenant Faye into her camp. She turned her attention to me once more. “You could have killed most of us by now, but you have chosen not to. Can I assume that you wish to talk?”

I smiled at her perspicacity. “It is our lady who wishes to speak to you,” I said.

Eighteen

I don’t know why I thought it might have been difficult. Lieutenant Faye was in no haste to have her men slaughtered. We outnumbered them and had the element of surprise. Additionally, the First Cohort’s reputation as ruthless killers preceded us. Our reputation gained us many things, but trust was not amongst them. It was fortunate that our lady had something about her that immediately gained the trust of those who were open to the notion of the freedom she represented.

As the men of the enemy camp saw her, the frantic sounds of activity died away and they all stared at the young woman on her white horse. I saw for the first time how our lady’s aura was much more effective against men, with Lieutenant Faye looking hardly impressed or affected by it. It was a good job that she was eminently practical and we sat down to speak at a table positioned in the middle of the two armies. I didn’t spend time wondering where they’d got a table from. We carried a couple with us and though they were hated for their bulk, there were times when a simple table was an indispensable tool of war.

My powers of diplomacy were slight and my negotiation tools crude. I had little time for fancy words or beating about the bush.

“Why have you split from Warmont’s men?” I asked. “Or are you still a part of his army?”

Lieutenant Faye was cut from the same cloth as me. She hawked and spat onto the grass next to her. “We are going home,” she said. “We have killed our brothers and our sisters for too long. If we did not desert now, we would carry our shame back to our homes and bear it for an eternity.”

Her words startled me, echoing my own feelings which had led the First Cohort to cast our lot in with the Saviour. Maybe there was some sort of undercurrent, sweeping these lands and bringing with it a thirst for something new.

“How did you feel killing the men from Treads?” I asked, surprising her in turn.

“I kept us back,” she admitted. “We got through the gates, but we saw little of the fighting. Others were swept along by Bonecruncher’s madness, but we were not amongst them. Warmont’s Fifth burned and we escaped through the gates. Captain Garg commanded what remained, but he is weak. When we left, he shouted and cursed, but he did nothing to stop us.”

“And these homes you go to? Do you look for peace or will you fight for what you want? She is the Saviour,” I said, nodding towards our lady where she sat next to me.

“I care naught for Saviours,” said Lieutenant Faye. “These men with me will talk of little else. I am a soldier and I will fight for the family I have left at home in Bunsen.”

Her words about the Saviour made sense to me. It was men who killed men and everyone who directed them to kill was a man. Here we were, an army of men, ready to destroy anyone who stood against us. The Saviour needed to be a woman to bring change, and her radiance was something felt by men alone.

“Will you fight for us?” I asked softly. “We have need of people who will not stand and watch as the Duke takes men from his towns and sends them against men of his other towns. Our lady brings hope for the brave.”

Lieutenant Faye looked at me long and hard. Her eyes were grey, but no less piercing than those of our lady. I wondered what she saw behind my own eyes and what she made of my face, so covered in its scars and the intricate weaving of my tattoos. Whatever she saw, it was apparently enough.

“It would be a shame for us to go to our towns and have the Duke’s men conscript us once more,” she said. “My men follow me willingly and they will join with you. I do not think they will be loyal to the captain of the First Cohort though.”

“They will not need to be. They will be loyal to our lady and they will follow your command and you will follow my command. Is that enough?”

Lieutenant Faye didn’t need long to think at all. “That will be enough,” she said.

Thus ended our negotiations. With all of these things, there is usually a period of time that follows, where orders are passed on and glowering stares between the two sides are gradually replaced by a vague suspicion.

Our lady walked slowly around their camp, with me and Lieutenant Faye at her side. Footsore trailed in her wake, dutifully carrying her banner. The camp had been in disarray only a few minutes before, but now everything was packed away and the men were dressed and ready to go. I had not been wrong when I thought that they still had some discipline and now that I’d met Lieutenant Faye I was not in the least bit surprised.

What did continue to surprise me was the ease with which our lady gained the loyalty of the men – now her men. They stared at her in awe, most of them stammering to reply if she spoke to them or asked a question. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so surprised – most soldiers, most people even, prefer to follow and to have the difficult decisions made for them. I do not say this dismissively or with cynicism, it is the truth and I do not judge people for it. Many is the young man who hears a few rousing words and signs up for the army, putting his life in the hands of officers, some of whom are entirely unequipped to make the best of this enormous power they are given. Such is life – it is often offered freely when we are too young to know what it is that we have done.

After the ritual of our lady’s walk was done, I ordered Lieutenant Faye to prepare for a march.

“We’re going to Gold,” I told her.

“That is where Captain Garg was taking the Duke’s army,” she said.

“Indeed. We’re going to see if we can do something about that.”

“We won’t catch them in time. Captain Garg was worried about something. He wouldn’t let us rest and said we had to reach Gold as quickly as possible. If we marched to Septic or Bunsen, we could build up our numbers through reinforcements”

I shook my head. “I’ve already been told that we’ll be too late to intercept the men heading to Gold. Nevertheless, I want them out of the town before more of the Duke’s men arrive. If we can take Gold and hold it, there’s nowhere between here and Furnace that Warmont can base his men.”

“There’s Rival further down the coast,” she said. “Though that is a long way distant as well.”

“Even if we doubled our numbers from these coastal towns, it’s nothing compared to the men Warmont can turn out of Blades or Scar. If he can get them into Gold, we will never take the town from him.”

“I understand, Captain Charing. Let us march for Gold at once.”

Gold was a long way distant. I spoke to Lieutenant Craddock and he guessed we were still twelve days away. Lieutenant Faye’s men were reasonably fit and healthy, their weapons and armour of an acceptable quality. They mingled easily with the soldiers from Treads – our lady had been correct when she said that morale would increase when the people from these towns realised that there were other places which stood alongside them. The First Cohort remained mostly alone, however. It is not that my men were unwilling to mix, it is just that when you have seen ten thousand battles over hundreds of years, there is little left to say to other soldiers. The newly-promoted Corporal Knacker gave it a go, spreading his filthy humour amongst the others, as if it was his sole mission in life.

Lieutenant Sinnar continued with his bullying, never giving the Treads men a chance to rest when there was marching to be done or the opportunity to practice their weapons or formations. I could see that he was no longer hated and that his men had started to look up to him. He’d appointed his own corporals and did his best to mould them in his own image, as brutish as that was. Captain Foster became one of these corporals – he complained bitterly, but I think that he was relieved to have the responsibility taken from him.

All of this continued as we marched. I saw little of Ploster or our lady. I believed that our sorcerer was doing his best to impart his secrets to the much more powerful Saviour, in the hope that she might quickly learn to harness her own powers more effectively.

I found myself drawn to Lieutenant Faye. Not through any physical attraction, but I had missed the company of a woman. A strange thing to say for a man who had been alone for so long, but we still sought each other out in the evenings and spent the hours discussing our different lives and how our paths had taken us to where we were now. I did not reveal much about the darker side of my past, and kept to the happier memories of my life before the First Cohort, though those days seemed almost lost in the past and the man I had been was unrecognisable to me now.

I found out that Lieutenant Faye had been drafted into the army against her will. Some of Warmont’s justiciars had swept through Bunsen fifteen years or so ago, taking young men of a certain age until they had filled their quota. I was curious as to why Lieutenant Faye had been conscripted amongst all of the other young men and she’d shrugged at the question and told me that she was bigger and stronger than most of the boys her age. Now, she told me there were few of her men who even considered her to be a woman. I didn’t know if that was to be thought of as a compliment or the worst kind of insult. She’d laughed when I asked, the sound merry, and she’d said that she took it as both.

The journey to Gold was therefore a surprisingly enlightening one. I spent the day lost in my thoughts, or talking to the men, and the evenings were taken up in conversation with a woman who wasn’t afraid to be challenging and who had no hatred of me for being the captain of the First Cohort. When I’d first asked her what she thought about us, she’d started to laugh at first, but then gave the question some serious consideration.

“Why should I hate you? You’ve been as badly used by the Emperor and Warmont as anyone else. Worse than anyone else – you’ve lost everything from your past. Your friends and families are gone, turned to dust. All you have is what you are, with nothing to look forward to and not even death to greet you at the end of your duties.”

I couldn’t deny the words she said and when she realised how they had affected me, she changed the subject adroitly, distracting me with a tale of her own misspent youth. I could tell I was being distracted, but was grateful for it nonetheless.

There was little else to keep me occupied and we made rapid progress. I kept the men from Treads and Lieutenant Faye’s men in their own units, but renamed them Treads Regiment and Bunsen Regiment respectively, keeping the First Cohort separate. I realised that these were not the most original and inspiring of names, but the men seemed happy with them.

There was also the matter of supplies to keep hungry men marching. We of the First Cohort needed little in the way of food – I had no idea what kept our bodies moving and our sword arms strong, but the men of the two regiments appeared to have an insatiable appetite for their meals. It had been a long time since I’d looked after so many men, and the logistics of it started to become a burden. Fortunately, our cook, Chartus, showed himself to have the mind of a quartermaster – a talent I had not known he possessed. In spite of Craddock’s memory that there were no villages in this region, we did come across several after we received directions from Lieutenant Faye. After all, these lands were more hers than they were ours.

In these villages, we were greeted with a certain amount of suspicion, though not quite hostility. When you’re outnumbered five to one by heavily armed soldiers, you do not usually throw bricks at them from your upper windows. Though negotiations in these places were generally tense affairs, or at least tense for the villagers involved, Chartus did manage to keep us provisioned for the road, using the healthy quantity of coin that the First Cohort had accumulated over the years. We did receive pay for our work, but we had little to spend it on and much of it was kept in a stout chest for the times we might need to bribe our way through hostile territory. In my head, I had once allocated this money to assist in our flight from the Emperor’s lands, were that time ever to come to us. Now, there seemed little other use for it than to be spent in our cause.

On the positive side, soldiers with a cause rarely ask for a wage. This was good news, because our sturdy little chest would not have paid the salary of nearly three-and-a-half thousand men for very long. There would be a time in the future when it would become an issue, but I didn’t worry about it for the moment. The men we had with us would stay to fight as long as there was food in their bellies.

After twelve days, we reached Gold, or at least we came as close to the town as I wished us to get. I had us camp in some high, rocky hills about seven miles outside the town’s boundaries. I was not pleased to be so far away, but sometimes you have to make do with what you have available. If it came to it, the distance was little more than an early morning’s march. I spoke to our lady, to see what she hoped to achieve and how.

“This is as close as we can get without being seen by every passing merchant and having our presence betrayed. Even so, it will not be long until word reaches them. The countryside we traversed was open, and it is certain that we passed people on the way who will have watched us pass while they remained hidden. We can only hope that their news doesn’t reach the wrong ears before we have a chance to enact our own plans.”

“The town is ripe for insurrection,” she said, her jaw firmly set. “I can feel the uncertainty as it ebbs and flows from its people. They are scared, but they do not like being a base for Warmont’s men. I am sure that once they have heard what happened in Treads they will have realised that the flow of soldiers from Blades will not end. If they hoped for respite, they will know now that they are not going to get it.”

“I agree with what you say,” I told her. “But how do you plan to instigate a rebellion here? If we march through their outskirts, all will be confusion and we will find ourselves fighting citizen and soldier alike. We do not have the men for such a battle and the men we do have are not trained for it.”

“I will go there,” she said, in her voice that would brook no dissent. “I will speak to the people myself.”

Having been given the unwelcome conclusion, I was left scrambling for the tools to bring the plan to its fruition.

“I’ll come with you,” I said. “Jon Ploster too. And some other people who I will pick for the task.”

“Very well, Captain Charing. Pick them quickly and we will leave in half an hour. I would like to be within the town by this evening.”

I was nothing if not efficient under pressure. There were six of us who left our camp, fifteen minutes after I had spoken to our lady. Aside from me, Ploster and the Saviour, I brought Lieutenant Faye with us, since she claimed to know the town well. I also brought Heavy and Scram. My face would draw attention because of its tattoos, so I wore a low hood to conceal my face. In the dark, I hoped to pass for a man with dark skin from the far south. Heavy and Scram had their own tattoos, but theirs ended at the neck. They drew attention of their own with their hulking appearance, but I hoped that we would pass off as the bodyguards of a rich noblewoman or something similar. It was with regret that I left behind our armour, since it seemed too likely to betray us and too difficult to conceal.

I did keep one secret from our lady. Two others from the First Cohort accompanied us as well, in the form of Eyeball and Twist. We didn’t see them as we made the walk to the town and I was certain that no one else would see them either, at least unless those two chose to be seen. I was convinced that they used some sort of magical finesse or power to keep themselves so well hidden, but magic of a sort that even Ploster or our lady could not detect. I supposed that if a magic existed that kept a person hidden, then it made sense that other magics could not detect it.

The closer we got to the town, the more people we saw on the road. There were at least three other heavily-guarded wagons on the road we travelled, so we did not look out of place. The Duke claimed to bring the rule of law to his lands, but in reality, death was so common that only a fool would not take the utmost of precautions to prevent an unexpected visitation by it.

“Gold is bigger than Treads,” Lieutenant Faye reminded us, though we had already heard much of what she knew about the town. “The soldiers here may be unwelcome, but their coin is not, and soldiers are usually paid on time. Don’t be surprised if you see the results of many industries set up to serve the requirements of these men.”

“Prostitution, you mean,” said our lady.

“Yes, lady. There will be prostitutes, pick-pockets and more taverns than you can visit in a year of trying. And they’ll likely all be busy. Tonight, there’ll be trouble. There always is when soldiers arrive, and Garg’s men will be looking for people to take their anger out on. I doubt it will be pretty.”

I knew the like, though I’d never permitted the men of the First Cohort to participate. We did occasionally get involved in trouble, but it was mostly unwanted and the men knew I didn’t tolerate their behaviour if they were the ones who had instigated it.

The foot traffic steadily increased and as we rounded a low hill, we caught a glimpse of the town. It sprawled out across a wide basin below us, the buildings more densely clustered near to the river that ran through its centre. It was early evening and lights were visible through most of the windows, giving the place the appearance of vibrancy and life.

“Is this what Blades is like?” our lady asked. Her question wasn’t quite asked in wonder, but I knew she was fascinated by what she saw.

“No, my lady. Blades is much larger than this. Gold might be a large town or it might be a small city. I do not know how the people classify it. The Duke’s capital spreads across much more area than this. As it happens, Blades is not the most populous of cities. The Duke has his habits and those habits have driven away many of his people to places like Ranks and Chore in the south, or Flense to the far east. Nowadays, the Duke sates his lusts by having his justiciars bring in children from further afield, so that the burden is spread more thinly across his lands.”

“Is he truly as hideous a man as he is in all the tales, Captain Charing?”

“He is all of those things and more. The tales of his kidnappings are true, and I would hate to imagine what happens to the young girls that are brought into his keep.”

“How did you manage to serve him for so long, Captain?” she asked quietly. “I have read your heart and you are not an evil man.”

“I do not know the answer to your question, my lady. Or if I do, I have buried it so deep that I cannot form the words to say it. All I know is that you have lifted a veil from us and have given us a chance to redeem ourselves. In our own eyes, at least.”

“I pray that your deeds will allow you to rest at peace, Captain Charing.”

“I hope so too, more than anything.”

The time for this conversation ended and we passed between the first of the buildings which formed the outskirts of Gold.

Nineteen

Gold was not a pretty town, but there again not many were in the Duke’s lands. Where stability is fleeting and learning discouraged, there is no room for architects to flourish. There was no point in building a magnificent edifice which could stand upright through the power of mathematics alone, when it could get torn down at any point. I was aware that the Emperor had a passing interest in architecture – if he hoped to leave behind buildings as a reminder of his existence I didn’t know, but closer to his seat of power there were many grand and beautiful structures. In truth, I suspected that the Emperor planned to outlive all of them, such was his conceit.

The streets of Gold were shabbily paved, with cracked and broken stone slabs, worn to the point of shattering by the constant rumblings of carts and wagons. There seemed to be little impetus to repair them and we had to watch our footing even more than had we been on a march over a hillside covered in scree. To the sides, the buildings were run down and ramshackle. I guessed that much of the building work in the city had taken place three hundred years or more ago, and everything had been left at that. The town had probably been wealthy and forward-looking all those years ago. Now, it was little more than an overpopulated and seedy backwater for soldiers and petty criminals, who lived incongruously side-by-side.

“What a shit hole,” muttered Scram, as he delivered an open-palmed wallop to a wiry urchin who had hoped to steal something of value from the soldier’s pockets.

“Fuck you!” yelled the boy, once he’d scrambled back into the comparative safety of a side street.

“Yeah and fuck you too,” said Scram, not even turning to look.

If the urchin had been successful in his thieving, we’d have been overrun by them in minutes. Scram’s quick hand had shown them that we were not easy pickings and I hoped they’d stay back. I had sympathy for those in poverty, but none for those who turned to crime to alleviate it.

We continued on our way, our goal uncertain. I think our lady had simply planned to see what happened when she showed her face. She did get a certain amount of attention, with many people staring as she walked by, their mouths drooping in wonder. Often, they’d just turn away and resume what they’d been doing beforehand.

“It’s going to be harder here,” our lady said. “Many of these people have little hope of anything at all, beyond their next meal, or their next mug of ale.”

“Maybe the Duke’s men have been here for so long that the people have forgotten that they wished to be free,” I ventured.

“These are the poorest areas on the outskirts of town,” said Lieutenant Faye. “They have always been poor and I think they always will be. Everywhere you go, there are people who care nothing for others and nothing for themselves. The men and women here will grow old and die where you see them now, and their children likewise. There are other parts of Gold where the eyes of its citizens glow brightly with hatred when they speak of the Duke and his men.”

“I hope you are correct,” said our lady. “I can feel the despair here. My power washes over and around them, but they are blind to it.”

“Let us see what happens deeper within the town,” said Lieutenant Faye.

Onward we went. I kept my eyes cast down, so that my hood would fall further over my face and keep my tattoos hidden from view. In hindsight, I thought that I should have sent Lieutenant Craddock or Sinnar along with the party. I trusted them as much as I trusted myself, but it seemed that my desire for control was stronger than my desire to take the most sensible course of action. I berated myself and resolved to learn from it.

Soon we passed out of the seedier outskirts and found ourselves walking along wide, cobbled lanes, in a much better state of repair than those we’d left behind. Carts rattled along, carrying people and their wares to destinations unknown, and we had to keep close to the sides to avoid them. Our lady walked regally and openly, her eyes meeting those of everyone who would look back. The people had begun to stop in our wake and stare after us, talking amongst themselves. Already I had noticed that the radiance which our lady projected around her was gaining in strength, where previously its message of hope had been suppressed by an all-encompassing despair.

Shops and taverns lined the streets here. People travelled in numbers, suggesting that business was good for the shop keepers and ale men. Prostitutes of both sexes loitered around near to most of the taverns, their empty, hollow eyes anxiously scanning the crowds for their next customer. There were signs of Garg’s men here, with soldiers standing in groups on the street, drinking ale and leering at passing women. Most of them hadn’t even bothered to change out of their livery and others sported their armour and weapons as a way of intimidating the locals. The citizens of Gold gave them a wide berth, evidently aware that the soldiers were looking for trouble. We walked past unmolested, with the soldiers’ eyes seeming to skate over our lady as if they found her difficult to focus on. Our lady was striking to behold, and I wondered at what was happening.

“These men don’t see you, my lady,” I said to her.

She smiled back at me. “They see me, Captain Charing. But they are lost to me. Their eyes look for the weak and vulnerable, which makes it difficult for them to see what I am. The power of the human mind to fool itself is enormous.”

“So I have concluded myself,” I replied. “But this is the first time I have seen it so clearly demonstrated.”

“We should find somewhere to stay for the night,” she said. “Somewhere with clean sheets and comfortable beds.”

“Are we planning to stay?” I asked. “Time is of the essence. Your men cannot stay hidden in the hills for long.”

“Don’t worry, Captain Charing. We won’t be here for long.”

Our conversation was interrupted by a scream, fifty yards further along the crowded street. Our eyes scanned ahead to determine the nature of the trouble and soon we could hear an exchange of words.

“Get off me you bastards! Only one of you paid so only one of you can have me!”

There was some jeering, accompanied by the cruel voices of men used to getting their way.

“You ain’t worth four Royals for a tumble, you bitch. You get six of us for that price.”

“Fuck off, take your money back. I don’t want none of you!”

By now, we had drawn level with the altercation and watched as six men jostled and pawed at a young woman.

“Too late for that now, bitch,” said one of the men. “My balls are full to bursting and you’re going to get some in every hole, whether you want it or not.”

An area of the street surrounding them had cleared, almost as if by magic. Passers-by ducked their heads and changed the direction of their travel, so that they went past on the opposite side of the street. I’d seen this many times before – it was as if the soldiers and the prostitute had somehow become invisible. I knew that no one would intervene.

“Stop them, Captain Charing. These are my people, not theirs.”

I saw the familiar set of the jaw and the anger in our lady’s eyes. I didn’t even bother to open my mouth to suggest that it would be more sensible if we did the same as all the other citizens.

I strode over to the group, with Scram, Heavy and Lieutenant Faye at my side. I felt Ploster gather himself in case his sorcery would be needed, but I wasn’t concerned. The soldiers had managed to tear half of the prostitute’s clothes away, baring her heavy breasts as they tugged at her and leered. Their eyes seemed almost wild and I thought they might even rape her on this busy street, which told me how the rule of law meant little here.

“That’s the Saviour’s child, you fuckers,” I said calmly. The group of soldiers fell silent at once, as if I’d removed the tongues from each of their mouths.

The first one to recover his composure faced me. He was a corporal by the markings on his shoulder and a big man, coming almost up to my height. “Piss off, this is the Duke’s business,” he said with a snarl.

“This town doesn’t belong to the Duke. It belongs to our lady,” I said, pulling back my hood.

“Fuck, it’s those Cohort bastards!” said one of the soldiers.

The corporal’s hand reached down towards a dagger hilt sticking from the top of his belt. It was the wrong move and I thundered a punch into his temple, knocking him sideways onto the ground. He didn’t put out a hand to slow his fall and I knew he was unconscious before he struck the ground. His head made a sickening crack as it bounced off the stone.

“That woman is under my lady’s protection,” I said to the other soldiers loudly. “As are all the people of Gold. Now fuck off before I kill every last one of you!”

I was good at dealing with soldiers and I was very good at intimidating them when I had to. I’d been a lieutenant once and had gained something of a reputation as a slave driver before I became captain, whereupon it was widely acknowledged that I become mellower. The five men remaining hardly spent long sizing us up, realising that they were outclassed. A couple of them glanced down at their fallen corporal. He didn’t make any noise at all and a pool of blood had started to emerge from under his head; he was definitely dead. His men showed little inclination to follow him and they inched slowly away until they judged themselves far enough distant that they could turn their backs to us and walk off smartly in the opposite direction. Pride can get a man killed easily enough, and it was fortunate for these soldiers that they had none.

The prostitute had gathered her clothing about her once more, to hide herself from the crowd which had now gathered to stare. I looked at her and saw that she was little older than our lady, though her eyes told a story of a different beginning and a different future. She didn’t look at the Saviour, instead fixing her gaze directly on me.

“Is it true?” the girl asked.

“Is what true?” I responded, uncertain as to what she asked.

“Am I really her child?”

“I spoke the truth, girl,” I said to her. “The Saviour has come and she will take back this town.”

Her eyes moistened and she glanced at the red-robed figure across from her. “I hope so, sir. I hope so.”

“What’s your name,” I asked, without knowing why.

“I’m Lilith, sir.”

I threw her a fifty Royal coin, which reflected the light as it spun towards her. “Forget your work tonight, Lilith. Go and find somewhere nice. I want your future to be better than your past.”

I turned away from her and returned to where Ploster and our lady waited. Behind me, I heard a voice. “Thank you, sir.” I continued on my way, fearful to think that I might be re-joining humanity once more.

By now, the curious onlookers had swollen in numbers and I had to squeeze my way through them, with Scram, Heavy and Lieutenant Faye in my wake. We weren’t jostled or threatened, but there was a buzz of chatter around us.

“I felt what you did to her, Captain Charing,” said our lady. “When she saw me, I brought her hope, but you have shown her that hope itself is not an empty promise. Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say so I kept my mouth closed, rather than open it and risk filling the air with vapid nonsense. I had seen something in Lilith’s face that had touched me and I didn’t know what it was. I had never had a daughter of my own, though there was a time that I wished I’d been blessed with one.

“The Farmer’s Market isn’t far ahead,” said Lieutenant Faye. “It’s been a good few years since I came here though. Last time I visited, the market sold something of everything, rather than just farmers’ wares.”

The market was exactly where Lieutenant Faye had remembered it to be. I could tell that we were getting closer as the traffic on the streets increased its pace almost imperceptibly, with the crowds becoming denser as though we were heading along a huge funnel. People washed around us and we walked almost serenely at our own pace, until we emerged into a large plaza, filled with stalls and booths. It was crowded, though not so much that we were crushed as we made progress.

“How many people live in Gold?” I asked Lieutenant Faye.

“It used to be as many as forty thousand, I believe,” she said. “I think that the native population has dwindled in recent years.”

“I hope we don’t have to take the town by force,” I responded. “We’ve not got enough if they don’t want us here.”

“Can’t you feel it, Captain Charing?” asked Ploster. “They do want us here. All this you see about you is what happens when the people do their best to pretend that something is as it should be. The soldiers that Warmont sends are not part of this vibrancy – they are the interlopers, not us.”

As I considered Ploster’s words I started to see evidence of what he meant. Even though the plaza was busy, a space formed around us as we walked, and people stopped to stare. Our lady’s radiance expanded around her, touching the life glow of each person in the plaza, telling them that this was how the town was meant to be - how it would forever be if Warmont’s soldiers were gone. This is what the Duke feared most – no matter how many men he sent here, he couldn’t suppress the hope. As we went by, the power of our lady took this hope and magnified it, firing it with the strength to act. I saw a number of people pause and they stood blinking in puzzlement as if they had felt something, but without knowing quite what it was. For hundreds of years, the Emperor and his nobles had ruled these lands; their destruction and hatred brought a miasma of bleakness and despair. Our lady’s birth was a rebellion against that despair – I knew this, even if I didn’t know why or where her power had come from.

There was a commotion behind us, accompanied by cursing and shouting. I craned my head to look over the crowds and made out the high-plumed helms of Warmont’s justiciars as they pushed their way towards us. There were cries of pain alongside the shouts – the justiciars were never gentle.

There was only one place they could be going and we turned to face them, rather than stand to one side to see if they would go past. They did not and a group of twenty halted before us. Unlike the soldiers we’d encountered earlier, the justiciars were fully armoured and armed. They always were, for they needed to maintain their image of power in order to keep the citizens cowed. These justiciars had leather breastplates, with gleaming plates of metal studded onto them. They each carried the familiar combination of sword and metal cosh. I had to suppress a sneer at the blue plumes on their helmets. There’re few things that piss off an infantryman more than a fine helmet with a feather sticking out of the top.

The lead man was broad and of medium height. He didn’t pause to speak, merely nodded at the justiciar adjacent to him, who took a step forward and swung his cosh at the closest member of our team, who happened to be Scram. The justiciars liked to impose themselves before descending to formalities such as talking or negotiation. Scram was one of my more effective soldiers, which is why I’d brought him along. He leaned to one side and grunted as the cosh took him on the shoulder. The man lifted his arm up for another swing, but was brought short when Scram’s knee connected with his balls, lifting the justiciar from his feet with the force of the impact. Every man who saw it winced involuntarily. The justiciar collapsed to the ground, wheezing. Soon the numbing shock would turn into a violent all-consuming pain and the man would shortly wish for someone to cut his throat in order to end his misery.

I met the lead justiciar’s gaze and smiled at him, pulling back my hood once again so that he would know who we were.

“Good evening, Captain.” I said. “What can I do for you?”

The man almost spluttered, thrown off guard. “You’re going to die, Cohort bastard. And then each and every one of Garg’s men is going to take their turn fucking your Saviour bitch. After we’ve finished with her, of course.”

The justiciar talked too much. I assumed it was part of the job – engender fear through word and deed, until no one dared to cross them. I had no time for their methods, being a more practical man by nature. The plaza was lit, but there were many patches of darkness. It had taken hardly any sleight-of-hand for me to conceal a dagger in the palm of my hand, with the blade pointing up my sleeve. The justiciar saw the action as I flipped it around so that I had the hilt gripped correctly. He swung his cosh at my face in a backhand motion, surprisingly fast, but he’d likely had a lot of practise. I blocked his swing with my forearm, catching the metal on my flesh. There was pain, distant and hardly felt. I ignored it and thrust my dagger into the man’s belly, the broad, hard metal of the blade piercing easily through his breastplate and into his intestines beneath. He gasped and his eyes widened in shock. I withdrew the dagger and pushed him backwards. He stumbled two paces away, until his men clutched at him to offer their support. My attack had been quick and they hadn’t yet realised what had happened.

“He’s stabbed me!” the justiciar wheezed. “Kill the fuckers.” With that, he toppled to one side, clutching his hands over the red wetness which oozed through the hole I’d given him.

Swords were drawn and the people in the market fell away from us, which was the usual reaction when two armed groups faced each other. We had the initiative – the justiciars were not used to meeting opponents who were as ready to resort to violence as they were. And we were a lot better at it than them.

I tucked away my dagger and drew my sword. I held the hilt with both hands and drove it into the throat of the closest justiciar. Blood sprayed out in a wide gout, covering my clothes, while the man fell to the ground gurgling. Lieutenant Faye engaged another – the man swung his cosh desperately as he tried to draw his sword. Scram and Heavy spread out to the sides as the justiciars did the same, in order that they might surround us. The citizens of Gold scrambled to get themselves even further away and I saw one justiciar cut at two of them in his petulance, severing a woman’s hand and bouncing the blade of his sword off the side of another woman’s head, opening up a terrible wound through the skin and bone beneath.

“More of them are coming,” said our lady calmly from her position behind me. “Soldiers.”

I parried an uncertain blow from a man to my left and kicked him hard in the knee. To my right, Heavy used his long blade to weave a pattern in the air. To look at him, you would have thought him to be clumsy to match his size, but he was not. Three of the justiciars stood back warily, making the occasional tentative jab in Heavy’s direction, unable or unwilling to commit themselves in order to break the stalemate.

I bludgeoned away another man, displaying less finesse than I would have liked, though my sword left a thick dent across his breastplate. A second arm ventured into my periphery and I took it away with the return swing. The resultant scream was faint in my ears as my brain dropped into its battle-trance and filtered out the sights and sounds I didn’t need to think about.

Two justiciars at the back burst into mageflame, the exposed flesh of their faces and arms adopting the familiar appearance of melting candle wax as it dripped from their bones. One of the men fell screaming to the ground, but the other attempted to run in panic. He didn’t get far, but he stumbled into some of the onlookers, inflicting burns upon those also.

“Jon, no more,” I heard our lady’s voice say, just as a thrown cosh hit me above the eyebrow. I felt the bone crunch and hoped it would not sag onto my brain beneath. I was as tough as old boots and assailed another justiciar close to me, aiming an almighty downward cut at his neck. He knew how to use a sword and raised his in time to block my swing. My sword sheared his in two, scarcely slowing as it entered his neck through the gap between helmet and chest plate. My strike cut him deeply, from front to back and I wrenched my sword out, even as the dying man tried to stab at me with the jagged end of his sword. His blow failed to land and I saw the recognition in his eyes as his brain told him that he would die while I would live.

The soldiers which our lady had warned us about were coming from the front and behind. I could only see those in front and they looked to be in formation. They were organised and in great numbers.

“Plenty coming,” said Scram.

“Fifteen for every one of us, I reckon,” said Lieutenant Faye. She was proving to be something of a marvel with the sword, having killed three and wounded two more.

“Keep killing the man in front of you and eventually they’ll stop coming,” I spoke. It was something we said to each other when we faced much greater numbers. It told you to focus only on what was before you and ignore the everything else. If you thought of nothing other than killing the man who wanted to kill you, there was no other distraction which could reduce your efficiency at that single task.

Ploster had joined us now, his beard tucked under his clothes out of sight. He was equipped like us with a sword, though he also held his dagger in his second hand.

“Fuck me, Ploster! What do you think you’re playing at?” asked Scram.

“Come on, keep your guard up, Jon,” I said, as Ploster immediately found himself hard-pressed by two of the justiciars who had circled around as they tried to reach our lady.

Honour dictated that Ploster should make a suitable response, but he could do no more than tell us to piss off as he fended away his opponents.

Our opponents were plentiful, but they were not trained soldiers. They were cruel enforcers of the Duke’s laws, who were sent ostensibly to keep the peace after the infantry had been through a place. Still, we were troubled by their greater numbers. When a battle was truly balanced so finely on its fulcrum that it could tip to either side, my men fought in silence as their concentration was at its utmost. Our pithy comments stopped as we focused on doing what we had to do.

At that point, my battle sense whispered something into my mind. The soldiers to our rear have not reached us. I took advantage of a split-second lull to glance over my shoulder. Away from us, over the plaza, I saw that the crowds had become more densely packed, as if they clustered around something.

I returned my attention to our front, just as a sword snaked over my own. I rotated my wrist and was able to deflect the thrust and the justiciar’s sword point slid past my bicep. I could have sworn I felt it tickle my skin as it sliced open my robes. The man had overcommitted and was slightly off balance. I tried to kill him with a riposte, but as I stepped forward to make the killing blow, I saw something grey carom off the side of his helmet, knocking him to the side. The unexpected impact saved him from instant death and my sword entered his shoulder through the hardened leather, rather than piercing through his rib cage and into his heart as I’d intended.

His respite did not last and as he backed away from me with his sword raised defensively, something else struck him from the side. This time it was not a stone, but a man I had never seen before. This man wrestled the justiciar to the ground, pulling cruelly at the sword wound in his shoulder and pinning his sword arm behind his back. Suddenly this stranger was joined by another – a burly man with a beard kicked the justiciar in the side of the head, half dislodging his helmet. A third man joined from out of nowhere, unintentionally blocking my path to my foe. I need not have worried. In the scrum, I saw this third man’s arm rise high above his head. In his hand, I saw he held the justiciar’s heavy cosh, evidently snatched away. The cosh came down, and through a gap in the melee I saw it connect with the justiciar’s chin and mouth, shattering teeth and bones. The cosh came down again into the same place.

“Fucking shit, fucking shit!” the man babbled as he clubbed viciously at the justiciar beneath him. “My daughter, my daughter,” he cried, weeping now as the cosh came down again and again. After a moment, the violence ended and the man stared at the bloody mess he’d caused, with emptiness in his face. I knew the look well – here was a man tortured by his desire for revenge who had found what he looked for, only to discover that once the thirst was quenched, nothing remained.

All of this had taken only a few moments to play out in front of me, as if time had slowed down to permit me a glimpse of this one man’s history. I didn’t give any more attention to the tableau and cast my eyes about me for the next justiciar to kill.

Everything was in disarray. The people of Gold, emboldened by the brave actions of a few, swarmed around the justiciars, striking at them with wooden sticks and whatever motley weapons they could lay their hands on. Those of my party stood watching, with our swords at the ready, temporarily reduced to mere spectators. More and more of the town’s citizens pressed in close, forcing us back and putting a wedge between us, the justiciars and the soldiers. The normal shouts and calls that you’d hear in any market had been replaced with the different sounds of fighting.

The remaining justiciars were killed quickly – I saw at least a dozen men and women from the town armed with short-bladed knives, which were thrust eagerly through gaps in armour or into the exposed flesh of legs and arms. I didn’t know where these knives had come from – maybe the citizens carried them as a matter of course, but they were savagely effective in close quarters.

We’d been jostled back by the throng at this point. I could see that the soldiers who had hoped to kill or apprehend us had been set upon viciously and they were making no headway. With sufficient space, a group of trained soldiers could have chopped the people of the crowd into pieces. As it was, they were taken by surprise and dragged over by sheer weight of numbers, their formation destroyed. The fact of these bloody acts was exactly why I had been reluctant to try and take the town by force.

“Come on, this way!” I urged my group. I put an arm around our lady and drew the edge of my cloak about her shoulders so that she might have a small amount of protection against anything that was hurled in our direction.

Where before we had been afforded a circle of space about us, now we were pushed and tugged as we made our way out of the plaza. We experienced that peculiar vortex of humanity, where one group seeks to come, while another group seeks to leave and where the two sides meet, everyone turns and twists as they try to squeeze by. There was no malign intent, but the townspeople acted as though someone had set fire to their boots and they all had somewhere to go as fast as they could get there. I caught snippets of excited talk as the people going one way passed those going the other.

“The Saviour has come!”

“We’ve killed the soldiers. And those justiciar bastards too!”

“Tell everyone!”

“Get to the market and kill some more of them!”

“Get away from the market and kill some more of them!”

Amongst it all, we were seemingly forgotten. Using a mixture of force and nimbleness, we reached a place where the crowds thinned sufficiently that we could take stock of the situation. I pointed towards a nearby tavern and we bundled inside, hoping for some respite. I had a feeling that was somewhere between elation and amazement at the speed with which things had happened.

The tavern was almost empty, though I noted that most of the tables had half-finished cups on top.

“The Saviour’s come, they say,” said the bar keep before he’d even greeted us. “Killed a hundred of the Duke’s men, they say. What a load of balls, if you ask me. There’s no Saviour coming for Gold.” He finally raised his eyes from the notched surface of his wooden bar and looked at us – properly looked. His eyes widened as he saw my face and then looked like they might pop from his head when he saw our lady.

“Is it you?” he asked, struggling to form his words.

Our lady did nothing more than smile at him and I saw that the man believed.

We left the town under cover of darkness. Before we left, our lady had tried her first cup of ale – at her insistence, though I had tried to persuade her to try something mellower. She had gamely managed to finish a quarter of her cup, pretending that the bitter taste was nothing of any concern. When she’d noticed us struggling to contain our laughter, she had conceded that it may be something of an acquired taste.

The injury to my skull was painful, but after pressing at it gently with my fingertips, I found, to my relief, that the bone had not been pressed back. Already, I felt it knitting together, with a burning sensation to accompany it. Scram had taken a couple of sword thrusts, both in the same leg. He’d looked down at them with a dismissive snort and grumbled that he’d have to work on his technique as the justiciars had evidently located a weakness in his defences.

I had considered that we might find somewhere to stay until the following morning, but the risks outweighed the benefits. I’d alternately stationed Heavy and Scram outside the door of the tavern for the two hours we’d remained inside, so that they could watch the streets and relay any developments as they happened. It wasn’t pretty – squads of soldiers were out in force, but in groups of mixed numbers, which made me think that they had little organisation or strategy as to how they would deal with the rioting populace.

There is a tipping point when it comes to insurrection. When there is a disaffected group – perhaps two or three disaffected groups – within a town, they may resort to violence in an attempt to get their voices heard. In these cases, swift and decisive action can quieten the minority, whether by force or negotiation. In cases where there are many disaffected groups, or indeed the entirety of a town feels a certain common goal, then riots turn into outright rebellion. Our lady had pushed the teetering discontent into something much more dangerous for Duke Warmont and the soldiers he had stationed in Gold.

When Scram came inside from his guard duties and told us that he’d seen at least three different groups of soldiers in bloody conflict with opposing groups of soldiers, I knew that we could do no more.

“The Duke has conscripted a lot of men from Gold itself,” said Lieutenant Faye.

“If he has, he’s made a mistake by posting them here,” I said. “It looks like good news for us.”

“He may have thought it would help keep the town pacified,” said our lady.

“A foolish error, when a town is so close to declaring itself against him,” I told her.

“Remember that he had eighteen thousand men here not very long ago and these men had been called from cities much further afield. It could be that many men from Gold were sent here with his other regulars and he planned to return them to their bases after his intended victory in Treads.”

“That would make sense,” said Ploster. “The Duke is not known to suffer from bouts of foolishness, whatever his other failings.”

So, we left the tavern. Our lady’s radiance had affected the bar keep, but not so much that he let us drink his ale without paying for it. I had my hood pulled down and we walked quickly and purposefully towards the outskirts. The streets were busy with armed groups and it was mayhem. Chaos brings out all sorts of people - I didn’t want us to be subject to the wrong sort of attention and deemed it best if we become as anonymous as possible.

A few groups spoke to us as we proceeded, but I was able to deflect them without having to resort to violence. Fires had started to appear here and there and I had little doubt that they had been started deliberately.

“Look there,” said Ploster, indicating a huge blaze along one of the town’s main streets.

“They keep the soldiers barracked in that building,” said Lieutenant Faye. “I wonder if many of them were still asleep inside when the fire started.”

“If they were, Captain Garg is even less competent than I have imagined him to be,” I said. “Under his command, these soldiers appear to be little more than a rabble.” I spat in disgust.

“We’d best hope so, Captain. Else we’ll be scrapping house to house tomorrow,” said Heavy. He didn’t usually volunteer input.

It didn’t take us much longer to reach the seedy underbelly of the town’s outskirts. Everything appeared strangely as it had before, as if the slums were entirely unimportant to the events that were unfolding deeper within Gold. It reinforced my initial impression that the squalor and despair here were so deeply ingrained that it could outlast dukes and emperors alike.

A couple of robber gangs chanced their luck with us as we hurried through. The first – a collection of five malnourished men with hoods to cover their faces – backed away instantly when they saw how well-armed we were. The second group was more determined and with greater numbers. Even their eagerness to steal our coin was no defence against Heavy’s fists as he bludgeoned their leader into a bloody mess. The rest of the gang vanished silently, leaving their head man groaning on the muddy pavement, his nose broken and his teeth scattered around him. In reality they’d got away lightly.

Away from the borders of the town it was pitch black. To my shame, I admit that I would have probably got lost on the way back to my men, were it not for our lady’s abilities. She could somehow sense where they were and Ploster later confided that she could read the glow of life from afar, in a manner that was subtle and powerful. I was curious to learn if she was able to detect the men of the First Cohort in the same way, but didn’t ask the question.

With our lady’s assistance and the direction of Lieutenant Faye, we followed the roads back whence we’d come and found our way into the rocky hills where the Saviour’s army camped. I was relieved to find that there was nothing to be concerned about and that our arrival had been observed well in advance, to demonstrate the effectiveness of our sentries.

It was well past midnight, but Lieutenants Craddock and Sinnar were waiting to greet us.

“All go well, Captain?” Craddock asked casually, as if the thought had only just occurred to him that it might not have.

“Passable fair,” I responded, playing the game.

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Craddock. “Any instructions for us?”

“Yes. We’re moving out in the morning. Rouse the men before first light.”

“Very well, Captain,” he said, snapping me a salute. He turned to our lady and offered her a shallow bow with a smile, before turning away and heading off to his place in the camp.

Twenty

We were ready to march the next morning as the sun rose. Rumour had defied logic as it always did, by spreading around the men seemingly as they slept, and everyone was in a state of nervous excitement. A fast march would take the edge off their twitchy energy and I wanted us to reach Gold as quickly as possible.

Even from a few miles away, I could tell that things had changed. There were more people heading away from the town than I would have expected, many of them with carts or bundles of their belongings. Not everyone has the stomach or the ability to fight for something and I held off from judging them. Who was I to say that a man with two young children and a third expected should throw himself enthusiastically into violent fray? If all the people of the world wished to become soldiers, it would not be long until we had all killed each other and only a few of us remained.

I spoke to a number of these travellers. The stories they gave were confused and occasionally conflicting. One woman told us with certainty that the Saviour had been killed by soldiers, while another told us that the Saviour had burned Warmont’s soldiers in their beds. Others said that the fighting had continued all night and some believed that there was no Saviour at all and the turmoil was caused by nothing more than thugs who desired to flout the Duke’s laws. The overall picture was one of uncertainty and while it was what I had expected, I didn’t like it. I’d hoped to hear that the soldiers had fled and the people had gathered in the squares and plazas for the Saviour’s arrival. I wasn’t downhearted – the people leaving the town were not necessarily the ones who would be fired up with fervour and zeal. I expected to find plenty of welcome within the town itself. I had seen what had happened in the Farmer’s Market and on the streets with my own eyes.

It was past mid-morning when we approached the edge of Gold. The smoke had been visible on the horizon for some time and I had been concerned that we might not have a town to occupy by the time we reached it. My fears were mostly unfounded – smoke hung suspended above the town, with little in the way of wind to disperse it. A single burning building can produce a surprising quantity of ash and smoke and I estimated that there had been eight or ten fires throughout the town, with the greatest volume still rising from the smouldering remains of what Lieutenant Faye had told us was the barracks building.

“The idiots – they could have burned the whole town to the ground,” said Ploster.

“When people look for an outlet for their troubles, they do not always think rationally, Jon.”

“Aye, I know that.” He watched the swirling patterns in the sky for a moment longer. “We should be thankful that the people felt strongly enough to act in the way they did.”

“That’s how we have to look at it,” I told him.

“Do you think we’ll be able to march straight in and get to work?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I hedged. “Whatever happens, there’ll be bloodshed. There always is.”

Two hundred yards from where the buildings of Gold began, I called a halt and we waited, the banner of our lady held prominently above our centre. If there was any organisation behind the resistance, it would make itself known to us soon.

“They do not know my banner,” our lady said to me as we stood together, watching the town.

“They do not, my lady. But they know that it is not the banner of the Duke and that leaves only one possibility.”

We had not been in our position for long when the first people came out to look at us. They watched from what they felt was the safety of the streets at first, before a few of the bolder ones ventured along the road that ran by the fields we occupied.

“Lieutenant Craddock, get me one hundred men, please,” I told him. “No more than half from the First Cohort.”

With these men forming a guard around us, I escorted our lady closer to the town, until we were almost up to the outermost buildings. More people came, looking at us with curiosity but no fear. Word travelled quickly and the weight of numbers pushed the closest people even further towards us, allowing more and more people to come forth, until there were several thousand of them in a semi-circle. Our lady looked upon them from her horse and smiled. Many of them smiled back, tentatively at first. Then a there was a susurration of whispered voices. I could make out a few of them. It’s the Saviour, they said. She has come to free us. The susurration spread, until it seemed as though every man, woman and child was repeating a similar refrain.

The time for her to speak was now and I was concerned that I would have to tell her to do so. To my relief, she displayed the quickness of her learning and an aptitude for reading a situation that I felt would stand her in good stead in the times ahead.

“My people,” she said. “I thank you for the courage of your actions. I have come to free the people of Gold in the same way that I have freed the people to the north.”

As she said these words, I hoped that news of Xoj-Fal the Wyrm’s flight to Treads and Farthest had not reached here, though there was no way that it could have done.

Already from the short time I had known her, I had learned that she was not a great one for speeches. She didn’t need to be, and I didn’t know if it was because it didn’t come naturally to her, or if she felt that her power over her people made the words little more than fleeting and unimportant disturbances in the air. “Are you ready to join with me?” she asked, her voice steady and confident, reaching out to everyone who could see her.

“Aye!” said a woman near to the front. “I’m ready.”

“And me,” said another.

In seconds, it seemed as though everyone was shouting their faith and their loyalty at the top of their lungs, with ever more people leaving the town to join them in the cacophony. Amongst the crowds, I saw a flag bobbing towards us – a white flag of peace. Like a powerful fish surging through water, the bearer of this flag came ever closer to us, until he emerged at the head of at least fifty armed men, dressed in armour and carrying their swords like they had been brought up with them.

The man with the flag was of medium height and rangy of build. I saw the same gleam in his eyes that I could see all across the crowds before us.

“Saviour!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, to make himself heard over the crowd.

I motioned for the men who surrounded our lady to step aside so that he could pass. He came through alone until he stood before her. He dropped to one knee and doffed his helmet, revealing his lined face and dark hair. It was a face I hadn’t seen in many years.

“Saviour, I am – was – Lieutenant Trovis in the Duke’s army. I am a man of Gold and I lead the men within the town who even now do their best to flush out those of the invaders who remain. Will you have us?”

“Lieutenant Trovis, any man who will fight the Duke is one of mine. You do not need to ask permission.”

Trovis rose to his feet with relief. I could almost hear his knees crack and I felt pity for the frailty of his body.

“Been a long time since Flense,” I said.

Lieutenant Trovis only then caught sight of me, so focused had he been on our lady. “Captain Charing?” he asked. “If you fight for her, then perhaps there is hope after all.”

I had half our men move into the town and the other half camp outside for the time being. As we marched through the streets in a long column, many people cheered, though many of us watched sullenly or with concern. Even under the Duke’s rule there would have been people who turned the situation to their advantage and earned themselves a tidy profit. Our arrival heralded the end of the known and brought with it only one certainty: that death would come. Our lady read this same message as I did and commented on it.

“Many of them are scared about the change we bring. They fear their own death.”

“Better a quick death than the death of a thousand cuts the land has felt under Warmont for so long. There comes a time when you have to fight for it.” The words were easy for me to say. I’d fought all of my life and it was part of me. I didn’t know if it was fair to condemn everyone who worried about their future, especially given that a new one was being imposed upon them. A man had once told me what’s right is right. To a young Tyrus Charing, those words had carried weight and importance. As I’d got older, I considered them simplistic and pointless – something to fire up the impressionable. There, on the streets of Gold I started to appreciate them again, but as a multifaceted representation of many possibilities. I had come full circle – the wisdom of my years taking me all the way back to the callow man I had been. I felt a strange shiver when I thought about it.

At first, we met no resistance. I had brought Lieutenant Trovis along with us and I spoke to him at great length about the situation in the town.

“Garg’s dead,” he told me. “One of the lads killed him with an arrow outside the barracks. Would you believe it? The single Gold man with loyalty to his town that could wield a bow, managed to get an arrow in his Captain’s chest. The town needed a bit of luck,” he said. Every soldier pays secret homage to luck, as if they are trying to court a forbidden lover into their bed for one final tumble.

“I reckon Garg had more than four and a half thousand men left after word reached the lads from Gold,” Lieutenant Trovis continued. “Nigh on eight hundred and fifty of us buggered off last night, once we’d heard what was happening. I’ve never seen the like before. We all just upped and left. Them that tried to stop us, well, we killed them stone dead. A few of the other men came with us too. Lads from Graster, mostly. They’ve got no love for Warmont, have they?”

I liked Lieutenant Trovis. If he spoke this much in battle, his men would probably be slaughtered before he’d managed to utter his first order, but I enjoyed listening to his embellishments, which made a pleasant change from the punctuated delivery of most commanding officers when they spoke to their superiors.

“What’s happened to Garg’s men?” I asked. “And the justiciars?”

“The justiciars? Probably hiding under a bed somewhere with shit in their pants and tears in their eyes. There wasn’t many more than three hundred of them here in Gold. I’ve had my lads kill them on sight, but we haven’t found many. Or at least many who’d not already been killed. Some of them with objects shoved painfully into places that you or I wouldn’t want to have them shoved, if you know what I mean.”

I smiled at that. Once you see through the veneer of fear, it’s amazing what you can do. The justiciars deserved everything they got.

“Are the Duke’s men holed up anywhere?” I asked. “Or have they all left the town?”

“You know something, I couldn’t tell you for definite. All I’m certain of is that the fighting has died down and that the Duke’s soldiers aren’t causing us any bother.”

I sighed inwardly, preparing to rebuke the man for his lackadaisical approach. Our lady saved me the effort.

“Lieutenant Trovis, are you telling me that Duke Warmont might still have several hundred or several thousand men hiding within my town? Or mustering somewhere close by?” Her face was disapproving and nobody wanted to see that look directed at them.

“I do apologise, my lady. I believe that many of the Duke’s men have fled to the south. I’ve had my own men out collecting the dead and there’re over five hundred of his soldiers and nearly two hundred and fifty of the justiciars accounted for so far. To add to that, there are eleven hundred men, women and children from the city who have perished. I have established a temporary headquarters in the council buildings and sent scouts out into the city to obtain more detailed information and to report back if they find any signs of the Duke’s men. In addition, I have summoned a number of prominent local leaders to my headquarters, where I will determine their leanings and deal with them accordingly. There has been so little time to do anything more and none of my men have had so much as an hour’s sleep since yesterday morning.”

I laughed at this. “That’s more like it, Lieutenant.”

By mid-afternoon I had imposed a greater order on the town. The extra thousand men I’d brought with us were deployed quickly, in groups of ten, rather than my favoured groups of five. I mixed those of the First Cohort with the men from Treads and Bunsen and warned my own that it would be for the best if they kept their identities secret where possible. I didn’t know how well we’d be received. The First Cohort hadn’t been involved in any suppression of Gold, but our reputation as Duke’s men was well-known and would take much time and many deeds before it faded.

I installed Chartus as our quartermaster and set him about the administrative tasks that I had little time or competence to deal with. I gave him charge of our coin and a quantity of men to ensure that he had the necessary resources to keep us functioning and without having to rob the local warehouses.

I still lacked specific numbers for the soldiers who had defected from the Duke, and the necessity to have everyone out on the streets thwarted my efforts to find out. When it came to it I didn’t need to know immediately – there were something like a thousand extra soldiers for our ranks – but something in my brain demanded exactness, rather than approximation. Our lady now commanded almost four thousand five hundred men, by my guess. Most of them weren’t veterans, but they’d all seen combat. I’d have swapped them all for another twenty thousand, I thought, then chided myself for the futility of thinking such things.

The scouts came back in their ones and twos. They brought with them reports of the Duke’s men heading away to the south east. They had a long, long way to travel before they reached Furnace or Blades. There had been eighteen thousand who had assaulted Treads. More than ten thousand had escaped after their defeat. Between Treads and Gold, thousands more had mutinied or deserted. Now the remaining men had to find their way back to where they’d started from. I doubted if more than two thousand would make it there. Eighteen thousand would become a tiny fraction of what had started out. It wasn’t just the death of its soldiers that destroyed an army – there were many more difficulties in keeping one together.

Not all of the Duke’s men had fled and pockets of them remained in the town, holed up in houses here and there. They’d had ample chance to escape and I couldn’t imagine what they hoped to achieve by staying put. No one would thank them for it and the Duke would never hear of their bravery. They were probably little more than murderers anyway. I organised teams of men with the specific task of flushing out any such groups that were reported to us. Gold wasn’t huge, but it was more sprawling than many towns with a similar population and there were a number of large, unused buildings which could conceal soldiers intent on causing mischief. It was a hassle that I didn’t need.

After two days, I had the remainder of my lady’s army brought into the city itself and barracked in suitable accommodation. Gold was used to hosting thousands more of these guests than we brought with us, so even the destruction of the dedicated barracks buildings was little impediment, and the town absorbed us comfortably.

For any other town, the burden of supporting so many men would have quickly become a problem. Here, it was not. Supply lines had long been established, to ferry in foodstuffs from the coast. For now, news had not travelled far enough that the supplies stopped coming. We would have quickly run out of the money to pay for them, but Corporal Knacker and a few of my men discovered a chest of Royals in Captain Garg’s old lodgings – he’d taken over a building adjacent to the original barracks that Bonecruncher had once inhabited, which had escaped the fire. Corporal Knacker also found two of the communication necklaces that I had once worn myself. As soon as I saw them, I struck them with the pommel of my dagger until the mirrors shattered and their chains broke. Then I asked for them to be thrown into the river which ran through Gold. I didn’t know if Warmont could do more than just speak through these mirrors and I didn’t have any desire to find out.

For almost a week, I was busier than I would have liked at tasks which were an unwanted part of my captaincy. During this time, I established a certain amount of order over the town, and the information which reached me said that already things were returning to normal, whatever that meant. The capacity for humanity to recover from its wounds never ceased to amaze me.

I saw little of our lady, though spoke to Ploster once or twice. He advised me that the Saviour spent much of her time walking through the town’s streets, even into the poorest areas at the outskirts. I knew this – I would have been entirely remiss in my duties had I not – and had arranged for Eyeball and Twist to be with her at all times, even if she wasn’t aware of their presence. I’d also assigned four of my best men as well as Lieutenant Faye to her company at all time, ignoring her protestations that she was safe amongst her people. I’d felt the resistance amongst the town’s poorest to her aura of hope. In order for her to magnify their hope, they had to have some of it in the first place. I’d seen enough to think that many of the denizens of Gold were bereft of any longing other than fulfilling their own bodily requirements. There’d be plenty of them who’d try and stick a knife into her if they thought her clothes would look better on them, or for nothing more than the infamy of having killed the Saviour. Still, Dag’Vosh had taken a lot of killing – it may have been that our lady would not be so easily dispatched, but I had no intention of finding out.

Ploster also told me that he continued with her tuition. As he talked, he became enthused, his eyes lighting up in a way I had not seen since we first pledged ourselves to the Saviour in her village.

“Her power...it’s unbelievable,” he said. “I have not seen the like before.”

“How would she fare against Gagnol or Dag’Vosh if they still lived?” I asked. He’d not answered immediately, and when he did I could tell that he was being evasive.

“Her power is different,” he told me. “There is nothing evil about it. It does not seek to bend others to her will through force or threat. It simply shows them what could be and invites them to join her. To join with all of us.”

I nodded at this. “When she was faced by Bonecruncher inside the walls of Treads, she told me that she held off from using her magic. That it was more important that the men beside her were tested by struggle, rather than coming to rely on magic to win every battle. I have pondered this on the road, Jon. I do not think the Saviour is here to kill our enemies for us, more to unite us and show how we can do it ourselves.”

I could tell that Ploster had thought similarly. “I am certain you are correct, Tyrus. One day there will be no more Saviour. If we accomplish what we need to with her magic as a crutch, underlying every victory, where is the worth in what we will have achieved? The triumph will not belong to everyone, it will belong to her, regardless of the men and women who died along the way. And what happens when she is gone? The people will be afraid to act without a Saviour or a figurehead. We will have learned nothing.”

“It is a pity that Warmont or the Emperor are not possessed of such noble ideals,” I said drily. “They will not hesitate to throw the worst of their sorcery at our men.”

“It can only be a test for us, Tyrus,” he said. “Our enemy exists to temper us in the flames of their hatred. We will come out of it stronger and these lands will know peace for a thousand years!”

When Ploster referred to we, I knew that he talked about humanity as a whole, rather than just the men of the First Cohort. He sounded more driven and certain than I had ever found him – our lady’s cause was now more important to him than his loyalty to the First Cohort. After he’d left me, I sat in quiet contemplation of our conversation. After all these years where there had been nothing but our unit, with our loyalty only to ourselves, it was strange to imagine that it had been so quickly diminished in importance. Though I looked within myself, I could find no reason to be concerned that I felt the same as Ploster. Perhaps the only way to our redemption was to accept that we were but a tiny part of a much greater and more important whole.

Some days after that meeting with Ploster, I saw our lady again. Time had already started to blur into a morass of duties and orders, blending together and taking up all of my days. It was fortunate that I needed little sleep and that my stamina remained unbowed by the pressures of responsibility.

In the intervening days, we’d killed another forty of the Duke’s soldiers, half of whom had evaded detection since we’d entered the town, and another half who’d tried to filter back into Gold so that they could slip into anonymity. I hadn’t known if they intended anything malign, but they were quickly reported and identified. When I was told that they’d all been killed, I didn’t spare the matter much thought.

I’d also managed to get a complete roster of the men who had defected from Captain Garg and there were eleven hundred and fifty-seven. I performed my due checks and was satisfied with their loyalty and their capability. I kept Lieutenant Trovis in command. He’d shown himself to be perfectly incisive after my initial misgivings and I liked his company when I got the opportunity.

We had reached something of a wall in front of us and it was this which our lady came to speak to me about.

“What do we do now, Captain Charing?” she asked. I didn’t doubt that she already had some ideas of her own and had come to see if mine tallied with hers. Even the Saviour liked the support of having someone else in agreement with her – occasionally, at least.

“The men you asked me to send out to Septic, Bunsen and Demox have not yet returned. I would not expect them to get back for at least another ten days. Whether they will bring us good news or not, I wouldn’t like to guess,” I told her.

“All the world is waiting and holding its breath,” she said.

“It is a romantic notion,” I replied with a smile. “In reality, the Duke will be marshalling as many of his men as he dares, and conscripting thousands more.”

“Will winter slow him down?” she asked.

“I doubt he will wait. Did you get much snow at your village? We aren’t so far south that the climate will be much different.”

“We had snow, but not so much that it lasted all the winter. There was rain, mostly. Lots and lots of rain.”

“It will be mostly rain we see here as well, my lady. There will be chill, some of it bitter, but nothing that will give a determined commander any pause.”

“If you were a gambling man, would you say that we will see any reinforcements from the coastal towns?”

“If they declare themselves against the Duke, then I would expect to them to help. Whether it will be enough, I don’t know. What they need is to see the Saviour walk amongst them, so that the rumours they will hear of you become incontrovertible.”

“I’m glad that you think so, Captain Charing. That is why I shall be leaving in the morning in order that I can see to it personally.”

My mouth opened and then closed. “I understand,” I told her. “You will take fifty of my men with you, as well as Jon Ploster. Lieutenant Faye will also go, as well as five hundred of the Bunsen Regiment. They’ll be happy to see their homes and will march all the quicker for it.”

“Thank you Captain Charing. We will complete the journey as quickly as we can. I have already spoken to Lieutenant Craddock about it and he estimates it will take as much as forty days for me to visit each of Septic, Bunsen and Demox and then return to Gold. Will Duke Warmont reach here before I have time to return?”

I sighed, something I’d found myself doing too much of recently. It only happened when I’d been away from action too long. “He may do, my lady. It depends how he chooses to act.”

“What about his dragon?” she asked. “Will he send that to ravage Gold as it has done to Treads and Farthest?” Word had reached us only two days before about the destruction that Xoj-Fal the Wyrm had wrought upon those two towns. If the reports were true, the names of Treads and Farthest could be scratched off any maps upon which they appeared.

“I know some things about the beast, my lady, but I have only seen it a handful of times” I told her. “It is a vicious creature, mindless in its destruction, but cunning. It is why Warmont has kept it slumbering for so long. As a tool, it is brutally effective, but I think that the Duke worries about his control over it. He calls it his First to placate its pride, but he cannot use it for anything meaningful beyond sending it out to destroy.”

“If he has roused it now, then the Duke must be fearful of the events he imagines will come.”

“Do not take it as a sign of weakness, my lady. Everyone has resources they can call upon. The appearance of the Wyrm does not mean that the Duke is hard-pressed, simply that he takes your threat seriously. Warmont was never a man to conquer with a thousand men when he could send in ten thousand instead. He likes the violence.”

“Where will his First be now?” she asked.

“It may have flown back to Spite, to await further instructions, assuming it deigns to follow the path which Warmont sends it on. I have heard that it is as capricious as it is dangerous and that only its fear of the Emperor keeps it in check. If it has returned to its cave, then we may have some time. It does not fly quickly, and is ponderous in the air.”

“Can your men kill it, Captain Charing?”

“I hope not to fight it, my lady, though it now seems certain that we will do so. I would prefer if you returned with a thousand longbowmen so that we could fill it with arrows and kill it before it lands.”

“I would prefer that too,” she said, not pressing the matter any further. “What happens if we repulse Warmont’s attack on us?” We both knew it was inevitable that the attack would come. “Might he appear in battle himself so that we can cut the head from his shoulders?”

“There are many cards yet to be played from his hand before we find out the answer to that one, my lady. And you can be certain that the Emperor is looking over the Duke’s shoulder, peering at the events here as they unfold. The war ahead of you is a long one, but a lengthy campaign is the best you can hope for.”

“Because if it is short, it will mean that we have been defeated,” she said softly.

Twenty-One

The next morning, events moved rapidly. I’d arranged for the requisite number of soldiers to be mustered to form our lady’s bodyguard on her travels to the coastal towns to our west. I’d summoned Ploster to my office in the early hours, knowing that he’d be awake already. I didn’t delay in giving him the bad news.

“I’m afraid I’m promoting you, Jon,” I told him, with barely-suppressed glee. I shouldn’t have felt so happy at the news, but I couldn’t help it.

“What?” he’d asked in shock.

“The First Cohort hasn’t got enough corporals. I’ve let this situation persist for longer than I should have, so today I am taking steps to correct the matter.” I waved a hand over my desk in a nondescript gesture to indicate that it was something that had been bothering me.

“We’ve been doing fine up till now,” he replied, almost spluttering.

“Fine isn’t good enough, Corporal Ploster,” I told him, rolling the last two words slowly from my tongue. “The First Cohort is changing and we must change with it. We will be tested soon – perhaps to a greater extent than we have ever been.”

“Why me?” he asked, though he knew the answer anyway. He should have considered himself lucky to have escaped for so long.

“As the First Cohort’s sorcerer, it seems practical that you are given a formal rank. To distinguish you from the men.”

“What’s this all about, Tyrus? Why now?”

There’d been plenty of whats and whys from him so far, but I continued my barrage. “And you’ll be pleased to know that you have your first command. This very morning, as it happens.”

Ploster’s mouth formed a shape that suggested another what or why would come forth, but it did not and he said nothing.

“You’re to accompany our lady on an important trip to the nearest coastal towns to our west, Corporal Ploster. Fifty men from the First Cohort will travel with her, under your direct command. You will report to Lieutenant Faye, who will be in command of the overall contingent - after our lady, of course.”

“Tyrus, you bastard!” he said. I pretended that I hadn’t heard.

“That will be all, Corporal Ploster. Please locate Lieutenant Faye and inform her about your new rank. You’ll be moving out shortly.”

I savoured the look of shock on Ploster’s face for a few moments longer and then he turned to go. I waited until he was almost out of the door before I spoke again. “Jon? Keep her safe, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, Tyrus,” he said.

Our lady left the town with her contingent, and with very little fanfare. There could be no positive outcome if the townsfolk knew she had gone, and I hoped that there would be no negative one. As it happened, we’d more or less restored full order to the town and I doubted there’d be any major outcry at our lady’s departure. Still, I was not in the least surprised when the news of her departure became the talk of the streets within two hours of her leaving. I had men out on patrol – keeping the peace as it was known – and had asked them to keep their ears open for any seditious talk. I need not have worried and I cast my mind back to our recent occupation of Nightingale, where the town had quickly returned to a semblance of normality, even with the hated First Cohort posted on every street corner. Warmont’s people were used to war, used to soldiers and used to making the best of a situation.

Even so, there were incidents, aimed mostly at my men. It was the little things – a stone thrown from an alleyway, a bucket of slops dropped accidentally from above, or shouted insults from drunks or those who thought their bravado would intimidate a trained soldier. I passed along instructions for my men to handle these incidents with tact. You may think the word tact to have been a foreign concept to us, but we were all old, old men and few of us were bothered by the actions of a minority.

Of more concern, was how the men who had defected from Captain Garg would treat not only the First Cohort, but the Treads Regiment as well. We were all meant to be on the same side, but a number of Garg’s men had fought within the walls of Treads and seen their comrades fall to us. To the young and hot-headed I knew there’d be feelings that scores needed to be settled. I spoke to Lieutenant Trovis about it and he agreed to watch his men closely. Regardless of his actions, there’d definitely be a confrontation at some point – it was inevitable.

The soldiers who weren’t on patrol either slept, or spent their time on the training grounds. The town barracks may have burned down, but the training areas which surrounded them had not. I kept all of my lieutenants busy there, drilling the men and putting them into mixed teams as they trained. The idea was for them to integrate more, but also to engender a rivalry that we could exploit when it came to battle. I had the First Cohort play a full part in this. I thought that the Treads Regiment had already begun to accept us, having seen our whole-hearted commitment to the defence of their town, but we still had much work to do before the others would see us as comrades. They feared us still, but I didn’t mind that for now. If our own men feared us for what we were, it would bolster them when they saw us clash with the enemy – after all, we were on the same side in the end.

I would have dearly liked to have taken a much greater role in this training. Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have stood on the training ground, day after day, imparting my own skills and knowledge, and also witnessing the strengths and weaknesses of the men under my command. It was to my annoyance that I was denied the opportunity by the mundanity of overseeing a town which was effectively under martial law. Whoever had kept the civic machinery ticking over before our arrival I didn’t know, and they appeared to have taken the opportunity to abrogate their responsibilities.

As well as the exercises to keep the men fresh and to improve their skills, I had a number of chosen veterans - drawn from all parts of our lady’s army - head out into the local taverns at evening time. Here, they were instructed to fill the hearts and minds of the townsfolk with tales of valour and the glory of the battlefield. How those who served in the Saviour’s army would play a part in freeing these lands and songs would be sung about them for an eternity. There was an underlying truth in it all but we needed to bolster our ranks, so I was happy for my recruiters to concentrate on the glory, and gloss over the pain and screaming agony of gangrenous wounds or metal piercing flesh.

The tactics worked – every soldier likes to tell the uninitiated about their heroism – and the training grounds saw a steady stream of new recruits, eager to sign up for combat and to fight for our lady. I let Lieutenant Sinnar loose on them, feeling hardly any guilt at the order.

Then, one day, less than a week from our lady’s departure, something changed for me. A few of the men had started to hear whisperings on the streets and in the taverns about a group calling themselves the Saviour’s Chosen. I had given the reports the appropriate heed, which is to say not much. I’d heard of such cults before, knew that they occasionally sprung up around madmen, seers or people who wanted to manipulate their fellows. They were charlatans and without any power of their own. Duke Warmont had never tolerated this sort of subversion and had stamped these movements out with overwhelming force and ruthlessness. I’d always thought that the savagery of his actions was little more than consistent behaviour for the man – another excuse to kill his subjects, as if he needed one.

The deaths started – bodies began to appear on the streets in their ones and twos each night, always damaged in a way far beyond what had been needed to kill the victim. More information trickled in that the so-called Saviour’s Chosen were killing the prostitutes who had provided their services for the soldiers garrisoned here, as if our lady had decided that these of her people were not worthy of saving. In a way, I could almost make sense of what they were doing – they saw in the women of the streets a reflection of their own shame. They had allowed the Duke and his men to rule over this town without resistance for so long and needed an outlet for their anger, as if they could hide their own inaction behind senseless murder. We each deal with our lives in our own way and I found myself gripped by an anger I hadn’t felt in many years, that the Saviour’s Chosen had passed this judgement on the women who doubtless had little choice in how they earned their coin.

“They will not do this in her name!” I shouted, striking my fist against the desk when Corporal Grief brought news of another murder.

The First Cohort’s doctor had seen death beyond measure. On the battlefield and the aftermath, he could view it dispassionately, as if the men he treated were objects – though objects that demanded the very best of his attention. Corporal Grief did not lack feeling, far from it, but that was how he kept himself sane in the face of inhumanity.

“It brings me great sorrow, Captain,” he said, “that these young women have had their lives cut short. For them there has been no Saviour.”

His words made me feel even greater anger and I surged to my feet. It was late at night, though I had still been in my familiar position at my desk. Some people find the sanctuary of sleep to be an escape, but it was one we were denied in the First Cohort. I left Corporal Grief to his own affairs and found a group of my men.

“I want you to find the fuckers who are doing this,” I told them. “And I want you to bring them to me. They will not use our lady’s name to justify their deeds!”

I could see that they looked worried too. When we were stationed in a town for an extended period, the rumour and gossip was all there was to keep us interested. Gold wasn’t such a large town and I bet everyone knew about the murders. We just had to find someone who knew who was doing it.

I sent fifteen of them out into the streets, to the outskirts of the town where all of the killings had taken place.

“Fuck it, I’m coming with you,” I said, following one of the groups.

“Itchy feet, Captain?” asked Weevil.

“Someone’s got to keep an eye on you, Weevil,” I said. “We don’t want you getting into the biscuits again.”

“Seventy years and I’m still remembered for that?” he exclaimed, entirely unoffended.

“I hope they were worth it, you greedy sod,” said Chant, happy to get in on the act.

“Best biscuits I’ve ever had, thank you for asking.”

We went out, choosing our destination almost at random. I didn’t know why I was so keen to act, but I’m sure Weevil’s assessment of my itchy feet was as good a guess as any. I’d just needed an excuse to get off my behind and feel like I was making a contribution of some sort.

The streets were more or less deserted, though an air of faint menace remained. Even in the outskirts, the robbers needed to sleep at some time. Either that or they didn’t steal from their own and were loitering outside the taverns closer towards the centre of town. It was cold and clear and the chill of the air felt good on my face.

“Want us to start knocking on some doors, Captain?” asked Hobble.

“Not just yet. Let’s see what we can see first.”

“There’ll be someone who knows, Captain. There always is.”

“I agree with you, Hobble. Let’s keep our eyes open for now.”

We found a body, slumped in an alleyway between two shabby wooden dwellings. I’d have walked past it in the darkness, but the keen eyes of Squint picked it out.

“Over there, Captain,” he said, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. “I think there’s something along that alley.”

We drew our short daggers – it took little effort to be prepared for the unexpected – and I knelt down next to the slumped form. It was a woman, head-down in the dirt. I pulled at her arm, rolling her onto her back and saw her face. It was the young woman I had saved on the night the Saviour had first come into the town.

“Lilith,” I said, feeling an emptiness I could not comprehend.

“Did you know her, Captain?”

I was silent for a long while. “No, Waxer, I didn’t know her. I saved her from Warmont’s men and she told me her name, but I didn’t know her.”

In death, Lilith looked beautiful. I could see that she had bought herself some new clothes, doubtless with the coin I had given her and she’d cleaned her face of the layers of makeup and blush that she’d worn before. We all looked at her.

“She could have been my daughter,” said Chant wistfully. He said what we all felt. The Saviour brought hope with her, and here was a young woman to whom it had been denied. I could see that Lilith had done what she could to change already – my chance meeting with her had affected her that much.

I reached down and closed her eyes and then pulled the sword from between her legs where someone had forced the entire length inside her body. Her agony must have been unimaginable. I slung her body over my shoulder. She felt as light as a feather, as if her fleeing soul had carried away everything she kept within.

We took her outside the walls and buried her beneath the soil. Weevil had found a couple of shovels from somewhere – I didn’t know if he’d borrowed them or stolen them and didn’t care. We looked at the unmarked grave for a time, with our heads bowed, none of us able to give voice to why the death of this woman had affected us so much. Perhaps her face had reminded us all of our past, back to a time when we all had our hopes and dreams.

“Let’s find these fuckers, Captain,” said Weevil. “And kill them all.”

Violence would bring more violence. It was the only thing we knew and there were times that I felt no remorse.

We remained on our search for several more hours, each of us driven on by a need to bring matters to a close. Of course, things are not always so straightforward and in the early hours we had to give up the fruitless hunt. I’d knocked on a few doors in anger, and had roused the occupants in their dwellings to question them about what they’d seen and what they knew. No one I spoke to had given anything meaningful. I counted myself a good reader of people – it was always the eyes that gave away the truth, but I resigned myself to frustration.

Once I’d returned to my office, I found myself wishing that Jon Ploster was still in the town. I needed to speak to someone about the murders and my feelings. A quiet little voice in my mind had already started to ask if my planned retribution was something that our lady would approve of, or if the anger was my own. I cursed myself for this inner conflict and wished for the hundredth time that I was somewhere far away from this town, and listening to the clash of metal on metal, rather than my own insidious thoughts.

The day after we had found Lilith, I was as busy as ever. I did not shirk my duties, but by now I felt somewhat cheated into a position where I was expected to undertake tasks which were a better fit for another man. I worried more and more that by sitting in my office for hours at a time, I was losing this vital time to bond with the new men of our lady’s army. There were many of the new recruits who had hardly seen me, except in passing or when I was in conversation with one of my lieutenants. I knew that my rank permitted me to act entirely through my officers, but that was not how I preferred to treat my men. It was part of my success that my troops saw me as a man who could fight with the best of them and not retreat from something because I feared for my own safety. I had seen officers who sat aloof and rarely drew their own weapons. Those officers were the ones who lost the crux battles.

I sent more teams of men into the streets to knock on doors and locate the murderers who committed their acts in our lady’s name. I had the word put about that anyone who provided suitable information would be well rewarded and then I waited to see what would come of it. I reasoned that if the townsfolk sympathised with the Saviour’s Chosen, the promised reward would not be successful in drawing anyone out. On the opposite side of the coin, I expected to find plenty of eager tongues ready to wag if the sympathies of the people were not with this group.

I have been told that patience is a virtue and that patience is always rewarded. By these measures, I was not at all virtuous. I reasoned that if one is forced to wait, it is essentially unimportant if the waiting is done patiently or not, for eventually the passing of time brings the same conclusion. After two days, there was a knock on my office door, which opened to admit a soldier from Lieutenant Trovis’ regiment. I vaguely recognized his face, though his name escaped me.

“I’ve got two men here to see you, Captain,” he said. “They claim to know something about these Saviour’s Chosen, or whatever they call themselves.”

“Very well, let them in,” I said. Two men were duly brought before me, one tall, one short, averagely dressed and otherwise unremarkable. I waved the soldier from the room.

I cut to the chase. “Who are you and what do you want?”

The shorter man grinned at me. I didn’t like his cockiness. “We’ve come for the reward, sir,” he said.

I wasn’t in the mood to dance around the issue. “Speak clearly. I don’t have all day. Do you have information for me?”

“Yes sir, we do,” said the second man. “We’ve come to tell you some things.”

“Things that only we know,” said the first.

I wasn’t in the best of moods already and these two men were irritating me greatly. “Speak quickly before I throw you out of the window!” I demanded. At that moment, I felt a very faint whispering in the air around me. As though a tiny, scarcely-felt breeze rustled over my skin.

“We’ve come to tell you that you are not worthy to serve the Saviour, dead soldier of Warmont.”

“You need to burn for what you have done.”

I had already started to move as the power of the magic struck me. It fluttered around me gently, lapping at my inner walls like the softest of waves upon a clean, white beach.

I punched the tallest man, a thundering right hook that splattered his nose across his face and sent a fountain of blood onto the floor. He fell back, clutching at his face and screamed loudly. The second man had drawn a pair of daggers and held one in each hand. He lunged at me, the action pitifully slow and poorly-coordinated. I stepped away from him and pulled my wooden desk into his path.

“You cannot serve our Saviour,” said the man, almost repeating what he’d told me only moments before.

I kicked the desk into him, the suddenness of my action catching him off guard so that the heavy wood caught him in the midriff. Whatever magic the tall man had cast at me had dissipated, without even triggering a faint glow from my skin-patterns. The caster was struggling to recover and I didn’t give him any chance to do so. The desk kept the dagger-wielding man at a distance for the seconds it took me to hammer my fist into the neck of his partner. My strike was a good one and by the way the man collapsed, I could tell that I had ruptured the arteries beneath the skin.

When the office door burst open to admit the soldier again, I had already killed the second man with my sword, pushing it without mercy into his abdomen while he flailed in vain with his daggers.

“Find out who knew these men and have them held,” I told the soldier. I studied him carefully – his fluster telling me that these would-be murderers were not of his acquaintance. “And get someone to take their bodies away.”

“Yes, sir!”

The town of Gold was not large enough to hide the group who called themselves the Saviour’s Chosen, and the populace showed little interest in sheltering them. In dribs and drabs, we heard names, or learned of houses known to be associated with the group. I had them flushed out and put into the building we used as a jail. I visited the place once, and looked through at the men in their cells. Of course, it was all men and of course the only prostitutes they had killed were the women. I hated them for what they had done and found myself wrestling with this emotion. Hatred was not something I had been familiar with for a long time, except perhaps where Bonecruncher was concerned. I didn’t know if I was losing a grip on my feelings, or if the Saviour had changed me from what I had been.

I doubted that we’d caught all of the culprits, but the murders stopped and I was content with that. Our lady could deal with the prisoners when she returned from the coastal towns. I didn’t want to guess if she would be forgiving or if she would be merciless in her judgement of these people who had killed her own.

Then, twenty-two days after our lady had left to go on her own mission, my thirst for action was rewarded, though it was not a reward that I had hoped to enjoy. It was noon, give or take an hour and I had managed to find the time to put in an appearance on the training grounds. My timing was bad, for the majority of the men had dispersed in order to partake of their mid-day meal, so I did not get to watch them practice as I had intended. In another way, the timing was perfect.

“What the fuck is that?” came a voice close by. It was a man from Treads – another one with a familiar face but a name I didn’t know. He was staring into the clear blue of the sky, shielding his eyes with his hand, even though he was not looking towards the sun.

I heard other voices raised in concern as well and when I stared, I saw the reason why.

“Xoj-Fal the Wyrm,” I said aloud.

High in the sky above us it flew, black and sinewy. Its wings were enormous, but even so, looked too small to carry the creature aloft. It hung in the air strangely, as if it had no right at all to be off the ground. Every flap of its wings spoke of the vast effort required for it to maintain its height. I crossed my fingers that we were not its business today, but with a twist of its body, it changed course and glided silently down towards the town of Gold.

Twenty-Two

I ran for the barracks, knowing exactly where I’d find my lieutenants. Outside, other men stared, frozen in horror as they looked into the sky. I’d seen this effect from the Wyrm before – it’s presence was enough to cause men to quail before it, their terror feeding its pride, yet not sating its thirst for destruction.

“Craddock! Sinnar!” I bellowed. “Get here! Now! Full muster! Bring spears.”

Unwilling to wait for even a moment, I looked out into the training yard again, just in time to see the underbelly of Warmont’s First as it swooped low, almost directly overhead. I felt relief that the training ground had not been packed with men, as this would have certainly drawn the creature’s attention and the casualties would have been immense. From up high, the training area probably looked like little more than an unused piece of land.

“It’s gone over there!” cried one soldier, pointing into the distance.

Now I heard a sound: a great bellowing roar as the beast announced its coming to the people in the streets and houses below. After the roar, there was a different sound, but one that was equally terrifying, since I knew what it heralded. It was the noise of suction, like a blacksmith’s bellows drawing in an unimaginable quantity of air. The beast was visible over the peaks of the rooftops, now several hundred yards away and I watched as it exhaled a monumental gout of greasy, black flame, directing it downwards into the buildings below. I’d seen this once before, many years ago, and the damage this darkness caused had frightened even the most hardened of men. The Wyrm’s breath did more than just set towns ablaze.

My soldiers had begun to spill out into the training ground and I felt a burst of pride that they were each fully prepared in their armour, weapons held close. Sinnar approached me, seeming to push the men aside as he ran, yet without his having to lay a hand upon them.

“Captain, we’ve only got half the First Cohort available. The rest are on patrol.”

“Break them down into groups of forty, Lieutenant. Assign a man to lead each one and have them take cover in the streets away from here. They need to run.”

“Yes, sir!” he said, meeting my gaze, rather than following the flight of the Wyrm. He was a professional to the last.

“You know what that creature will do to the town, Sinnar. And what it will do to our lady’s men if it sees them.”

“I know, sir,” he said.

Lieutenants Craddock and Trovis had joined me now. I spoke to them quickly, watching as Xoj-Fal slowly, leisurely wheeled around in the sky over the town away from us.

“Trovis, scatter your men. Don’t have them bunch up anywhere in the open. Have them keep order and fight fire. Do not, under any circumstances lead them out of the city in any kind of tight formation. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” said Trovis. He looked alive now – as if he itched to do something. Some men only show their true worth when the challenge is at its greatest. I had started to get the idea that Lieutenant Trovis was one of those men.

“Nothing stupid, Lieutenant Trovis. I’m going to lead my men against it when it lands. We’ll chop the bastard into chunks and we can all eat its liver and piss on its dead body once we’re through with it.”

“Will it land, sir?” asked Trovis.

“Yes, Lieutenant. It always lands. How can it eat when it is high in the sky?”

The Wyrm had attacked only a few minutes before, and already I could hear screams and cries in the distance. The town’s people would soon crowd the streets in their panic and make it harder for us to engage the creature.

Xoj-Fal was flying horizontal to our position now – its wings flapping almost perfunctorily, as if the action was unnecessary for it to fly. Even from several hundred yards away I heard the sound of bellows again. I was not sure if it was my imagination, but I thought that the creature swelled as it drew in the surrounding air, as if the entirety of its one-hundred-yard length was designed to serve this one purpose. As the first two groups of forty from the First Cohort reached the cover of the streets, I saw the black flame shoot downwards again. I saw roof tiles and bricks thrown high into the air, looking like tiny dots against the blue sky, before they fell down to earth, vanishing from my sight behind the walls and rooftops of the intervening buildings.

Then, without warning, the Wyrm extended its hind legs forward, stretched out its wings and fell out of the sky like a bird of prey dropping upon its target. I expected to feel a tremor run through my feet at its impact, but there was nothing.

I found myself running at the head of forty-three of my men, Weevil and Hobble at my side, each clutching their heavy shields and a long spear. I knew they’d have their swords and daggers tucked into their belts. We used shields and spears to hold our line, but deep down all of us were swordsmen. The sword is the only weapon that truly makes your heart sing, and our runed blades were the most precious things we owned.

“Looks like it’s landed by the river, Captain,” said Hobble.

“Easiest place for it,” I replied. “It probably doesn’t want to be hemmed in while it torches the place.”

The streets were in the state of panic I had anticipated and we had to form a point in order to make progress. We raised our shields, not because I feared that the townsfolk would attack us in their panic, but because they made excellent battering tools to push people out of the way without causing harm to them – apart from the occasional bruise or bloody nose. When a threat is known, but its location uncertain, the ensuing panic becomes a thing of chaos. So it was in Gold, with the people running here and there based on what their own eyes had seen and what they overheard from others.

“It’s over there!” I heard.

“I saw it that way!”

“What is it? What the fuck is it?”

“It’s going to burn us all!”

We pushed our way through the scrum. The people who were heading in the same direction as us quickly changed their minds when they realised that the First Cohort were unlikely to be running away from the threat. The overall effect was almost like a whirlpool of people around us and I was glad when the numbers thinned out as we got closer to the river.

There was another roar – thunderously loud this time and I knew we must be close to the Wyrm, even though we had lost sight of it once it had landed. I lifted my hand to slow the men to a moderate pace and to indicate that they should ready their shields. I happened to glance along a side street that ran parallel to the river’s flow and saw another squad of forty of my men approaching from that direction. I was uncomfortable with the idea that we might all get funnelled into a single large group and signalled for those men to hold for a moment.

The river Fols which ran through Gold was little more than a very broad, shallow stream. Houses butted up close to its banks and there were several low bridges over the waterway; bridges made of stone, wood or both. The street we followed came to one such bridge and we approached cautiously, for the buildings here were some of the tallest in the town, though that didn’t mean very much. Our vision was limited and I hoped to surprise the Wyrm, rather than have it the other way around. If possible, I wanted to prevent it from taking off again. With it in the air, we were almost helpless against it.

Suddenly, a long, black, muscular shape came into view between the two buildings. The tail crashed down upon the bridge, shattering its thick, wooden beams and crushing the stone walkway into the river Fols a few feet below it. I heard screams still, though now these sounds were joined by the constant rumble of stone and bricks cascading down as the dragon pulled at the walls of the buildings in its search for sustenance.

I was not prone to indecision, but we had already waited too long and I urged my men along the street. From the side street, I saw the other squad of forty emerge behind us, their blue-tattooed flesh making their bodies hardly visible against the gloom of the narrow lane. It was as though forty sets of disembodied armour marched into the street behind us, with the stark white glow of the men’s eyes visible through the slits in their helmets.

At the final corner before the ruined bridge, I poked my head around the corner. Xoj-Fal was here and close by. Its head was far longer than I was tall and its mouth took up most of it. Teeth protruded top and bottom through the lips. They were yellow and looked wickedly sharp. The eyes were golden, but even the brief glimpse I got at that moment told of ancient evil and cunning. I didn’t have time to reflect on it then, but I knew it was strange that when I thought of the word evil I also thought of it as something undesirable. For hundreds of years we had fought beside the unspeakable and never once had I thought of them as evil. How we change.

We were not the first squad into the watercourse. I watched as Lieutenant Craddock marched a group of men out of a street two hundred yards further upriver, closer to the beast than we were. There was another bridge and his men spilled over it, forming as quickly as they could into a line two deep, with shields raised and spears pointed. He must have been funnelled as we had been and forced to merge two groups, for he had more than forty with him.

I signalled for the group behind my own to fall in with us and then I led us out from the shadows of the street and into the shallows of the river Fols. I jumped over a pile of rubble from where the Wyrm had destroyed the bridge and into the knee-high water of the river. My armour clanked and the chill raced over my flesh but I paid these things no mind as I pushed myself through the water towards the creature ahead, Garver and Flax at my side.

The buildings to either side were in a state of ruin, where Xoj-Fal had clawed at the walls and brought them into the river. Now that we were free of the high walls of the street, I could see where the black flames of its breath had scoured other buildings. I could not see the fires from here, but the smoke rose thickly a few streets away from us. I did not know how much intelligence the Wyrm possessed, but it struck me that it should have simply stayed in the sky and burned the town to ash. Perhaps it liked to play with its victims and draw out their suffering. I knew that Warmont was the same.

Xoj-Fal had seen the eighty men under Lieutenant Craddock and its eyes narrowed at the sight. Had we been normal soldiers I felt certain that it would have laughed – an unpleasant sound that I had heard it make before. The Wyrm’s memory must have been a long one and I saw recognition in its eyes.

The dragon stood crossways over the river, much of its tail hidden by a street leading away on the opposite bank. We approached its flank, still eighty yards away and as my two squads splashed towards it, the massive head swung in our direction as it sized up those who approached. I chanced a look over my shoulder, twisting my neck, and saw that the final two squads of men were another hundred yards away to our rear. I assumed that Lieutenant Sinnar had gathered them into one.

Without warning, the creature bellowed. There was no build up to it, nor an intake of breath. It simply opened its jaws and the sound came forth. It was not the same as the roar of a wild animal – this sound spoke of every unknown fear that a man can imagine - the noises heard by someone who is lost and alone in a place unknown. It sought to drive a wedge of terror into our souls and make our primal fears overwhelm our conscious thought, to force our feet into carrying us in headlong flight away from the dragon. Against me, you are nothing! it railed.

I felt the creature’s call to flee and I laughed long and loud, the sound almost manic to my ears. How dare this beast have the temerity to speak to me about a fear of loneliness and loss, my mind shouted to me. The men of the First Cohort were never alone when we fought. Each and every one of us could rely on the men around us to die in our defence, for the lives of our brethren were as important as our own. When you had seen every threat to your life and your existence defeated by the strength of your arm and the loyalty of your comrades, what fear was there left for us? We were not free from fear – we all had our own insidious voices whispering to us – but none of us knew of the urge to run that the dragon tried to call from us.

I heard some around me laugh in the same response, whilst other men roared their own denial, their sound tiny in comparison to that of the dragon, but greater in its determination.

The first of Lieutenant Craddock’s men reached the Wyrm and were dwarfed by the inconceivable bulk of its body. The creature swiped with a scaled forearm, ten paces long and heavily muscled. It connected with the nearest men, knocking half a dozen of them flying. I saw that each man retained his shield, even against the power of the impact. Warmont’s First would find out that we did not die quite so easily as those who still have blood within their veins.

I had my own squads form a line, only one man deep. I saw that the more we bunched up, the greater our vulnerability would be to its claws and its sharp teeth. I did not carry a spear, but held my shield before me – my own metal brother. It had turned my certain destruction into ongoing existence on more occasions than I could recall.

“Cut the bastard’s wings off!” I shouted.

The great head moved around towards me and I knew that the creature had understood the command. Its wings were furled for now, high up on its back, but their size was such that they almost drooped on the ground and into the water. I reached the dragon’s side and swung a hard blow at the thick bone and leathery skin of the closest wing. Even the runes of my blade felt torment as they fought to cut through the ancient flesh. The blade sparked and howled – a noise I had not heard it make before – and it reluctantly cut into the iron-hard flesh of the wing, sending a juddering vibration along my arm. I knew at once that Warmont’s First was not going to be an easy kill.

The Wyrm lunged downward to my right and plucked up a man near to me – I did not see him to provide a name. The soldier’s entire head and torso vanished within the jaws and I saw the legs kick for a moment and saw huge muscles bulge to the side of the dragon’s mouth as it crushed the man within his armour. Then, the jaws opened and the creature howled in pain and anger. It spat the man away and his crushed body and bent shield tumbled into the river. Even in death, he’d done his duty, and I saw the glow of his sword where he’d embedded it into the roof of the dragon’s mouth as it had taken him.

In its fury, it swung its clawed arms at us. We were fortunate that it could not make use of both at the same time, and it had to have three limbs planted on the ground in order to maintain its balance. The creature was not as ponderous on the ground as it had looked in the air and its attacks were fast and powerful. It did not thrash blindly and aimed at the largest group of men each time. Our discipline was impeccable and we did not bunch up, but even so we were not able to avoid the claws and I saw dozens of us hurled away by the blows. Most of the time my men were quickly back on their feet and into the fray once more. If our bodies were not completely shattered, we would keep fighting and pain was not the impediment that it once might have been.

The dragon did not attack in comfort and for every blow it landed, we hewed at it with a grim and indefatigable strength. I had instructed the men to bring their spears in the hope that their points would provide a distraction as well as a defence. Against men and horses, I would not have done without them, but against the unnatural toughness of Warmont’s First, they did almost nothing. I watched Sinnar and another man attempt to drive a spear into the creature’s haunch, but the hard tip would not penetrate the flesh. Sinnar was a strong man and even with his best efforts, the steel did nothing.

“Use your swords!” I heard Craddock shout from the other side of the creature’s body, as we realised that we had no choice but to engage at the closest of quarters.

To my side, I heard Garver grunt with effort as he clashed his sword off the dragon’s front elbow. The skin parted on the limb, revealing a sickly yellow bone underneath. No blood flowed and I realised that Xoj-Fal was not a creature of life.

Garver’s attack had brought its attention and it flicked an arm out in a way I had not expected. The knuckle of the dragon’s claw struck Garver’s head, knocking it to one side and into an unnatural angle. The blow carried through, cannoning into me and Flax. I had been mid-lunge and avoided much of the attack by rolling with it and allowing myself to be knocked face-down into the river. I was submerged for a moment, the water coursing through my armour and soaking my clothes and skin beneath. The force of the impact had left me stunned and I lay there for what seemed like an age, though was surely only a few seconds. Booted feet stumbled into me as I summoned up the strength to haul myself once more onto my feet.

I shouted my defiance as I broke the surface. My shield was gone and I saw that Flax was also. I hadn’t seen what had happened in the time I’d been underwater, but the soldier was on his back in the water nearby, his chest plate crushed, his helmet gone and his shield battered. His lifeless eyes stared upwards from their place a few inches below the water.

I heard the voices of the others nearby, each of them waging his own personal fight against the creature before him, yet each aware that he was one of a team. The individual was never alone.

“Stab the bastard!” I heard from Sinnar. “Watch those legs! It’s turning! Follow it, follow it!”

My head finally cleared and I was able to make sense of the Lieutenant’s words. Xoj-Fal had wheeled around in the riverbed as it sought to trample us or bunch us up against its attacks. Water was not a good place to fight, but we kept pace as it rotated and did our best to remain at its haunches. It had stopped using its mouth to bite at us and I gave thanks to the unknown man whose sword had made the beast wary. Even so, the claws were taking a terrible toll and there was hardly a moment that one or more of my men was not struck by one, each attack throwing the victims many feet away. I fervently hoped that those soldiers would be able to recover, assuming we were successful in defeating the dragon.

I joined in with the fray once more. The body of another man – alive or dead I didn’t know – flew by my shoulder as I hacked at Xoj-Fal’s tattered wing. Each time my sword made contact, the sparks jumped out from the blade and the peculiar howl came forth. I had one of the Emperor’s finest weapons, though it was now joined to me by a bond that Malleus would never be able to break. The swords of my men rose and fell and we looked like little more than butchers, bereft of finesse. Every now and then, a series of blows would dislodge a chunk of dead flesh, which would drop into the river and sink from sight. I could feel them beneath my feet as I moved to retain my balance.

Without warning, Xoj-Fal turned again, scattering us as it did so. It unfurled its wings, the action knocking fifteen or twenty of us away, and I thought that it was about to take flight. It did not, and instead it charged down the widest main street that ran through the centre of Gold. We were all taken by surprise at the speed of it. Behind it, the thirty-yard tail thrashed to the left and right as the beast’s body hurtled along the street. Most of us were quick enough to drop full-length into the river to avoid the swinging appendage, but I had not stopped around for long enough to be sure that it missed everyone. I saw a thick, black shape flail in the air above me and I jumped to my feet once it had passed. All around me, other men were doing the same, shaking themselves to speed the egress of the water from their armour.

“Get after it!” I shouted. I didn’t know if it had fled or simply wished to find a more favourable place to combat us. Its escape had given me the chance to see that the lower edges of its wings were in shreds, with strips of the leathery flesh hanging in banners from the hollow bones which supported it. I didn’t know if we’d done enough to prevent it from flying – I was now sure that it used more than just its wings to keep it in the air.

A shield jutted up from the surface of the water next to me. I reached to pick it up and saw that it was still held by the hand of a dead soldier, who lay on the riverbed. The ripples on the surface of the river were not heavy, but they were sufficient to prevent me from recognizing the man’s face. Even as I pulled the shield away from him, I felt a profound sadness that my brother below had been denied this one last honour, that I would not be able to thank him by name for the service he had rendered. I swore that I would return to this place and that each and every man who had fallen would be remembered by his name and that each would have his toast.

The men of the First Cohort, urged on by me, Craddock and Sinnar, shrugged themselves from the river’s weak grasp and gathered at the end of the street along which Xoj-Fal had fled. I tried to see how many of my men remained, but any attempt to calculate the number who had perished was futile, for I had noticed others of my men join us during the fight. I had presumed them to be men who had returned from patrols or who had seen the dragon overhead and made haste to find us.

There was little rubble on this side of the river – the Wyrm had pulled at the buildings on the other side from us – and we were able to gather on a small paved area adjacent to the river bank. The beast’s passage had torn down shop fronts and left indents in walls as the sway of its run had caused it to collide with the walls around it. We had not taken long to escape the river, but by the time we had regained our formation on the bank, the street was empty.

“It went away to the left, Captain,” said Janker. “Maybe three hundred yards along there.”

I thought I knew where Janker was pointing at. The street itself was a mess of rubble and bodies. I wondered if these people had been foolish enough to creep along here to watch us combat the Wyrm, or if the creature had killed them before we engaged it in the river. Either way, they were dead.

Nearby parts of the town were still in flames, and we were closer to them now. I could see the smoke rising into the blue sky from buildings that were only a few streets away from us.

“Think it’s making for the Farmer’s Market, Captain?” asked a soldier by the name of Grogs.

“I doubt there’s anything there for it, Grogs. And I don’t think it knows the town well enough to have a specific destination.”

I made the signal to Craddock and Sinnar and they pulled the men into squads again. Each squad started its way down the street at a half-run, with shields ready. We kept the squads apart to avoid bunching, having already learned what the dragon could do to men who stayed too close together. I didn’t want it to charge down the street at us and trample us in our dozens. I’d seen enough to know that it wasn’t a mindless animal and didn’t know how far its intelligence went. I was soon to find out.

My own squad was third out of six and we set off at the run, twenty yards behind the men in front. We’d gone maybe a hundred and fifty yards towards the side street that Janker had indicated when the sound reached us. There was a loud, whistling suction and I felt the air move as it was pulled by me, towards the far end of the street. I knew immediately that we’d been tricked.

Ahead of me was Lieutenant Craddock’s squad and they moved in perfect unison as they changed their course and ran into a side street. Ahead of Craddock, I watched as the lead squad did the same, turning on their heels and scrambling towards the narrow alley.

I looked around frantically for cover and discovered that we were exactly mid-way between a street to the front and a street to the rear. With relief, I saw the men behind us heading towards the cover afforded by this other side lane.

This had taken only a few moments to occur after the dragon’s intake of breath. One hundred and fifty yards distant, a huge black-scaled head came smoothly into view, carried by the powerful muscles of its dead flesh. Without pause, it opened its mouth and I was sure I saw a look of satisfaction in the yellow eyes as the black flame poured from its mouth, gushing down the street in a storm of darkness and death.

We hunkered beneath our shields – forty of my men huddled behind the slabs of dark grey metal that we had relied on for as long as the First Cohort had existed. The darkflame struck at us like a battering ram, undeniable in its force and its thirst. It licked around the gaps in our shields, finding its way above and around. Our shields were staunchly made, but they lacked the power held in the blades of our swords. I felt my own shield sag and melt as the dragon’s breath turned it a dull orange and charred away the leather bindings and straps.

The darkflame struck with a power I had not felt since our lady had first sought to destroy me. The darkness pulled at my flesh, seeking life within where there was none to find. The creature’s breath did not only have the power to suck out life, and its heat was unbearable. The tattoos that covered my body glowed with a brightness that I had never before experienced. My eyes were closed but I could feel the intensity of my wards as they fought to keep me alive against the magic that assailed me.

The men around me shouted their defiance and through my closed eyes I could sense their own attempts to rebuff the darkflame’s clamouring assault on their existence. I heard several low, dull popping noises that my brain told me was the armour of the men around me bursting at the seams and splitting apart.

The darkflame washed over us for what seemed like forever. My own armour split and cracked and heat covered my skin, leaving no part of me untouched by it. Inside my mind, I refused to huddle and I opened my eyes, rather than hide from the sight of the flames. The swirling onslaught of darkness was met by the glow from my body, the strength of my own will powering my wards and sigils. I started to laugh as I realised that I had triumphed over Xoj-Fal’s flames.

Abruptly, the darkness was gone. One moment it was there, the next split-second it was gone. My laughter froze upon my lips as I saw the charred remains of the men in my squad. I was not the only one to survive, and saw at least a dozen who stared defiantly along the street at Xoj-Fal, as if their hatred alone could destroy Warmont’s First. We had not all repelled the onslaught. More than twenty of the First Cohort would not be marching with us again, each frozen in their final resting pose. Some were crouched with their heads held upwards, others had been battered to their sides by the force of the attack. I would not say that they did not have the strength, for we all stand on each other’s shoulders and should any of us fall, the burden of failing is shared amongst the living, not the dead.

The dragon had doubtless hoped to destroy the majority of my soldiers with its surprise attack. When it saw that it had killed only a fraction of us, it emerged from its hiding place, bringing down most of a two-storey building as it wrestled itself into the main street again.

I knew what it planned and waved the remaining men of my squad to take cover. The Wyrm started to charge, its claws digging up great clods of the street as it gained speed. Hobble shoulder-charged a wooden door near to him. It racketed open and he fell within, three others of my men behind him.

“Move!” I shouted to two others. They seemed lost, somehow and stared ahead at the approaching dragon as it filled the street in front of us. I wasn’t close to the door through which Hobble had vanished and I rolled to one side, taking cover in a different doorway. There were others of us still in the street and from my periphery I saw as they, too, did their best to escape the charge. The names of the two men had now registered in my mind, having finally been assigned enough priority to take form in my brain through the tumult.

“Jakes! Swagger!” I called finally, hoping to break them from their reverie.

It was at that moment that I realised what they were waiting for. They were not lost, nor confused by the beast’s assault. Their faces held that look of absolute serenity and clarity that I had seen before in men who had already determined that their deaths were a certainty. Perhaps they had seen something in the darkflame that we had not. As Xoj-Fal thundered along the street, the noise of its feet climbed to a crescendo as its immense weight sent out shockwaves ahead of it. The walls around me shuddered as I pressed back into the doorway I used as refuge. With movements smooth and sudden I saw Jakes and Swagger each draw their blades. It was as though there was no intervening time between their hands being empty and then holding the rune-scribed metal in their hands.

As the Wyrm hurtled by, Swagger and Jakes dropped low, their swords held upwards in threat. Swagger was crushed by a foreleg when he swung his blade, his body pulped flat on the stones of the ground. Jakes rolled under the second foreleg and rose upward, just as the dragon’s gait brought its body downwards to meet the wickedly-sharp point of the sword. The beast’s own weight drove its belly all the way down until only the hilt of the weapon remained visible, with Jakes hanging onto it with both hands. Then, he was gone, carried along by Xoj-Fal’s charge, while the dragon roared its fury.

When the last of the creature’s tail had gone past me, I ran back into the street, just in time to see Jakes fall close to the dragon’s hind legs. One of the mighty limbs caught him a glancing blow, which nevertheless dashed him against a wall. Had the darkflame not destroyed his armour, he might have regained his feet, but the collision looked fatal. Hoping that he would live so that I could clap his shoulder that evening, I put the matter of his life or death aside.

“Sinnar! Craddock!” I yelled. “After it! Fuck the formation, split the men through the side streets!” I heard two acknowledgements and I ran along the main street after the dragon. The men who’d been following my squad were already ahead of me, running with their swords and shields ready.

Xoj-Fal was now back at the river where we’d first engaged it. It had lacked the purchase to halt its rush and had smashed into the semi-ruined structure of a building it had pulled into pieces earlier. My eyesight was good and I saw a metal hilt protruding from its belly. It did not bleed and I was not able to see the damage that Jakes had inflicted underneath, but could only hope that he had managed to open a large rent in its stomach. The unrestrained impact with the building had not even dazed Xoj-Fal and it scrabbled as it tried to turn again.

Lieutenant Sinnar ran beside me. “It’s a tough fucker, isn’t it?” he asked with his familiar grin.

“It could probably teach Bonecruncher a thing or two, I reckon,” I said.

“We’ll not fit that head in our trophy cabinet,” he stated. I started to wonder if we did indeed have a trophy cabinet somewhere that the men hadn’t told me about.

We reached Xoj-Fal, but didn’t stop running until we’d got past its tail – neither of us wanted to take a blow from that. I leapt up and whirled my sword around my head, bringing it down in an arc and cutting open a new wound in the creature’s flank, to add to the dozens it already had. The men had mocked me in the past for my leaping attacks, but I was certain that they added extra force to my blows. I’d have been a fool to try it in a crowded field of armed men, but here I noted with satisfaction that I had cut deeply.

I wasn’t sure at first if it was my imagination, but as the Wyrm pulled itself from the ruins of the building it had collided with, I thought that it did so with a reduced vigour. I looked at its eyes to see if I could discern anything from them, to see if I could glean anything that I could translate into a human emotion. Whatever its expression was, it was inscrutable to me, though the hatred was palpable. Hate is the easiest of all emotions to identify and Warmont’s First hated us to its core, though I had little doubt that it hated everything.

I struck it again with my sword. Those great, yellow eyes focused on me and I knew that I was to be its next target. Up until that point, my battle-trance had eluded me. I didn’t know if it was because I hadn’t needed it, or if it was because I had not so far then been the creature’s primary target. A forelimb raised high above me and I watched it, my brain focusing on nothing apart from the claws with which the dragon hoped to decapitate me. The limb descended, appearing to slow down as my instincts and experience took over. I rolled to my side at the last possible moment, raising my sword so that the beast’s claws would strike my blade first and push me under the water of the river to safety. It worked and through my water-clouded vision I watched the sparks fly from my runed blade as it cut away a single claw, while the power of the impact drove me two feet to the river’s shallow bottom.

I didn’t hesitate and surged out of the water again, thick rivulets of it coursing from me as I stood. The dragon had not forgotten me and it had its damaged claw raised again, ready to smash me whilst I was unbalanced. The eyes looked down and this time I did get a sense of its emotion. It knew I was the leader of these men who had thwarted its will and now it felt a deep satisfaction as it anticipated the feeling of crushing my body.

The killing blow did not land. Before the claw could begin its descent, I saw a black line blur across my periphery. In my battle-trance I realised what it was, even in the tiniest fraction of a second before it completed its trajectory. Suddenly, a black-feathered arrow appeared in Xoj-Fal’s right eye, the shaft sunk deep into the vulnerable cornea. We had not been able to reach its eyes from our position on the ground, but whoever the archer was, they had aimed true.

Xoj-Fal reared up and made a noise that started as a grunt, before it turned into a roar. The claw that had been intended to deliver my death, was pulled away as the dragon tried to discover what had struck it. The claw snapped the feathered shaft away, but the rest of the arrow remained in its eye.

The beast surprised us again, and spun in place until it faced down the length of the river. The great wings unfurled and I knew that it had had enough of us. A few men were swatted back by the wings, but they were quickly on their feet again, hacking at whatever skin they could reach. Beneath the great span of its wings, we looked even tinier against this powerful creature. The light of the day seemed almost as though it was blocked out, and when the wings descended, the rolling gusts of air buffeted us and threatened to knock us from our feet.

Those who were able to retain sufficient balance renewed their efforts, and we were able to cut at its flesh without fear of a return attack. It tipped back onto its haunches and we hacked at it as much as we could. I think many of us hoped that we could use this last opportunity to slay it before it escaped, but we were disappointed. Our numbers were great and our strength undiminished, but even so we could not do it enough harm to prevent it from taking wing. The wings flapped three times and the dragon lumberingly took to the air. Even as I joined five other men in cutting away one of the toes from a hind leg, my suspicions that Xoj-Fal used more than just its wings to fly were confirmed. There was a dirty power flowing into it of a kind I didn’t recognize at all. It was different even to how the Emperor’s power manifested itself. Xoj-Fal was older than any of them and the origins of its magic lost to all except itself.

Soon it was out of our reach and the tattered wings continued to swirl the surface of the river as the dragon laboured up into the sky.

“Shit, it’s going to burn this place to the ground now,” said Sinnar from close by.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, Lieutenant. I think it’s had enough.”

I was correct. As Xoj-Fal gained altitude and flew off to the south-east, I remembered stories about dragons being cowardly creatures, prone to fleeing if hard-pressed. In my head, I dismissed these stories – only the stupid sacrifice themselves for nothing. Xoj-Fal was not the noble creature of the tales, but it had been the toughest opponent we had faced. I was sure that it hated us, but I could not bring myself to feel the same about it.

There we stood, all of us from the First Cohort, and watched Warmont’s First as it flew away from us, becoming gradually smaller until eventually even the sharpest eyed amongst us could no longer see it.

“Good work, lads,” I said to those around me. As I said the words, I saw pieces of our armour submerged here and there in the water. And nor was it just armour, for there were also good men from the First Cohort amongst the pieces. For some reason, it reminded me of my nakedness – the darkflame had burned away everything from me and left me with just my sword.

“Let’s get our dead. We’ll bring everything back with us,” I ordered.

“Yes, sir!” Chant said. “Let’s toast them all a hundred times. They’ve earned it.”

I moved away from him, my eyes alighting on Shooter on the opposite bank. He had his black wood bow held casually in one hand. Sprinter was with him.

“Nice shot,” I told him. “You only had one chance.”

He didn’t answer me, but Sprinter spoke.

“Warmont’s men are coming, sir. They’ll be here in the morning.”

There were several suitable responses and I chose one. “Fuck!”

Twenty-Three

We drank our toasts that afternoon and remembered our fallen. The Grask seemed especially bitter, as if its taste reflected our feelings about the irreplaceable loss of the men. There was one piece of good news, in that Jakes still lived, even having stabbed Xoj-Fal in the underbelly and then being thrown into a solid wall for his troubles.

“You daft sod,” Beamer told him affectionately. “What’d you go and do a thing like that for?”

“I don’t know,” Jakes responded. “When its flame hit me, it took away all my anger. Or at least, something inside me took away the anger. All I had left was this calmness that I needed to try and kill it. To stop it killing any more of us.” He looked down at the floor.

Beamer put an arm around Jakes’ shoulder. “You did real good,” he said. “One of the bravest things I ever saw.”

A few of the other men clustered around and hugged Jakes or reached out to take his hand. They were joined by more and more, with some men simply reaching over to touch him on the head or the shoulder in a show of their appreciation for what he’d done. Beamer had been right to say that Jakes’ actions were daft, but I couldn’t condemn them, even in my own head. We occasionally have an epiphany and it can happen at the strangest of times. I joined the others, pushing my way to the front, until I could clasp Jakes by the hand.

“I’m proud of what you did,” I told him and we all took comfort from this one man’s actions in the face of the thirty-eight that we had lost.

After I’d left him, I sank into my own thoughts. We’d lost more men in the last few weeks than we’d lost in the five decades before. We would never be able to replace them and I worried that if the fight against Warmont lasted for years, we’d become so worn by attrition that we would cease to exist.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” said Craddock, sensing my mood. “We’ve knocked off four of Warmont’s Five so far. The old bastard will be shitting himself now and who’s going to bring him his little girls when we’ve killed all his men tomorrow?”

I tried to smile, though I suspected the attempt was only partially successful. “Warmont’s a tough old bastard, you know. He’s managed to last this long without even a wobble. A crafty man, that one. And not easily fooled.”

“Do you think we’ll see him take to the field?” asked Craddock.

“He’ll have to – eventually. If he doesn’t, the Emperor will send someone who will. And whoever Malleus sends, he’ll send him with troops. I don’t think Warmont wishes to relinquish his grip on power yet. He’ll be dead in months if he can’t feed.”

“That soon?” asked Craddock in surprise.

I shrugged. “Months or years, perhaps. Last I heard he was feeding almost every day. Eventually it’ll be twice a day, then five times. All to keep the decrepit old husk from decaying into dust. We can’t starve him though, and we can’t outlast him. The only hope is to keep defeating the men he sends until his cities and his coffers run dry.”

“And if we manage that, then the real fight begins,” said Craddock.

“And then the real fight begins,” I said. “I’m not weary of it though, Lieutenant. I will fight forever if I have to.”

“Forever and longer, sir,” he said.

We spoke more, with Lieutenants Sinnar and Trovis included in the discussion. Our scouts had reported more than fourteen thousand men coming our way.

“Does Warmont’s pit never run dry?” spat Sinnar. “For every one we kill, another six seem to take their place.”

“He’ll exhaust himself eventually, Lieutenant Sinnar,” I told him. “Each time we beat them away, he’ll find it harder to recruit new ones. He’ll be drafting in replacements all the time, except the new men won’t want to fight and they’ll be too poorly-trained to do so.”

“Aye, he’ll have plenty of boys mixed in with his fourteen thousand, I’m sure,” said Lieutenant Trovis. “There were plenty of knock-kneed youths when we went to Treads. The word was that Warmont keeps diluting even his best units with young lads. To train them up, and bring them along, we were told. We all knew it was to keep the numbers high.”

“Numbers is numbers,” said Sinnar. “And even if half of these fourteen thousand haven’t held a sword for longer than a month, I don’t fancy facing them out in the fields.”

“It’s a good job that you won’t be doing so, Lieutenant,” I told him. He looked surprised.

“Why’s that, Captain?” he asked.

“Because, we’re not going to face them in the fields. We’re going to let them enter the town unopposed. And then we’re going to fight them house to house until our lady returns. We’re going to hold them here and we’re going to fuck them up until they wake up at night cursing the name of this town.”

Sinnar’s eyes gleamed, as did Craddock’s. “That’s going to get dirty, sir,” said Sinnar.

“Yes, Lieutenant, it’s going to get exceedingly dirty. You know I don’t like fighting in towns, but I reckon we’re a damn sight better at it than the men Warmont’s got coming.”

“What about the people who live here?” stammered Lieutenant Trovis. “These are my people.”

“I’m going to put the soldiers on the street as soon as we’re done talking. We’ll send them into each house and shop to let the people know that Warmont’s men are coming. Every man or woman who wants a weapon can have one from the armoury. Anyone who wants to leave can do so tonight.”

“Warmont’s men will kill them all,” Trovis protested.

“They may, or they may not. There are many more townsfolk than there are of the Duke’s men.”

“What if they just burn the town to the ground?” Trovis asked. I could tell that he didn’t approve of my plan.

“If they torch the place, the Duke has nothing left in the north. Nowhere within six hundred miles or more that he can station his troops.”

“All his money and his big cities are to the south! Will he really care about a place like Gold, far away on his map?”

“We have to hope that he does, Lieutenant Trovis. In this instance, delaying tactics play into our hands. I will not spend our lady’s armies by throwing them into the field. Even if we were to win, our losses would be sufficient to assure our eventual destruction. We have fewer than four thousand to put in the field and many of them no better trained than these boys we imagine have swollen the ranks of our enemy.”

“Very well, Captain,” he said. “I hope that the Saviour returns soon and brings with her many men from the coast.”

I didn’t respond. We both knew that it would be at least three weeks until we saw any relief – if it were to come at all.

After Lieutenant Trovis had left us, Craddock asked me the question. “Should we not just withdraw, Captain?”

“If we pull out, I do not think that the consequences for the people will be pretty. I told Lieutenant Trovis that I don’t think Warmont has instructed his army to burn the town, but I am certain there will be retribution. One man and woman in every three killed, perhaps. Every second child under the age of ten sent to Blades. I cannot imagine our lady being pleased with our efforts if we allow that to happen. It will look as though she has abandoned the people who have declared themselves for her and the loss of reputation will haunt her forever. The consequences of staying might be little better, but here at least we can stand up for the townsfolk and hope that if we arm sufficient numbers of them, that they will be a constant thorn in the side of the invaders as they try and flush us out.”

Craddock and Sinnar were silent. We were caught between a rock and a hard place and we all knew that many people would die before the situation had played itself to a conclusion.

“Did I ever tell you what happened to me after I gave up teaching?” asked Sinnar eventually.

“Let, me guess?” I asked. “You became a tavern brawler?”

“Kind of, sir. I became a debt collector. It’s funny what you can learn about fighting indoors when you become a debt collector.”

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to refreshing your memory, Lieutenant Sinnar,” I responded, not at all surprised.

We had little time to act. I had every soldier sent out onto the streets handing out whatever weapons we had available. The armoury of Gold had been surprisingly well-stocked, though most of the arms were old and dull. Regardless, we found the people to be happy to take them from us. The Saviour’s fervour was still upon them and I believed that many of these people would put their swords, axes and daggers to good use. If they’d really known what their future held, I wondered whether this would increase their zeal or drive them into the hills as far from Gold as they could get. There was a steady stream of people who fled the city over the course of the afternoon and evening, but I was impressed that the outward flow was so limited. The land and its people had hated Warmont for longer than living memory, or maybe it was that some people expected life to continue as it had before, whichever side emerged victorious.

I was a man who liked to be in control during a battle. I could accept that it was not always possible for me to dictate the terms of engagement, nor indeed to manage every single aspect of where my men stood or how they reacted to the unexpected. I hesitate to use the word exciting, but the ebbs and flows were part of what drove me to love conflict – not for the pain and misery caused, but for the game itself. I liked to outsmart my opponent and I liked to see how our years of preparation and experience could tip the scales in our favour. Most of all, I did not like to lose.

These reasons contributed to my feelings of trepidation about the upcoming fight for the town of Gold. I had tactics and plans, for I had taken part in many such campaigns in the past. On those other occasions, I had only the First Cohort to command and I knew that my men could be relied upon to make the right decisions at the right time – or most of them could, at least. Here there was more responsibility – not only over the new regiments under our lady, but also I had the burden of added pressure. I realised that not only did I not want to lose, I did not want to fail, and I was in a position where I had less influence over these outcomes than I’d have liked.

The light of day was down to its final dying glimmers when I addressed our lady’s men in the training yard. Someone had erected a podium for me and I looked out from it across the faces arrayed below me – three thousand, eight hundred and seven men – not all of them skilled in combat beyond a week or two with a sword and not all of them proven in even one battle.

I gave them my speech. It was a little few lines about the Saviour and how she would soon return with an army the likes of which Gold had never seen. I told them that she watched us from afar and that her spirit was with each and every one of us, and that the real war started here and now in Gold. I was not at all cynical about the power of speech, but for some reason I felt as though I was going through the motions. The men didn’t seem to notice it – or at least the new men did not and they cheered the captain of the First Cohort as if the battle had already been fought and won. I’d given instructions to their officers and I was pleased to see the soldiers break off into their assigned squads and head out into the city.

“You think we’ve already lost, Captain?” asked Craddock, when he could speak without being overheard.

“Not lost, Lieutenant Craddock,” I said. “I think that whatever the outcome, there will be little left of this town that will be worth living in.”

“You think our lady will be upset,” he stated.

“Indeed I do, Lieutenant, and the fear of it weighs down upon me.”

“You can only fight the man in front of you, Captain,” he said. “And the man behind him and the man behind him. Eventually you might meet a big bastard, but you can’t worry about that while you’re fighting the weakling before you.”

“You’re right Craddock. Thank you.”

Craddock was right. I had never let myself worry about the aftermath of a battle before the fight itself was even started. Now wasn’t the time to change. I reached over to Craddock and we took hold of each other’s wrists and did the same for Sinnar. There was a chance we would be out of touch for a long time.

I joined with my team and we left the training ground with our weapons, armour and packs containing provisions for a number of days ahead.

“So where’re we holing up, Captain?” asked Chant.

“We’ve got ourselves a lovely little room overlooking the river,” I told him. “Beautiful views out over the Fols.”

“Have we got room service, Captain?” asked Spangle.

“Don’t be stupid,” Weevil told him. “Spangle’s not been quite right since he slipped in that horse shit back in Nightingale, Captain.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” said Spangle indignantly, before cackling. “At least nothing that another smack on the head won’t fix.”

Lamper duly tried to administer a cuff to Spangle’s head, which the soldier ducked away from. “I wasn’t meaning now, you sod. Just if I fall in another horse shit or something.”

I shook my head at their talk. “Have I got three weeks of this coming up?” I asked.

“You’ve had it good so far, Captain,” said Bastard. “Gurney can talk the hind legs off a chicken once he gets going. Think yourself lucky he’s not opened his trap yet.”

I knew all of my twenty companions well. They talked their nonsense at times, but I knew they were close to each other and always fought at the same place in our square or column formations. They’d work as a team and would be an absolute pain in the arse for any of the enemy who hoped to break their resolve. I had Twist with me as well – he usually fought elsewhere in the First Cohort, but he was with us as a messenger. I needed to have someone I could use to communicate with my lieutenants.

The streets were tense and would have been almost deserted were it not for the infantrymen hurrying to their destinations. Some of the taverns were open as their owners tried to eke one last evening of business out of the townsfolk. I wouldn’t have been surprised if many of them continued to open their doors even after the fighting had begun. Taverns were popular with soldiers of either side and I had been in wars where entire neighbourhoods had been cleared, but the taverns continued to operate as usual.

“Who fancies a quick ale?” I asked to the surprise of my men.

“Blimey, Captain! Are we allowed to drink on duty?” said Waxer.

“Just don’t tell anyone about it, eh?” I told him.

“It’s Bastard’s round at the bar, anyway. I remember it from when we was back Scar.”

“That was over thirty years ago, you lying shit!” said Bastard. “How can you remember that?”

“I’ll buy these ones,” I told them. “Just don’t get used to it. I’ve got to retire at some point and a man needs coin to keep himself in comfort.”

“Don’t spend all our Royals on another one of them cups of fine wine that you like, will you?” came a voice.

“You’ll never retire, Captain,” said Twist. “We’ve got you forever.”

We entered the closest tavern and I discovered that I had not been alone amongst the soldiers in coming up with this plan. The place was teeming with armed men. A few of them looked down when I entered, as if they thought they were in trouble, but the atmosphere quickly returned to normal once they saw that we’d come in for the same thing as they had. I clapped a couple of squad leaders on their shoulders and warned them that one ale should not turn into six, but I could see from their eyes that they had no desire to face the next day with a thick head and a dry mouth.

We stopped for two drinks, savouring the brown liquid as we talked about days gone by. For a time, it seemed as if everything would be all right and I found the excitement slowly building inside me for the coming confrontation. I grew ever more content that whatever tomorrow brought, I’d do my damnedest to make it the most miserable day Warmont’s army had ever faced. I told myself that now was the time to stop worrying about the things I couldn’t control and to do my very best at the things I could. I believed myself, too.

Our respite was over too soon and I took my men away from the tavern, noticing that it was already much quieter than it had been earlier. I’d picked a derelict building for us to hole up in. I’d seen it when we’d fought with Xoj-Fal earlier that day and it was close to the bridge which the dragon had destroyed. I had other squads posted along the river. This was close to the centre of town and gave us plenty of room to hit and move as part of the tactics I hoped would keep Warmont’s men guessing and allow us to sap their morale.

“When are they getting here, Captain? Tomorrow morning?” asked Twagger.

“Mid-morning they’ll be here and they won’t piss around. They’ll come straight in.”

“Who’s leading them, sir?” asked Binks.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The Duke’s still got a few hard men left he could send. None of them will be rubbing their hands at the prospect of coming here.” I looked out of the aperture that had once been a first-floor window. The night was dark but the moon was out and I could still see the smoke rising from where the dragon had burned a dozen or more buildings to the ground that morning. “Whoever he sends, we’ll make their time here as unpleasant as we can.”

“That’s something I can understand,” said Spangle.

We spent the night waiting and dozing. I was not sure what our lodgings had been originally – it was a big, stone building with many rooms large and small, connected by corridors and doorways. There were three floors, but I had little intention in trying out the uppermost floor, since the dragon’s attack had ripped away most of the roof and a number of walls leaned outwards at an angle that did not speak of solidity. Almost a quarter of the lower floor rooms were open to the elements, where one of the walls had been partly torn away. We’d stayed in worse and paid for the privilege of doing so.

The sun rose the next morning and had I not known what was coming, I’d have thought the day to be a pleasant one. The sky was clear and the air cool to the point of coldness. It was the kind of day that made me happy when we were on the road. I looked out of various windows and saw people hurrying to and fro in small groups. They weren’t soldiers, I noticed, and I wondered what business these people might have that would draw them from their dwellings.

My squad were all up and about, restless for the action to begin. They had swords and shields out and took part in gentle practise to keep themselves limber. I’d sent Twist off twice to the buildings where Craddock, Sinnar and Trovis were stationed. They reported nothing unusual. I’d asked Twist to pay particular attention to Lieutenant Trovis’ demeanour, but I heard nothing to give me cause for concern. If anything, Trovis seemed as fired up as we were.

Midday came and went, leaving the dregs of our patience behind with it.

“Come on, you bastards,” muttered Beamer.

“What’re they doing, Captain?” asked Tigs. “Anyone would think they’ve stopped to brew themselves a drink.”

“They’ll be here, Tigs,” I said. “And when they get here, there’ll be no time for anything other than killing.”

“I know I shouldn’t wish my life away, but it’d be nice if they were here now, rather than later,” said Fruit.

“He’s getting a bit philosophical in his old age, isn’t he?” said Gurney, addressing those of us who were present.

“I’ve got too much time on my hands, that’s what it is. Makes my brain go round and round it does.”

The men’s chatter was broken by a sound in the distance – the unmistakeable noise of metal on metal. There was no wind, but the volume rose and fell and from this I ascertained that whoever was fighting was on the move and that the surrounding buildings were giving the effect that the sound levels were changing.

“Get ready!” I barked out. “It’s coming this way.”

Twenty-Four

We all craned to look along the wide street outside our building. It led from north to south and was the natural direction for the invading men to approach from. I had gambled that the enemy commander would act as I would and that he’d send his men out in large squads, who would either capture a specific objective or would break down doors and flush out any undesirables. I hadn’t known exactly what Warmont wanted to achieve in Gold and was relieved that his men showed no signs of just burning the place down. That would certainly have flushed us out.

Our building had a wide doorway that faced the river and was hidden from the street. It was paved outside and I didn’t know what this area had been used for. Maybe this had once been a grand old house and the residents had sat out here in the warmth. I gave mock thanks to them, for their patio now made an excellent place for my squad to gather as we waited for the first of Warmont’s men to approach.

“No scouts, nothing,” Hobble whispered, more to himself.

“Would you like to be a scout in a town like this?” asked Bastard with a snort. “You’d get cut down in seconds and no one would ever hear your report.”

I heard the noise of booted feet along the street, coming ever closer. Suddenly, there was a roar as men shouted their battle cries and I heard the impact of two groups of men colliding.

“Now!” I shouted.

The street was just wide enough for us to form a line ten across and this was the formation we adopted as we marched quickly around the corner. Thirty yards distant, the enemy soldiers were fending off an attack to their flank and I knew that at least one squad of the First Cohort was involved.

In the confusion, we engaged them, taking advantage of their distraction. There might have been two hundred or more of their infantry, but I didn’t care. We used our shields to batter aside their own smaller, round shields and thrust with our swords. I hated myself for it, but I remained a short distance behind my line so that I could direct my men more effectively and so that I would not perish to an unlucky strike.

Their front line went down in moments and their second line stumbled away from us, pushing against the men in the further rows. The swords of my men skittered and flickered as their blades shattered metal armour and cut through leather. Mid-way along their column I was able to make out a bowing of the enemy lines where another squad – I assumed Lieutenant Craddock’s had attacked.

“Cut those bastards down!” I yelled at the top of my voice.

We did just that, meeting no effective resistance as the enemy troops struggled to hold their formation against our two surprise attacks. I could see fear in the eyes of their soldiers as they tried to back away from us without exposing themselves and giving an easy kill. The enemy crumbled at the front and the sides, and the fear turned into a rout. In the tightness of the street, they had no easy way to escape and we mowed down their closest ranks, stepping over maimed bodies in order to follow them. We showed no quarter and though we had been significantly outnumbered, we’d killed almost half of their number before they were able to flee whence they had come, with some escaping down a side street which ran parallel to the river.

I called my squad back, though I knew we had too much discipline to go chasing after the retreating backs of a routed enemy. The second squad had also withdrawn and disappeared to their own hiding hole. I saw a man looking at me – it was Lieutenant Craddock. He raised his thumb and I raised mine in response.

“What happens now, Captain?” asked Binks.

“They’ll come again later,” I said. “With many more men.”

“We’ll kill them as well,” Binks told me with certainty.

“No we won’t, Binks. Because we won’t be here to see them.”

We left the bodies where they lay, as a reminder to their fellows that they would never be safe on these streets. I had known some commanders strip the bodies of their enemies and use their clothes as a disguise. We did not do that in the First Cohort and I had once been told that I had a misplaced sense of honour. I didn’t really know if that was the case – we simply acted as we always had and I didn’t spend my time thinking about concepts such as honour. When we’d fought for Warmont, the whole notion of honour had seemed as far removed from our reality as it was possible to be.

I took us over the river Fols, wading through the shallow waters to the other side. A little further down the river was another building, similar to the first one we’d stayed in - the riverbank was lined with such places. I saw other squads from our lady’s army crossing further up and down river from us. We took refuge in our second home in two days and once more, we waited.

This new building had a reasonable vantage across to the place we’d just vacated. As I’d thought, more of the enemy came this time, nearly an hour after we’d sent their fellows packing. Our attack had caught them by surprise and they hadn’t seen where we’d come from, but I watched groups of them warily searching the opposite riverbank. I guessed there to be four or five hundred this time. They stayed on the other side of the river and made no efforts to cross. I was sure they’d already been stung many times by our attacks and probably hoped to consolidate their position to the south.

Twist came and went, carrying information to and from the other squad leaders. I knew he wasn’t like my other men – he had some kind of power that let him slip into places unseen. He could have been a wealthy man anywhere he chose to travel, but I had never for a moment doubted his loyalty.

Night time came and once I judged it dark enough, we left our building and used the dark shadows of the dragon-shattered bridge to cross to the south of the town. Gold wasn’t large, but soldiers needed to sleep and it would be impossible for the enemy commander to keep the streets completely locked down. There were hundreds of men on the streets, of course, but they were spread out all through Gold, rather than remaining in one single group. They patrolled in groups of twelve or fifteen, which was a suitable number in most cases. I knew this, which is why our own squads were made up from twenty plus a commander, to ensure our numerical superiority in one-on-one clashes.

I took us along a random route, avoiding the likely areas where the enemy would have stationed the bulk of their men. That night, we came across four different patrols before I deemed it time to withdraw. The first group happened to be fifteen. They were alert and nervous, but milled around at a junction between two of the larger streets. We approached them at a fast march. By the time they became alarmed, we were too close for them to do anything about it. They raised a hue and cry, but the battle was over in less than two minutes. A couple of the windows nearby had lights shining behind them and I kicked up the visors of a couple of the men we’d killed, to see who they were.

“Children!” I spat in disgust. The others were the same, all bar two or three older-looking faces. “They’ve sent their unblooded lads out tonight so that the old hands can get some rest. Fucking useless!” I swore, angered for some reason at the injustice of it.

We didn’t stay around any longer. They’d made plenty of noise as we’d slaughtered them. Three streets away, we came upon a similar pile of bodies to the one we had recently created. More youngsters. Even if they’d been veterans, they’d have died, but I hated to see these young men killed so that their comrades could get some sleep.

“This lot will never become brothers,” said Lamper. We all knew what he meant.

I moved us away from the dead boys. We hurried along and clashed with another two groups in quick succession. We were engaged with one squad of twelve when a larger squad happened upon us. It was fortunate that we had almost concluded our business with the first when the second arrived, else we might have struggled.

By the time we’d killed the fourth squad of enemy troops, there was an uproar. We’d come across many of their dead, but I knew that it was almost impossible to stop someone raising the alarm. The enemy would not be getting the good night’s sleep that they hoped. In the end, we fairly had to sprint to get away from their men. We could have likely cut our way through them, but it was more of a risk than I was willing to take, so we hightailed it back across the river and entered our building through a back door in order that no observers on the south side of town would see us enter. Warmont’s infantry had either been told to stay put or lacked the appetite to give chase and no one followed us.

“A shame about all them young lads, Captain,” said Frods. “Could have grown to become men.”

“Not even given a chance, were they?” said Beamer.

He wasn’t blaming us for what we’d done – this was his way of giving sympathy for the plight of a soldier ill-used by his commanders. I felt the same. We had our business to attend to and none of us blamed ourselves for what we’d had to do, but damnit it could get stuck in my craw sometimes. I had never used to care about the deaths of our enemy, but more and more I found that I could be touched by the senseless nature of it.

I set three men to watch and we settled down for the remainder of the night. We were still restless and most of us paced around, doing our best to pretend that nothing was the matter. In my old life, I had lived in a city full of indolents. They would spend their waking hours breathing in the smoke of the harkar plant, which I was told made them blissfully happy and unaware of the world around them. When these people got too far into their addiction, they became nervous and shook whenever they were deprived of the plant for even a short time. As I watched my men copy my own fidgety behaviour, I saw in us a reflection of these harkarans, except that our addiction was to the battle, rather than to the smoke. It wasn’t surprising that we seemed so similar to those people – the First Cohort had lived with death for so long that perhaps none of us could see an alternative life that did not involve war.

“Think we can whittle them away like this until they get bored and piss off, Captain?” asked Gurney.

“No, and we’ll not be going out tomorrow night, I think. Tomorrow’s patrols won’t be ten or fifteen. There’ll be groups of a hundred at a time. We’ll see.”

“Well it seems to me that their lads like a nice sleep, so maybe they’ll all stay indoors?”

“I’m not sure they have enough men to flood the streets,” I said. “If they only send half their men out, they’ve just halved their numerical advantage.”

“Numerical advantage?” asked Frods. “It’s words like that is why you’re captain and we’re just the foot soldiers, eh?”

“And don’t you forget it, Frods,” I advised him.

The next day, the enemy crossed the river in great numbers. There were still two other bridges standing in addition to the broken one. They came over in three long columns and I estimated there to be two thousand men in each. Where the bridge was gone, they tramped across next to it, eight abreast and waved onwards by their lieutenants.

“Recognize any of them?” I asked. I had a good memory for people and faces, but I didn’t know who any of the officers were.

“Not seen these ones. I reckon this lot look better-trained than the ones we saw yesterday though,” Waxer ventured.

I nodded in agreement. They kept a good formation and their armour looked battered but well-maintained. Many was the man who kept hold of a ‘lucky’ shield or breastplate long after it should have been replaced for a newer one.

“Let’s get downstairs and wait,” I said. “Now the real fun begins.”

We found ourselves a place on the ground floor where we had plenty of space to fight anyone who came to us, but had three possible exits from the building. This new place was less ruined than the first we’d stayed in, and had clearly been a home at one point in the recent past. There was plenty of old furniture lying around, but we’d cleared much of it away to give ourselves room. The floors were made from wooden planks which creaked and stirred as we walked over them. The rooms were large, with low doorways between.

I was worried that the enemy’s commitment of nigh on half of his troops meant that the south side of town had been easily pacified. On the other hand, they may have wanted a show of force to try and get some easy kills and thin our numbers. It would have been immediately apparent from our tactics that we had too few to face them in the open.

To our relief, the wait was not a long one. There was the sound of a fist, hammering on the wide wooden door to our building.

“Open the door or I’m going to kill you all!” said a voice to accompany this knocking.

“What a charming gentleman,” murmured Gurney to those around him.

I’d assigned us to groups – five in each - with me part of a six, so that we would all know who to stay close to.

There was a second knocking sound behind us, to the rear of the building. I waved two of the groups over to the far entrance, which was three rooms away. They left as silently as they could, but the creaking of the floorboards sounded enormously loud.

We didn’t wait behind the front door, since we hoped to lure a number of the enemy into the house before we attacked.  The banging increased in intensity and then changed in tone as the knocking hand became a booted foot. A couple of my men chuckled to themselves when it became apparent that the door was more sturdily built than the kicker expected and it took over a dozen kicks before it crashed open.

“It’ll take them weeks to search the city at this rate, Captain,” Waxer said to me in a low voice.

“And the feller that just booted the door isn’t going to march anywhere on his foot,” Chant continued, before I raised my hand for silence.

I heard someone swear from outside, followed by the sound of footsteps walking across the wooden floor. We kept ourselves pressed back out of sight in the next room, using the darkness to our advantage.

“Can’t see a fucking thing in here, sir,” said a voice.

“Do you think I care?” came the reply. “Search the building and do it quickly.”

I heard a muttering sound from the man as he whispered imprecations against his commanding officer. He stood at the doorway separating his room and ours and poked his head around the corner. He’d have seen our dark shapes immediately, but I grabbed him from the side, put my hand over his mouth and twisted my body so that he was dragged quickly into the room and out of sight of the doorway. I pushed my dagger up beneath his chin and held him firmly for the seconds it took him to die.

“Are you all right Gakler?” said the voice of the commanding officer.

It was evident that the officer had concluded that something was wrong and I heard several sets of footsteps as men flooded the outer room. The first of them was incautious and came through the doorway at speed. Hobble stabbed him in the side of the head with his dagger, the blade crunching into the man’s skull. The shouting began from outside our room and I knew the alarm would have this building filled with soldiers in the coming minutes, likely with more coming from the main group.

The next man came through the door with his shield held before him, preventing us from getting an easy kill. Another two followed and I could hear many more behind as they jostled to get inside. The room was gloomy for us, but our eyes had been given plenty of time to adapt to the lack of light. The men from outside had come in from the bright morning and were at an immediate disadvantage. From experience, I knew that they’d see us as little more than darkened outlines against the background of the walls.

I used my shield to push the fifth man firmly to one side as he came through with his own shield raised. Caught off-balance, he stumbled over to one side and Tigs stabbed him in the shoulder once, before wrestling him to the floor and driving his dagger under the man’s arm and into his heart.

We all had our daggers in hand and our square shields with us. The room was large, but not well-suited to hosting swordplay from so many of us. There were clangs and grunts as the first few of the enemy died quickly to our attacks, outnumbered and with their vision too hindered to block our attacks.

“Get in there, you idiots!” shouted their commander, though I already knew that the only idiot out there was him.

I guessed the room outside ours was rapidly filling up and above the noise I could hear other sounds from the back of the house, telling me that our building was assailed by two separate groups. After that, the flow of attackers didn’t pause, rushing into our room one after another. I aimed a thrust at one, but my dagger slid off his shield. I used my own to push him away as I stabbed a second man in his blind side. He screamed and I kicked at him.

Something hit me on the back of my helmet and I wheeled round to see a man struggling to bring his sword up for a second go at me. I didn’t know how he’d got behind me, until I saw that our foes had entered the building another way and had come into our room through a second doorway. I raised my shield, and managed to stab my opponent in the chest before he could use his sword again. His breastplate was hardened leather, but my dagger was very sharp and my arm very strong.

“Beware the doorway!” I shouted, though my two groups had already become aware of the new threat and Tigs, Lamper and Bastard positioned themselves in front of the door. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bastard draw his sword – he had more space to swing it over there.

By now we were outnumbered in this room, but we had moved into the centre of it, keeping our shields forward and our backs facing the far wall. As we fended away the attacks against us, we were given opportunities to make our own thrusts in retaliation.

“Just like being in a shitty field, isn’t it?” I asked Weevil. A heavy mace clanged off the top of my shield, jolting my arm and rocking me on my heels.

“Give me a proper field any day of the week,” he replied, without once taking his eyes from the man before him.

Another mace blow connected with my shield, making it ring with the impact. I pushed forward a half-stride, looking to knock the wielder away from me, but another blow struck as a second man joined the first. Eventually my arm would shatter from the impacts, but I was saved by Weevil, whose dagger snaked out through a gap in our barricade and opened a wide cut on the maceman’s inner leg, which immediately spurted a quantity of blood. The man dropped away from us, pressing his hands over the deep wound. He didn’t want to die, but the choice was no longer his to make.

The second maceman had turned his attention to Spangle nearby, who was crouched low beneath his shield as three of the enemy struck at him in the hope that they could break our line by focusing on this one man. The maceman reached over and clonked Spangle on the top of his helmet. Spangle fell over at once, and was closely followed by the man who had hit him, when Beamer stabbed the enemy soldier twice in quick succession.

The assault didn’t let up and I could hear the sound of combat from the back of the building drawing closer. The enemy must have thrown two hundred men at us.

With Spangle down on the floor, the weight of numbers against us was able to force us apart as the enemy behind pressed their fellows from the back. Another maceman appeared in front of me and caught my shield with two quick blows. I tried to stab him, but he deflected my dagger easily. I hadn’t anticipated we’d be facing maces, and they were proving to be a superior weapon to our daggers indoors.

A third strike snapped one of the leather straps keeping my shield held to my arm, making it impossible to control well. In desperation, I lifted it upwards to deflect one final crashing blow and shrugged my forearm out of it. As it clattered to the floor, the mace caught me a glancing strike on my metal shoulder guard, tearing it from me.

All at once I found my sword in my hand and the world around me slowed down. The gloom seemed to fade and the foes around me came into stark relief, their eyes glowing a peculiarly bright white in the darkness. There was a howl – I don’t know if it came from me or my sword – and my devastating overhand chop smashed the maceman’s shield and opened up a huge wound in his shoulder, cutting his arm completely away.

His mouth opened to scream but already my mind had changed its focus to the next threat. I thrust at a man who battered at Lamper and my sword tip cut deeply into the man’s torso. I kicked him off the tip, the strength of my leg propelling him several feet away and fouling the arms of his fellows.

There was a second lurch and everything slowed down again. I felt my breathing deepen and a shiver touched over my skin. One of the enemy soldiers stooped over the fallen Spangle and slid a dagger into his throat. Even in my battle-lust I was not quick enough to stop him, but I separated his head from his shoulders. His brain had hardly recognized its own death before I’d driven my sword into the belly of another man. The runes on my sword sparked beautifully as the tip ignored armour and flesh alike, plunging through his body and out of his spine.

I don’t know what took over me, but I roared a cry of anger and saw my enemies quail before me. I was suddenly in space and the sparks from my sword wove a glowing pattern in the air as I hewed about, laughing at the pitiful men who hoped for my death. Before I knew it, there was no one left to kill. Their bodies were strewn around the room, some on the floor, some slumped against the walls as if they’d been flung there by an enormous hand. I heard a voice, speaking as if from afar.

“Fuck me, Captain, we’ve sent them running.”

The world returned to normal and I felt a ringing in my head from where the sword had hit me on the helmet. As I spoke, it sounded strangely slurred, as if I were dragging the words out to double their length.

“Binks, grab Spangle. He’s coming with us. Anyone else?”

“Fruit isn’t coming with us, sir. He’s in pieces out the back room.”

There was a third exit from the building, which would take us onto the river. We ran through the house towards our escape, just as a rumbling boom shook the building. I felt the walls and the floor shake as the concussion reverberated through the structure. Another attack followed the first. We were in a room adjacent to the river bank now and this second attack blew the outer wall away, sending chunks of heavy brick and stone across the room. One of them caught Hobble full on his helmet, casting him to the floor with violence. I only needed a quick glance to see that Hobble wouldn’t be continuing our journey. The metal of his helmet had been crushed to nearly half of its usual width, and the soldier’s head was still inside.

The stone projectiles had thrown several of us over the room, but I was relieved to see the men get quickly to their feet. Through some stroke of luck, I was completely unscathed by the rubble and not a single piece of it had hit me. Above us, the building shook again as it was hit for a third time.

“A sorcerer, or something,” I said. “Let’s get out of here before we’re buried.”

We ran past the destroyed wall, since I didn’t want us to leave at a place where the sorcerer might have been looking. Through two more rooms was an exit doorway onto the river, but adjacent to an alleyway along which I planned for us to escape. I was fourth out through the door and saw the man immediately. He was over a hundred yards away and standing on the far side of the river, on what remained of the damaged bridge. He saw me as well and I felt a surge of his power constricting my body as he commanded me to burn. I gritted my teeth and imagined using my mind to push back against his assault, to let him know that if Gagnol the Blackhearted could not burn me, what chance did he have?

The man was powerful and I stood there unmoving as he pushed with his will, trying to assert himself over whatever it was my body and mind used to defend itself. The sorcerer’s pride distracted him from the men of my squad who continued to escape the building. Once my ears told me that they’d all made it into the alley, I raised a single finger to the sorcerer to let him know that I considered him to be filth. Before I could follow my men, I saw an arrow appear in the sorcerer’s back and he stumbled. A second arrow joined the first and the caster dropped to his knees. I couldn’t spare any more time to watch how this played out and ran after my men, the last of whom was now twenty yards ahead and had stopped in concern to see what I was doing.

“Move!” I hissed, ushering him along with a wave of my hand. Seeing that I was coming, Twist turned away and made after the others of our squad.

Twenty-Five

That evening found us pushed to a hovel in the outskirts of the town. We’d spent the day in a game of cat-and-mouse, keeping ourselves hidden from view in whatever abandoned shops or businesses we could easily break into. Twice we had to resort to smashing open doors belonging to the town’s residents in order to take refuge. On neither occasion had our unexpected entry been greeted with hostility, with one lady even providing us with food, for we had left our own behind.

I asked the residents if they’d heard any news about how the battle fared and as I expected, received garbled and contradictory responses. I’d sent Twist out soon after we’d escaped from the sorcerer, but he hadn’t returned and I had started to become worried.

Here on the north side of town, there were soldiers everywhere and it looked like reinforcements had been sent up, because I estimated the enemy commander would have needed more than the initial six thousand we’d seen in order to maintain such a presence on the streets. This didn’t bode well and I could only hope that they’d left the south side of town badly secured and that our lady’s men were making things difficult for them. I must admit that I had hoped to see more resistance from the townspeople that we’d armed, but there was little sign of it.

After we’d spent the afternoon looking for an opening that would allow us to return to a more central position in the town - from where I hoped to renew our harrying of Warmont’s army - I was forced to concede and took us to the slums on the edge of town. Our path here had seen us kill another fifteen or twenty of the enemy, whom we had taken by surprise as they patrolled in understrength groups of five or six.

Our hovel was a sprawling and crowded collection of homes, with walls knocked through and doorways added to form a strangely communal area, which was home to several different families. The dried mud of the streets outside didn’t host the boots of Warmont’s soldiers, reminding me how the outskirts seemed almost to be forgotten. It was as if the people here were known, but went unseen to the eyes of the other residents of the city.

“No soldiers bother to come along here,” said old lady Dorner. She’d let us in willingly and appeared to hold the role of matriarch to the people living in this collection of run-down dwellings. “We don’t exist to them, you see. It was like this before your Saviour arrived and it’ll be like this long after your Saviour has been trodden into the dust.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Lamper got in first. “I think we was like you, lady Dorner,” he said, showing her a respect which she appreciated. “Pretty much everyone in the First Cohort’s done something bad in the past, I reckon. Or if not, then we’ve done so many shit things since that we’d all lost hope that we’d ever get a chance to do something new. To change what we’d become.”

The old woman cackled. “Soldier’s speak,” she said. “What hope do we have here of anything beyond the castoffs of our betters and a quick tumble with a warm body?”

Lamper was quiet. I could tell that he didn’t really know how to respond to what lady Dorner had told him. At least we in the First Cohort had some sort of power to affect our destiny. These people in Gold probably had nothing.

A young boy ran through the room where we were all crowded.

Gurney spoke up. “That lad only looks about eight. In one sentence, you’ve doomed him to the same life as you have. Back where I came from, it was for the men and women to promise a better life for the young’uns, rather than promise them a life of nothing.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed at that and then softened. “I’m proud enough to be angry at what you’ve said, but old enough to know you’re right. Maybe you’ll drive out Warmont’s soldiers or maybe the Saviour will ride to save us at the head of fifty thousand armed men. If I see her again, I’ll open my heart to her and see what comes in.”

There was a choking sound from the corner of the room and I watched Spangle’s body twitch and jerk. He hadn’t moved all day but it wasn’t clear if he was alive or dead. Without warning, he sat up straight and let out a choking gasp. I looked at him and his eyes were clear and bright – I saw the recognition behind them as we crossed over to where he was.

Beamer clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come back to us, Spangle. There’s plenty of horse turds left in the world that you need to stand in before you can leave the First Cohort.”

Spangle opened his mouth to talk, but the only sound that came out of it was the same gasping sound. He looked puzzled, rather than distressed.

“Look, Captain! That blade in the throat must have cut something important. He can’t talk proper now!”

Spangle made a rude gesture and tried to speak again, with an equal lack of success.

“I think I like him like this,” said Tigs. “He never had anything useful to say anyway.”

“Yeah, I always thought he talked more balls than anyone else in the Cohort,” said Chant.

“But listen to him now. Everything he says is making perfect sense!” said Bastard. “I’ve never heard him talk so clearly before.”

“Maybe we should change his name. To celebrate his new-found skill with words,” suggested Gurney. “How’s about we call him ‘Sense’?”

There was a quantity of sagely nodding around the soldier formerly known as Spangle. I kept out of it, knowing it wasn’t my job to interfere. Spangle didn’t look at all upset by his new name. Not that it would have mattered – if he’d expected sympathy, he certainly wasn’t going find it amongst these bastards.

The naming ceremony was interrupted by a single, loud thump on one of the two doors which led to a dingy alley outside. I must confess that my first thought was that old lady Dorner had betrayed us somehow and sold our location to Warmont’s soldiers. I cast a quick look at her and saw a mixture of puzzlement and alarm. If we’d suffered an act of treachery, I knew straight away it hadn’t come from her.

I made a motion for silence, though it was redundant as all of my men had stopped talking at once. We could still hear the hubbub of the dozens of people who lived here, but we made no sound of our own. I waved a hand to indicated that Tigs and Lamper should approach the door. Two others stood at the second door and we drew our weapons. Tigs leaned across and wrenched the door open. There was no heavily-armed squad of soldiers standing outside waiting for us, only Twist. I could see at once that he was hurt – his face was drawn in a tiredness I had not seen before, and his left hand was missing. There’d been no need to dress his wound since he had no blood to flow from it. The jagged bone of his arm protruded from his wrist and the flesh looked puckered and dry.

“I’ve found out who’s leading them,” he said weakly. “Leerfar’s here.”

The news was not a shock. “I suppose she had to surface at some time,” I said. “We’ve seen off the other four after all – he’s running out of generals.”

Twist staggered over to a seat and with him facing away from me, I could see that he was more badly hurt that I’d first thought. There were two puncture wounds though the leather of his breastplate, where the armour wrapped around to cover his back.

“I saw a group of them with a banner,” Twist said. “Thought I’d have a little look to see what was what, in case there was something we could make use of. Next thing I knew I heard a sound behind me and someone stabbed me – a couple of times I think. I jumped away but she had me by the arm - broke it over her knee. I got her with my knife in the chest but she just laughed at it. I don’t know how she managed it, but she just pulled at my arm and tore my fucking hand off. I vanished into the shadows and came looking for you.”

I was concerned now. “Did you get away or were you followed?” I asked. I saw Twist’s face go even paler as he considered that he might have been tricked.

“I don’t know Captain. I don’t think I was followed. I’ve never been seen before.”

“Until today,” I reminded him. I turned to the other men. “Get your things and do it now. We can’t stay here.”

As I spoke, Tigs was looking out the doorway into the street. “I can hear something coming, Captain,” he said. “We’d better get a shift on – it sounds like there’s more than a couple of them.”

I thanked lady Dorner and we left her house. I hoped that she would be left alone by the soldiers. They were looking for us, not her. There was no such thing as a main street in the outskirts of Gold – everything was a narrow lane or an alleyway. I listened for a moment to determine which direction they approached from.

“Sounds like they’re everywhere,” I said, before making up my mind. “Let’s go this way,” I decided, and we set off at a run, cursing under our breaths. The men of the First Cohort didn’t need to rest often, but sometimes it was nice to have one.

We reached an intersection at the same time as a dozen torch-wielding enemy soldiers. We shield-charged them, taking advantage of their surprise and the fact that they didn’t all have their weapons drawn. I stabbed two men with my sword in rapid succession and watched Beamer kill another before they had even realised our threat. They performed a quick about-face as they tried to run away from us, shouting the alarm to alert their fellows. Only one man escaped us, showing a pace that might have given Sprinter or Flight a moment’s pause. The others died to our unmerciful blows before they had managed to get a dozen paces away from us.

I had a faint idea where we should go and took us along a route the followed the perimeter of the town. I hoped that we’d get the chance to return to the centre this evening and hole up on the south side. There were really far too many soldiers to the north for them to have left the south properly defended. The outskirts were like a rabbit warren and in some places we struggled to keep two abreast. Lights from the enemy torches bobbed here and there in the darkness to our left and right, never quite getting ahead of us. Eventually, I judged that we’d run far enough and the tumult had been left mostly behind us. At least, the number of flickering torches had diminished to such a degree that I was no longer concerned that we’d be immediately overwhelmed.

“Up here,” I whispered to my squad. Eighty yards ahead of us were more torches, looking as if they floated in the air like huge fireflies. We came out of the darkness and slew the six men, before they had the chance to utter their cries or flee from us. I saw the face of the one soldier I killed – by the torchlight he looked to be almost an old man, had doubtless survived fifty battles over a dozen campaigns. And there he was, killed in the briefest of moments, doubled up over the sword in his guts, before my dagger ended his life. Another pointless waste, in another pointless little town, fighting for a man that everyone hated.

Now the lights from the pursuing soldiers were no more and the hovels of the outskirts became quickly more affluent in appearance. I wasn’t familiar with exactly which part of the town we’d entered, but thought we were somewhere close to the Farmer’s Market that I’d visited on several occasions. One of the men hissed for us to stop.

“Where’s Twagger?” he asked.

“He was with us just a moment ago,” said Beamer. “I think he killed one of them soldiers back there.”

“Quick, let’s get back,” I said. I was worried – my men didn’t mess around at times like this.

We followed the path we’d just come and it was Gurney who saw him. “There’s Twagger,” he said. “Sitting down on the job again.” He made light of it, but I could tell that he knew this wasn’t good news. Twagger was slumped against a wall, just inside a narrow side street.

“He was last in the line, wasn’t he?” I asked.

“Yeah, bringing up the rear, he was,” said Waxer. “He was right behind me.”

The remaining men spread out in a tight circle, their swords pointing outwards, ready for trouble. I stooped down over Twagger. He was in a sitting position, with his head looking downwards into his lap. I put my hand under his chin and looked into his eyes – there was nothing left inside. Reaching across, I rolled him onto his front and saw the ragged mess of his back. It was as though he’d been ripped to shreds by a claw, though I knew that it had been repeated strikes from a dagger which had done this damage. I pushed at a couple of the wounds and saw they ran deep into his body. Whatever kept him ticking inside was broken beyond repair and this soldier had fought his last.

“Another one gone,” I told the men around me. “Fuck this place and fuck Warmont!”

I watched their faces as we prepared to head away again. The determination in their eyes was joined by anger. I could feel it building within them as one by one their comrades at arms were taken from them.

I knew she was watching from somewhere close by, though none of us could see her. If Ploster had been here I think he might have been able to penetrate the veil of shadows she kept around herself. Or maybe not. Either way, he wasn’t with us in order that I could find out. “You’re the last of his five, Leerfar,” I said into the semi-darkness. “We’re going to do the same to you as we did to the others.”

I wasn’t expecting a response and I got none. We hadn’t tarried long, but it was enough for us to be discovered. Before we had made any more progress, the sound of many booted feet heralded the arrival of numerous men. I was close to ordering our withdrawal in the opposite direction, before I saw something that made me hold the order. Shortly we faced off against a group of about seventy other soldiers, who looked at us with the wild eyes of men who have lived far longer than their expectations and had started to believe that they were somehow charmed against death. I knew the look.

“How goes it, Lieutenant Trovis?” I asked.

He stepped forward to greet me. “It goes well, Captain. My men have discovered depths to their skills that they didn’t know existed. We have killed and been killed, but by the gods the enemy do not wish to fight with us again.”

“It will serve the men well in future. We are all discovering how it feels to fight for something we truly believe in.”

“We cannot stay long, Captain. My men have fought beyond even their own hopes, but we are still vastly outnumbered by the enemy. They have their informers too,” he spat to indicate that some of the townsfolk were traitors, “and it won’t be long until they come here.”

I stepped in close and whispered so that my words would not carry. “Leerfar Backstabber leads them. Keep your men close at all time. She is a tricky and sly opponent.”

Lieutenant Trovis nodded his understanding. I considered joining with him, but I did not want us to become part of such a large group. The men with Trovis knew Gold far better than we did and I was sure they knew of many places to hide or escape to. I didn’t want our tactics to interfere with how they chose to deal with the invaders. They were alive, which told me that whatever they were doing it had worked up till now.

We parted ways, and as we did I could hear the sound of conflict a few streets across from us, informing me that Leerfar’s troops would not be getting much sleep tonight. The constant whittling away at their numbers and the uncertainty that besets a man in a hostile town would wear away at their resolve. I hoped that it would be enough to keep them at bay until help arrived, if it ever did.

We reached the river without further incident. As we ran, we kept a careful watch around us, in case Leerfar still followed. She knew who I was, so I didn’t doubt that she’d be close. Once or twice I thought I saw a flickering shape or shadow off to one side, tall and lean. It may have been her, or it may have been my imagination. I had to assume that she was there and that even if my eyes had deceived me, she would still be watching us.

Moonlight cast its wavering light over the surface of the water as we waded through it. There were torchlights along some of the streets, but none along the bank where we emerged from the river. An army of fourteen thousand was a lot of men, but they couldn’t all be on patrol at once and the town was too spread out for them to blanket the streets.

I shoulder charged the wooden door of a two-storey building near to us. I hit it harder than I had meant to and the door burst open, crashing against the inner wall.

“Take it easy, Captain,” whispered Frods. I raised my hand in apology.

Before we could enter the dark room beyond, I heard a grunt and a thump from behind me. My periphery saw a trace of white light cut through the darkness.

“That’s her!” said Beamer, his voice hissing. He had his sword out.

“Did you get her?” asked Waxer.

“I hit something. Right at the tip,” said Beamer.

I didn’t need to ask him if he was certain. If his blade had caught only air I would have questioned him to see if there had definitely been an attacker, but any swordsman can tell the difference between an empty swing and contact with something.

“You three, facing outwards,” I said. “The rest of you, get inside.”

My squad bundled into the room, while three others watched their backs. It was too dark to easily see anything on the river side of the building, but we clattered our way through, catching our legs and feet on the odd bits and pieces which had been left behind. Where the building faced onto a street, there was light enough for us to see, coming from the houses opposite. We gathered in two such rooms, the dark tattoos on our faces and limbs making us hardly visible at all.

“Reckon she’s gone?” someone asked.

I shrugged, realising that the gesture couldn’t be seen. “I don’t know. She’s not a coward, but she’d be stupid to confront all of us at once. This is just a game to her I think. Probably nothing more than something to keep her interested until daylight.”

“She knows us, Captain. Knows you,” said Twist.

“Aye, she knows us.”

Twist was telling me that he thought we were too great a prize for her to ignore, that she might risk more in order to drive her blades into our backs. Into my back, if she got the chance.

I held us in that room for fifteen minutes.

“Get up. We’re leaving.” I told them. There were no complaints or questions and we left our refuge with the utmost of care. I led us fifty yards down the street and we broke into the residences of a family on the opposite side to the building we’d just left. I kicked in the door and ushered everyone inside. There was a lamp in the room here, to provide us with enough light to see, and worn furnishings. I closed the splintered door behind us and propped it shut with a chair.

Another door opened and a man entered. I hadn’t seen him before, but he was holding a sword. He lunged at Gurney, who batted the weapon away with his shield.

“Hold!” I commanded.

The man who had attacked suddenly realised how many of us were in his house. His face went pale and his sword arm drooped.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stammering in his haste to speak.

“Go back upstairs,” I told him. “We’ll do you no harm. We fight for the Saviour.”

His reaction to this told me that he was loyal to his town. It was little matter, even had I thought him a turncoat. He retreated deeper into his house, scared but grateful that we hadn’t killed him.

“What’re we doing here, Captain?” asked Weevil. “Are we expecting some of Warmont’s to come this way?”

“No, Weevil, we’re expecting some of Warmont’s to come to the building we just left,” I told him, cracking open a shutter and peering along the street. “If they do, it means that Leerfar left us in order to call her men and we might have got away from her.”

“And if they don’t, she’s still watching us,” said Chant.

We had our answer soon enough. We all heard the crunching sound from above us, like something wooden had been broken into pieces. There were other sounds – not gentle.

I waved us through the back room from which the man had emerged. There was a flight of stairs to the upper floor. Beamer went in the lead, with his sword stretched out before him. Binks followed and then I came after. The noises abruptly stopped and I felt the cold night air blowing across my face when I reached the first-floor landing. It was dark again, but not so much that we couldn’t see the reflections the moonlight made across the slick redness that covered the walls and floor in the bedroom closest.

We searched the upper floor quickly, waving our swords in front of us, as if we might catch a creature as cunning as Leerfar unawares with such a simple ruse. A few of us clustered in the only bedroom which had been occupied. The remains of the man and his wife were spread in pieces across the floor, hardly even recognizable for what they’d been. We all knew that we’d brought this upon them.

“At least there was no nippers,” said Waxer. “I don’t think I could have stood it if there’d been nippers.”

We were saved from our silent contemplation. We heard a choking, gasping sound from below, as if a man whose throat had been cut fought to tell us something important.

“Captain, quick!” said Binks from below.

“Downstairs, now!” I said. “You four stay up here and watch out.”

I was first down the stairs, smashing through whatever furniture got in my way. The room into which we’d first entered the house was the scene of a fray. The five men who’d remained in here were hard-pressed by a lithe, dark shadow. Leerfar was over six feet tall, with long, spindly limbs. She may have been beautiful in life, but there was nothing exquisite about her features now. She looked old beyond measure, like a witch clad in black leather.

Her outline was hard to focus on, but I could see the shining short blades she held in each hand. The weapons were a blur, carving through the air with impossible speed and precision. My men huddled behind their shields, as they sought to cut at our opponent with their swords. Where Leerfar’s short swords hit the metal barricades, they made a screech and pieces of the metal fell to the floor. There was plenty of room to fight and I pointed my sword tip at her and circled around. She saw me and laughed, a rasping hiss that held no humour that anyone would comprehend.

Without warning, she vanished from sight – totally and utterly. For me, the world shuddered and slowed and I raised my sword, anticipating where the attack would come from. I saw nothing, but felt the impact and then the sparks flew from where our blades had met. I swung my sword down and again felt that I had blocked something.

In my heightened state, I could almost see my attacker and sense where she tried to reach round my guard. I was dimly aware that the other men had slowed almost to a halt now, as if they waded through thick treacle. I was an expert swordsman, but I was just a soldier, not one of Warmont’s specials. My power was in my men, not in me alone.

I blocked three more times, each time closer and closer to my head as Leerfar pressed me. Had my sword not been from the Emperor’s own armoury, I was sure it would have sheared away quickly, but it did no such thing.

War is not all about honour and fair play. I kicked out and my booted foot connected with something hard and unyielding. I heard a grunt and the blow I had anticipated next did not arrive, giving me time to recover. I kicked again, but Leerfar was already wise to me and my foot didn’t hit her again.

There was a shimmering to my left and too late I sensed the next attack. My sword was too far away to raise in a block and I leaned to one side, knowing that I was too late. The blow didn’t land. A second shape appeared from out of nowhere, its hand already halfway along a descending arc before I saw who it belonged to.

There was a scream of rage as Twist’s dagger plunged into Leerfar’s back, the shock of it depriving her of her shadow cloak. She had a strength far beyond what I’d expected and her arm swatted Twist aside. Quick as a flash, she tumbled away, parrying a blow from Sense without any apparent effort. Her speed was such that she pulled a draught behind her as she fled the house. Sense was first to the doorway, but I already knew she would be gone.

“She didn’t like that much,” said Twist in satisfaction. “I only wish I had my old hand back and she’d have had two blades in her spine.”

“We have to leave,” I said. “Now.”

That night already felt as though we’d spent it on the run. We needed to find a place we could hole up and gather ourselves, else we’d always be on the back foot.

“You seem to be getting faster as you get older, Captain,” said Tigs. “Shame Dueller’s gone. Would have been interesting to see you two spar.”

“Dueller was the best,” I said. “He’ll always be the best.”

We left the home of the two murdered townsfolk and entered the town’s streets again.

Twenty-Six

I knew there was a chance that Leerfar would continue to stalk us, so I was cautious and took care that the next place we hid in wasn’t occupied. It didn’t take long to find somewhere – an old tavern on the south side of town, much to the delight of the men. Whoever owned this building wasn’t in evidence and he’d spiked his barrels, so that nothing was left for the invaders or us. I didn’t blame this unknown bar keep. I’d have done the same, rather than leaving my wares behind for enemy soldiers to steal. Fortunately, he hadn’t been thorough and one of the men unearthed a dusty green bottle of something unknown. One sniff told us it was suitable and we toasted the men we had lost, drinking from the bottle.

“I’m not surprised he left this behind,” said Weevil. “It tastes like shit.”

“Maybe it’s window cleaner,” said Bastard. He dribbled a bit onto his grimy breast plate and rubbed with a finger, leaving a clear trail across the metal. “There! I knew it wasn’t fit for consumption!” He took another swig nonetheless.

We remained alert, but Leerfar didn’t show up. I guessed that the game had ended for her when Twist had stuck his knife between her shoulder blades. From what I knew of her, she only enjoyed the game when she was winning and we were not the easy prey she was used to. There were positives to be drawn from her escape. It was already becoming apparent that she was not the most accomplished military commander and her attempts to subdue the city betrayed her to be prone to vacillation, and the coordination of her men was poor. I was sure that she had some captains who were better equipped to run this campaign than she was, but I doubted any of them would have the desire to volunteer.

We carried ourselves to the upper floor of the tavern, where the owner had lived at one time. He’d left a few scraps of food around and those of us who felt the need ate these bits and pieces. There were windows and we all watched the street below with interest. Most of what we saw were enemy soldiers. They patrolled in what they thought were large enough groups to dissuade the town’s defenders from attacking. I saw them knock on a few doors and search the properties. This at least was a change in tactic from simply breaking in, and suggested to me that they’d quickly learned that it was better to treat the locals with some respect. I crossed my fingers that they would be unsuccessful and that the townsfolk would be a thorn in their sides.

I didn’t lead us out again on that night and gave the remaining men a chance to recuperate. I watched a few of them hunker down to a fitful sleep, but I felt no weariness at all. I’d lost three of my men. The First Cohort was becoming ever smaller and I dreaded to think how many of us would be left if we got out of Gold.

The following five days and nights blurred into one. It was only because I made a specific effort to remember that I was able to keep an accurate count of how much time had passed. We’d stayed in the shelter of the tavern for the whole of the day following our escape from Leerfar, in order for me to be certain that her eyes were no longer upon us. During the day, there were many more enemy soldiers to be seen than there were at night. They still patrolled in large numbers, which was a sure sign that things hadn’t settled down. We listened carefully through open windows and the sporadic sounds of fighting continued unabated. The townsfolk remained indoors.

At night, we emerged to wreak havoc upon the Duke’s men, carefully hunting out those of the enemy who were foolish enough to be travelling in smaller groups. We occasionally ran into men from our lady’s other two regiments and exchanged our tales and our information. The picture was as garbled as I’d expected, but even through the confusion it was clear that Warmont’s men had not managed to subdue the town, nor had they neutralised the ability of my soldiers to hit them with surprise attacks. I doubted that morale was good in Leerfar’s army.

We moved from place to place over those five days. I was concerned that we might become complacent if we did not, and also worried that one of the town’s citizens might report our location, or have it beaten from them.

I found out that Lieutenant Sinnar still lived, though I did not see him myself. A man from the Treads Regiment reported that Sinnar had been seen somewhere to the north, leading an attack against forty of the Duke’s soldiers. I had smiled at that, heartened by the news that I might see my lieutenant again.

On the sixth night, the fires appeared. I didn’t know where they’d been started, but it was somewhere to the south of the town. There had been little wind before, but now it blew along the streets and alleys, as if it were somehow aware that the fires appreciated its appearance. We were deep into the south part of town, almost in the outskirts. The fires came all at once, as if their setting were deliberate.

“Think they’re trying to burn us out, Captain?” asked Bastard.

“Maybe. I’m surprised it’s taken so long for the fire to come. Every other time we’ve been in this sort of scrap, someone’s turned to fire in the hope of getting a quick fix,” I said.

We got our answer soon.

“Look, Captain!” called Frods. “They’re all moving out somewhere.”

I came over and saw what he meant. Men and wagons in their hundreds were visible as they crossed intersections of the streets near to us – Warmont’s soldiers were heading north.

“Think they’re moving them all over to the other side of town?” someone asked.

I ground my teeth together as I thought about it. “I hope that’s all they’re doing,” I said. Another part of my mind whispered to me that this might be the beginning of the end for Gold. “Leerfar likes the chaos. She could have done this without any sort of plan. Set the town ablaze and see what comes from it.”

“Think Warmont will care?” asked Lamper.

“She’s his fourth. I’m sure she’ll have her instructions. Probably to take the town intact if she can. It looks like she had another plan just in case they got stuck here. I can’t imagine the Duke wants to have such a large section of his men locked down fighting so far away from his capital.”

“You’d think they’d have learned how to take a city cleanly now,” said Beamer.

“You’d think,” I repeated. “We haven’t had to do too much fighting on streets ourselves though, have we? It’s always on hills or fields. No rebel wants to see his wife and family burned alive in their houses. I think I’d prefer that to the alternative, though. For all his hundreds of years, the Duke’s been a lucky man in that he’s never really been pushed to his limits. If we get out of Gold, we’ll see what he’s made of.”

“I look forward to finding out, Captain. I think we’d all like the chance to cut the head from his scrawny neck.”

“If he lives, we’ll lose, Binks,” I replied. “But we might get the chance sooner than you think.”

Fire is not a beast that can be easily controlled. Sometimes it might sweep across a town as quickly as a man can run. Other times, it might remain in place as it slowly consumes the buildings around it. In Gold, with its mixture of wood and stone houses, the fire progressed quickly. It didn’t reach the place where we hid, but I didn’t want us to sit on our hands, meekly waiting until we were forced out. The moon was almost full and we could see that smoke rose from dozens of places and the fire cast an orange glow, vivid against the night sky. Smoke reached us, alternatively thick and acrid, or thin and almost pleasing to the nostrils. The wind blew and swirled, fanning the flames and sending them in all directions.

The streets were busy now, with townsfolk spilling from their houses and refuges. They looked up at their homes with confusion and fear, realising that the fire was spreading too quickly for it to be extinguished.

We formed a column, three men wide at the front, six men in length. With our shields in front of us, we pushed through the main streets, looking for a route that was less crowded. We hadn’t seen an enemy soldier in almost an hour of searching and it soon become apparent why that was. We were close to the river at this point, where the crowds were thinner. The fires wouldn’t reach here tonight, but they still brought people onto the streets.

We heard the enemy first, but even so would not have been quick enough to escape them had we not already been in the shadows of a narrow lane. Their soldiers marched past us in a column, wide and long.

“Hundreds of them,” said Chant.

“They’re going to kill them, aren’t they?” asked Binks.

I didn’t have to answer. We all knew what the plan was now. Bonecruncher had tried it once in an area of Graster where the local resistance had thwarted him for months. I could remember his words even now. “Burn them out and kill them,” he’d said.

The central streets of Gold were laid straight and once this first column of men had gone by, I saw a second, a few streets over. This was followed by another behind. With all of these soldiers on the street, I wondered if Leerfar had received some reinforcements that we’d not been aware of, or if she’d simply denied them their sleep for this one big push on the town.

“Where’s she going to keep her men now?” asked Twist.

“I don’t think she cares,” I said. “She can probably even set up a camp outside the town if she’s burned down her own barracks.”

There was a rolling boom from elsewhere in the town and then two more. I couldn’t be sure if they came from the same place and if they were close or far.

“Another sorcerer?” said Gurney.

“Sounds like two. Or a good one to fire them off so fast.”

“Let’s get after them,” I said without much relish. I liked a fight, but I didn’t fancy our chances here.

We ran at full pelt along some of the minor streets and alleys that we’d learned during our time in Gold. I knew those columns of men would need to fragment as they got deeper into the south side of town, at least if they were doing what I thought they were doing. Screams reached us ahead and around a corner. We didn’t slow and raised our shields as we emerged from our side street, spreading into the widest line we could make. By the time we realised that we faced vastly greater numbers it, we were already committed. Sometimes you’ve just got to go for it, whatever the consequences.

The street was already bloody when we arrived. Against the flickering orange backdrop of a terrace in flames, the enemy’s swords and maces rose and fell. The people of the town had little hope of defending themselves against the viciousness of the attack and I saw at least a dozen fall in seconds. My fears had been realised – Leerfar’s patience had run thin.

We crashed into their flank, holding our shields to one side in order that we could swing our swords more easily. In front of me, an arm was raised with a mace in the hand. The man holding it was so lost in his bloodthirst that he didn’t even look at me. I cut his arm off above the elbow and the mace flew somewhere away. So gone to the world was the man I’d hit, that his half-arm descended as if he still thought his hand was attached. The young girl he’d hoped to murder didn’t freeze like many would and she darted away from us. I didn’t stop to wonder if she’d survive the night and thundered a head butt against the soldier’s unprotected face, using my momentum to crush the bones of his skull. He dropped to the ground, to be trampled quickly by the feet of my men and his own comrades.

The anger which had been building within me came forth and I crashed another blow through the helmet of the next enemy, crushing his skull and knocking him dead to the ground. I could sense the same in my squad – vast wells of untapped anger at the Duke’s slaughter of these people. These were meant to be under the Saviour’s protection and our inaction would have been a failure.

The ferocity of our attack, combined with the surprise, saw a pile of the enemy at our feet, hardly before they had raised the alarm. The street was wide, but not enough that they could encircle us and our grim butchery brought fear into their ranks.

“Kill them all!” I shouted above the tumult.

I blocked a mace swing with my shield and drove my sword into the man’s belly. The fight between a maceman and a swordsman is never a long one. I pushed him away to die on the ground and parried two more blows aimed at me. Chant killed one, but then had to focus on his own survival when a sword poked past his defences and into his breastplate. He didn’t fall and I couldn’t tell how badly injured he’d been.

Three men along, I saw that Sense had lost his shield, or discarded it, in order that he could take advantage of his own rage. His rune sword cut into the neck of one foe, but I had to watch my own defence and did not see any more. A sword point came towards me and I deflected it with the edge of my own blade, smashing my opponent’s steel and leaving him with the jagged remains.

Now that the first few moments had passed, I saw how great were the numbers against us. We’d engaged a column of at least two hundred and the fear we’d engendered hadn’t reached the farthest men away from us. I think that their front three rows would have happily fled, but their fellows behind didn’t permit it and pushed them forward. It gave us many easy kills, but I thought that we’d be overwhelmed if we failed to panic them. There were side streets leading away from here and I was certain that the enemy soldiers would be splitting from their rear in order to circle behind us.

I shouted in fury at the enemy soldiers before me, trying to force them to obey my primal command for them to run. Those closest to me faltered and cowered away from my unending blows, but they had no room to turn tail and run. The wind gusted suddenly and brought with it a thick darkness, as smoke covered us, stinging our eyes. Our lungs were immune and we fought through the black swirls, as the fire which consumed the terrace increased in its intensity with the wind. I felt the heat of it scald my skin and hated it for what it did to our lady’s town.

Just as I thought that our determination would win us the day, my battle awareness told me of a shift. No longer did we face two hundred, but many more besides. They came at us from the street behind, drawn to the sound of battle.

“Square!” I shouted at once. We lacked the weight and the numbers to form an effective one, but nevertheless we changed our formation in the street. I gave thanks that the first group we’d attacked were too slow to respond and strike at us when we fell back. I was sure that many in their front rows gave their own thanks that we had done so.

“A good day to die, Captain?” asked Gurney through the chaos – a soldier’s old refrain.

“We’re not dying today, friend,” I responded.

I spoke too soon, and saw Twist go down under a series of clubbing blows. I was dimly aware that his shield had been knocked away not long after the fighting had started – it wasn’t easy to keep a shield on your forearm when your hand was missing. The men who’d struck him trod on his body as they piled forward to meet us but I saw Twist’s last defiance, as he stabbed upwards with his dagger, before his body succumbed to the damage and he lay still.

Our shields held for a time. The enemy feinted and surged, but they were not able to put sufficient numbers against us to completely overwhelm our guard and hack us to pieces. We looked outwards at them from the fragile safety of our shield wall, meeting their eyes with our own, letting them know that our deaths would cost them many of their own. I felt a strange connection between us. What I saw in those men wasn’t hatred for us. There was fear in part, but they also had their own strength and their own determination. They wanted to return to their wives, their children, their families and they would fight with every ounce of their being to accomplish it. Not one man wanted to die here on the streets of Gold.

It is strange how the mind picks the oddest of moments to reach its conclusions. For a few seconds, time seemed to be frozen. It didn’t slow down as I sometimes experienced in the heat of a battle; I felt as though it had stopped entirely, simply in order that I could hear what my brain wanted me to hear. I thought to myself what fools we all were to be fighting amongst ourselves, while in his keep an old man whose life should have expired two hundred years before laughed with glee at the men, women and children who died to keep him in power. I could have felt drained and lost by this realisation, as though my life had been wasted, but I did not. All I knew was that I’d taken another step forwards on the long road to redemption.

The passage of time resumed and we all stared at each other for a moment longer, before our lines clashed again. Against the tiny period of peaceful serenity I had experienced, the sounds were jarring and harsh. A sword struck my shield with a sharp crack and another struck me on the top of my helmet as I crouched. I straightened and responded with my own assault. The connection I’d felt with the men of the enemy was gone, replaced by a certainty that I would kill each and every one of them, rather than sacrifice myself in order that they could return home. I slew two in quick succession and thrust my shield into a third, knocking the man from his feet. Bastard fell to half a dozen mace blows to his head and his shield was pulled away. We tried to close up, but our formation was becoming ragged now that we were attacked from all sides.

I heard a roar in the near distance and wondered if more of the Duke’s men had come to see our last stand. I thought that I might be uncaring in the face of my own final journey but I discovered that I was not. There was no fear, but the thought that I might have failed in my duties was more than I could bear.

Tigs fell nearby with a sword protruding from his chest and his helmet missing. He didn’t utter a sound, though I caught sight of his eyes just before they dimmed and I thought there was recognition in them. I saw no judgement, nor pain. The only word that I could use to describe his look was that it was one of peace.

All at once, the pressure against us lessened, just when it seemed as though we would be overrun and destroyed. The men who had arrived to our rear started to cast looks over their shoulders, rather than press on with their advantage. My squad didn’t slow and we turned our desperate defence into offense, nicking away a few limbs and killing some in their front ranks. I was able to stand taller and could see that our enemies had been attacked at their rear in the same way that they had attacked ours. Whoever had taken them by surprise was cutting them down by the scores and where the street had once been crowded, there was now a thinning out. Our allies poured into the opening and I saw swords raised high, which descended time and again into the confused throng of the enemy.

The bulk of their men, whom we had initially attacked, kept at us, but we were able to defend better now that the pressure from behind had reduced. A sword went into my leg, cutting away a flap of skin and I hunkered down once more, to reduce my vulnerability to another thrust.

“They’re going to run, Captain,” said Binks.

“Don’t go thinking it’s time for a rest,” I told him. “There’re plenty more of them the other way.”

“Yeah. Not the best odds, is it?”

As it happened, the odds had begun to swing in our favour. Our allies scattered the enemy who had appeared behind us, mowing them down like threshed wheat. I knew who had come to our aid now – I’d heard his voice above the clatter of battle, a voice louder than any I knew.

Lieutenant Sinnar came. His shield was gone, though I didn’t know if he’d brought one with him. His helmet was dented and scoured with deep scars. His sword whirled around, cutting down the enemy where they stood, with none capable of resisting his fury. Sinnar’s eyes were wild but focused as his battle lust carried him along. To Warmont’s men he’d have seemed as unstoppable as Xoj-Fal had to us of the First Cohort.

To his rear, there were other men of our lady’s army. I saw a few of my own men and many others I only faintly recognized. As my squad huddled in our square, these new men flew by us and around our sides as they fearlessly charged our opponents. The enemy were dismayed by the ferocity of these new attackers and fell into their own defensive stances, holding up their shields and pointing their weapons forward in the hope that it might keep them safe. Their hopes were in vain and Sinnar’s men dashed them to the left and right, forcing them aside and pushing many towards the flames of the burning terrace. Screams rose and I watched at least two perish to the agony of burning.

My own squad took heart when we saw our imminent defeat receding before us. We joined in with the slaughter, turning the tables on those who would have shortly overrun us. They tried to run, of course, but so maddened were we by that point that we had no mercy left within us. We killed and we killed, though I felt emptiness at the deaths of these men.

“Well met, Lieutenant Sinnar,” I told him, once the butchery had ended. He had almost a dozen wounds scattered over his body. They’d wear him out eventually.

He looked at me for a few moments as though he didn’t recognize me and I worried that he might have become lost in his mind. The man was stronger than that and with a shudder I saw him drag himself back to our reality.

“They’ll be licking their wounds for a while after that,” he said with a sense of satisfaction.

“How go things?” I asked, aware of the shortness of time.

“Every cut they make against us, they get two back,” he said. “It’s just a shame there’s so bloody many of them.”

“I think they’ve had reinforcements from somewhere,” I said. “Either that or Leerfar’s driving them until they drop.”

“Leerfar’s here? I should have guessed. I keep finding men who’ve been cut to ribbons.”

“That’s her. Always did like the hunt - when it’s in her favour, at least.”

“What’s the plan, Captain? I’ve got over a hundred of the Gold lads with me now. We met up in bits and pieces as their squads got broken up. Nearly forty of our Cohort men too.”

My own squad had hardly seen any sign of a resistance since I’d split up our troops. At times, it had almost felt as though we were alone in an alien city infested with troops hunting for us and us alone. It had just been our bad luck, I supposed - Lieutenant Sinnar hadn’t had a problem joining with others of our lady’s army.

“Any idea how many we’ve got left?” I asked.

“Under half. Far under half, I think,” said Sinnar. I wasn’t shocked.

“Not going to be much of the place left for our lady to come back to, is there?”

“I think they’ll burn the north if they can’t flush us out of here,” he said. “Shame, I was just starting to get to like the place.”

“I’m not sure I feel the same way, Lieutenant. Give me a muddy field to freeze my balls off in and I’ll be a happy man.”

He laughed at that. “We all hanker for what we can’t have,” he said. Never a truer word was spoken.

“We’ll join up,” I said. “Not that I’ve got too many remaining. Six of us gone.”

“You’ve done better than most, Captain,” he said ominously.

We joined forces. Sinnar’s one hundred and fifty, with our fifteen on top. The streets were awash with blood and gore, the tragedy of it illuminated by the fierce flames from the burning terrace. As we left the street behind, I heard a rumbling crash and we all looked back to see that the front of the row had collapsed, sending hot rubble and burning wood all across the street where we had recently fought.

“Good luck for us, Captain,” Sinnar told me. “Glad I wasn’t under that when it came down.”

I shook myself out of the gloom that had descended upon me for reasons I didn’t know, refusing to let myself wallow when we’d just escaped our own certain destruction. “Good luck indeed, Lieutenant. And bad luck for Warmont’s men. Let’s find some more wood to chop.”

We were off again on a night filled with death and flame. We kept close to the outskirts of town at first. Leerfar had sent thousands of men out, but the further from the centre they were, the more they had to split in order to search each street. We saw countless dead civilians. Many had been killed cleanly, but others had suffered the cruel whims of angry men. There were women, stripped naked and mutilated, and men with their genitals cut off. I had seen before what frustrated soldiers could do and I wasn’t surprised that they had descended into this after the turmoil of the conflict so far. I had no sympathy for their actions, but I had seen it before.

Where we came upon the enemy units, we slew them efficiently, never pausing for long in one place. We saw signs that other groups like ours operated along with us. On three occasions, we came upon groups of dead soldiers, though there were also signs that the enemy were not all easy targets.

“That’s Jonty there,” said Lieutenant Sinnar, pointing to a body on a rough stone road. The dead man lay on his back with his eyes staring at the flame-lit sky. He’d been stabbed twice and his throat had been cut for good measure. “And that’s Trinter next to him. Can’t recall the names of those other three, but I’ve seen their faces.”

By the time the night was almost through, we were running out of easy pickings for our ambushes. It seemed as though almost every building was burning fiercely, such that night had almost become day down at street level. The slum buildings on the outskirts had not escaped - in fact they burned brighter and more readily than did the others.

“More wood in them ones,” remarked a soldier near to me. “The poor build with wood, the rich build with stone. I came from there myself,” he said with rancour. “Never wanted to see it burn down though. It might be for the best though.”

His words seemed odd to me at first – that he could see a positive side to these homes being destroyed. Then I remembered the despair and hopelessness I’d found in the towns’ outskirts, where even our lady’s radiance couldn’t illuminate the souls of the people. Whatever happened to them after this, perhaps they would build it back new and their efforts might give them skills and pride to become more than they had been before we arrived.

Just as we all thought that we’d had an easy night of it, we found the caster. Or at least, he found us. We had decided to make one last foray into the town, closer to the river than we’d dared up till then. The thought of taking a few dozen final scalps was more than we could resist and soldiers are always at their most vulnerable when they think a shift is coming to an end. We weren’t so bold that we’d planned to assault one of the larger columns, but a group of fifty would make a good, easy target for us. Such groups proved to be elusive and I’d started to weigh up the option of going for something bigger. With fifty of the First Cohort amongst us, we could easily overwhelm a hundred of the enemy without significant casualties of our own, I reckoned.

Just as I was thinking this, a figure stepped out into the road a hundred yards ahead of us, as if he’d been waiting there for us all along. Even in the light of the flames he seemed shrouded in smoke, as if it swirled around him to make him harder to see. He raised a hand and fire exploded amongst us, a great ball of it detonating in our midst and expanding at devastating speed. I closed my eyes and instinctively dropped into a crouch, pulling my shield in to my body. The force of the blast threw me outwards and upwards into the air. I felt objects collide with me as I flew. Even in the confusion I felt the warm, comforting glow of my wards as they protected me from the magical fire. I struck a nearby wall shield-first, though it was more through luck than any judgement on my part.

I tumbled several feet to the ground with a crash and then rolled to my feet again, searching ahead for the figure who’d attacked us. The smell of burning flesh reached my nostrils and I realised that some of it was my own, though the pain was of little concern. The figure was still ahead of us, unmoved and silent. His flames had ripped through our men and I saw charred corpses everywhere, their bodies blackened as if they had been dropped into a blacksmith’s forge. It only took a glance for me to realise that all of the Gold men had perished in the attack. A number of my own men were also burned and I hoped that none had been killed.

Across the street, Lieutenant Sinnar saw me. His face was black down one side, but he grinned at me, his teeth starkly white against his flesh.

“I fucking hate sorcerers,” he said. “Let’s show this one that the First Cohort won’t burn easily.”

I nodded at him and raised a hand to my men, beckoning them to drop behind their shields. My hand had scarcely reached into the air when another blast struck us, this one much hotter and more powerful than the first. Again we were thrown about like chaff, and this time not every one of my men climbed so easily to their feet.

“Scatter!” I shouted and ran towards the sorcerer without looking to see where my men were. Sinnar ran alongside me, his shield covering his face. His armour had partially melted and where his flesh was exposed it was black in places.

“I wonder if Warmont’s got himself a sixth,” he called to me as we ran.

We didn’t reach the sorcerer and this time I didn’t even see his gesture, but the walls to either side of us fell inwards. They didn’t topple slowly and gradually, rather they collapsed upon us as if they’d been pushed by a wave of powerful force. I couldn’t avoid the rubble and it covered me with a great weight. I saw Sinnar go down too. Just when I thought that I’d escaped without serious harm, the weight atop me doubled and I felt a number of my ribs snap.

I lay in the darkness for a time, my body broken but not so much that I travelled my last journey. The pressure over me was suddenly released and I rolled over carefully to look upwards. I didn’t know how he’d removed the rubble that covered me, but the sorcerer stood there, looking downwards at me. I could see his face now – ruined and old, his nose rotted away to leave two holes in his face. He spoke quietly.

“The Emperor has enjoyed your games, Tyrus Charing. He might be of a mind to see where your road takes you, but you know that his patience is short and he may soon lose interest.”

“Why has he sent you?” I asked.

“I’m here to make you aware that the Emperor is watching. He always liked you, Captain Charing, but he is not a man to disappoint.”

With that, the figure turned to leave. With a great effort, I pushed aside some of the rubble that covered my body and staggered to my feet. I looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of the sorcerer. Where the walls had collapsed, there was a pile of rubble, strewn across the street and in a heap. Here and there I saw it stir and I struggled over to the closest movement. I felt a weakness that I had never felt before and the bones in my rib cage flexed and scraped against each other. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be close to death.

I braced my legs and pulled aside three or four of the larger sections of shattered wall. A shoulder and arm became visible and it joined in with my efforts, pushing away at the smaller bricks and stones. It was Lieutenant Sinnar and I had never been so relieved to see him alive as I was then. He didn’t say anything and we got to work, pulling away the rubble from atop our men. A few others had already freed themselves and after twenty minutes, we had rescued those who would be able to fight on. Twelve of us we left behind, their bodies burned and crushed until they had nothing left to give.

“There’ll be fuck-all of us left at this rate, Captain,” said Sinnar.

“Our time is well overdue, Lieutenant. All we can do is try and tip the scales in our favour, so that when the last of us succumbs we can die contented that we have not wasted our time or our chances. Come on, let’s find somewhere to stay for a while, before Warmont’s soldiers find us.”

“What about that sorcerer, Captain?” asked Beamer.

“I don’t think he’s coming back,” I said. “At least not for now.”

“Was it who I think it was?” asked Sinnar.

“One of his Death Sorcerers,” I said. “Now I know why the town has burned so easily.”

“The Pyromancer,” Sinnar replied.

“It looks as though the Emperor is enjoying the Duke’s discomfort. He’ll get bored with us soon enough,” I told him.

“The Emperor always liked you, Captain.”

“Malleus has no favourites, Lieutenant. He’s ancient and he’s bored. We’re nothing but a distraction for him.”

“We should do our best to keep him interested, then, eh?” asked Chant. “See where it takes us.”

I didn’t reply. We’d left the Emperor’s service long ago. His last and only favour to me. I’d hoped never to see him again.

It took longer than I’d wanted, but we found somewhere to hole up – the cellar of another tavern, that had been protected from the flames ravaging the town above. Gurney must have had the nose of a hound and he said that he’d sniffed out the ale beneath a charred wooden trapdoor, deep in the ruins. I personally thought he’d just got lucky enough to stumble upon the opening, but I didn’t let him know that.

We hid below the surface for a time, away from the flame, the smoke and the killing. There were barrels here and our morale was boosted enormously when we found that they contained a quantity of ale. There was no food, but I think that most of us had given up the pretence of needing to eat. I experimented by imagining the sights and smells of a beautifully-prepared steak, but no matter how vivid was the image that my mind conjured up, my mouth steadfastly refused to water.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” asked Waxer, after we’d waited for what seemed like an age.

“There is no plan, soldier,” I said. “Other than we’re going to wait for our lady to return and then we’re going to come out and we’re going to fight again until Warmont has no one left in Gold. Even if it means we have to flatten every single building in the north to get them out.”

Twenty-Seven

I stuck to my plan. There seemed to be little point in risking any more of my men to the surface. I hadn’t conceded defeat, so much as come to realise that there was little benefit to continuing the fight for now. We’d delayed Warmont as much as we could, for as long as we’d been able, but I preferred that we’d be able to contribute to the war in the future, rather than spending ourselves now. I knew when it was time to fight and when it was time to withdraw and I didn’t get an argument from Lieutenant Sinnar or any of the other men. For a time, I considered pulling us out of the town and making a camp in the high hills a few miles outside of the town. Sleeping beneath the stars would have been preferable to where we were, but I was too proud to leave. I thought there was still a chance we might have some value.

So, we remained where we were. Our wounds closed up with unnatural speed and I felt my broken bones knit and bond. We still made forays out to the surface, mostly at night. We took great care to ensure that we were not seen as we emerged, but our faces and armour were so blackened by smoke that we were almost invisible in the darkness. None of us bothered to clean ourselves up – it was not a time to think about our appearance.

Each time we ventured out, it was to gather information, rather than with the specific purpose of killing the enemy. After a few days, the fires had mostly burned down, but the stench remained. We’d all become used to it, almost fond of the pungent, acrid odour. The enemy didn’t come to the south side of town in any great numbers – I assumed that they considered their mission complete here. In fact, there was little sign of any life at all. We came across a few people – children hiding in the ruins, men and women hurrying away in the distance. Whatever life there had been in this half of Gold had been effectively expunged by the Pyromancer’s flames and the swords of the enemy.

“They think they’ve won,” said Lieutenant Sinnar on one occasion.

“They have won, Lieutenant. We can only hope that it is a temporary state of affairs and that we’ve weakened them sufficiently so our lady can take back what remains of the town.”

“I don’t like the feeling, Captain. After what we’ve done. I put everything I had into killing these bastards, but it was never enough. There was always more of them just around the corner, and more after that.”

“We’ve grown too used to winning, Lieutenant. That’s what happens when you fight for the strongest side for too long. It’s made us forget what defeat tastes like. We need to learn from it. Get used to it. We will come out from this test stronger than we were before.”

“It’s not something I want to get used to, Captain. Losing is not something I can contemplate.”

“Nor me, Sinnar. The war is still ours to win, and when I see Warmont’s body fall, I am going to be close enough to drive my sword into his grinning face.”

“He’ll look good in our trophy cabinet, at least.”

I laughed at that, feeling some of my burdens lessen. A man should never stand alone and I drew strength from the others.

It would have been easy to lose track of the days again, had I allowed myself to fall into that trap. Time progresses regardless of whether or not we are aware of it, but I liked to know where my place was in its endless stream. The passing years seemed to make time even more important, rather than less. I did not know if age would ever cripple me, but I somehow felt that my future was shorter than my past and that with each passing day, the uncertainty grew and my continued existence became less sure.

We spent thirteen days in our cellar and it became a joke amongst us as each new day arrived that we’d not lost another of our number. To feed their bleak humour, they started betting amongst themselves who would be the next to be killed, with Sense emerging as the clear favourite.

“Two cracks to the head and a knife in the throat already. There must be something about him that makes him seem like a good target,” said Gurney.

“Yeah,” said Beamer. “And if he so much as looks at a horse shit he’s going to fall down dead, without so much as a gurgle.”

Sense took it all in good spirits. He’d always been quite happy to go along with the banter and was well able to stick up for himself if he thought things had gone too far. He didn’t even seem especially bothered that he could no longer speak. I didn’t think it would cause him any problems in combat, as long as he wasn’t put in a position where he needed to use his voice for something.

On the fourteenth day, things changed. I was out during the early morning with five others. We were scouting and not really looking for trouble as we picked our way carefully along by the river, warily looking across for the signs of enemy soldiers. Grunt saw it first.

“Smoke, Captain.” He was a man of few words.

I stared at it for a few moments, trying to make sense of what my eyes saw. Something was alight over the river and on the north side of the town – something big. I was just about to lead us over the water to see if I could find out what had caused it when we saw more smoke rising, from elsewhere in the town.

“Think they’re burning that side down as well?” asked Waxer. “Maybe a few of the lads have been up to mischief and set a few fires for them. We can’t be the last ones, eh?”

“No, we’ll not be the last ones, Waxer,” I said, fervently hoping that I was right.

There was the sound of an explosion far away. At this distance it reached us as something between a bang and a roar. We all looked at each other.

“Ploster!” said Lamper. “I’d recognize that bastard’s signature from a dozen miles away.”

“We need to get the others,” I said, struggling to keep the excitement from my voice.

There was another sound – a grumbling, low, stomach-churning thump, loud even from a distance.

“That ain’t Ploster,” someone said.

“Maybe it’s the Pyromancer come back,” said another, uncertainly.

“Back, now! I commanded. That’s not the Pyromancer.”

We returned to the ruins of the tavern at a fast run, heedless of the dangers, but still ready to fight if we came across the unexpected. I hurled open the hatch to the cellar where the rest of us hid. A few men looked up, eyes white in blackened faces.

“Out, quick!” I commanded. “Our lady is back.”

We formed up in the street, all forty-two of us that remained after our encounter with the Pyromancer. With our shields held in position and our weapons ready, we made haste along the street towards the river. I didn’t want to make an error in my eagerness and boldness, so I had us cross the river further down towards the outskirts. The cold water washed over our legs, but the soot was so ingrained in our skin that it remained even after we emerged from the other side.

The buildings here had not been touched by the flames and I saw signs of life – there were not many of the townsfolk on the streets, but the fact that there were some told me that the slaughter had been confined to the southern part of the town.

“Looks like they only had the numbers to hold one half,” observed Sinnar. “And felt confident enough that they could leave the people here alive.”

It seemed plausible enough. I was sure there had been killings aplenty over here too, but I knew that if Leerfar had saturated the streets with enough of her men, the citizens would have come to heel quickly enough. The people were bakers and blacksmiths, not soldiers.

“They’d have burned the rest of it down if they needed to, Lieutenant. Let’s hope that our lady has returned and that we can defeat Warmont’s army before the rest of Gold is left in ruins.”

I remembered the road that we had taken into the town when we had first visited the place with our scouting party and the Saviour. It was the most natural way from the perimeter to the centre and we ran until we reached it, encountering no resistance on the way, nor seeing any sign of their soldiers.

“This way,” I commanded when we reached the main road. It led away from us, back towards the river we’d crossed some minutes before.

“On guard,” said Lieutenant Sinnar.

We marched along the road in a column four by ten, watchful for the enemy. I heard a sharp crack somewhere over the rooftops – Ploster again – and then the first sounds of fighting reached us. We took a side street which would take us closer to the sounds and immediately came across a contingent of Leerfar’s men coming the other way. Many of them were looking over their shoulders, so it came as a surprise to them when we cut them into pieces, hardly even breaking our stride or pausing to finish off their wounded. We left over twenty of them in our wake, a few of them groaning in agony from the wounds we’d left them with.

Suddenly we found ourselves in the plaza which had once been the Farmer’s market. I say once, because now there was no sign of trade. Whatever stalls had once been here were now gone. There were soldiers, however and they were plentiful in number.

“Not all Leerfar’s,” said Sinnar reducing the sentence to three concise words.

There were thousands of men here, slugging it out over pavements soaked in blood. War is never pretty, but there is an occasional beauty to be seen in a perfect formation, or in the execution of a surprise move. Here there was none of that and the two sides chopped at each other as if they were youths on a training field. There was too much chaos, but I did not want to hesitate. We hammered into the flanks of one of Leerfar’s lines, cutting through their numbers as we surged onwards.

“Look! A banner!” said Sinnar.

I saw it, without knowing how I’d missed it in the first place. By then, we were too deep within Leerfar’s ranks to change course and we unleashed our pent-up rage at the defeats we’d suffered, as if our falling swords could wipe the memories from our heads. If we encountered significant resistance, we hardly even noticed it, such was our determination to kill these men who had been our tormentors.

I felt an awareness of the details around me, without even needing to look for them. My natural talent for the battlefield told me that this fight had been won almost before we had appeared. We were but forty and though we fought with a ferocity that far belied our small numbers, it was the masses who would decide this fight. I could have attempted a withdrawal then, but I did not. The men needed this – if it was to be the last fight they saw in Gold, it had to be one that left them with a feeling of having contributed something. In my heart, I knew that what they’d done in the days and weeks before this far outweighed any mindless slaughter they took part in now.

There were more detonations fifty yards away from us and I saw soldiers hurled into the air. The blasts hadn’t been from our side and I felt a sharp constriction in my chest at the thought that the Pyromancer might still be here. I would not have wanted our lady to face him. My fears were unfounded and I heard other blasts answering the first two.

“It’s good to hear Ploster again, Captain,” chortled Sinnar, finding the time for conversation as he cut through an enemy shield close by.

“I’ve missed having him with us,” I admitted.

“Let’s hope he’s cut his beard off, Captain,” shouted Trouble.

“Yeah, it’s always offended me for some reason,” said someone else behind my right shoulder.

Ploster’s beard had always been a cause for mockery. The rest of us stayed clean shaven and our sorcerer was the only one who cultivated facial hair. The men were talking about it now, because they could already tell that the fight in the plaza was won and we weren’t up against it. Without warning, Warmont’s exhausted men turned tail and tried to flee. Unusually, it happened in their back rows first. They simply ran away into the streets of the town, leaving the men before them to face our wrath. As word reached the other ranks that they were being deserted, the panic set in and soon the bulk of Leerfar’s men were flooding away from our lady’s army. Those at the front who had been abandoned, had little choice but to continue the fight, though they knew their deaths were unavoidable.

Once these last men had been overrun, we gave chase to Leerfar’s army, following the bulk of them towards the river, where we caught up with them. The slowest amongst them saw that flight was pointless and a few of them turned in the hope that they might at least kill a few of us in trade for their own deaths. We did not allow them the pleasure and soon the surface of the shallow river was streaked with blood and dotted with dark shapes protruding above the surface.

“Shit, that’s enough,” I called at last. “I don’t want to go amongst those burnt-out buildings today. I’ve seen enough of them.”

Lieutenant Sinnar summoned those who had got ahead of us and we let the other men of our lady’s army do the chasing, while we took ourselves back towards the plaza. We did not get the friendly reception we had hoped for and quickly found ourselves facing several hundred men wearing livery I didn’t recognize. They had their weapons drawn and seemed short on humour.

“We fight for the Saviour!” I shouted to them, only now realising how lucky we had been up till now. I’d had us join a fight without announcing who we were or who we fought for. With our filthy appearance, there was no chance we’d have been easily recognized.

My message had evidently been relayed and the banner of our lady came towards us, though she was hidden from our sight by the soldiers here. I felt her warmth even from this distance and she spared no time in pushing her way through her men towards us. As she saw what we’d become, she wept at our sight, for she could tell that we had been tested beyond measure in her name. With tears flowing, she rushed across the intervening space, still in her red robes and with Footsore behind her.

“Captain Charing, I have returned as I promised. I see that I have taken much too long.”

“My lady, I told you that we would be with you for an eternity. We would fight here for another hundred years if you asked us to.”

Jon Ploster emerged from the crowds and came over to us as well. His beard was still there and his head was as bald as it ever had been.

“You all look like shit!” he said, laughing openly. I wouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

We left the plaza and escorted our lady into a storage building that I learned had been used by Leerfar for her base. It wasn’t the most agreeable of places, but it was eminently practical for what it had been used for. There was no way that she could have housed all of her men here, but someone told me that there were two other places nearby that had also been used as barracks.

It was only just past midday and I shed the armour that seemed almost joined with me. I took a trip to the Fols river and submerged myself under the water and scrubbed at my skin until the dirt was gone and my tattoos seemed almost to glow vibrantly in the sunlight. Someone had located a bar of soap and I rubbed at my hair until the last vestiges of the smoke were gone. Although I was sure we were safe enough, my sword was nearby, the tip embedded into the gravelly river bed, so that I could reach the hilt easily if I needed to. A few yards away, others of my men had also taken the opportunity to remove their grime.

“I’d kind of grown used to your stink, Captain,” said Tumbler.

“I don’t think he’ll be the same man when he’s smelling of fancy soap and flowers,” called another.

“There are many places a bar of soap can be shoved, Warble,” I said.

“You’re a braver man than me if you’d go anywhere near his trousers,” said a third man.

“That’s the Captain. The Captain. He’s brave enough to go anywhere and do anything.”

And so it went on for the fifteen minutes I permitted myself to stay. I would have stopped for longer, but we rarely have the time to do the things that we really want to. The dirt had almost become a part of me over the last few weeks, but I was glad it was gone. Cleanliness is one of the things that separates us from the animals and though I could put up with extended periods without bathing, I was always content when the muck was gone. It almost made me feel human again.

I met with our lady. There was much to tell, but it was easy to condense into the basic facts. She’d marched for many days, but there had been few tribulations on the road. They had seen a few armed gangs, but her escort had been more than enough to put paid to any thoughts of robbery.

They’d arrived in Septic first and stayed for three days. This was longer than they’d planned, but in the grand scheme of it, three days isn’t very long at all, though it was hugely significant to the men who’d remained in Gold. After Septic, they had travelled to Bunsen, from where they had gone down the coast to Demox.

“We got their soldiers,” she said. “It was tough at first – Septic is ruled by a council of frightened old men. They wanted us to stay.”

“In fact, they almost insisted we stay,” said Ploster. “I think they hoped to make our lady vanish somehow, so that everything would go away and they’d be able to continue on as before.”

Our lady flushed at the memory. “Those bastards. Scared for themselves, they were, not scared for their people. If they’d had even a shred of consideration for their citizens I might have been more sympathetic!”

“You were not sympathetic to them, then?” I asked.

She grimaced. “No I was not. I had to demonstrate how their people needed a leader. Someone young and not old. Someone who looked to the future, rather than hid in the past. We got our men in the end, but it was not how I had hoped to conclude my dealings with their council.”

“Bunsen and Demox were easier to convince,” said Ploster. “Lieutenant Faye is well-connected in Bunsen. We had people on the streets cheering us as we left. When we got to Demox, we found many justiciars had paid the town a visit.”

“We killed them all,” our lady announced coldly. “And wished there had been more so that we could have killed them also.”

She’d become harder than when I’d seen her last, and in such a short time as well.

That had been more or less how her travels had unfolded. The three coastal towns had all announced their support of the Saviour and had sent her to Gold with almost six thousand of their troops. They could field more between them, but I didn’t blame them at all for keeping something in reserve. They wouldn’t have wanted to be defenceless if the Duke’s men came knocking.

They’d made all haste to Gold, with our lady already aware that things had not gone well for us. When they’d arrived, they had been able to march straight into the centre of the town and engage the enemy forces. I’d guessed Leerfar to be a poor commander – I bet she’d had no scouts or sentries on duty outside the town, content that she’d managed to secure it with the Pyromancer’s assistance.

“I think they still had seven thousand men,” she said. “More than we had. But they had no fight left in them and you saw what happened for yourself.”

“Seven thousand?” I asked. “I wonder how many we killed. I thought they had been reinforced above their initial fourteen thousand, but there has been so much confusion. It could be that they fought better than I imagined – it feels as if we have killed many more than that. The killing has been endless.”

She and Ploster both shrugged. They could only imagine what had happened in the town, even after I had given them the details. It shouldn’t have been important to me, but for some reason, I was desperate to know the numbers we’d faced, as if it would make our defeat more acceptable to hear that there were twenty thousand of the enemy. I soon came to terms with the not knowing – the wisdom of age told me not to be so stupid and to stop worrying about it. I often listened to the advice I gave myself.

There was other good news, which I received later on that day. Lieutenant Craddock arrived at the head of a few hundred men. A number of them were from the First Cohort, but not as many as I’d have liked. I went across to Craddock immediately and clasped his hand.

“Good to see you, Lieutenant. I’d started to worry that you’d not be coming back to me.”

“It was a close-run thing, sir, and I won’t deny that I’ve exhausted my luck for the next ten years.”

“Let us hope not, Lieutenant, since I have no intentions of demoting you, even if you bring greater danger to the men through your depleted fortune.”

“We’d been doing fine against them for a while,” Craddock told me after I bade him to provide some details on how he’d fared. “But every time we had to withdraw I got the feeling that our hiding places were getting fewer and fewer. We hid in the north for a time, but eventually someone gave us away and we got flushed out. We made it over the river one night, but that was when the fires started and their men came with them.”

“The Pyromancer was here,” I whispered softly. Craddock nodded his understanding, but said nothing more about it. There’d be time for all the specifics later.

“Anyway, we killed many of them,” he continued. “Hundreds, I reckon. But you know how it is when they just keep coming and they don’t stop coming. That’s when I knew we’d lost it. I took the men away, out of town and into the countryside. We joined up with some others as we found them. Lieutenant Trovis is somewhere about. He’s a stubborn old bastard, he is. Worth his weight, when it came down to it.” After that he also lowered his voice to a whisper. “How many have we lost, Captain?” he asked.

I tried to keep my voice from breaking and wasn’t sure if I succeeded fully. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. Far too many. We might not know exactly how many for a few days – that’s if we’ve got others outside the town perimeter that we don’t know about.”

“This is a dirty and bloody war already, Captain,” he said.

“And it’s hardly even started.” I told him.

I left Craddock and returned to the small room that I’d found myself in the warehouse barracks. It wasn’t that I needed a room as a reflection of my rank, but sometimes I found it easier to concentrate on the minutiae away from the hubbub of several hundred people talking at once. It had begun to get dark now and I knew that this might be the last chance I would get to ponder what had happened, before I became engulfed in a whirlwind of minor duties and decisions. There were also the big decisions to make as well and they’d have to come soon. I did not relish any of it.

Jon Ploster came to speak to me. He looked concerned and I realised that he was worried for my wellbeing.

“You look worn, Tyrus,” he said. “Weary.”

“I am both, Jon. We have fought a thousand battles, but here in Gold there was a relentless monotony to it. It is a long time since I have looked for the glory, but even so I am driven to win. These last weeks have been dreary and without lustre. For the first time in my memory I found that I did not enjoy the fight.”

“It is definitely not the losing that weighs upon you?” he asked.

“No, I am certain it is not. Defeat has struck me hard, but I have found that my pride is not as important to me as I had feared it would be.”

“I wonder if the Emperor took more than our lives, Tyrus.  Perhaps he took that from us which makes us human – the doubt and the despair. I have felt little of these for as long as I can remember. What I do feel is nothing more than an echo of what it once was. I have known this and have lived with it. The memory of something is never as strong as the experience itself.”

“Do you think we are returning to how we once were?” I asked him. My own opinions on the matter were already formed.

“It’s a possibility,” he said. “And I embrace whatever comes from our time with the Saviour.”

“I do too, Jon. I have never been afraid in the past, but now I feel that I have to confront thoughts that are becoming closer and closer to fear the longer I dwell on them. I tell myself that it is a good thing.”

“A man without fear can never be brave,” said Ploster. “With no fears or doubts, there is nothing to conquer. And we in the First Cohort have been spared from the greatest fear of all.”

“Death,” I said. “Because we are already there.”

We talked for longer about other things, until it was dark outside and the sounds of the men barracked here had faded to a low chatter. Most of the soldiers had been put on patrol around what remained of the town. Warmont’s forces had fled from Gold and I’d had them followed to ensure that we’d have plenty of notice if they chose to regroup and return for a counterattack. I was sure that dozens, if not hundreds of them were hidden with collaborators, or in the countless deserted buildings. The task of flushing them out would begin in earnest tomorrow.

“Did you find out who was leading them?” asked Ploster, out of the blue.

I hadn’t realised that he didn’t know – I’d just assumed it was something he’d have picked up. The question made me sit bolt upright and I felt as if someone had slid a barbed dagger into my chest.

“Leerfar Backstabber,” I told him.

“Where is she?” he asked immediately, concern in his voice.

“I don’t know, Jon. Twist stabbed her in the spine some days ago. We didn’t see her after that.”

“No one told me that Warmont’s Fourth was here!” he said.

“Then she has not been found,” I said. “I have hardly spared her a thought since Twist got her in the back.”

“Then you have been a fool, Tyrus!” he snapped. “We must find our lady at once!”

The enormity of what he had said sunk into me and I knew that I had overlooked something that could be of more importance than anything that had happened in the weeks our lady had been away. I swept my desk aside as I left the room and then splintered the door as I crashed through it. I entered the long corridor that circled much of the warehouse barracks’ perimeter and charged along it, knocking aside a group of four men as they returned from an evening patrol.

“Follow me!” I barked at them and I heard their surprise as they scrambled to obey.

Our lady had been given her own two rooms in the quietest part of the barracks, furnished through the efforts of her men to provide her with a suggestion of home and privacy. As I sprinted towards her lodgings everything slowed down around me, though this time the familiar feeling of it did not give me comfort as it did in battle, rather it angered me as though it prevented me from reaching my goal. Ploster was behind me, dropping back and unable to keep up even along this short distance.

The darkness of the corridor did not hide the blood on the walls. It was just a splash as if it had been spilled there unintentionally by someone doing their best to hide the signs of a murder. I noticed it all the same – a shiny, wet redness against the dirty grey of the stone. The corridor turned sharply to the right and there was the first body. The soldier’s throat had been completely ripped out as though in a single action to give him no chance to raise an alarm. There was another just beyond him and then another. The cold stone of the floor was slick with their blood and I had to slow my pace to avoid slipping.

The clattering in the corridor behind told me that other men had been roused by the alarm and were coming to see what the matter was. Our lady’s rooms were behind a wooden door like all of the others. There should have been two of my men stationed outside, but there was not. Footsore and Hurtle had been killed, their bodies a mess of ripped tissue and shredded throats. The wooden door next to where they lay was ajar as if someone had slipped inside and neglected to close it properly behind them.

I pushed through without pause, taking in the Saviour’s room with its sturdy bed, desk and chairs – the simple comforts of a farm cottage. There was blood here as well, what seemed like barrels of it, flayed against the walls, as though it had left the donor body at a tremendous speed. Our lady was there, slumped face-down on her bed. The flesh of her back was in tatters and the flow of blood from her wounds was nothing more than a slow ooze, as if she had none left inside. It seemed as if she had lost an impossible amount of it.

I didn’t know where it came from, but I had a swatch of white cloth in my hand and I knelt down next her, pressing it over the lacerations. As I did so, I saw that her throat had also been cut and I felt the beginning of an endless despair. I did not give it thought at the time, but I was lucky that Leerfar was no longer in the room, else she would have added the First Cohort’s captain to her tally for the night.

“Fetch Corporal Grief!” I heard myself shout to the men crowding uncertainly in the room. I could have saved my words, for the corporal had already elbowed his way into the room. He pushed me aside without ceremony and examined our lady quickly. I noticed that he made no efforts at immediate treatment as he normally did when the wounds were at their most severe.

“She’s dead, Captain,” he whispered, telling me what I knew but had not yet been able to confront.

I stood up, slowly and dumbly as the shock of it came to me. I saw the same expression in Ploster’s face and in those of the other men. There was a thump at my feet and when I looked down, I saw that someone had thrown a severed hand there, which still clutched a rune-etched short sword. It was no consolation, but at least Footsore or Hurtle hadn’t died without giving their own response.

“What are we to do, Captain? What are we to do?” someone asked. Through the haze of loss I didn’t recognize the voice.

I shook my head. I didn’t know – I really didn’t know.

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Table of Contents

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Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

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Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven