ã€ŠThrone of the Cruelã€‹


 Prologue - Strangers In A Savage Land

    Prologue

    Strangers In A Savage Land

    The palace of the Rhakan Emperor was vast and sprawling, the size of a large city. Great golden ornate pagodas and spires stuck up bright and sharp into the sky. Carvings abounded upon nearly every surface. A great temple complex covered in statues, where dozens of bright pagodas flanked the western side of the palace, and enormous residences mirrored them to the east. In the middle of it all was a vast parade ground. Today, it was filled to the brim with people, all finely and colourfully dressed. Thousands had come from cities and provinces all across Rhakan. They had come from Dagon and Agan by the coast, from Tauan, Desha, and Drahk in the north and Tangong in the south. Those inside the main grounds of the palace were the nobility, who came to pledge their obedience to the new emperor. They were crowded in, the wealthiest among them situated towards the front with attendants to fan them and serve cold drinks. Most of the great city of Angmaw had come, too, though they were not allowed inside the holiest centre of the empire. The commoners of the capital city packed in around the outer edge of the walls, hoping for a glimpse of their new ruler, Sarawa Maw.

    Sarawa Maw, the man who would become emperor of all Rhakan today, sat on a dais that was raised above the great open grounds at the centre of his court. He was a tall and well-built middle-aged man of dark complexion. He had short-cropped black hair with a white streak running through it where a deep scar had healed after a wound in battle. His face was severe, but he sat otherwise serenely. Surrounding him were dozens of family members and courtiers of all kinds. A small group of priests dressed in deep purple and orange robes sat off to one side, watching the proceedings impassively.

    Nigel Thorpe sat nearby. He was a man of Vastrum and ambassador to the Rhakanese court. He and the rest of the ambassadors were seated together upon the same high dais where the king and his court sat. They were a little further away beyond the small collection of priests. He was seated next to the Gantish ambassador, a young man named Kroff, who was extremely thin. He had worn his best outfit, a white suit and tie. The man was sweating.

    He dabbed at his face with a handkerchief and sighed, ¡°How long do you think these barbarian coronations are?¡± He asked.

    ¡°I understand it can take all day, my good man,¡± Nigel replied to the Gantishman, ¡°Best settle in.¡±

    Another ambassador, a heavyset man with a dark beard from the northern land of Hane, held a parasol and fanned himself furiously with a brightly coloured lacquered fan, ¡°It is not the heat that bothers me, but the humidity!¡±

    ¡°Is it now? Would you do so very well in the summer heat of Huz, I wonder? I rather think it is your obesity that causes you strain.¡± The Fyrin ambassador spoke under his breath and chuckled to himself. The man was youthful and vigorous, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a dark suit with a high collar that was almost military. Despite his outfit, he did not seem to sweat in the sweltering heat.

    ¡°Not very diplomatic for an ambassador,¡± Kroff replied sharply.

    ¡°Nor very sporting,¡± Nigel agreed.

    Somewhere, a drum sounded. Bells rang. The whining sound of a kind of Rhakanese horn began to play. The gates opened. A grand procession began to push their way in through the press of the crowd. Nigel could see down in the grounds that a great throne was being carried along by bearers who lofted it on their shoulders. The throne was fancifully decorated and made of shining gold. Then another came, and another after that. Nigel lost count as they were brought in. Each throne came with its own attendants. A banner trailed behind each one. Statues were held up and carried along with them.

    ¡°What are those statues?¡± Kroff leaned in and asked. He ought to have known as ambassador to this land, but Nigel knew that most diplomats from most nations knew little of their assignments. The postings were often bought for power or handed to nobles.

    ¡°The gods of this land. As I understand it, the king must now choose his throne. Each throne is associated with a different deity. The throne symbolises what kind of king the man will make. It is said that he will become the manifestation or embodiment of the throne he has chosen.¡±

    ¡°What throne is that one? The silver one there with the sword on it.¡±

    ¡°I believe that is the Throne of the Just.¡± Nigel guessed he had only read about them and seen drawings, but he had never seen them in person.

    ¡°So he would pick that and be a just king?¡±

    ¡°Or he would aspire to be just, in any case.¡±

    The procession of thrones, statues, and banners wound through the crowd to the droning music. Loud gonging and droning went on as the thrones were paraded before the soon-to-be king. A jade throne adorned with a great serpentine dragon went by. Then, a white chair with an owl went by. A throne made up to be a tree and another with a great spoked wheel passed by.

    ¡°What¡¯s that one there?¡± Kroff pointed down at it.

    ¡°The one with the wheel?¡±

    ¡°Yes, the golden one. Is that a wheel?¡±

    ¡°Indeed. It represents the great turning of fates, as I understand it. It is the Throne of the Compassionate.¡±

    ¡°I marvel at these savages. They have built great things; they must not be complete brutes, but I do not understand how a wheel represents compassion. What nonsense, these fanciful pagan religions.¡± The fat ambassador from Hane chuckled to himself.

    ¡°There are a great many things outside your understanding, sir. I marvel only at the sparsity of your erudition.¡± The Fyrin ambassador replied.

    Kroff answered for the heavyset Hanish ambassador, turning and hissing towards the Fyrin ambassador, ¡°You are a viper, sir. Your words are ungentlemanly and biting. We are all fellows here, are we not? Each of us is a stranger in a savage land. We ought to be civil amongst ourselves.¡±

    The Fyrin man looked as if he wanted to speak, but an attendant on the dais behind them shushed the ambassadors as a parent might shush their rowdy children. The Fyrin¡¯s mouth snapped shut.

    ¡°What throne is that one?¡± Kroff asked after a few moments. The last great throne was being hauled in through the gates of the palace courtyard. The crowd seemed to shrink back from this last one. It was a great black wooden throne that looked as if it had once been burned in a fire. A red banner with a great tiger waved back and forth ahead of it in the procession. Men dressed as tigers pantomimed, attacking one another as they led the way through the crowd.

    Nigel leaned over towards him and spoke in a hushed tone, ¡°That is the Throne of the Cruel.¡±

    ¡°Why have a throne for cruelty? It seems an odd thing.¡±

    ¡°As I understand it, few kings have ever chosen that throne.¡±

    They watched as the king considered his choice. The thrones were now arrayed before him, with only the last thrones in the procession left to be presented. He seemed interested in an enormous throne adorned with two great elephants and did not seem keen to wait for the final throne. The king stood and smiled. He raised his hands. The incumbent king was ready to make his choice. The priests and officials stepped forward on either side of him, waiting to perform the ritual and crown him as emperor of all Rhakan. A light wind had kicked up. Banners were snapped up by it. The king¡¯s hair blew in the wind.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Oh, thank merciful fuck.¡± The Hanish ambassador said, ¡°A breeze.¡±

    The heir stepped forward. The head priest bowed and stepped forward to attend him. Words were being said, though none of the other ambassadors had more than a passing understanding of Rhakanese. Nigel was the only one who understood the language much. It was a light dancing language on the ear and tongue. It was said that the language was not for shouting but for singing. The dais was wide enough that, even had Nigel been fluent in the tongue, he could not hear more than a murmur of what the priest was saying. In Vastrum, a priest or official would have boomed out his blessing during a coronation. Here, what the priest said was only for the ears of the new king and those of his closest family. Then suddenly, the wind blew harder. The Hanishman¡¯s parasol was ripped away and flew out into the air. Then someone screamed behind them back inside the palace.

    Nigel stood and looked, as did many others. Guards turned and lowered their weapons. Words were shouted. A general drew his ceremonial sword and started moving towards the palace, shouting orders. Nigel understood those shouted words well, ¡°Protect the king.¡±

    The ambassadors looked around in confusion. There was a disturbance in the crowd below. Yelling and screaming could be heard. A wizard of the Rhakan court stood and appeared to be dropping some substance into his eye. The man was aged, with a white beard, tan skin, a smooth bald head, and bright golden eyes. He held a great regal staff above him and began to chant something against the wind, which blew only harder.

    More screams sounded from within the palace. The chaos below increased. The wind howled. Men screamed below, and the masses surged away, trying to escape something in the crowd. Screams echoed all around. Nigel still had not seen the source of the danger. Then suddenly, a man came running from the palace door holding a great sword that seemed to emanate a power for which Nigel had no words. There was a great emptiness flowing from the blade, and yet it seemed to be sucking in the very air and light that touched it. A brave soldier stepped forward, holding his great spear before him, jabbing quickly at the swordsman. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the guard might keep the dark swordsman at bay through great skill, but the moment the sword touched his spear, the point vanished as if it had been drawn into a horrible black tear in reality. Nigel¡¯s breath caught in his throat. The man with the sword swung wide, and the stunned guardsman was torn in half. His midsection vanished as the sword passed through him. His two remaining halves fell to the stone floor, gushing blood. The dark swordsman stepped past him in an instant and went for the next guard. That man¡¯s arm disappeared into the blade. Blood poured from his shoulder. Nigel, the rest of the ambassadors, and the whole court stood frozen in panic. The blade silently whipped through guard after guard, pieces of them vanishing into the sword he held. Few guards remained, the bulk of them ripped to pieces. Those who still stood turned and fled, abandoning their would-be king. Then, the high priest stepped forward to meet the assassin. He was an old man. He shuffled forward as he went, counting his prayer beads.

    ¡°Move.¡± The attacker said.

    The priest smiled, then said something to the attacker. All the while, he counted the beads on his mala. The man growled and hesitated momentarily, not wanting to kill the monk. His hesitance lasted only a moment, however. He stabbed his sword towards the old man. A piece of his torso vanished. Blood sprayed. Something in the ambassadors and the courtiers snapped, and people ran screaming from the dais. Nigel, however, was transfixed by the dying priest and the trail of carnage left by this man. He had seen wizards work wonders; he was no stranger to magic. This was something new. The dark swordsman lifted his sword and stepped up to the king. The king spit in his face, took his sword, and stepped towards the would-be assassin. Before the assassin could finish his bloody work, the wizard was there suddenly, his staff raised high, a look of fury in his golden eyes. He screamed a word that Nigel did not know, and a shockwave blasted outwards. Nigel felt himself thrown back by the explosion. He landed hard, the air driven from his lungs. He tried gasping for breath. Finally, he drew a hoarse breath and began coughing. He held his chest and gulped the air. He rolled over and pushed himself upright, taking stock of himself and his surroundings. The rest of the ambassadors had fled and were nowhere in sight, as had most of the court. He turned and looked. He found the king standing stunned on the dais. The court wizard was standing over the still form of the swordsman. The sword was nowhere to be seen. The wizard leaned over the man and pulled his mask away. Nigel gasped. The man was Western. He was not Rhakanese. Whether the assassin had been Vastrum or Fyrin or Gantish or from the free cities or elsewhere would not matter, Nigel knew. The king saw the dead man. Recognition that this was not a Rhakanese enemy dawned on his face. The dark eyes of the king found Nigel suddenly, as did the golden eyes of the court wizard.

    ¡°What is this?¡± The wizard hissed at him.

    ¡°I do not know,¡± Nigel replied truthfully.

    The king barked a command. More guards came running from elsewhere. The chaos below had been tamed. Whatever had caused it was over now, too. It did not take long for the rest of the ambassadors to be rounded up. The small cadre of Western diplomats were corralled with Nigel and brought forward. The king looked down at the courtyard now. Many of the thrones were destroyed and lay in pieces around the yard. A few still stood.

    The king turned to the ambassadors, ¡°Who did this?¡± He said in simple Vastrum.

    ¡°Sir, we do not know,¡± Nigel replied.

    The man stalked over to the dead man, grabbed his collar and dragged him over. Fury was all over the king¡¯s countenance. He pointed at the dead man¡¯s pale face. ¡°He is one of you!¡± The man screamed at them, ¡°Who did this?¡±

    Most of them were at a loss for words. The Fyrin man was not. ¡°I expect it will have been Vastrum or Gant," he said flippantly, gesturing to the two ambassadors.

    ¡°Sir, it was most decidedly not!¡± Nigel protested.

    ¡°Vastrum is insatiable. Whose trade offer did you most recently spurn? Perhaps they sought a more amenable trade partner. Your traitorous brother, no doubt.¡±

    ¡°That is conjecture and entirely untrue. You would say anything to undermine us.¡± Nigel turned to the king. ¡°The Fyrins are our enemy. He will say anything to turn us against one another!¡± he protested.

    The king nodded thoughtfully, ¡°I believe none of you.¡± He barked something to the guards standing nearby. The guards forced all the ambassadors to their knees.

    ¡°Sir!¡± The Fyrin diplomat cried, ¡°We seek only friendship and a better world!¡±

    The king laughed¡ªa wicked laugh with no smile behind it. He turned to face what was left of the crowds and bellowed down to them. Words poured from him. The language that had once flowed and danced now roared like thunder from his throat as he spoke.

    ¡°What is he saying?¡± The Gantishman Kroff hissed.

    Nigel frowned, ¡°He is saying that we are treacherous. That we seek to take his kingdom. He says the time has come not for mercy, wisdom, or piety. He is saying that they must defend their land against our aggression. He says that the path to defeat us is not kindness or pacifism but violence. He is making his choice. He has chosen his throne.¡±

    The great king bellowed out his choice to the throngs below. Attendants came to hoist the great chair upon their backs, and they began to haul it up the steps of the dais. It was the enormous charred throne they brought. In the light, Nigel thought that the black charred spots with the orange wood looked like a tiger''s stripes. The king moved aside, and the bearers placed where the king had stood. Then, they retreated down the stairs. The king stepped forward, looking the throne up and down, weighing his choice now that he had made it. Then he sat. Thunderous applause broke out, the violence seemingly forgotten for the moment. Another courtier brought the golden crown of Rhakan forward and placed it upon the new emperor¡¯s head. His giant sceptre was handed to him. Suddenly, the king cried out. A hush went over the whole palace and beyond. Nigel and the rest of the ambassadors kneeling nearby looked on in silent horror as the king began to change. He began to grow, his head and hands began to change. A great snout appeared on his face, and fangs grew from his mouth. Great claws sprouted from his hands. He screamed in agony and ecstasy as he transformed. Fur grew from his whole person. Then he stood¡ªhalf-tiger, half-man.

    ¡°What sorcery could do such a thing?¡± The Fyrin ambassador asked.

    He received no answer.

    The king roared and raised his sceptre into the air. Then he turned towards the diplomats, scowling. He bared his huge tiger teeth and stepped towards them.

    ¡°What do you mean to do to us, your majesty?¡± The fat Hanishman asked, bowing down on his hands and knees in abject terror.

    ¡°If I cannot know who did this thing, all must die for it.¡± The emperor answered.

    ¡°But¡­¡± The man protested.

    The great tiger king brought down his sceptre and caved in the Hanishman¡¯s skull before the man could finish his thought.

    ¡°You cannot do this!¡± The Gantish ambassador protested, ¡°We are diplomats, not warriors!¡±

    The king grabbed the next ambassador''s head and squished him in his enormous paw. The head burst as if the great claw was crushing a ripe peach. Blood spattered across Nigel¡¯s face. The tiger-man easily tossed the dead Gantish diplomat aside, the man¡¯s white suit now stained red.

    ¡°The Fyrin empire is your ally. Surely you will not¡­¡± The Fyrin ambassador began to say. The great tiger stepped on the man¡¯s throat and crushed his windpipe. The man gasped for breath, holding his own throat as he asphyxiated.

    ¡°All I hear are the mewling of fools. What have you to say to me?¡± The king rumbled at Nigel.

    Nigel looked up into the cruel face of the tiger-king, ¡°I will not beg. Kill me, and Vastrum will come. All of Vastrum. All its great fleets and armies and wizards will come to tear you down. You cannot win. Kill me, and it will be war.¡±

    The king paused for a moment, considering what Nigel had said. He looked to the crowds below, his courtiers beside them, the dead assassin behind the throne, and the court wizard who stood a short ways off. Emperor Maw sighed and turned back to Nigel. He pointed to the dead assassin lying a short way off. The ruler¡¯s rumbling voice answered, ¡°It is already war.¡±

 Chapter One - Does Misery Amuse You?

    Chapter One

    Does Misery Amuse You?

    The river stank like sewage. Brown haze floated on the horizon above the far shore of the Yuna River. Two months on a clipper ship across the ocean from Vastrum to the port city of Bankut. Two weeks up the river by steamship to the province of Ayodh. They would be there by evening if all went well. The Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> had been briefly stationed in Kathalamanyr. While Dryden had been on leave, the regiment had been repositioned just outside the great city of Kanmak in the province of Ayodh, a province deep in the southeast of those colonies held by Vastrum. It was further east than Dryden had ever served. Now, he was sitting in a sun chair lounging on deck while the steamship Jessamine chugged away beneath him. Julia was seated beside him in a similar deck chair. He was reading an old newspaper, which had been taken on at the last river port they had stopped at. Julia looked petulant and bored. She often looked that way of late. He supposed it mainly was the boredom of a long trip. Her red hair caught the sun, her slender face outlined by the morning light, and for a moment, he forgot their last fight.

    They had been married at his family¡¯s estate in Marrowick. Dryden¡¯s lord father disapproved but was deeply unwell and had not been in any condition to forbid him from marriage. His older brother James was acting head of the family and estate. He had always had a soft spot for John and had assented when Dryden had broached the subject of marrying Julia. The local priest had married them in the family¡¯s tiny chapel. Few had attended. It was not considered a good match by the gentry. Julia had no family to attend, and John¡¯s family, except for his brother, refused to attend in protest. There was nothing wrong with Julia except her lack of good breeding, connections, and wealth. Dryden¡¯s aunt had given these issues a voice. The concerns that had not been voiced, at least not in Dryden or Julia¡¯s presence, were her captivity and treatment at the hands of the Vuruni men. Still, this matter hung over the wedding like a heavy vapour. The service itself was a small, sad affair. John expected that Julia was more than a little disappointed in the wedding, but there was nothing more to be done. If anything, he felt, she was lucky that a gentleman of good breeding such as himself had been willing to offer his hand in marriage. That argument had not gone over well in a previous fight. For all his heroism and prowess as a soldier, John was lost when it came to Julia, and he deemed women''s minds confounding.

    John tried a different tack, ¡°Ahh, look here, Julia. Apparently, the king himself is visiting the colonies.¡± He pointed to an article in the weeks-old paper.

    ¡°Truly?¡± she asked, her tone uninterested. ¡°I wonder what he sees in them.¡± She had not wanted to leave Vastrum. He wondered that she had apparently thought they would marry and settle down in his family¡¯s estate in Marrowick. He had repeatedly told her that he still had several years of service remaining and could not simply resign his commission without cause. He supposed he could understand that this was not where she wanted to be, not after her months-long captivity in Vurun. Still, he hoped she could understand that he needed to serve his commission and that, as an officer¡¯s wife, she was expected to live with him at his posting.

    ¡°Look!¡± He said, pointing to the edge of the river. An enormous crocodile was sunning itself on the sandy banks.

    ¡°Oh.¡± She replied, ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m going to the cabin. I¡¯m hot. Perhaps you can make friends with him.¡± She said, gesturing to the scaly reptile.

    Dryden pursed his lips. Julia was in a worse mood than usual. ¡°You¡¯ll take luncheon with me in the dining room later, won¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± She answered as if it were a bother. Then she turned, walked back towards the stairs that led down to the first-class cabins, and disappeared into the ship''s interior.

    A few moments later, a man¡¯s voice piped up from a few chairs up the deck, ¡°Trouble with women, eh?¡± When Dryden did not immediately respond, he continued, ¡°Pardon the intrusion. No offence was intended. I couldn¡¯t help but overhear.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, sir. I¡¯m sure the whole ship has heard us. Apologies for the disturbance.¡± Dryden looked over at the man.

    The man who had spoken was older, perhaps in his fifties. He wore a white suit and sported a gleaming white pith helmet. He had a well-trimmed short beard that came to a point. He smiled disarmingly at Dryden. The man¡¯s blue eyes seemed to bore into his. John felt he recognised the man somewhat and had seen him in the dining hall and upon the ship''s deck during the two-week voyage, but they had not been introduced or spoken.

    ¡°George Sterling, at your service.¡± He beamed at Dryden and extended his hand.

    ¡°John Dryden.¡± He took the man¡¯s hand and shook it. He had a firm grip.

    ¡°I know who you are. I believe the whole ship knows who you are.¡± The man said, ¡°A war hero and proper celebrity.¡±

    ¡°So they tell me.¡± Dryden replied, ¡°What brings you to Ayodh?¡±

    ¡°I enjoy hunting. I have heard that no colony has richer hunting grounds than the hills in the north of Ayodh. Know you the region?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. This is my first time in this country, though I have heard the same. I hope to find the time for a hunt, though I find the service keeps me busy.¡±

    ¡°You cannot be spared for a few moments?¡± George asked.

    Dryden chuckled, ¡°Duty often calls.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± George said smilingly. ¡°Duty had a strong pull on me when I was young. Would you allow me to give you a small piece of marital advice, John?¡±

    Dryden looked at the man, wondering what gave him the right to be so familiar. He wanted so badly to say no, to tell the man to leave him alone; he was in no mood for advice. His sense of decorum and good manners obliged him to nod in assent.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    ¡°It is a long road, marriage. You cannot always be happy, and it is not a failing of the marriage to be unhappy at times. You have a duty now, not only to king and country but to your wife. You may find no time for hunting but do not neglect this new duty you hold. Cleave to it as you do your duty as a soldier, and you may find happiness one day.¡±

    Dryden was silent for a time. He did not know what to say.

    The man filled the silence, ¡°Are you surprised that I do not speak of love?¡±

    ¡°I suppose I am.¡±

    ¡°Love is good where you find it. Love can take much time to blossom. Many a man of Vastrum has been married for one reason or another without love but found love in time. Patience is a virtue.¡±

    ¡°What of those who never find love?¡± Dryden asked, surprising himself. The curse that Aisa had spoken at Dau still haunted the dark recesses of his thoughts.

    ¡°Let us hope for kinder fates, eh? I would bid you a fine afternoon. It was a pleasure meeting you.¡± George stood and went to leave, ¡°Perhaps I will see you again in Ayodh, John.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps. The pleasure was all mine.¡± Dryden answered though he did not think they would likely see one another. The man did not seem the soldierly type, and he expected all his days in Ayodh to be spent preparing for the next war. There was always another war.

    ¡°Chin-chin,¡± George said as he turned and walked off down the deck as if he hadn¡¯t a care in all the world. Dryden found it strange when another man dressed in black standing off looking over the railing of the steamship went to follow George, shadowing him as he strode confidently toward the ship''s bow.

    Dryden lounged about the deck until lunch, taking in the sights that lazily floated by: a steamship bound downstream, smoke billowing behind it, long wooden canoes loaded with goods, a fisherman on a small boat that was no more than a bamboo raft, an alligator basking in the sun on the shore, a river dolphin splashing in the murky waters. Finally, near lunch, as the boat came around a wide bend in the river, he saw the city of Kanmak for the first time. Gleaming white and red stone buildings lined the river, sporting a multitude of small towers and onion-shaped domes. Flags waved in the breeze above a great crenellated fort. Stands of palm trees leaned lazily around the grand buildings. Dryden knew from looking at maps, which he often did, that the harbour was north of the central city, and they would pass by the sprawling city for an hour or more before they arrived at the port itself. He noted numerous small boats ferrying people and goods across the muddy waters, for there were no bridges across the Yuna for a hundred miles. The first bridge at Kanmak was being built, as evidenced by work crews constructing a great stone foundation on the far shore. After watching the city approach for a few minutes, he sat for lunch in the posh first-class dining room. He sat waiting, hoping Julia would join him for lunch as promised. A waiter came by. The man wore a crisp white and black suit made of brocaded silk and a neat turban.

    ¡°Sahib, would you care for refreshment?¡± He asked, bobbing his head in the manner that was common in Ayodh.

    ¡°Yes. A gin and tonic, if you please.¡±

    ¡°And for lunch?¡± The man asked.

    ¡°The rest of the bottle.¡± He said flippantly.

    The man was taken aback, unsure if he was serious or joking. The waiter stood there, looking as if he was trying to clarify but struggling to find a tactful way to ask.

    ¡°I¡¯m only joking about the bottle.¡± Dryden preempted him and flashed his best disarming smile, ¡°Just bring some sandwiches. Oh, and a flute of sparkling white in case my wife joins me.¡±

    ¡°Cigar?¡± The man offered.

    ¡°No, not today. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Very good, sahib.¡± The waiter replied with a genuine smile, and then he disappeared into the ship¡¯s galley. He returned a minute later with the drinks and a plate piled high with various small tea sandwiches. The man served them with a small bow and bob of his head.

    Dryden waved him off to dismiss him. Only then did Julia finally arrive. She sat in a huff, looking at him angrily. She picked up her flute of sparkling wine and sipped at it.

    ¡°The city is very charming to look at.¡± He said.

    ¡°I suppose so.¡± She said, taking another sip.

    ¡°There will be much to explore in this new place. I hope we can do so together.¡±

    She raised an eyebrow at that. She did not yell or chastise him for the suggestion. It was perhaps a step in the right direction, though she did not answer him.

    He spoke quietly, ¡°I know this soldier¡¯s life is not the life you want. My years of service will end one day. When they do, I hope we can return to Marrowick, settle down, and live more at ease.¡±

    ¡°Promise you will not leave me alone in this foreign land, John.¡±

    Dryden frowned. He remembered that horrible moment when they had given up their civilians, their women and children and camp followers to their enemy to be prisoners. He remembered how she had slapped him and chastised them. It was the last time she had seen her own father, Colonel Marcus Gorst. He and the Vastrum army had rescued her many months later. Months of captivity. She had every right to be bitter. She had every right to ask that of him. But he could not promise it.

    ¡°War makes no promises, Julia.¡±

    In one gulp, she emptied her wine flute, ¡°I¡¯m not asking war to make me promises, John. I¡¯m asking you.¡±

    ¡°I am an officer in the King¡¯s Own 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons. I have my duty, Julia, to my king and country. There will be another war; there is always another. I will be deployed and sent away to fight. It is the way of soldiers and armies. I cannot decide where or when to go. Furthermore, I cannot bring you with me; war is no place for wives and women.¡±

    ¡°And yet you soldiers so often bring it to us!¡± She raised her voice, causing other diners to look their way.

    ¡°What would you have me do, Julia?¡± He hissed, trying to keep his tone down and avoid causing a scene. The situation was slipping away from him. He knew what her answer would likely be. She had demanded it often enough: resign his commission.

    Yet she did not say it. She looked about at all the other passengers who were surreptitiously glancing their way, ¡°Does this amuse you?¡± She asked, ¡°Is the misery of others entertaining? Do you think yourselves the better of me?¡± Her tone was haughty.

    ¡°Julia, please.¡± Nothing was worse to Dryden than causing a scene.

    She pursed her lips and turned back to the table, taking a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m not a monster, John. I only want what is reasonable.¡±

    ¡°If I could give it to you without compromising myself, I would, without hesitation, but I have a duty to attend, one that I made well before we had even met, let alone married. Let me attend it. When it is done, we can settle down in Marrowick. We can have little ones running about, attend garden parties, and have my brother¡¯s family over for tea. We can attend the symphony and opera, eat at the finest restaurants, and do whatever you want. But first, I must do my duty.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± She said finally. It was the first time in all their fights that she had said anything of the sort. ¡°I will hold you to it, John.¡± Only then did she take a small slice of sandwich from the plate and eat a bite.

    The ship docked an hour later. They walked down the gangplank and out into the city. Dryden found a familiar face waiting for them. Mar stood, his normally grim face cracking a smile when he saw them. His pale, gaunt face was sporting an eye patch, but his good eye twinkled gold in the afternoon sun. He looked slightly hale than when Dryden had seen him last. He extended a hand, and they shook.

    ¡°Welcome to Ayodh, John. Julia, may I say that you are as radiant as ever.¡± Mar smiled, bowed to Julia, and kissed her hand.

    Dryden grinned back at the regimental wizard. It was good to see a friendly face first thing off the boat.

 Chapter Two - Friendship Rarer Than Gold

    Chapter Two

    Friendship Rarer Than Gold

    ¡°Right-O! Listen up, you numpty gobshites! Fall in, or I¡¯ll ¡®ave your bollocks served for supper! Move, you bastards! Move!¡± The sergeant major bellowed at the recruits as they came off the great cargo ship that had served as their troop transport, moving them up the river to Kanmak. More than a hundred recruits to the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> came pouring out of the belly of the ship down gangplanks and onto the muddy ground along the Yuna River. They had been recruited by the war hero Major John Dryden in Marrowick, drilled for a month at the barracks there, loaded up on a ship, transported like cargo across the great southern ocean, and then moved to a steamship to go up the river. They were treated only slightly better than livestock for most of the trip.

    ¡°Oi, wazzock!¡± The sergeant screamed at a man who had tripped in the mud, ¡°Up! Up! Move!¡± He brandished a riding crop as if to hit the man, though he pulled short of actually hitting him, as the man scrambled to his feet and ran to catch his fellow recruits.

    Will ran, his legs stiff from the lack of use during the long voyage. The other young men around him huffed as they went up the slope from the river, each hauling their packs full of gear. Clothes, canteens, bedrolls, spades, and more. They could have put the gear on a cart, but Will suspected they made them carry the gear to tire them.

    A wide and long dike had been built along the river''s sweeping bend. At the top, the men formed up in neat rows. Other sergeants were directing men there with riding crops and curses. Will went with his platoon of recruits. They huddled together as they ran up the hill. His mates from back home were with him: Ben, Tom, Johnny, and more. A man dressed in a dragoon''s sharp black uniform and shako stood watching as the men formed up. He had the pauldrons of a captain and a silver sword buckled to his belt. His tanned face was etched in a perpetual frown. Lines marked his furrowed brow. His dark eyes darted from face to face, missing nothing. He gestured slightly to a sergeant nearby.

    ¡°Oi! You there!¡± The sergeant shouted, ¡°Dress that line!¡±

    The line straightened up. Men stood taller and straighter, knowing they were being watched and that their mistakes, no matter how small, were noticed.

    When all hundred and some odd men were lined up, the captain stepped forward to speak. He spoke loud and clear so all could hear. ¡°I am Captain Pugh. There are six squadrons in the 13<sup>th</sup>. Third squadron is mine. You are also mine-- until you have proven yourselves worthy of our name and received an assignment. You will drill. You will march. You will dig. You will learn to kill. You will learn the sword and the musket and the bayonet. You will learn the horse. You will learn obedience and duty and discipline. Above all, you will learn to die well. You are not cavalrymen, not yet. It is why you march instead of ride. You will be carved by your training into one. I will not be kind. Your lieutenants and sergeants will be even less so. It will seem cruel, and it is, but it is not without purpose. There is no other way to make a soldier. You will be taught with violence so that you may, in turn, do violence. Perhaps you had visions of gallantry, a romantic view of men riding off to war on horses with gleaming swords shining in the sun and bright banners whipping in the breeze, of ladies in white dresses waving handkerchiefs and blowing kisses as you go. Those are fairy tales. My job is to disabuse you of this notion and prepare you for war. This is what war is¡ªCruelty and violence acted out upon the enemies of your king. It is mud and shit and blood and the screams of the dying. If that does not appeal to you, perhaps you ought to have stayed home in Marrowick. It''s too late for that now, in any case.¡± He grinned at the men. There were nervous chuckles. ¡°Welcome to the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>!¡±

    There were no cheers. Almost immediately, sergeants began calling for the men to about-face and march. A bugle sounded double time. Will turned with the rest of the men and began to march quickly down the length of the long dike towards the city. By the time they arrived at the garrison, they were sweating in the heat of the day and breathing hard. They were shown to their barracks and fed a meal of thick brown stew and hard bread. There was little talking or camaraderie that evening; every man was bone weary. Will slept hard that night. He woke to the sound of reveille before dawn, quickly followed by a bellowing sergeant who came down the row of bunks in the barracks, pulling men from bed and hitting those too slow to rise with his riding crop. He only just had time to dress and make his bed before they were called out to muster in the yard. Will had known this would be hard; the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> had a reputation for it, but he began to greatly regret his decision to enlist.

    Colonel Havor was leaning back in his chair; his black boots kicked up on the desk. His dark face was cold and impassive, though his blue eyes stared piercingly at Captain Pugh, ¡°How are the new recruits that Dryden has brought for us?¡±

    ¡°Soft.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s to be expected. Can you work with them?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Pugh answered, ¡°It would be better if there were a war going; we¡¯d have them in fighting shape in no time. There¡¯s no substitute for real fighting. You can¡¯t forge a sword without fire.¡±

    ¡°The closest fight going is the native rebellion down in Durzan.¡± Havor pointed out.

    ¡°That¡¯s a continent and a half away.¡± Pugh said, scowling, ¡°It would take us two months to arrive. The fighting will be done in one.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯d never send us anyhow. They want Haddock out here in the east. We¡¯re here to deter incursions from Rhakan. Don¡¯t worry, there will be another war. The Company will see to that, they¡¯re rapacious.¡± Havor reached down and pulled a bottle from his desk, ¡°Gin?¡±

    ¡°No. It¡¯s early.¡± Pugh replied.

    ¡°Is it? It¡¯s late for me.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep?¡± He asked Colonel Havor.

    Havor shook his head and poured a glass, ¡°No. Any time I close my eyes¡­¡° He trailed off and drained the glass.

    Pugh said nothing as his colonel downed the drink and poured another. He knew what Havor had been through. They had shared the same nightmare. They had been imprisoned for months. They had been beaten, starved, tortured, and worse. Men had been killed for sport. The only reason that Havor, Pugh, and some of the officers had lived was that they were valuable, so they had been held for ransom rather than killed. Hundreds of soldiers had been captured during the march out of Vurun. Many of these prisoners were sepoys and privates. They were brought back to Vurun and held. Their jailers had sorted through them, separating the Vastrum officers from the rest. He still had nightmares of the sounds that men made when they were beheaded. They reminded Pugh of the squealing of piglets. Their captors had played polo with the heads of the murdered in the courtyard of Guranji¡¯s palace. So he said nothing as Havor drank while the sun rose. He instinctively rubbed his knee, which was stiff and ached where a spear had lanced through him during the last stand at Settru Pass. It had healed poorly in captivity, and he now walked with a limp.

    ¡°Roxana has forbade me from sleeping in my own bed,¡± Havor said out of the blue.

    Pugh raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°She says I drink too much.¡± Havor put his glass down, frowning, ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s right.¡±Stolen story; please report.

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Pugh agreed.

    There was a knock on the door.

    ¡°Enter,¡± Havor called.

    The door opened, and Major Dryden walked in. Havor smiled. It was the first time that Pugh had seen him smile in ages. The Major was tall, with short blonde hair, a close-trimmed beard, bright green eyes, and a winning smile. He was dressed in his spotless black uniform, his silver buttons polished to a shine. He held his shako under his arm. He looked every bit the ideal cavalry officer. He stepped into the room and saluted crisply, ¡°Major Dryden, reporting for duty, sir!¡±

    Havor stood, saluted him softly, walked to him, and gave him a great hug. Dryden laughed and hugged him in return. ¡°Welcome back, John. Please, sit. I understand from your letter that congratulations are in order. Tell me, how is the happy marriage?¡±

    Major Dryden sat, and his face darkened somewhat at the mention of his marriage. Pugh could see the man¡¯s face almost flinch as he struggled to find a way to answer Havor¡¯s question diplomatically. Pugh understood at once; the marriage was difficult, and Dryden unhappy in it. Julia had always been a pretty girl, but she was not kind, nor was she from the sort of breeding expected for a young man of the Major¡¯s station to marry. Dryden was from a noble family, granted only a minor house, but wealthy and respected. He wondered how the Major had gotten Lord Starlington, his father, to assent to the match. He was lost in thought, watching Dryden and Havor go back and forth on the subject of their failing marriages, when there was yet another knock on the door, and Mar and Lieutenant Brine walked in. Of all the gentlemanly officers of the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> who had been initially stationed in Vurun, only a handful had survived. Dryden and Mar had escaped over Settru Pass. Havor, Pugh, and Brine had survived in captivity. The rest of the current officer corp was comprised of those who had been stationed in Andaban or officers added later. The whole of their little company of officers that was left now sat in this room.

    ¡°You¡¯re in fine company, Dryden, on unhappy marriages. Can I offer you all a glass of gin with my condolences?¡± He said it with a kind of easy smile. Havor was jovial for the first time since they arrived in Ayodh.

    ¡°Not before lunch, Colonel.¡± Dryden was saying.

    ¡°This is after dinner for me.¡± Havor joked.

    They all laughed.

    ¡°Sherry, then?¡± Brine suggested as he found a chair and sat.

    They all laughed again. Havor pulled a bottle from his desk and opened it. Glasses were rounded up, and drinks poured.

    ¡°Argyle¡¯s.¡± Mar gestured to the bottle, ¡°Fine stuff. Are we celebrating?¡±

    ¡°The very best. As it happens, we do have something to celebrate now that the company is complete.¡± Colonel Havor grinned, taking a sip and savouring it.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Mar asked, ¡°What have we to be cheerful for, other than celebrating this fine reunion?¡± The wizard was leaning back, swirling his glass of sherry.

    Havor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two pins. He put down his glass, sorted them out in his hands, then tossed one to Lieutenant Brine. Pugh was surprised when the Colonel tossed the other one in his direction. He barely caught it. He stared at the pin, not quite believing.

    ¡°Congratulations to Major Pugh and Captain Brine,¡± Havor said, smiling.

    Pugh felt a grin break his face, ¡°Thank you, sir. I don¡¯t know what to say¡­¡±

    Brine was grinning ear to ear.

    ¡°We¡¯ve needed to fill these positions since we left Kathalamanyr. I can think of no officers better suited. I put in for the promotions months ago, but they were only recently approved. I thought it only appropriate to wait until we were all together to tell you.¡±

    Dryden stood and extended his hand to Pugh. ¡°Congratulations. None deserve this more," the major told him.

    ¡°A toast!¡± Mar cried, ¡°Say some words, Jack.¡±

    Havor stood, raised his glass high, and looked each of them in the eye in turn, ¡°To two of the finest officers in the King¡¯s army. I trust that each of you will do the Raven Banner proud. To honour, duty, the king, and the glory of the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>!¡±

    ¡°Hip, hip!¡± Dryden cried.

    ¡°Huzzah!¡± They shouted together.

    Pugh remembered the last time they had cried that cheer. It was in the confines of the fort at Golconda before they had made the bloody climb up the Settru Pass. They had cried three cheers for Colonel Gorst before they had died in the hundreds as they approached the guns of the enemy. It had been a true massacre. Pugh¡¯s horse had been shot from under him while leading men up the left flank. Of those who had made the final stand at that little rocky outcrop, Pugh was the only one left living, and only because he was wounded and, as an officer, worth more alive than dead. He remembered watching the wounded and dying Colonel Gorst take his own life, a pistol in the mouth. He remembered watching the hordes of Vuruni swarming up towards them at the last, the barrage of muskets firing the last ammunition. The bloody, desperate melee. An enemy lancer wounding him. Hands grabbing and taking him away. Thrashing like an animal as they took him, wishing he¡¯d saved a pistol shot for himself. He frowned and drained his sherry.

    ¡°I have another piece of news.¡± Havor said, ¡°General Haddock informed me yesterday that the king has arrived in Ayodh with his retinue. He wishes to hunt. He has invited the officers of the 13<sup>th</sup> to hunt with him. As I understand it, the hunt is to be spectacular. He intends to take at least a dozen tigers, several rhinoceros, and at least one griffon. He is most keen on meeting you, Dryden. He and the queen are both enamoured with the idea of the sole survivor of Blackwater¡¯s massacre.¡±

    ¡°Even though I am very clearly not the sole survivor,¡± Dryden said, glancing around the roomful of other survivors.

    ¡°Legends spread faster than truth, I¡¯m afraid. I heard Esquif made a grand painting of your riding into Andaban, commissioned by the king.¡± The painter was among the most famous painters of the day. His paintings hung in the greatest galleries and collections throughout the West.

    ¡°I was invited to view it while in Marrowick,¡± Dryden commented.

    ¡°And, how did you find the likeness?¡± Mar asked.

    ¡°I declined the invitation,¡± Dryden replied dryly, sipping his sherry.

    ¡°Of course you did.¡± Havor barked a laugh, ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less, John.¡±

    ¡°When should we expect to attend the king¡¯s hunt?¡±

    ¡°A few days hence. They are staying at the governor¡¯s residency in the middle of the city. In the meantime, Major Pugh, the recruits are still yours. I would trust no one more with their education into the ways of the 13th. Brine, you will take over Pugh¡¯s squadron effective immediately.¡±

    Major Pugh. That sounded odd to his ear. He had been working many years for just such a promotion. Something about it felt wrong, though. The blood he had shed and the horrors he had witnessed to achieve it tainted the success. He had once thought war would be all noble gallantry and brilliant tactical manoeuvrings. He had studied at the war college in Hark and read every book on strategy written by the great generals of history, from Varo to Suvor. Nothing had prepared him for the reality. You needed fire to forge steel. War school without war was like trying to forge a sword with only a painting of fire to warm the metal. He had fought so hard for this promotion. Now that he had it, it left a bitter taste.

    ¡°Who will be taking my place as Lieutenant?¡± Brine asked.

    ¡°That hasn¡¯t been decided. There are candidates. None of the sergeants can pay the commission. I offered to pay for Flint out of my own pocket. He declined. He prefers it down in the muck; those are his words. No, it must be someone new or from another cavalry regiment, the hussars perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Could we take a native soldier and put him under Captain Khathan?¡± Dryden asked.

    ¡°Another native officer in the 13<sup>th </sup>-- are you mad? It was hard enough to secure his position, and he was only allowed because of exigent circumstances and tremendous personal heroism.¡±

    ¡°What if we formed a native squadron in the 13<sup>th</sup>? Give it to Khathan. Even with the numbers I brought from Marrowick, we¡¯re still short a squadron of men. The longer it takes to replenish our numbers, the less ready we¡¯ll be when the next war breaks out.¡±

    Havor nodded at Dryden, ¡°I agree. I¡¯ll broach the subject with Haddock, but I suspect Brigadier Belfair will object.¡±

    Dryden frowned. He had hoped Belfair would have been demoted, reassigned, or retired. He was just as much to blame as Blackwater had been. Instead, he had been assigned to serve under General Haddock. He was not their direct commander anymore; he commanded one of the brigades of infantry stationed in Ayodh and had tremendous influence on the general¡¯s staff and with the governor-general. Furthermore, Belfair was a high lord of the empire and had much influence back home in Vastrum. He played politics better than most. He was known, too, for his grudges. Despite his utter incompetence on the battlefield, if Belfair didn¡¯t like an idea or the officer from which it came, it was unlikely to find approval.

    They finished their sherry. Sunlight was brightening the sky. The new recruits had been assembled in the yard of the fort that housed them. Another knock sounded at the door. Sergeant Major Flint entered and saluted. Another survivor of the dungeons in Vurun. One of the few.

    ¡°Men are assembled and ready, Colonel!¡± He barked.

    ¡°Major Pugh, the men are yours.¡± Havor nodded, ¡°What do you have in store for them today?¡±

    ¡°Latrines,¡± Pugh said. We could use freshly dug latrines, Flint. Don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    The sergeant grinned at him, ¡°Sir!¡± The man said, turning on his heel and striding out the door. As he walked back to the yard, they could hear him bellowing at the recruits, ¡°All right, you beef-witted lobcocks! Present your spades! Today, we¡¯ll be diggin¡¯ for the Raj¡¯s gold!¡±

 Chapter Three - A Black Price To Pay

    Chapter Three

    A Black Price To Pay

    The market of Kanmak was a packed warren of alleys, tiny shops, tea houses, and backroom gris dens. Two and three-story stone buildings loomed up and over the narrow alleys. Small hidden shrines with statues of gods surrounded by offerings peeked out of dark corners. The narrow streets were crowded with a press of bodies. Small groups of crippled beggars sat along the edge of the chaos with plates of dry rice. Mar pressed himself along with the flow of people, taking in the smells and sights of the market, looking for a shop where he could buy catalysts. He was dangerously low on aethium. Since the burning of Vurun, finding the indigo powder was increasingly difficult. Behind him, his Dravani servant Rathma followed silently, eyes watching for pickpockets or danger.

    He felt someone grab his hand as he walked through the crowd of bodies. He looked down. One of the many orphans in the market was tugging on his hand. Small eyes looked up at him, a mischievous grin on the dark face. ¡°You pay?¡± the child asked.

    Mar smiled, ¡°Pay for what?¡± He asked. He continued to push through the crowd.

    The child followed him. Then a second appeared, and a third and a fourth. ¡°Coin?¡± One of the children asked.

    He shook his head and continued on.

    They persisted, and the small growing gaggle of children followed him onward.

    ¡°Please, sahib.¡± One of the children said, tugging at his hand.

    ¡°What do you need money for, exactly?¡± He said, turning and looking down at the dirty faces looking up at him.

    ¡°Food.¡± One of them said, looking sad.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Mar said, ¡°Do they not feed you at the orphanage?¡± He asked. He knew there was a nearby orphanage and that they did feed the street urchins.

    ¡°We are hungry!¡± One of the children insisted.

    Mar smirked and looked around at the little faces. They were adorable. He knew he ought not to produce his coin purse, that doing so might attract unwanted attention from thieves. However, he did not see the harm in giving to the children. He kept a few coins in his sleeve. ¡°Fine. For food.¡± He said, grinning at the children. He slipped a down from his sleeve and palmed it, then with a flourish, he flipped the coin into his fingers. The children squealed with delight. He held up his other hand, ¡°Tell me where I can find aethium.¡±

    The children had a look of confusion upon their faces.

    ¡°Rathma, what do they call it here?¡±

    ¡°Irja.¡± The servant replied softly.

    ¡°Where can I find irja?¡± He asked.

    One of the children pointed down a side alley, ¡°irja shop.¡±

    He produced a few more coins and handed each of the children one of the small copper coins. The coins were not worth much, enough perhaps for a good meal or two. The little ones gave no thanks but ran off again through the market, laughing and chattering as they went.

    ¡°You should not, sahib,¡± Rathma said softly once the children were gone.

    ¡°What, encourage them? It¡¯s just a small thing. They looked hungry.¡± Mar raised his eyebrow, surprised to hear such an attitude from a local.

    ¡°They are fed,¡± Rathma replied.

    ¡°They¡¯ll be fed better with the coin.¡±

    ¡°Their owner will not permit them to keep the money.¡±

    ¡°Beg pardon, their owner?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Slavery is not permitted in Vastrum or her colonies.¡±

    ¡°You cannot forbid what you do not know of,¡± Rathma replied.

    ¡°I will send the magistrate to sort this out,¡± Mar said, turning towards the alleyway that the children had gone down.

    ¡°You must not, sahib,¡± Rathma said, standing their ground. The servant¡¯s tone was biting as they said it.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Mar rounded on his servant, ¡°Is that up to you? I remind you that you are my servant, and not the reverse, yes? It is not your place to permit me anything. I enjoy your candour, but that is a step too far.¡±

    Rathma bowed their head, ¡°Sahib, I did not intend¡­ It will be worse for the children if you call the magistrate. If the magistrate is unsuccessful, the children will be beaten by their master. If the magistrate is successful, they will not have protection.¡±

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°So, I cannot give them coin. I cannot free them from bondage. Is there nothing that can be done?¡±

    ¡°You could buy them, take them far from here, provide for them from your own pocket until they come of age, treat them as your own children.¡± The Dravani¡¯s tone was biting.

    Mar scowled at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. The cost of saving the children seemed too ludicrous when Rathma put the problem like that. It was not his problem to solve. He turned again down the alley the children had directed him towards. The way was less crowded, and it did not take long before he saw a sign above the shop. It was a simple apothecary. He opened the door and walked inside.

    The shop was dim and smelled of herbs and incense. There was a short table in the middle of the room where two old men sat drinking tea. One of the men was thin and missing his teeth, so his lips curved into his mouth and looked puckered. The other man was the younger of the two and slightly overweight. Both of them were dark-haired, with brown skin and dark brown eyes. The older man was balding with white hair and a wispy long beard. The younger had short-cropped hair that was just greying and a thick, broad moustache.

    The younger of the two stood up when Mar and Rathma entered and gave Mar a wide plastered-on smile. ¡°I welcome you to my shop, Sahib!" he said, bobbing his head as he stood. He gave a small bow, took Mar¡¯s hand, and shook it vigorously. ¡°Come, come. You see, we have the best, the very best!¡±

    The man guided Mar over to a wall of jars. Mar had not yet told him what he wanted.

    ¡°You see, I have many things, many medicines. You see, sahib!¡± He took a jar from the wall, ¡°Dragon scales from Rhakan, from the jungles. The very best. Green scales, good for tea, make you¡­¡± The man pointed down at Mar¡¯s crotch, then whistled and turned his finger up, ¡°Very good, yes, you want? You have lady friend? I make you good price, sahib, very good price!¡±

    ¡°No, thank you. I¡¯m here for¡­¡± Mar began. The man did not let him get more than a word in before he was selling the next thing.

    ¡°I see you have lost an eye,¡± the man said, pointing to Mar¡¯s eye patch. ¡°I have demon eye. You want demon eye?¡± The man pointed to another jar. ¡°Three sterlings for demon eye, very good price!¡±

    Mar raised his eyebrow, ¡°I¡¯m looking for aethium, irja, good sir.¡± He blurted out.

    The man went silent. ¡°Very bad price right now, irja. Vurun, all ash.¡± He made a sharp gesture with his hand to indicate the significance of the destruction. ¡°Hard to find. I find for right price. Good quality.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have it?¡± Mar asked.

    ¡°Not today. You come tomorrow, I will have, sahib.¡±

    ¡°I need it today,¡± Mar said, turning to go. He did not, in fact, need it immediately, but he wanted a supplier who would actually have it themselves and not mark the price up further.

    ¡°You stay, you stay.¡± The man said, wedging himself between Mar and the door. ¡°Today? I get today. Expensive, but best price in Kanmak. I get for you. You stay. Drink tea with my uncle.¡± He gestured to where the elderly man was sitting quietly at the floor-height table in the middle of the shop. ¡°You sit. Very good tea, the best!¡± The man said and went from the shop with a flourish.

    The shop was abruptly filled with silence, like the quiet morning after a storm passes. Mar sighed and sat. Rathma stood near the door, an expression of sheer amusement on their face. The old man slid over a small cup and poured some steaming tea. It was not the kind of tea that Mar was accustomed to. It was milky and heavily spiced with what tasted like cardamom. It was good, though Mar disagreed with his assessment that it was ¡°the best¡±.

    ¡°Would you care to join us?¡± Mar asked Rathma.

    The servant looked surprised at the offer but sat and took a cup.

    They sipped in silence for a time. The man apparently spoke no Vastrum, and Mar spoke no Ayodhi. Rathma spoke a few words of the local tongue, enough to get around but not for conversation. In the silence, Mar looked around the shop. There was a small door with a curtain of beads that went to a back room and walls of shelves, each filled with jars of different sizes. Some were opaque, while others were glass. Many of the glass jars were filled with small objects swimming in liquid.

    It was not long before the shop owner returned. He burst through the door in an energetic maelstrom, ¡°Sahib! It is good to see you! Very good! I have the atium!¡± He said proudly.

    ¡°Aethium.¡± Mar corrected.

    ¡°Yes, the atrium,¡± the man tried to say again, ¡°the irja! I find it very good quality, best quality for you, my friend!¡± He sat at the table next to Mar. ¡°You see. You need sample? I give sample.¡±

    The Ayodhi shop owner opened the pouch, took a small knife, and scooped a bit out on the tip of it. It was a dark indigo, darker than Mar was accustomed to seeing. The men held out the knife to Mar, who took it. He licked his finger, dabbed the powder, and tasted just a bit. The stuff was strong. Immediately, he felt a wave of euphoria come over him. It was identical to the aethium he was accustomed to and yet completely different in intensity. He could already see the lines of energy the catalysts revealed, yet he had only taken the tiniest amount of the powder. Waves of memory welled up from his subconscious. He reached out with his mind and plucked one like a musician might pick at a guitar string. Deep notes filled the room. The jars on the shelves rattled. The shopkeeper looked around in fear. He released his hold on the catalyst. Mar¡¯s focus snapped back to reality. He felt deeply unsettled by the power of what he had taken.

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± He asked.

    ¡°A cousin! He supplies things to me. He finds what no man can find. He has your gift.¡± He gestured to Mar¡¯s single golden eye.

    ¡°He¡¯s a sorcerer?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sahib.¡±

    ¡°Where does he get this aethium from?¡± Only Vurun had ever been able to grow aethium. Only soil fertilized with the blood of dying gods could grow it. With the utter devastation of that land, it was thought that new aethium could not be produced. If there was a new source, it would change much.

    ¡°The east, sahib! The east has everything!¡±

    ¡°How far east?¡±

    ¡°Rhakan, sahib, in the jungles. My cousin, he knows men who cross the jungles. There are paths that some men know.¡±

    Was that truly where this came from, Mar wondered. If there were a new source in Rhakan, it would place that empire among the great powers in the world. Mar had to know more, Vastrum had to know more, perhaps someone in the company already did. ¡°Rhakan is a big place. Where in Rhakan, surely you must know that much?¡± He wondered too, if there were aethium, did that mean there was another dead or dying god rotting upon the land there? Thoughts of the black city Dau swirled about his mind. Might there be another such place? What new horrors might have awoken in the shadow of such a god?

    ¡°Tell me of your cousin. If you do not know yourself, introduce me, or tell me where I can find him, at least.¡±

    The man grinned wide and wickedly beneath his broad moustache, ¡°I can tell you, sahib, for a price.¡±

    There was always a price. Mar knew the cost would be dear, and this was one he would have to pay.

 Chapter Four - A Dance of Thieves and Whores

    Chapter Four

    A Dance of Thieves and Whores

    King Victus sat in an understated outfit of khakis. He was not dressed half so finely as the shahs and rajahs who sat with him. Many colonial heads of state were there to visit with the king. It was only the second such visit that any Vastrum monarch had made to the eastern colonies. He had brought a considerable part of his court with him. Most of the courtiers were dressed the same as the king, appropriately for a safari, while the rulers of his colonies each wore their very finest garb in the presence of the king of Vastrum. Many wore turbans or crowns bedecked with jewels, fine colourful silks, flowing robes and tailored suits. They had worn their very best, intent on impressing King Victus, their de facto ruler.

    The officers of the army who had been invited on the hunt, led by Generals Haddock, the recently promoted V.A.C. commander, General Hood, Brigadier Belfair, and Colonel Havor, stood off to the side watching as a man with a device took what he called a heliogram. Usually, this portrait would be recorded in a painting, and the sitting might take hours. The device, known as a heliograph, could record the moment in a mere thirty minutes. It only required the subject of the portrait to sit very still for the whole time. A box with a lens resembling a spyglass, set upon a tripod, sat still as the heliographer attended to his strange machine. Khathan had expected it to make a noise, or move, or perhaps vibrate like a steam engine. Instead, it only sat there quietly, doing its work.

    Captain Dar Khathan of the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons had never dreamt of such inventions. It was a marvellous modern age. He wondered if such splendid creations would ever make their way to his home in Gulud, nearly a thousand miles southwest of Ayodh. While he and the other Guludan sepoys in the army had more in common with the people of Ayodh, this land and its people were their ancestral rivals, and they were very far from home indeed. That was the way of empire, he had found. Every soldier was moved from place to place; few were ever stationed in the land where they were born. That was true even for the Vastrum men, who were sent to the other side of the world to fight in distant colonies. Now, these strange people were bringing wonders like steam power and heliographs. He was under no illusions, however, that these wonders were reserved exclusively for the use of the wealthy Vastrum colonists. His musings and doubts about whether these inventions would ever come to Gulud were cut short. The heliographer was wrapping up his work. Somewhere in the throng of the king¡¯s entourage, a marching band began to play. It was time for the king to greet his officers.

    The king stepped forward towards the soldiers. He was an older man but not yet elderly, balding and slightly overweight with a pockmarked face. Still, he was not particularly imposing, and his pith helmet seemed too large for his head. He had the red nose of a drinker and the pale face of a man who had spent no time in the sun. He seemed to float between each person and activity like a man with no care in the world. The army officers led by General Haddock, including the Bloody 13<sup>th,</sup> were lined up and waiting for him. It was their time to meet the king. Captain Khathan stood tall and at attention along with his comrades. King Victus slowly moved down the line of officers, beginning with Haddock. Khathan could not hear their words, but Haddock bowed low, and the two men shared a laugh like old friends, then shook hands. The king moved along to Belfair. Again, they smiled and shared a laugh. Victus slapped the man on the back like they, too, were old friends. One officer after another, he did the same. The men bowed to the king. Some he spoke a few polite words to before moving on, others he smiled with and shook their hands. Finally, he was within earshot as he went along the long line of officers, greeting them.

    ¡°Lieutenant Colonel Lord Havor, Majesty.¡± His commander said, bowing low.

    ¡°Ahh, Lord Havor, I know your father. I saw you last, what, when you were in your adolescence, did I not?¡±

    Havor smiled, ¡°Yes, Majesty. It is an honour to serve in your own regiment, sire.¡±

    ¡°Roonies maltreated you, did they?¡±

    ¡°Not so badly as they could have, Your Majesty,¡± Havor replied stoically.

    The king grunted at him and nodded, then moved on abruptly. The next man was the newly promoted Major Pugh, who bowed and introduced himself. ¡°Were you the sole survivor?¡± He asked Pugh. He shook his head, ¡°No, sir, Majesty, I was captured.¡±

    ¡°Pity.¡± He said, then, ¡°Do I know your father?¡±

    Pugh shook his head, ¡°No, I do not believe so, Your Majesty.¡± As Khathan understood it, Pugh was from minor nobility, his father a lowly baronet. They were the lowest form of landed gentry, barely above a knight. It was similar to Khathan¡¯s family back in Gulud. Men like them often used the military to climb higher.

    The king grunted again and moved on. He looked Dryden now straight in the eye. ¡°You must be him.¡± He said.

    Dryden bowed low, ¡°Yes, Majesty. I am Major Dryden of Starlington.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, yes, I know your father, too. Have we met? I can''t recall.¡±

    ¡°We met when I was a child. You would not remember, I think, Majesty.¡±

    Khathan noticed that the king''s retinue was quiet. Everyone was watching this meeting. Before, when the king had been meeting the other officers, there had been low talking and murmurs of conversation. Now, all eyes were fixed on Dryden and King Victus. Even the marching band had gone quiet.

    ¡°No. Well, I thank you for your unwavering loyalty, Major. I am most proud of you. You survived where none else could. Your bravery and deeds will be written about for all time. You are, above all, the one man who saw what needed doing and did it with honour and distinction.¡±

    Khathan looked on quietly, listening to the king praise Dryden. The king called Dryden a lone survivor, but Captain Khathan had been there, too. He and a few Guludan soldiers under his command had also escaped. They had run and hidden in the mountains after the battle''s movement had gone away from them. It had taken them weeks to sneak over the pass in the dead of night. They had survived on melted snow and snake meat. The Guludan soldier remembered looking back through the musket smoke as the sun rose, seeing the lines of Vastrum men escaping up the slope behind him, marching into the raking jezzail fire of the enemy entrenched atop the mountain pass. He had volunteered himself and his men to stay and die. He had told his men they could fight their way free, that the guns at Golconda might hold some protection for them. He had lied. He knew they would die. When the smoke of the Guludan muskets had cleared, he found himself and a few men clinging to their ground stubbornly. Low on ammunition and with bloody bayonets, they carved a path to the hills overlooking the fort. The enemy had given chase, of course, and might have had them. But then the mountain moved and rumbled, and they watched as a great slide of ice and rock tore down the far side of the pass, and their small group was forgotten. His survival was as much luck as skill and fortitude. He expected that Dryden¡¯s was much the same. All these memories flashed through his head while Dryden and the king spoke.

    ¡°Thank you, Majesty. I am honoured to serve.¡± Dryden said at last.

    The king came next to Mar, the wizard, who bowed and introduced himself, ¡°Marten Pyke, War Wizard in his Majesty¡¯s Service, attached to the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons.¡±

    ¡°And you were captured as well, I take it?¡± The king asked.

    ¡°In a manner of speaking,¡± Mar answered.

    The king frowned, ¡°Well, you were, or you weren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I made it over the pass with the Major, but I fell and was captured by slavers. The Major rescued me after the Siege of Andaban.¡± Mar explained. The truth was much more complicated, and Khathan did not understand everything. He suspected that none understood the nature of it, possibly not even Mar himself.

    ¡°Indeed? I suppose that¡¯s where you lost your eye, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Majesty,¡± Mar confirmed. Again, it was not the whole truth; there was much more to the story. He had been blessed by a god of the north, a god of mountains and storms, and had thrown his eye into the pit at the Black City of Dau to rid himself of the blessing. Mar left it all out. Khathan supposed it was not the place to discuss those things. He wondered if the king or anyone at all amongst this crowd of courtiers, nobles, and envoys would believe what they had seen in The Kizil Steppe or The Kryval Wastes, Ghinai, or Vurun. Khathan was from a land with living gods and sorcery, and even he only half-believed some of what they had seen. Imagine the disbelief someone from a land of dead gods and stolen sorcery would have. Then the king was shaking Mar¡¯s hand and moving to him.

    Khathan bowed deeply. ¡°Captain Dar Khathan of the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons, Aju of Rakjat.¡± He said, giving his full title as a nobleman of his home in Gulud. As he understood it, Aju was the equivalent of a marquess in Vastrum, not an insignificant title in the peerage. He rarely received any recognition from Vastrum men, even those who otherwise treated him with respect, such as Major Dryden. He wondered if they had even made the effort to know this about him.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a stout fellow?¡± The king commented dryly. Then, turning to a man shadowing him, the king asked, ¡°Charles, do we allow natives in the king¡¯s cavalry now?¡±

    The courtier responded softly and quickly, ¡°This man was a hero at Golconda. He was raised up to acknowledge his heroism and to fill the captaincy due to the number of casualties among the officers in Vurun. He has comported himself notably, receiving commendations from his commanders. I would add that he is nobility in Gulud.¡± He said this last bit as if he were dangling a prize for the king.

    ¡°Yes, yes, very good. Captain Kathin, was it? Very pleased indeed.¡± The king sounded anything but pleased. He did not extend his hand to Khathan as to every other officer, merely acknowledged him with a slight nod.

    The Guludan captain bowed again. He could not make these people see him for what he was. He knew that. He was no fool. Perhaps he could use his station to help his people, or perhaps not. He had been given a second chance at life. He should have died there in the Korum mountains during the retreat from Vurun several times over. He thought of the men he left behind. He thought of those precious few who had survived with him. He had sent the handful of surviving Guludan soldiers home to their families when the siege of Andaban was finally lifted. He hoped they were not wasting a moment with their loved ones. He did not care that none acknowledged his survival as they did Dryden. What need had Dar Khathan of celebrity among the people of Vastrum? His own people knew him well enough. Someday, he would return home, marry, and make his mark in Rakjat. Until then, he would fight with honour and fury. Perhaps that would be enough to make him seen.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    ¡°One is bad enough! A whole squadron of natives in the 13<sup>th</sup>? I bloody think not!¡± Brigadier General Belfair roared over the king¡¯s banquet. Heads turned to him from across the sprawling banquet hall. The Brigadier looked about the room and shrank back slightly, suddenly aware of the scene he was making. The Brigadier was in a heated conversation with General Haddock and Colonel Havor. Dryden winced and tried to ignore the man. If there was one officer who had survived the dungeons in Vurun that Dryden regretted rescuing, it was Belfair. He was a strict disciplinarian, which would have been acceptable if it were not paired with utter incompetence and a complete lack of accountability for himself. He held large grudges for small personal slights. He was quick to the lash and slow to reward. He was responsible for much of the tactical blundering on their attempted escape from Vurun that cost so many lives. General Blackwater, the other commander, was dead now, so all that scorn now fell solely on Belfair. Dryden and most of the officers of the 13<sup>th</sup> despised him utterly. Belfair loathed them in return, if for no other reason than he resented their hatred. With the way he blustered and the power he held, the Brigadier was a hard man to ignore.

    While Dryden was focused on the now-quiet argument between his senior officers, he did not notice someone had come up behind him. A hand gently touched his shoulder. ¡°Major," a familiar deep voice spoke. He turned. It was the man from the steamship.

    With a start, he turned, trying to remember the man¡¯s name, ¡°Ahh, George Sterling. What are you...¡± Dryden stood to shake his hand.

    The man smiled ruefully, chuckled, and cut him off, ¡°Ahh, I¡¯m sorry that I have deceived you, John. I was travelling under an alias. I am Edward.¡± He took John¡¯s hand, ¡°Apologies.¡±

    John blushed and took his hand. ¡°Edward of Gaunt? You¡¯re the king¡¯s brother.¡± He said softly, half to himself in shock as if the man did not know very well who he was. ¡°Highness,¡± he began to bow to the prince.

    Edward smiled, ¡°Indeed. No, don¡¯t bow. I don¡¯t want that. Edward will do. I hate all that rubbish. I travel under aliases to avoid all the bowing and scraping. You should know, John, that I have asked that you attend me tomorrow in the hunt. You will be in my party.¡± Then he turned to Julia, who was conversing with her friend Helena Belfair, ¡°Won¡¯t you introduce me, John.¡±

    ¡°Julia,¡± Dryden said. She looked up at him. Her red hair swished as she turned, her green eyes gazed up at him, and her emerald earrings caught in the light. She truly was a great beauty. He smiled down at her. How he wished Julia would return the smile. ¡°What?¡± She said haughtily, glancing at Edward.

    ¡°I want to introduce you. Prince Edward of Gaunt, this is my wife Julia.¡±

    Her face and tone changed immediately as she realised who the man was. She stood quickly and quietly and curtsied deeply, ¡°Your Highness.¡± Edward did not correct her about his title as he had with Dryden.

    ¡°Very pleased to meet you. I won¡¯t interrupt your conversation with Lady Belfair. I simply had to meet you. I think very highly of your husband and wish you all the best in your marriage to him. He is a man, I think, who could climb very high indeed with the right hand guiding him.¡± It was the first time anyone of significance had ever given any blessing to their marriage.

    Julia smiled and curtsied again, then sat to continue her conversation with Helena.

    Dryden blushed at the public praise, ¡°Thank you for the kind words¡­ Edward.¡± He had to force himself not to use the Prince¡¯s formal title.

    ¡°Think nothing of it, John. As dinner is winding down, won¡¯t you join us for a cigar in the drawing room?¡±

    ¡°Nothing would please me more, Edward.¡± He made a point to use his name as the prince had asked. It felt unnatural.

    Some servants were clearing plates and filling drinks about the great banquet hall. King Victus stood at the head of the table and clinked his fork on a glass. ¡°Thank you all for joining us this evening for this splendid dinner. I hope some of the gentlemen will join me for whisky and cigars. To our ladies, you are the stars in the sky by which we navigate our lives. You are goddesses, one and all! I will try not to keep your men out too late. Tomorrow, we will hunt like few men have ever hunted! I bid you all a good night and, for those not joining me for a drink, a good hunt ¡®pon the ¡®morrow!¡± There was a lot of polite clapping from the assembled nobles, officers, and their wives.

    ¡°I will be joining the men for cigars, Julia,¡± Dryden said, bowing to his wife.

    ¡°When will you be joining me in our room?¡±

    ¡°I will not be long,¡± Dryden answered, ¡°But if you are asleep when I arrive, then I wish you good night.¡±

    She frowned at the idea that she might be asleep when he arrived.

    ¡°I will not keep your husband long,¡± Edward smiled at her, then took John by the elbow and led him from the banquet hall. A few other men, mostly high lords or generals, joined them. They followed the king down a wide hallway into a large drawing room with many sofas, tables, and chairs arranged in several groupings. Along one wall was a bar, behind which were many bottles of liquor and wine. Two modest crystal chandeliers lit the room, which was somewhat dim. Edward led Dryden to where the king was seated.

    ¡°Ahh, the man of the hour.¡± The king smiled at him, ¡°Please, Major, sit, sit.¡± He gestured to a seat across from him.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Dryden bowed, then sat.

    Edward sat next to his brother. Another man came and sat next to Dryden. General Haddock came and took the last seat in the group of sofas and chairs.

    ¡°Allow me to introduce Lord Robert Blakely,¡± Edward said, gesturing to the man Dryden did not know. Lord Robert Blakely. That was the governor-general of the eastern colonies, from Vurun in the north to Dravan in the south, Huz in the west, and Ayodh in the east.

    ¡°Pleased to meet you,¡± Dryden said, nodding in the governor¡¯s direction.

    ¡°Charmed,¡± Lord Blakely replied, his tone cold.

    A servant appeared with glasses of whisky and a selection of cigars. He handed glasses around and then opened the box of cigars. He let the king select first. He chose a small, thin cigar with a red label. Edward chose the same. Haddock chose a long, thick cigar. Lord Blakely chose a medium cigar that was rich and dark in colour. Dryden looked at the selection. He was not a regular smoker. ¡°What do you recommend?¡± He asked Edward.

    ¡°When in doubt, have what the king is having.¡± The prince said, smiling. He waggled his own cigar as a demonstration of the advice.

    All the men seated there chuckled, including King Victus. Dryden couldn¡¯t help but laugh with them, ¡°You make a good point, sir.¡± He selected the same.

    The servant cut the cigars and lit them for each man in turn. Dryden drank a sip from his whisky as they waited. The drink was served neat in a crystal glass. The liquid was dark, oily, and somewhat sweet with a heavy smokiness. He took a small puff off his cigar when it was lit. The smoke was silky, sweet, and hot in his mouth.

    ¡°So, that business in Vurun. What was it like?¡± King Victus asked Dryden once they had settled in.

    The question was so vague that Dryden was unsure how to respond for a moment, ¡°Well, it was bloody. We lost many good men. It was only luck that I survived, and others should not.¡±

    ¡°So modest,¡± Haddock replied, ¡°I have it on good authority from eyewitnesses that you were a force of nature commanding the 13th once Havor was captured and again once Havelock was killed while retaking the city. I saw the latter for myself.¡±

    Dryden thought it bizarre that Haddock would refer to what they had done to Vurun as ¡°retaking¡± it. They had burned it, torn it to the ground, slaughtered the population, and left it to rot. Not even the Fyrins were interested now.

    ¡°How would you like to command your own regiment one day soon?¡± King Victus asked.

    Lord Blakely frowned at the suggestion. He was displeased with the destruction of Vurun. Not because he cared for the city but because of the loss of the aethium supply and its income. While he was the king¡¯s man, he was deeply entwined with the Vastrum Aethium Company, known as the V.A.C. or sometimes just The Company. Blakely was displeased with any officer involved, from Haddock down to men like Dryden. Though Dryden had never met the man before, it was Blakely, along with Belfair, who had already stopped his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.

    There had been a time when he would have jumped at such an opportunity, but he had felt the weight of command twice now, both temporarily. It was a heavy burden. ¡°I do not know if command suits me, Majesty. If the choice is mine, then perhaps one day. I will serve however my king requires.¡±

    The king nodded, ¡°One day, then.¡± He changed subjects. ¡°I understand you will be with my brother for the hunt tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°Indeed, majesty.¡±

    Edward sipped his whisky, turned, and waved another man over from the bar. This man was not wearing a fine tuxedo like everyone else. He was still dressed in the khaki safari outfit, though he lacked the characteristic pith helmet that often marked colonials. ¡°I want you to meet Connall Baine, the Old Salgair himself.¡±

    ¡°The hunter?¡± Dryden replied. The man was famous and had published books on his explorations and hunts in the East.

    ¡°Just so, Major. He will be leading our hunting party tomorrow.¡±

    The man loomed over the seated Edward. He was a tall man, grizzled and swarthy. He sported a shaggy beard across his strong jaw that jutted out. From under the beard, he had a deep pink scar across half his face where something had clawed him badly, just missing his right eye. His face was deeply creased, and light blue eyes peeked out under thick grey eyebrows. His salt and pepper hair was slightly curly and unkempt. He held a markedly different posture from the other gentlemen in the sitting room, like an eagle among preening peacocks.

    Dryden stood to shake the man¡¯s hand. Of the men in the room, the only man the hunter did not tower over was Dryden himself, who was rather tall. They were of the same height and build. They shook. The man had something of a grip. Dryden returned it. The old hunter stared into Dryden¡¯s eyes while they shook, sizing him up.

    ¡°You¡¯re a strapping laddie, ain¡¯t ye?¡± He said suddenly as a grin cracked his face. He spoke with the accent of the Western Isles.

    ¡°Pleasure to meet you,¡± Dryden said as they shook, grinning back at him.

    ¡°Baine here has killed more than two dozen tigers and twice that many leopards. He led a trip into Rhakan and took two griffons last year. I understand that before you came to Ayodh, you were in the far south, and I heard a rumour that you took a wyvern down in Durzan?¡±

    ¡°Aye. The nasty bastard gave me this.¡± He pointed to his scar, ¡°We was protecting the building of a bridge across the Kambez River down between Durzan and Gurawesi. Wyverness was taking native lads from the work crew, see? One of my mates wounded her and shot her through the wing with a blunderbuss. Well, we all thought she was run off, so my mates and I got roaring fou, but the gammy cunt came flying back and attacked our tents while we were sleepin¡¯ off the horrors. Got two of me boys and nearly got me, see? Oh, but we got her in the end, didn¡¯t we?¡± He pulled a leather strap around his neck from under his shirt, on which was a considerable stinger from the end of a wyvern¡¯s tail. ¡°Me trophy.¡± The man laughed.

    King Victus was listening to the tale raptly. When it was done, he clapped briefly, ¡°What a clash it must have been.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Haddock agreed dryly.

    ¡°Oh, aye. A real scrap, your kingship, a veritable ballum rancum.¡±

    This comparison brought more laughter.

    ¡°Well, we¡¯re lucky you¡¯re here. I expect the hunt will go splendidly.¡± The governor added as the laughter died.

    The hunter nodded to them, then turned and returned to his drinking at the bar. There was a slight commotion at the far end of the room. A man came in, Charles, the king¡¯s secretary. He was walking swiftly. A guard behind him carried a large box. Charles¡¯ face was grim. Dryden knew something was genuinely wrong at once. They stopped next to the king. Charles bowed.

    The king frowned, ¡°Charles, I told you, no business tonight.¡±

    ¡°Sire, this is important. We have received a message.¡±

    ¡°Well, what is it?¡±

    ¡°Majesty, you ought to receive this in private. I have seen the message for myself. I would not have come to deliver it unless it was of utmost import.¡±

    ¡°Pish posh. I will receive it here. I am among gentlemen, officers, and friends.¡±

    ¡°Sire, please, it is news of a very sensitive nature. This needs to be taken in¡­¡±

    ¡°Charles!¡± the king raised his voice. ¡°Now! I am enjoying diverting company, good whisky, and a fine cigar. Give me the message now, or leave it for the morning.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± Charles said, his face pale, ¡°The box.¡± He stepped aside, and the soldier handed the box to the king. ¡°Sarawa Maw, the new Emperor of Rhakan, sends this with his laments.¡±

    The king took the box while scowling at his secretary. Without delay, King Victus lifted the lid and looked inside. His face went white, his eyes grew large, and his mouth fell open. His hands flew up, and he gasped and stood suddenly. The box flew from his lap as he rose and tumbled to the floor. The head of Nigel Thorpe, ambassador to Rhakan, rolled across the carpet and hit Governor Blakely¡¯s foot. Blakely recoiled in horror. Haddock frowned and took a sip of his whisky. Edward covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. The head lay there, cold and green and rotting on the floor, tongue and cheeks swollen. There were gasps all around. Dryden looked down at the head impassively. He did not know the man and had never met him, but he knew well what this meant. War.

    The Old Salgair was the first to speak, grinning ear to ear, ¡°Oi, Forget what I said before about the Wyvern. This is a real ballum rancum.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a ballum rancum?¡± A confused voice whispered in the dim parlour.

 Chapter Five - Death Makes Liars Of Us All

    Chapter Five

    Death Makes Liars Of Us All

    Once the King''s contingent had left, the party grew quieter. There were still many men at the table, many of whom were the royalty and representatives of the colonies, and they were rather less boisterous than the Vastrum nobility. The remaining men were lower-ranking officers and others not of rank or status to attend the king. Like the women, foreign-born were not allowed to attend the King¡¯s after-dinner gathering. Julia found that this was often how the high-status men behaved wherever she went. They all had their little clubs and parties where they congratulated one another on their successes in this war or that conquest. She found such talk dull, and it was all they ever seemed to discuss. Her father had often been party to such male gatherings. Fighting was all her father had ever truly cared about, it seemed. Her father had killed and fought across the colonies. He had only married and had a child because it was the proper thing to do in society. Colonel Marcus Emmanuel Gorst. The hero of Caribonne. The victim of General Blackwater¡¯s incompetence and Kurush An-Beya¡¯s cruelty. A commoner raised from the ranks and an absentee father. When Julia was small, her mother died in childbirth along with a baby brother who might have been but was not. Her father had not remarried. She had been left with her governess no less than seven times for seven wars in seven colonies. She had spent time in Kathalamanyr, Dravan, Huz, and then Vurun, where her father had died. For all his flaws, she still missed him terribly. He had been the centre of her whole world.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you think?¡± Helena said with a laugh.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Helena, I was lost in thought,¡± Julia answered.

    ¡°Are you unwell?¡± Her friend asked, looking upon her with concern.

    ¡°Only tired. What was it you were saying?¡±

    Helena smiled and repeated herself, ¡°I was saying, don¡¯t you think the prince of Kathalamanyr is very dashing?¡±

    Julia glanced in the direction that Helana was looking. The young man was handsome, if rather foppish. The prince was seated and debating hotly with a Dravani nobleman. He was dressed in a white silk suit called a sherwani. His suit was made in the style of the northern colonies, with a high neck and long sleeves. He wore a red cape draped across his shoulders. He had soft features and an easy smile beneath a well-trimmed dark moustache. He laughed and then glanced over at Helena briefly.

    Julia recognised Captain Khathan sitting with the men, listening intently to their debate. He was frowning deeply at what the prince was saying. The captain was a thickly built man, muscular and olive-skinned, with a large moustache and deep brown eyes. He wore the uniform of a Vastrum officer rather than the traditional sherwani that the rest of his people wore. She thought him more a man than the fellow from Kathalamanyr. She did not say so.

    ¡°Is he not?¡± Helena insisted.

    ¡°I suppose,¡± Julia replied haughtily.

    ¡°You suppose?¡± Helena laughed, ¡°Do not tell me that marriage has made a prude of you?¡±

    In the days before their imprisonment, she would have agreed and laughed with Helena, but she did not like to be pushed, and Helena could be pushy. She did not want to argue. Instead, she began to excuse herself, ¡°I am exhausted from my trip. I believe I will retire to my room for the night.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s early yet,¡± Helena insisted, ¡°The fun is just beginning.¡±

    ¡°Good night,¡± Julia said as she stood. She felt herself sway as she got to her feet. She had drunk more wine than she realised. She put her hand on a chair to steady herself and found her footing.

    ¡°Have it your way.¡± Helena sighed, ¡°I might just find my way over to where that prince is sitting.¡±

    ¡°Careful your father doesn¡¯t see you flirting. He is liable to kill that man just for looking at you the wrong way.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s never killed a man for looking before and certainly never a nobleman.¡±

    ¡°They weren¡¯t natives doing the looking.¡±

    Helena waved her hand, ¡°Go to bed, you old shrew.¡± She said, laughing.

    Julia patted her friend¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Goodnight.¡± She said more softly. Then she walked away. She had to ask several servants to point the way from the residency. They directed her down grand hallways towards the large foyer and the main doors. She walked out into the night. Stars twinkled in the dark sky. It was late. Even the cool air of the night was still humid in Ayodh. She had been hoping for relief from the sweltering sun and the stuffy banquet hall. Apparently, there was nowhere where one could find respite in this land.

    ¡°Do you need an escort back to the cantonment, Lady Julia?¡± She heard a voice ask. She turned to see whose. It was Mar. His pale cheek shone in the light that streamed from the doorway. In the near darkness, his eyepatch seemed to be a bottomless pit on his light face. Many of the ladies seemed to find Mar a gaunt, pale, and almost skeletal figure, and they shunned him. To Julia, he seemed an odd but genuinely kind man. He was a commoner like her father had been, raised to a position based on his skill as a soldier. Though she did not know him well, he felt familiar to her. Her husband seemed to trust him, as did most other officers of the 13<sup>th</sup>, so she trusted him too. He seemed a kind face in these unfamiliar lands.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°How very gentlemanly of you. Yes, that would be appreciated.¡± She answered.

    He offered his arm. She took it.

    There was a commotion behind them. ¡°No!¡± a female voice cried out, her voice thick with Vuruni accent. ¡°You will unhand me!¡±

    ¡°Roxana, please, you¡¯re making a scene.¡± Roxana and Lord Havor spilt out through the door and into the night.

    She was in a very fine, shimmery, form-fitting gown. Roxana straightened her dress with one hand. She was still holding a half-filled flute of sparkling white wine. Havor had his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his tie loosened. Her hair and makeup were dishevelled.

    ¡°Roxana,¡± Havor said again, ¡°Please.¡± He extended his hand to her.

    The Vuruni princess Roxana saw Julia and Mar standing there watching them in the dark. The princess, along with Julia and Helena, had been one of the many women prisoners taken during the retreat from Vurun. She had been forcibly married to Kurush, the pretender of An-Beya. Most noblewomen had been protected from harm, but Roxana had not been protected from Kurush. The princess looked at Julia and Mar, ¡°You are returning to the cantonment?¡±

    ¡°We are.¡± Julia replied, ¡°Mr Pyke was just preparing to escort me home.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Wizard, you will escort me as well.¡±

    Havor stepped forward, ¡°I will come with you.¡±

    Mar looked deeply uncomfortable at the circumstances being thrust upon him, ¡°My Lady, I think it would be better if Lord Havor¡­¡±

    ¡°It would not be better.¡± Roxana interrupted him sharply. ¡°He can sleep with the horses until he is sober.¡± Then she drained her wine glass and threw it away into the courtyard, where it shattered.  Then, the princess took off her high-heeled shoes, turned and started walking barefoot in the general direction of the gate of the residency.

    Mar shrugged helplessly at his commander.

    Havor waved him off, ¡°See that she gets home safely, Mar. I will follow shortly.¡±

    Roxana was not waiting for her escort to accompany her. Mar and Julia turned and began to walk swiftly towards the exit of the residency, trying to match Roxana¡¯s tempestuous pace. The residency had a low wall with metal gates barring the main entrance. The gate was open to let party guests come and go. Several guards were posted at the front. They stood at attention. The upper-class cantonment was only a short walk down a clean, well-paved street beside a canal. Mar gave the guards a nod as they passed, and the guards saluted in return. Then turned left from the gate and went down the avenue. They passed several fine buildings that were richly adorned. These were the courthouse, the main temple, and several smaller but richly appointed residencies used by various noblemen and officials. At the pace Roxana had set, it did not take them long to arrive at the long row of cottages that served as the officer¡¯s quarters. Julia was nearly out of breath when they arrived. She left Mar, gave him a curtsy and a smile, and then watched as Mar had to jog to chase down Roxana and make sure he got home as well. Then she turned and went inside.

    The cottage was a small single-story home built in the fashion of a house in Vastrum. It was not large, but it was enough for the two of them. She entered the bedroom and began to prepare for bed. They had no servants. That had been one of the first and biggest fights upon leaving Dryden¡¯s family home in Vastrum. She had demanded servants. Dryden had explained he did not have the means and would heretofore only have his officer¡¯s salary. Not a meagre sum, but servants were out of the question. She had realised, weeks after the argument, that servants had been an unreasonable demand. She regretted pushing so hard. Their marriage was the very reason Dryden had been cut off from his family¡¯s wealth.

    Julia thought to Roxana and Havor. Had she and Dryden looked so different during their own fights? She thought probably that they had not. They had probably been just as loud, as furious, as difficult, disrupting the lives of their friends and the people around them. She knew that all Vastrum men feared their wives causing a scene. Roxana had certainly caused that tonight. Julia herself had caused scenes a few times. It was a useful tool, one of the few ways a woman of Vastrum could achieve victory in an argument. Threaten the causing of a scene, and a man will contort himself to avoid it. Her governess had taught her that. She wondered that her governess could know so much about men but be a spinster herself.

    Once she had prepared for bed, she slipped under the covers, blew out her oil lamp, and rolled over to sleep. She could not. Her mind did not quiet. It often nagged at her, demanding she worry about this or that. She rolled over. Had she been too hard on Dryden? What if he left her again? Edward had said her husband needed the right hand to guide him. Was he insinuating that she was that hand or that he needed a mentor like Edward? Gods, she wished her mind would just bloody quiet down so she could sleep! The door opened, and she shot up in bed.

    Dryden entered. His presence was looming and dark, ¡°Julia, are you awake?¡± He asked softly in the dark.

    ¡°I was just falling asleep.¡± She faked a yawn as if he had disturbed her, ¡°I thought you would be out later.¡±

    Dryden sparked a match and leaned in to light the oil lamp by the bed. The lamp sputtered to life as Dryden lit it. His face was grim. He stared down at her with a kind of sad look in his eyes. He began to unbutton his uniform. ¡°Julia¡­¡± He began, and then he was lost for words. Something was wrong.

    ¡°What is it?¡± She asked, her tone pinched. She leaned in and instinctively put a hand on his arm.

    ¡°I am going to need you to be strong.¡± He said, ¡°I need you to be my dutiful wife¡ªa soldier¡¯s wife. I cannot have my house divided, not while I am away.¡± His frown deepened, and he looked off, staring at the wall, trying desperately not to meet her eyes.

    She knew instantly it was war. Her father had always come to tell her with the same shame. ¡°Will you be long? Are they sending many of you?¡± She asked.

    ¡°They¡¯re sending everyone. Months at least, maybe years. I expect it will be a long war.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°Rhakan. Can you do that, Julia, be a soldier¡¯s wife?¡±

    It was ever the same with these men who called themselves soldier. Her father. Her uncles and cousins. All dead. Now, her husband. A calm came over her, not borne of relief or happiness, but the calm of acceptance, ¡°I can, John.¡± It was not that she wanted to accept it. She had no alternative before her. ¡°I told you once that I would not live on the Queen¡¯s mercy with some small pension in a tiny apartment in Vastrum. I will not die a war widow and spinster. I have already accepted that you must go. It is your duty, and you will do it. But, you will come back to me, John.¡±

    ¡°War makes no promises¡­.¡± He began.

    She cut him off, ¡°No. Not that again. Promise me that you will live.¡±

    He was silent, bright eyes studying her. Gods, but he was a striking, handsome man. It was hard to look into his blue eyes and hold her ground. But she was stubborn, the one good thing her father had gifted her.

    ¡°Promise me by all the dead gods of Vastrum and the living gods of this land that you will come back to me alive.¡±

    ¡°You would make a liar of me, Julia.¡±

    ¡°What are lies to a dead man? Promise. It.¡± She just needed to hear him say the words. She knew he might not live, even if he said the words. She was not unreasonable. She just needed him to promise her something. Anything. One little token of affection, one word that said she would not be forever alone, ever abandoned, left behind. One promise that he would return. Even if it was only a pretty lie. It cost him nothing.

    ¡°Death makes liars of us all, in the end.¡± His tone said she had won.

    Julia breathed a sigh of relief.

    ¡°I promise. I promise it to the dead gods and the living. No matter what it takes, I will return to you.¡±

 Chapter Six - The Kingéˆ¥æªš Hunt

    Chapter Six

    The King¡¯s Hunt

    The big male elephant trumpeted and stamped its feet, its call echoing through the forests of Ayodh. Soon, its call was followed by more of the enormous beasts, and together, a line of the massive pachyderms surged forward, driven on by their mahouts, the men riding on their backs. The squadron of elephant riders, provided by the Raja of Ayodh, moved forward in a haphazard line through the undergrowth, acting as beaters. Even though war with Rhakan was imminent, the hunt was on. King Victus had demanded it.

    Captain Khathan¡¯s stallion, Chetak, shifted uneasily under him. The captain was with a contingent of native royals and noblemen. Nearby, Prince Azadra Kushmer Kandura Bara of Kathalamanyr sat on his stallion, wearing full military regalia and his red cape from the night before. The Dravani nobleman, Raja Pentayy Venadatibheni of Nakranara, sat frowning on his white mare, watching intently as the line of elephants moved off, crashing through the bushes. The elephants would be moving towards where the king and his retinue of Vastrum hunters would be waiting, hoping to take any beasts that came bursting from the trees. The group of native noblemen would be there to take any animals that slipped through to escape back into the woods or around the edge of the line of mahout beaters. The Vastrum men would get the best, the rulers and nobles of the colonies, the rajas, ajus, and gursai, the leavings. Not even the Samur Aksha, Raja of Ayodh, was with the king. He sat further off from Khathan with a retinue of his nobles.

    Prince Azadra leaned to speak to Khathan, ¡°A good hunt to you, Aju.¡± He spoke Vastrum, the only language they shared. All the native elite spoke Vastrum well. They each had their own native language, so Vastrum had become the common tongue of the colonies.

    ¡°And to you, Raja,¡± Khathan replied.

    ¡°Why should we get the leavings?¡± Raja Pentayy asked, ¡°We have done all the work, have we not? Even Raja Aksha does not have a place of honour, and this is his kingdom.¡± He gestured to where the Raja¡¯s retinue was seated on their horses.

    ¡°When he is king of a thousand lands, he may sit where he likes and choose who sits where,¡± Azadra replied, laughing.

    Pentayy scowled, his dark eyes narrowing at the northern prince. ¡°They are the men sitting at the table, and we are the dogs fighting for scraps," The southern nobleman insisted.

    Azadra¡¯s horse danced left, startled by a bird that flew from the bushes, ¡°There is always a seat of honour, the head of the table. It is not dogs who sit furthest from the king. We are still seated at his table.¡±

    ¡°If not dogs, then we are seated with the children and servants!¡± Pentayy of Dravan shot back.

    ¡°You chatter like monkies! You will frighten our quarry!¡± Raja Samur kicked his horse and rode to them, several of his retinue in tow.

    ¡°Does it not bother you, Raja, that you are here at the back, given a meagre place in the hunt, in your own land?¡±

    Samur frowned and pulled his white horse alongside Pentayy¡¯s mount, his voice hushed, but Khathan was still close enough to hear, ¡°Of course, it bothers me. What good would it do to complain?¡± Then the Raja glanced at Khathan, looking over his officer¡¯s uniform, ¡°So few of us find favour with these Vastrums.¡±

    Khathan heard a noise he did not recognise, a kind of roar. It had not come from the elephants, nor was it a tiger. Dar Khathan knew the roar of a tiger well. ¡°Quiet," he said.

    The Raja rounded on him, ¡°I will not be spoken to with disrespect by a Guluk, no matter how much favour he has curried¡­¡± Guluk was what many Ayodhis called those from Gulud. It was an insult.

    ¡°Shh.¡± Khathan ignored the offence, ¡°Do you hear¡­¡±

    The roar came again, still far off and in the direction of the king¡¯s hunt. This time, they all heard it. Heads turned towards the sound.

    ¡°Yali.¡± Raja Samur of Ayodh said, his voice hushed.

    Khathan spurred Chetak, and his horse darted like an arrow through the forest after the elephants. He had never seen a yali before. He had only heard of them and seen their likenesses carved as temple statues. His great-grandfather had been part of a hunt that had taken one, or so the story went. They were giant beasts, divine protectors of holy places. In Gulud, it was only permissible to hunt one that had become destructive, which was rare. Khathan wondered if they were near a sacred place or mandir; he did not know Ayodh well enough to say. Yali could be very dangerous when angered, especially so when they were defending their mandir. They were so ferocious he wondered if even guns could harm it. Everyone in its path would be at risk. Not only the king but Dryden, Havor, all the servants, and many others.

    He could hear the other noblemen riding behind him, getting further behind by the second. Chetak was a swift horse. He hit his stallion harder with the crop and hunched down to avoid branches as he rode pell-mell through the forest. He rode without holding the reins, his crop in one hand, his great lance in the other. Most men were hunting with muskets today, but he had chosen a lance because he preferred it for taking tigers. A musket took too long to reload if you missed.

    Then he broke from the tree line just behind the beaters and their elephants and was greeted with chaos. A huge yali, two times larger than an elephant, was crashing through the king''s hunting camp. It had an immense wolf-like head on the body of a colossal lion. It was adorned and painted with the holy script of Ayodh. Lotus petals from somewhere blew through the chaos. Men and horses scattered like ants before the divine beast.

    ¡°Do not kill it!¡± Raja Samur shouted from behind, ¡°It is holy!¡±

    Khathan wondered how anyone could kill such a creature. The beast writhed as it went, flinging itself into and through the men surrounding it. Few men and mahouts on elephants dared to go near. One man was riding through the chaos around it on horseback, dwarfed by the massive beast. Khathan did not know the man, but he had the look of a hunter. He pulled up, turned, aimed his musket, and fired. The beast roared in pain. That question was answered, at least. Khathan spurred his horse, looking for Dryden and his friends, but many people were fleeing, and the whole camp, with all the king''s courtiers, servants, and friends, was thrown into absolute panic. People rode away from the monster or ran as they were able. The hunter spurred his horse, reloading as he rode. Khathan kicked Chetak to close with the hunter, to warn him not to kill the beast.

    The man wore the light safari outfit that most of the King¡¯s men wore but was dishevelled, with long, scraggly hair and a beard. Otherwise, he looked the same as the rest of the Vastrum men.

    Khathan was almost to him, ¡°You must not!¡± He shouted over the din.

    ¡°You mad?¡± He shouted back, ¡°That bell-bastard¡¯s the prize of a lifetime, boyo! I¡¯ll kill it and pin its bloody head to the wall!¡± He turned again, took careful aim, and fired once more. The beast screamed again, an almost human scream, and turned its great wolf-like eyes towards the hunter.

    ¡°It is holy to the Ayodhis. You must not kill it!¡± He shouted again.

    ¡°Bloody hell!¡± The hunter shouted as the creature writhed and lunged towards them.

    Their horses leapt backwards with a start to avoid the great beast that cut between them. Then it was past them. Its attention seemed to jump to whatever was directly before it. It swept down, and its great jaws took a man and horse and bit them in two. Blood spurted across the grass. Someone else fired from the wreckage of the destroyed camp. The beast turned again.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    A man was running slowly across the field lamely. He was not particularly fit, and his leg was injured. Khathan recognised the man from the King¡¯s banquet but could not recall his name. The creature pounced upon him and tore at him like a screaming, blood-spattered ragdoll.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care how bloody holy this cunt is, he¡¯s a bloody menace! I¡¯m putting him down!¡± The man shouted, and then he began loading his musket again.

    Khathan took stock of the chaos around him. Just in the vicinity, he could see a dozen or more dead, half-eaten, would-be hunters, servants, and several more horses. There was even a mangled elephant. The carnage that the yali had left behind was ghastly, and he wondered if the story about his great-grandfather killing one had been true. How could the story have been true in the face of all this? The yali had moved off and chased down a horseman who had gotten too close. It was truly fixed on only what was immediately in front of it. The Guludan rode towards the remains of the camp, hoping that the beast would not turn its ferocious attention on him next. Beside a set of camp chairs, he saw a man huddled on the ground, covering his head with his hands. The man wore a safari outfit. His pith helmet was cast aside. The man had pissed himself.

    The man looked up at him, ¡°Is it gone?¡± He asked, his voice shaking.

    Khathan realised with a start that this pathetic mewling man before him was Vastrum¡¯s king. He seemed unhurt, though several men around him had been torn to pieces. The captain dismounted from his horse. ¡°It is near. We must ride to safety, Majesty.¡± He extended a hand to King Victus.

    The man took his hand without hesitation and stood, looking about fearfully. Suddenly, the roar sounded again, closer, and Chetak bolted. It was too sudden, and there was nothing that Khathan could do. The horse was gone. Khathan turned and saw the huge wolf-lion form of the yali rapidly writhing its way towards them.

    ¡°Oh, gods below.¡± The King said softly as it came.

    Khathan gripped his lance with both hands. He jammed the butt of the spear into the ground and covered it with his back foot like a man would when facing a cavalry charge. He had never faced something larger than a horse in this way, never mind a foe twice the size of an elephant. He knew the spear was unlikely to hold against the bulk of the yali. It did not matter. A Guludan warrior stood his ground, even unto death. It was the way of his people. He stared at the beast as it came. Time seemed to slow. He felt the king cowering behind him. He let out a yell, a primal battle cry, as the wolfish jaw yawned wide and the beast pounced towards him. Yellowed razor-sharp canines seemed to reach out for him as they came. He pointed his lance towards the mouth of the creature. The spear went in. The mouth clamped down on him. Teeth punctured his shoulder, and hot blood poured out over him. Some his, most the beast¡¯s. He felt the beast would crush him or swallow him whole. Then the yali''s head lifted off him as it recoiled in pain. The creature roared and howled, and the lance, which was lodged in the mouth of the beast, ripped from his hands. He fell to the ground, covered in blood.

    The beast thrashed and writhed and pawed at its own mouth on the ground. The spear snapped, leaving the tip lodged. The creature came up again, howling. It turned towards Khathan again, its eyes full of red fury. The captain had no lance now. He had nothing, not a sword or pistol, on his person. His other weapons had been on the saddle of his horse, which had fled. The king whimpered. The head of the beast came down towards them again. The creature, which was twice as tall as an elephant, roared in fury as it came to finish him. Khathan stared up at it in a strange awe. He could not act. He could only watch, frozen, as death came for him. He knew he was going to die. Then, a volley of fire came from near the trees where a line of soldiers had formed up. The beast halted and turned towards them. It moved impossibly fast, bounding over the field. It was among the soldiers in a heartbeat, tearing them to pieces, scattering them like wickets. Men died or were maimed. Then, just as the creature turned back towards Khathan and the king, a shot sounded from his left, and the beast dropped like a stone.

    ¡°Gods below¡­¡± The king muttered again, ¡°All the gods and demons, what is that? Was it a griffon?¡±

    Khathan felt his knees wobble, and his shoulder began to throb horribly. ¡°No. It''s a kind of yali, a celestial being. You might call it an angel or a devil. They are sacred to us. It should not do this.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± The king trailed off, shock taking hold of him.

    Once the creature was dead, there was a silent moment. No insects buzzed, no birds called. Those who were still near and alive stood looking on in horror at the carnage. A breeze blew, cooling the sweat and ichor running down Khathan¡¯s forehead. He blinked, attempted to rub something sticky from his eyes, and only succeeded in smearing it around. He took a deep breath and looked for anyone he recognised. The moment of silence spread out.

    A lone voice broke the silence, ¡°Did you fucking see that, you mad dark bastard! One in a bloody million, that shot! And you! With the spear, bloody marvellous!¡± The hunter was striding up to him, grinning ear to ear, his musket cradled tightly. Then he saw the king, still cowering beside the captain. ¡°Beg yer pardon, Majesty.¡± He offered, ¡°But weren¡¯t that a bloody brilliant shot?¡±

    ¡°It was finely done, Mr Baine.¡± The king answered, his voice quavering, ¡°Finely done, indeed.¡± He swooned, and Khathan steadied him.

    A man got to his feet and began to stagger towards the king from among the men who had fired upon the beast. Khathan could see that it was General Haddock. He was injured and using a broken branch as a walking stick. ¡°Majesty!¡± The general shouted urgently in their direction. Khathan helped the king to his feet shakily. The king raised his hand, ¡°General!¡± The king took the captain¡¯s arm and held on lest he collapse again.

    ¡°Are you well?¡± Haddock shouted.

    ¡°Well enough!¡± King Victus shouted hoarsely back.

    Men were running now towards the king. Surviving guards and his courtiers seemed to appear from all corners. Men who had hidden in the brush and prayed to dead gods appeared now that the danger was done. A contingent of cavalry officers came riding out of the trees far down the right flank. Khathan saw with relief that the rest of the officers of the 13<sup>th</sup> had been well away from the danger. They were unharmed. On the other hand, the king¡¯s courtiers and the servants attending them were decimated. The king¡¯s secretary, Charles, walked over, holding a broken arm. Haddock arrived, still using the branch as a walking stick. Someone brought a camp chair that had survived and presented it to the king, and with Khathan¡¯s help, he sat, chest heaving with laboured breaths.

    ¡°I am at a loss, gentlemen.¡± The king said as the survivors circled around him, looking for guidance.

    ¡°With your leave, Majesty,¡± Haddock interjected.

    ¡°Yes, yes, George, by all means, take charge.¡±

    Haddock turned and began bellowing orders, commanding men to organise, find survivors, take stock of supplies, and prepare the king and retinue for the safe return to the governor¡¯s residence at Kanmak.

    ¡°Where is Edward? What of Lord Blakely? Where is Adolphus?¡± The king asked, referring to his brother, governor-general, and court wizard, ¡°Where have they gone?¡±

    Of the lord governor, only a blood stain remained where he had stood. Of the King¡¯s court wizard, Adolphus, only half a torso was found, clad in the shredded robes of the courtly mage. Edward was with the group of riders that included the officers of the 13<sup>th</sup>. The prince nearly cried from joy when he discovered his brother, the king, still lived. Edward embraced his brother, knelt, and kissed his ring when he arrived.

    Belfair was among those who had survived, too. He came striding up, huffing and puffing minutes after everyone else. ¡°Majesty, I am relieved you are well. Thank the dead gods, you still live.¡± Then, when he noticed Khathan was attending to the king, he scowled, ¡°Unhand the king, sir. You are not fit to lick his boot, you bloody rumjohnny.¡±

    The king put up a hand, ¡°No.¡± Everything stopped. Belfair stopped as if he had walked into a brick wall. All eyes rested upon the king. ¡°This man is fit to attend me. It is my will. You will stand down, Lord Belfair.¡± The king turned to Khathan, ¡°What was your name again?¡±

    ¡°I am Captain Dar Khathan of the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons, Aju of Rakjat.¡± Then, when the king showed no recognition, ¡°I am a lord in Gulud.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Captain Khathan.¡± King Victus repeated the name more slowly, ¡°You have a very fine quality in you. Kneel.¡± He stood on shaking legs, ¡°I need a sword,¡± the king proclaimed to the assembled gawking courtiers.

    Belfair stepped forward, his face turning red. ¡°This man¡­¡± he began. The king''s withering look silenced him, and the brigadier shrank back. The king extended his hand to Belfair. The brigadier stepped forward and knelt, took the king¡¯s hand, and kissed the great ruby ring that sat on his finger. Then, the brigadier rose and went back to his place. Belfair did not look pleased, but he protested no more.

    Khathan hesitated, unsure of what was happening. His shoulder hurt a great deal. He nearly swooned.

    The king smirked at him, amused that he had not knelt, ¡°Kneel, man, before I change my mind.¡± He hissed at the captain. Then he turned and shouted, ¡°Sword!¡± As no one had presented him with one.

    Dryden pushed his way through the crowd, the cavalry officers having arrived. He pulled his sabre from its sheath. The Major¡¯s Styranian blade had an ember glow to it. The Major handed the sword to the king, ¡°I would be honoured if you would use mine, Majesty.¡±

    Khathan knelt before the king. He was starting to understand something of what was happening. There was nothing like a knighthood in Gulud.

    Then the king spoke, ¡°Thou shalt defend the crown above all. Thou shalt act with bravery and faithfulness, always. Thou shalt make war upon my enemies, whomever they may be. Duty. Honour. These are your watchwords. Be good to the weak. Defend those who cannot defend themselves. Will you do these?¡±

    ¡°I will, Majesty,¡± Khathan said. The king touched his shoulders with Dryden¡¯s sword, ¡°Arise, Sir Dar Khathan of Rakjat.¡±

    The Guludan knight stood, pride upon his face. He felt lightheaded. He looked around at the assembled men. Dryden was grinning at him. Some looked pleased, such as Charles, the king¡¯s secretary and General Haddock. Others, including Belfair, had faces carved with hatred and resentment. The king looked at him with worry. The world began to spin. He felt light as a feather. Khathan heard someone call his name. He felt himself falling, and then the world went black.

 Chapter Seven - The Dark Dreams of Soldiers

    Chapter Seven

    The Dark Dreams of Soldiers

    The column of exhausted soldiers that included Will, Ben, Tom, and Johnny filed into the fort occupied by the 13<sup>th</sup> just as the sun began falling below the horizon. They had marched all day, and the day before, and the day before that. Thirty miles each day in full gear. They had spent the days before that practising shooting and riding, but most of all, they had spent the last weeks digging holes. Long, deep trenches, shallow foxholes, pits for burning garbage, latrines, and more. The sergeants were not creative with the hardships they forced upon the recruits. They had a steady rotation of arduous and filthy tasks for the men. They pushed the recruits just to the point of breaking over and over again. At the word of Sergeant Major Flint, they collapsed in exhaustion in small clusters of men. Somehow, the sergeants who had been driving them on their march didn¡¯t look particularly tired, only a little sweaty.

    ¡°I thought we was supposed to be cavalry,¡± Tommy said once the sergeants were out of earshot.

    ¡°We is cavalry.¡± Replied Ben.

    ¡°It don¡¯t seem like it.¡± Tommy shot back, ¡°If we was cavalry, we¡¯d be riding, not marching til our feet bleed.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re just trying to toughen us up,¡± Johnny interjected.

    ¡°Quit pilin¡¯ up the agony.¡± Another recruit, a young man named Barnaby, chimed in further down the line, ¡°They hear you bleating, they¡¯ll ¡®ave us diggin¡¯ latrines again.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll give us more latrines to dig whether we complain or not,¡± Tommy responded. That was true, and they all knew it. But that didn¡¯t mean you needed to give them an excuse.

    ¡°You lads found any gold yet?¡± Will chimed in, trying to ease the tension.

    ¡°What?¡± Barnaby replied in confusion.

    ¡°Because we been diggin¡¯ for the Raj¡¯s gold for weeks, boys, and I ain¡¯t found naught but shit.¡± Will grinned as he said it.

    The men around them laughed as much as their exhaustion would allow for.

    ¡°Oi, pipe down!¡± Sergeant Steele was another veteran of the 13<sup>th</sup>. He had marched with them the whole day. He was a lean man with a chiselled face and eyes the colour of slate. Except for the yellow dust of Ayodh on his boots and trousers, he didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d done more than go for a stroll in the garden. ¡°The commander has some words for ye lot, so form up.¡±

    The men began to pull themselves to their feet, but not as quickly as Sergeant Steele wanted, ¡°I said, form up, you sloppy bastards! Move!¡± He screamed at them, ¡°In the yard, on the double!¡±

    The men formed up on instinct, all in the proper place and order. They marched to the central yard of the fort, where all hundred-some-odd recruits formed neat rows and awaited their commander. A few moments later, Major Pugh walked out from the commander¡¯s offices, followed by Major Dryden and then finally by Lieutenant Colonel Havor, the commander of the 13<sup>th</sup>. The recruits waited in silence for the officers to speak. The colonel had a pale face and dark hair. He had a rakish look, with a five o¡¯clock shadow and an unbuttoned top collar. Dryden was the opposite, he looked striking and clean-cut, with light hair and eyes.

    Havor¡¯s voice rang out over the assembled men, ¡°There are three items of interest. By now, you¡¯ve all heard, I¡¯m sure. Rumours travel faster than truth. Here is what is true. A beast attacked the king¡¯s hunt. Lord Blakely and many more are dead. General Hood of the V.A.C. has been appointed the new governor-general. No more need be said on it. It does not concern you lot. The king is safe and unharmed, thanks in no small part to our own Captain Khathan, who is recuperating. Long live the king!¡±

    The rest of the men repeated his words, ¡°Long live the king!¡± They cried together.

    "As of today, you are no longer recruits. You will receive your squadron assignments in the morning. You are cavalrymen now. Don¡¯t think the sergeants will go easy on you. They¡¯ll push you twice as hard because they know what you can endure, and endure we must."

    "That brings me to my third item. Rhakan has crossed The Padesh River,¡± Colonel Havor said. The words and the place didn¡¯t mean much to Will or any other recruit.

    Dryden leaned in and whispered something to Havor.

    Havor frowned and spoke again, ¡°They have invaded the border kingdoms. Soon, they¡¯ll come across the Brurapura and be in Ayodh.¡±

    That brought a murmur from the men.

    ¡°Ahh, you take my meaning. Yes, we are at war, gentlemen. Soon, we leave for Bogat.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s that, sir?¡± Someone piped up out of turn.

    ¡°Quiet you!¡± Sergeant Steele started stomping down the line with a riding crop to discipline the man.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Sergeant.¡± Havor¡¯s voice interrupted, ¡°It is a fair question. Bogat is a city on the Brurapura. It holds the best crossing south of Dhek. It will be where Rhakan sends the bulk of its forces. It is where we must go to check the advance. Sleep well, men. Soon, we go to war. Dismissed!¡±

    There was nothing else to say. The good news of their advancement was dampened by the news that they would immediately see combat. They ate a brief supper in the mess and then went to their bunks. The sun set fast down in the colonies. There was no long twilight as in Vastrum. Few of the boys spoke as they went to their bunks in the barracks. On a typical night, they might have played cards or dice, drank warm beer, and laughed late into the evening. Tonight, thoughts of war hung heavy on them all. Will thought back to the day in Marrowick when he enlisted. Dryden had stood before a crowd of young men, giving his recruitment pitch in the Southwick Social Club. He had spoken of honour and duty and glory. He had not spoken of digging latrines or marching for days on end.

    Will frowned as he lay in his cot. ¡°What in the bloody hell were we thinking, signing up for this shite?¡± He muttered softly, half to himself.

    ¡°You was thinking how good you¡¯d look to all the lovely lassies in your cavalryman¡¯s uniform.¡± Tommy hissed back.

    It was true. That was precisely what he had been thinking. ¡°What a cunt I was, thinking there¡¯d be any pretty lassies about to see me in it before I die, eh?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean was?¡± Tommy shot back.

    Johnny snorted with laughter from the next bunk over.

    Will couldn¡¯t help but laugh, too, ¡°That¡¯s fair. I¡¯m in good company, then.¡± More laughter followed.

    ¡°You know what, I don¡¯t mind it, all the digging.¡± Tommy said, ¡°But could they have just one bloody good pub in all of Kanmak? I¡¯m not askin¡¯ for much here, lads.¡±

    ¡°What, you don¡¯t like the stale piss they serve down at the commissary?¡±

    ¡°Oi, mum your dubbers, and caulk off!¡± A sergeant shouted into the barrack.

    The men quieted down. Eventually Will was able to find some sleep, though it was fitful. His dreams were filled with nightmares of a great pit yawning wide below him and of falling forever into it. Something awful and unknowable waited for him in the midnight depths.

    Dryden and the other senior officers of the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> were meeting in Havor¡¯s office. Most of them had arrived. They were only waiting for a few stragglers to appear. Colonel Havor was seated at his desk with his feet up, a gin and tonic in his hand. Mar was sitting to his left, reclining comfortably, his one eye closed. The wizard almost seemed asleep, except he was slowly tapping his glass of sherry with a finger and softly humming a tune. Major Pugh was next to Mar, staring intently at the wall, his jaw working silently. Captains Adams and Benton sat near the door. The two young officers could not have looked more different. Adams was tall and handsome, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and an easygoing manner. He reminded Dryden of himself before Blackwater¡¯s massacre. Benton was dark-haired, gangly, and homely, with a silent intensity. The door opened, and the newly promoted Captain Brine entered the room.

    Brine was a young officer, barely a man at all. At only eighteen, he was the youngest Captain ever commissioned in the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons. It seemed only yesterday that he had arrived a pasty-faced adolescent with his first assignment, a freshly commissioned junior lieutenant. He had comported himself with distinction during Blackwater¡¯s disaster. He had been among the captured. He was a competent officer, especially for one so young, but his promotion had less to do with his skill and more with the lack of other living officers in the 13<sup>th</sup>. So many had died in the disaster. A few more had died during The Reprisal-- that was what they were calling the destruction of Vurun in the papers. He had bright red hair that stuck out unruly from under his shako. He still looked a boy to Dryden¡¯s eye, though his face had a hardness to it after the privations the prisoners had endured. The young captain found an empty chair and sat.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Well, now that we¡¯re all here.¡± Havor started. He put his feet down and leaned forward.

    The door opened again. Captain Khathan entered. His shoulder was bandaged, and he looked pale. The Guludan Captain had been badly wounded and lost a great deal of blood. The last Dryden had seen him, he was laid up in a hospital bed resting.

    ¡°Well, now, I thought you were supposed to be recuperating, Captain,¡± Havor said, a look of mild worry on his face. The man had been seriously wounded and nearly died. He had been so covered in the blood of the yali that no one had noticed the severity of his wounds until it was nearly too late. Only the timely intervention of the King¡¯s personal surgeon had saved him.

    Khathan smiled, found the last chair in the room, and sat. ¡°I am recovered," he said, smiling, ¡°But I thank you for your concern.¡±

    ¡°To the Captain¡¯s miraculous recovery,¡± Mar said, grinning at the Khathan. He raised a glass.

    Those who held glasses raised them and drank.

    ¡°Thank you. I understand we are going to war. I would not be laid in a bed while others do the fighting.¡± Khathan said.

    Havor nodded, ¡°Light duty only, Captain. We will have need of you. We all know the news, by now, yes? Rhakan is coming. They have killed the ambassador Nigel Thorpe. He was a personal friend of the King¡¯s. They have crossed into the border kingdoms. The why doesn¡¯t concern us, however. We are soldiers, not politicians. It is only relevant that they have done so.¡± He pulled a letter from his jacket, ¡°Orders from Haddock. We¡¯re to muster at Bogat. We¡¯ve two steamships that will take us down the river to Benna, and then we go overland the rest of the way. General Haddock wants us there first to secure the bridge. Rhakan will want it too, it¡¯s the only bridge over the Brurapura below the city of Dhek. If we can hold them there, the infantry will arrive before long, and we¡¯ll have checked Rhakan¡¯s opening move.¡±

    Pugh spoke next, ¡°If we hold them at Bogat, we win the war. If we fail, the odds are even that we lose the whole thing. All of it, and not just Ayodh. Dravan, too. From there, it¡¯s a runaway cart full of rebellion and lost wars.¡±

    There was silence in the room, ¡°How do you figure that?¡± Adams asked.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to stop them from Bogat to Bankut. They¡¯ll roll up our whole supply line. If they take Bankut, they¡¯ll own the mouth of the Yuna. There are guns in Bankut that cover the river¡¯s mouth. Bankut is everything. If they control the guns, then we can¡¯t send supplies upriver, and Kanmak is cut off. Benna is cut off. Kathalamanyr is cut off. They take Ayodh, Dravan is at risk. One by one, the colonies will fall, either to Rhakan or rebellion. Bogat is everything.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a bleak outlook,¡± Adams replied.

    ¡°It¡¯s the view Haddock is taking,¡± Havor interjected, ¡°It¡¯s only the worst case. Perhaps it won¡¯t come to all that, but we must be prepared for it.¡±

    The room was silent as the officers pondered what it meant.

    Benton broke the silence, ¡°They could already be at Bogat. They crossed the Padesh days ago, aye?¡±

    ¡°Weeks ago,¡± Havor confirmed.

    ¡°It¡¯ll take us weeks to get there ourselves.¡±

    ¡°It will.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s stopping them from getting there well ahead of us? It won¡¯t take them a month to march from Sava to Bogat.¡±

    ¡°The land between the rivers is swampy, bad ground. The border rajas aren¡¯t taking kindly to the incursion. They¡¯ve already asked for aid and seem to be putting up a good show of force. The V.A.C. already has men and agents in position to assist them.¡±

    ¡°How is The Company already there? That¡¯s neutral ground, isn¡¯t it?¡± Benton interjected.

    ¡°The Company is everywhere.¡± Adams shot back, ¡°Or have you not been paying attention.¡±

    ¡°They follow money, do they not? They¡¯re not finding gold in the swamps of Bogat, are they?¡± Benton asked.

    ¡°I believe I can answer that.¡± Mar tossed a small vial onto the desk, ¡°They¡¯re smuggling that over the border from Ssam.¡±

    Havor picked up the glass vial and held it to the lantern on his desk. He shook it. It shone a deep indigo in the light¡ªaethium. Yet it was not the aethium they knew from Vurun. It was darker somehow and shifted strangely in the lamp light. There was silence in the room as they looked on.

    ¡°I got this from a merchant in the market in Kanmak. I paid him to tell me where they got it. He told me Ssam. The V.A.C. is smuggling it out. Sarawa Maw refused to trade with The Company. Khaung, his brother, is holed up in the north, in the jungles and hills, where this stuff is coming from. Apparently, Khaung is more amenable to trade with Vastrum.¡±

    ¡°This is all very interesting, but we have more pressing concerns.¡± Dryden interjected, ¡°We¡¯re still short a full squadron, never mind the officers we¡¯ve lost.¡±

    The faces of dead men raced through Dryden¡¯s mind. Lieutenant Wolcott, the first to die, a sniper¡¯s musket ball took him in the first volley. He had been a Marrowick boy like Dryden himself. They had been reminiscing one moment, and then he was gone. Captain Wilson had been badly wounded and left behind at Golconda. Captain Baker and Lieutenants Camford and Palfrey lost to the tide of undead during the ambush that killed so many men. Colonel Gorst, dying in the stand of boulders above Settru Pass. He heard Harper''s anguished cry as his horse buckled beneath him. Sergeant Locke falling beneath the talwar of an enemy warrior at the end. Locke had nearly made it, as trusty a sergeant as had ever been, now gone forever. Havelock had died taking Vurun. Lamb, dead to a jezzail at the northern passes. Winthrop, who died a coward¡¯s death. He could scarcely remember them all. Thousands slaughtered. Who would be next? How many of these officers sitting in the room now would still be here after this next war? Would any of them be left at all?

    His attention snapped back as Havor spoke, ¡°Good news on that front. The king was amenable to the idea of a native squadron commanded by Khathan. You made quite the impression on him, what with saving his life from a rampaging monster. Prince Azadra and Raja Pentayy were impressed as well. They have both volunteered men for the squadron. The men are from their personal guards. They will be ready when we leave in a week, as I understand it.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s it, then? We go riding into Bogat to hold the line. We win, the empire is saved. We lose, the empire is lost? What of the rest of the bloody army? What of the Royal Navy? What of the V.A.C. mercenaries? What of our allies in the colonies?¡±

    ¡°Pugh paints a bleak picture, and I¡¯ll admit there is some validity to it, but there is some hope here, too. The Navy is assembling at Port Victor. I understand they intend to land three thousand marines at Dagon, sail up the Ravati River and besiege the Rhakanese capital at Angmaw. Belfair¡¯s 6<sup>th</sup> Infantry is being deployed north towards Dhek in the borderlands. Haddock will come up and support us shortly. We need only hold out a few days, weeks at most. We¡¯ve permission to blow the bridge if necessary.¡±

    ¡°How hard can it be?¡± Adams asked, flashing his easy, disarming smile, ¡°They¡¯re a bunch of savages. They¡¯ve bow and arrows and spears, eh?¡±

    Pugh cleared his throat, ¡°They¡¯ve proper infantry of the line. Conscripted, yes, but still, they¡¯re armed with a mix of Gantish and Fyrin muskets. Styranian mercenaries hired from among merchant sailors man their artillery, again, with cannon purchased from Gant. The Rhakanese cavalry and their elephant riders are not to be underestimated either. They¡¯ve a ready supply of that aethium Mar showed us, too, and I imagine, the wizards to use it. The real core of their army, though, is the bloodguard of their emperor. They are his elite shock troops. I also understand there are reports that they have tamed dragons, though how much stock you put into those rumours is up to you. What is true is they¡¯ve fought a bloody civil war over the last six months. They took Tangong two years before that. Hard wars, those. Most of these men will be veterans. Furthermore, we¡¯ll be fighting in jungle and swamp. This is their terrain. So, no, Captain Adams, it will not be a lark.¡±

    The room was silent. The young captain had gone pale. Dryden knew their enemy would be nothing like any they had encountered. Rhakan and the V.A.C. had skirmished in their grandfather¡¯s time, but the two empires had never warred. They all knew that Pugh had the right of it, even if he lacked a gentle touch. This would not be easy.

    ¡°Never fear, Adams.¡± Havor said, ¡°Our foe may be fierce, they may have sorcerers and guns, but we¡¯ve our muskets as well and a damned good wizard of our own.¡±

    Mar looked around the room, ¡°Where?¡± He asked, grinning.

    The officers all laughed at the jest. Soon, the other officers turned to drinking rather than talking of war. Dryden stood and excused himself, then went to walk back towards his cottage in the cantonment.

    Guards on duty saluted him as he left the fort. Outside were rows and rows of barracks housing the infantry, most of them sepoys, the native infantry soldiers that made up the bulk of the army. The men here were from colonies all over. Men sat outside around campfires in small groups. Most of them would be leaving for war under Marshall Haddock. Most of the men were drinking and laughing and speaking in languages that Dryden barely recognised. He saw one group of soldiers from Huz laughing around a fire, another group of Dravani soldiers playing a kind of dice game, and another small cadre of red-skinned soldiers from Jirimanji sitting around a campfire singing softly. The army of Vastrum was not really of Vastrum. Dozens of colonies sent regiments to serve. From Durzan in the south to Kathalamanyr in the north, and Ayodh and Vastrum herself, all sent soldiers to serve the crown. They sent soldiers, signed favourable trade contracts with the V.A.C., and offered a nominal obeisance to the Vastrum crown. Otherwise, the colonies were left alone to rule themselves as semi-independent kingdoms. All these men would soon follow Vastrum to war. How many would be left at the end of it all? Few enough, he knew. He had seen war and had no desire to see it again, but it was not his decision. It was the king¡¯s. He had deserted his honour in Vurun. Duty was all he had left.

    He found himself stopped in front of his cottage in the cantonment, standing outside, staring at the door. He had been lost in thought all the way back to the cottage and barely knew how he had got there. He had promised Julia that he would come back from Rhakan. The shame of the lie fell heavy on him. His feet felt leaden. He knew he would die in this war. Knew it. He had lived through so much, had been the ¡°sole survivor¡± of Blackwater¡¯s disaster. But still, he had made the promise to his wife. He took a step towards the door. Maybe he could find a way to live, or not. Perhaps a stray bullet would take him, or the pox. A hundred possible deaths awaited him in Bogat, Rhakan, and whatever nightmare the king sent them towards. He held no hope. Even if he lived through this war, there would be another and another. Death¡¯s inexorable hand would find him eventually. A hundred promises to Julia wouldn¡¯t turn aside the steel of an enemy¡¯s blade or a lead musket ball. He breathed deeply and took another step. He gripped the door handle and turned it. All he could do was fight. It was all he could ever do.

 Chapter Eight - The Bridge of Bogat

    Chapter Eight

    The Bridge of Bogat

    The bridge spanned the Brurapura River at its narrowest point. It was not a tall, impressive bridge but a flat and straightforward construction. Pugh said it had been built four hundred years before by a great king of Ayodh whose name Dryden had trouble pronouncing. A dozen thick stone supports held it up. Down the bridge¡¯s length, several chhatris, small open domed pavilions common to the colonies, were constructed. At either end of the bridge, a kind of gatehouse stood. Once, these had held an iron portcullis that could be dropped, but now the gates and mechanisms were rotted away with rust. Dryden stood in the gatehouse looking down across the bridge with Havor, Pugh, and Mar. A few junior officers stood further back, watching and waiting for orders. The captains and most of the rest were busy preparing defensive positions around the bridge.

    ¡°See anything?¡± Dryden asked Pugh, who was busy looking through his spyglass for signs of movement.

    ¡°No. It appears we¡¯re here first. Only some livestock and a few locals.¡±

    ¡°A minor miracle,¡± Mar replied.

    ¡°Send scouts,¡± Havor said, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. ¡°I would know how far off the enemy is and how much time we have. Get Wolfgang up here. I want those explosives set in case we need the bridge blown.¡± Wolfgang was the engineer and sapper sent by Haddock with the 13<sup>th</sup>, ¡°Send for Mr. Baine, too.¡± The old hunter had been sent with the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>. The Old Salgair was one of the few Vastrum men who knew this land well and the only one who had been available without any notice. He had spent years hunting through the borderlands east of Ayodh and the northern reaches of Rhakan. It was said he had even been further north into Bohd. Haddock had sent the very best men at his disposal to ensure the bridge was held.

    Then Havor added almost as an afterthought, ¡°Send a platoon of troopers to take the eastern end of the bridge.¡±

    ¡°Who do you want for that job?¡± Pugh asked.

    ¡°Thoughts on that, Dryden?¡± Havor asked. He often asked Dryden for these recommendations. Havor was not as familiar with these men as his Major was. He had not ridden with them into battle before. Most of them were young and from the Andaban garrison.

    ¡°Edmonds is a good man, rode into Dau with me. He¡¯s no fool. Dependable man.¡± Dryden answered.

    ¡°Very good. I concur. Tell them to hold that end of the bridge until the explosives are set, then come back to this end. I do not want them caught out unless absolutely necessary.¡±

    Pugh turned to Lieutenant Albans, ¡°Make it so, Lieutenant. Bring up the sappers and the scouts.¡±

    Albans saluted, mounted up, and went to obey almost before Pugh had relayed the order. The lieutenant was a middle-aged man, old for lieutenant, who had served under Havelock with the Andaban garrison. He had a strong, broad face with dark eyes and wore thick muttonchops. He was a commoner who had come up from the rank of private, spent years at the rank of sergeant, been promoted for valour, and become stuck and unable to pay for his promotion beyond lieutenant. He had fought during Haddock¡¯s retribution, ridden into Dau with Dryden and Khathan, and came out alive. Few enough officers had come out alive from that. Dryden thought him the very best of the remaining lieutenants. Havor seemed to agree because he always kept the man close.

    It was not long before a cart arrived carrying Wolfgang with his sappers. Most of the men were Dravani workers. Wolfgang Beck was an engineer from the free city of Harburg, as Dryden understood it. He was tall, burly, with light hair, and wore a thick beard on his chin. He was not a soldier and refused to wear any uniform, but he wore light khakis and a broad straw hat, which he said was good for the heat. He spoke Vastrum poorly but loudly and confidently to compensate, ¡°Ja, du vant me rig ze bridge, Colonel?¡±

    ¡°Precisely, Mr Beck.¡± Havor replied, ¡°Make it quick. I do not yet know what time we have.¡±

    ¡°No, no, no. Not quick. Correct. Quick, and it will¡­¡± He made an explosion noise and demonstrated with his hands a large explosion, ¡°Ve do not vant aksidents!¡±

    Havor waved his hand dismissively, ¡°Very well, make it so. As fast as you dare, then.¡±

    Wolfgang hopped down and began shouting orders to his Dravani workmen in their own tongue. To Dryden¡¯s ear, his Dravani was just as poor as his Vastrum, but the man shouted it with the same confidence. His men obeyed and began unloading the carts containing small barrels of black powder or another explosive. Dryden knew little of a sapper¡¯s methods but knew well what they could accomplish; he had seen a bridge blown with sapper¡¯s powder in Ghinai. As the sappers began their work, Connall Baine, the famous grizzled hunter who had killed the yali, rode up, followed by a handful of Jirimanjin scouts.

    ¡°Afternoon.¡± He said casually. He dismounted, walked up to Havor, spit on the ground beside him, and extended his hand. Like Wolfgang, he was not a soldier. He was dressed in his hunting attire. He did not salute or behave in a soldierly manner.

    Havor shook his hand, though the look on his face said he would have preferred a crisp salute or a deep bow to a handshake, ¡°I need your scouts to cross the bridge and find the enemy for me.¡±

    ¡°Aye, we can do that.¡±

    ¡°The Jirimanjis can do that. I need you to tell me where else the Rhakanese army might try to cross if we deny them the bridge.¡±

    He nodded thoughtfully, ¡°There¡¯s no crossing downriver. It¡¯s all bloody swamps and quicksand. There¡¯s a couple spots upriver the banchoots might try.¡±

    ¡°You will show me the appropriate deference due my station, and please refrain from cursing in my presence, Mr Baine. The king may find your crassness amusing, I do not.¡± Havor said idly, and he turned to look out at the slow-moving waters of the Brurapura.

    The old hunter said nothing but looked appraisingly at Lord Havor. Then he turned to one of his scouts and spoke a few words of the strange Jirimanjin language that hissed and clicked. He whistled and pointed to the other side of the river. Three scouts rode off at a canter to cross the bridge.

    ¡°We¡¯ll know soon enough where the enemy lies, Lord Havor.¡±

    ¡°Excellent. Please show Major Dryden any points the enemy might cross upriver.¡±

    ¡°Yes, your Lordship.¡± Connall bowed lower than he needed to.

    Dryden turned to see what Sergeants were nearby, ¡°Sergeant Drake, with me. Round up a dozen men. I want veterans. Black City men. We¡¯re going with Baine to inspect the fords north of Bogat.¡±

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    The sergeant was a big man and broad in the shoulders. As with many sergeants, he had come up from the ranks because he was big, loud, and brave. He had a perpetual grimace on his swarthy face. Dryden did not know him well. He had been in Captain Adams'' squadron and had fought effectively, clearing snipers off the heights at the northern passes when Aisa¡¯s forces had been destroyed. Besides that, Dryden knew little of the man. He was an officer who did his best to know the men under his command, but there were so many men in the 13<sup>th</sup> and so much else to do that it was impossible to know them all well.

    Sergeant Drake pulled a few men away who had been digging trenches with the rest. They put their black jackets back on and mounted up, obviously happy to be pulled away from the endless toil during the heat of the day. A few minutes later, the Old Salgair led them north out of Bogat. The place had been called a city, but that was generous. It was more a ramshackle collection of hovels that clung to the banks of the Brurapura. West of Bogat was an abandoned palace and some other stone buildings that had fallen into disrepair. A more extensive collection of hovels with a few larger wood buildings was east of the bridge. There was nothing in Bogat to recommend it as far as Dryden could tell. It was a small town that claimed a place on a map only because of its famous bridge. The country around the town was a mix of broad farmland, small stands of forest, low-lying marsh, and the endlessly snaking Brurapura River. The land was hot and in its dry season. The river was low, its banks broad and thick with flaking dry mud. They rode along a long, narrow, raised dirt road that followed the river north. Despite the many farms, they saw few people as they rode, only a few men tilling fields in the distance.

    ¡°The land seems good,¡± Dryden observed as they rode, ¡°Why is it so empty?¡±

    Connall looked at Dryden, surprised at the question, ¡°The floods. When the monsoons come, the river will rise and spill its banks, so when the harvest is done, the lot of ¡®em move to the higher ground west of here. It is good ground for planting in. The rice from the river delta feeds all the people from here to Benna.¡±

    ¡°When will it rain?¡±

    ¡°Soon, I reckon. A month at most. Don¡¯t worry your pretty blonde head, Major. Bogat and the bridge are at a high point in the terrain. We¡¯ll get good and soaked by the rains, but we won¡¯t drown. These fields will flood well and truly, though. Floods will take the lower grounds for a month or two. The waters will recede come autumn, and the folk¡¯ll return to plant again. Back and forth, they go like that every year.¡±

    ¡°We were told the border Rajas would be fighting to slow Rhakan. I¡¯ve seen hide nor hair of them.¡±

    ¡°I reckon the rakes are bogged down trying to get through Vetra in the north, or maybe someone¡¯s putting up a good fight in Thom¡¯s Crossing.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see a Thom¡¯s Crossing on the map.¡±

    The Old Salgair gave a laugh, ¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t. It¡¯s small, just a V.A.C. trading post.¡±

    ¡°They use it for smuggling?¡± Dryden said. It was only half a question. He knew the answer.

    ¡°Aye, lad. I¡¯ve been through a few times. From there, you can hire a boat to go out into The Sundara. A thousand square miles of mangrove full of the best hunting this side of the Gurawesi. Hell to get to, though.¡±

    Rosie whinnied, stopped, and refused to go further. Connall looked around quickly, unslung his musket, and began loading it. ¡°Tiger?¡± he asked. ¡°Leopard, maybe?¡±

    Dryden put his hand on his sword and looked about him. He saw the cause of distress. A huge cobra lying in the path. He pointed it out to the hunter.

    ¡°Canny mare that one. Good eye. Hate to lose a good horse to a snake bite.¡±

    One of the men shot the snake, which curled up and writhed. They cut its head off and then tossed the dead snake off the road. Then, they mounted back up and continued down the road.

    ¡°Dangerous country, this.¡± Baine said as they rode along the river, ¡°If the snakes and scorpions don¡¯t get you, the tigers and leopards will never mind the bigger game like elephants or gryphons.¡±

    ¡°Or yali,¡± Dryden noted dryly.

    ¡°Or that. I ain¡¯t never seen one of those before, not out here, not anywhere. Someone told me that thing was protecting its mandir, whatever that is. Well, there ain¡¯t no mandirs out here. This is an unholy land. We¡¯ll lose more men to malaria and the shits than we do to the enemy or wildlife, I reckon. Ahh, here we are. This is about where I remembered it.¡± He gestured to a low, wide spot in the river. It was especially low now before the rains came, ¡°We could cross this here and now on our horses. We¡¯d risk losing a few to snake bites and crocodiles. A little thing like that wouldn¡¯t stop an army from crossing.¡±

    ¡°Any more fords like this?¡± Dryden asked.

    ¡°A few, none this close to the city or this good. None they can cross without building a fleet o¡¯ barges. Must admit, I always crossed at the bridge.¡±

    ¡°Sir!¡± Sergeant Drake shouted, ¡°Look!¡± He pointed to movement in the brush across the river.

    ¡°Dismount, load up. Wait for my signal! Do not fire until I say!¡± Dryden barked at the men. All the troopers snapped to follow his orders. Men hopped off mounts, found what little cover was on the river''s bank, and began loading muskets. After a minute or two, several riders burst from the brush and went for the river.

    ¡°Do not fire, men, until they are halfway.¡±

    More riders and a larger contingent of men came bursting from the brush. There were dozens of men.

    ¡°Hold!¡± He said. Something seemed strange. The men looked nothing like the drawings of Rhakanese he had seen. They looked more like sepoys. ¡°Blood and thunder.¡± He said, ¡°Do not fire. Let them cross!¡±

    ¡°Major?¡± Drake asked, his tone sceptical.

    ¡°No, he¡¯s right, boyo.¡± Baine cut in, ¡°Those are Company men.¡±

    Men and horses streamed into the water, swimming across as they could. Some of them were not strong swimmers. Dryden saw a man swept away by the current, which was not strong, but it was enough to take a man and pull him away downstream in the middle. There was little they could do to help. The men would swim and live or drown. Men began to make the near side. One of them stood up on the near shore, wearing a V.A.C. officer''s black and white uniform. The man was soaked and untidy, his face and hair half-covered in muck and dried blood that had been partially washed by his swim in the river.

    Dryden stood up as the exhausted men began to crawl up the bank, ¡°Announce yourselves!¡± He demanded.

    The V.A.C. man stopped and looked up at him, then fell to his knees and began to weep. ¡°By all the dead gods, sir, thank you, we are saved!¡± he shouted. Then he collapsed to the ground, heaved great breaths of relief, and wept tears of joy.

    ¡°My good man, would you be so kind as to tell me who you are and where you are coming from?¡± Dryden asked.

    The man began to collect himself. He stood and began to dust himself off, ¡°Corporal Higgins, Sir, of the 9<sup>th</sup> V.A.C. Natives. We were stationed at Thom¡¯s Crossing.¡±

    ¡°Where are your commanders?¡± Dryden asked.

    The man shook his head, ¡°Dead, I assume. So many dead. The Raj¡¯s men, the sepoys, our own. This is all that¡¯s left.¡± The corporal gestured to the few dozen that had crossed the river with him.

    ¡°Where is the enemy, and when did you last sight them?¡±

    ¡°Two days ago, they took the Crossing. They were hot on our heels until last night, sir, and they peeled off towards Bogat.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯ll put them at Bogat today, Major.¡± Baine interrupted, ¡°Better hope your boys are dug in tight, and the bridge is rigged.¡±

    Corporal Higgins seemed to be catching his breath, ¡°The army is near, is it? Is General Winslow already at Bogat, then?¡±

    Dryden and Drake looked at one another. Dryden shook his head, ¡°No. It¡¯s just us, the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons.¡±

    ¡°The Butchers of Vurun?¡± The corporal asked, his voice hushed.

    ¡°The very same,¡± Dryden answered. He hated that nickname, but it had stuck. ¡°Still, Winslow isn¡¯t coming. Haddock is hot on our heels, but he sent us ahead to secure Bogat.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not enough¡­¡± The man said, ¡°Bloody hell, we¡¯re doomed!¡±

    Dryden slapped the man, ¡°Pull yourself together, Corporal, or I shall have you whipped. Cowardice is unbecoming of a gentleman. Even a mercenary officer such as yourself ought to have a barest modicum of dignity. Drake, secure this crossing with these men. I¡¯ll send more along shortly with extra powder and shot. Corporal, I am commandeering you and your men. You answer to Sergeant Drake. Hold this crossing at all costs. All costs, sergeant, do you hear me?¡±

    The man sputtered, ¡°Sir, you do not understand.¡±

    ¡°I understand perfectly well. These men are mine now. You will defend this crossing. Any man of you who refuses will be shot dead on the spot for desertion. Do you understand?¡± Dryden shot back, his tone turning icy.

    ¡°Sir, but they have dragons!¡± The man blurted out. As if on queue, a moment later, a great roar echoed from behind them in the distance towards Bogat.

    Dryden frowned, ¡°Then we¡¯ve no time to bloody waste!¡± He practically leapt onto the back of Rosie and spurred her. She surged forward, and he rode off in a cloud of dust back towards the bridge, the grizzled hunter Connall Baine only heartbeats behind.

 Chapter Nine - Dark Memories

    Chapter Nine

    Dark Memories

    Mar had climbed the bridge tower to get a better view. Below him, the men of the 13<sup>th</sup> were digging earthworks and trenches. Under Wolfgang''s supervision, the crew of sappers was hard at work rigging the bridge with powder. Pugh had declined to climb the rotten stone tower; the Major¡¯s leg was still not healed from his wounds. He could walk and ride well enough, but climbing seemed out of the question for him. Havor was busy seeing to the building of defensive earthworks. Mar was looking out at the far side of the river. Even though The Brurapura was narrow here, it was still quite broad. His one eye made his depth perception poor, however. He stared out at the landscape. Birds flew off away in the distance. He could neither make them out clearly nor tell their distance, but they seemed to be flying over the trees to the east. He looked south towards the coast. The river delta broadened out and became a vast, impassable mangrove swamp called the Sundara before disappearing into the Bay of Accad. To the north, the Brurapura wound its way through the great savannah farmlands and jungles all the way down from the Namkha Mountains. The great peaks were too far to see, but Mar knew they were there, where the mysterious Kingdom of Bohd stood untaken by Vastrum, Rhakan, Chu, or any other would-be conqueror.

    Farmers in a distant field on the river''s eastern bank slowly went about their daily business. He did not know whether they were harvesting or what part of the never-ending cycle of farming they were engaged in. He was a city boy, and he did not know enough to say. Suddenly, the farmers were running, though from what it was not clear.

    ¡°Major!¡± He shouted down to Pugh, ¡°We¡¯ve got a problem!¡±

    ¡°The enemy?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps!¡±

    Then, several riders came into view, galloping hard. Two of the Jirimanjin scouts were returning. They whipped their horses hard as they came back down the road through the huts of Bogat. One of them had an arrow sticking from his back as he rode, though he did not seem to notice it. The men at the far gatehouse let them through, and they rode hard back across the bridge towards where Pugh and Mar were standing a kind of informal watch.

    Halfway across, the rider who was wounded by the arrow slid from his horse and fell. The other man did not stop, nor did the horse of the fallen rider. They arrived soon after. The fallen man stood and staggered back. The scout shared words with Major Pugh. Moments later, a volley of musket fire cracked from the bridge''s other end in a puff of smoke. Mar could not see what the men were firing at, but he assumed some enemy had broken from cover attempting to follow the scouts. A second volley of fire came soon after. The men were well drilled and could fire three shots per minute in good conditions, perhaps not as fast as the elite infantry of the line who could fire as many as four per minute, but still, very good for cavalry. Many conscripted soldiers could only fire two or fewer. The dragoons of the 13<sup>th</sup> were trained as both light cavalry and infantry. Hussars were suitable only for light cavalry work, flanking, riding down broken formations, and the like. Lancers were good for a straight charge. The heavier and more versatile dragoons were less effective at any one thing but could do a bit of everything. Modern generals preferred the specialised forms of other units, but a few experienced generals, such as Haddock, still liked what the dragoons could do.

    Mar¡¯s one eye continued to scan the horizon. He could see movement now, though it was far off. It looked like the grass and trees were waving in the wind, but as he looked, he could now see masses of men moving low to the ground through the tall grasses. He turned and shouted down, ¡°Enemy sighted!¡±

    Pugh was already barking orders below. Men were getting into position, into trenches and foxholes, where they had a good firing angle onto the bridge. The men at the far gatehouse fired yet another volley into the village. Mar saw a trooper burst from cover on the far side of the bridge, running hard and holding a torch. He heaved the torch out onto the roof of a nearby thatched hut. Then, the figure ran back towards the safety of the gatehouse. It was the dry season, and a gout of flame took the roof within moments. Shots rang out, and puffs of musket smoke billowed from the huts. The enemy was firing back. Rhakanese soldiers were in the town already. He could not see if the man who had lit the town ablaze had returned safely. He suspected not.

    Mar began to roll a cigarette with the new aethium he had purchased in Kanmak¡¯s grand bazaar. He took a pinch of tobacco and lined it up in the white rolling paper, then a pinch of the dark aethium from his vial. It had been too long since he had imbibed. He wanted, needed to have it. Knowing this Rhakani catalyst''s strength, he resisted the urge to overindulge. They had taught him to push down those urges at the conservatory, where he had been trained in sorcery.  They had not been kind in the training. It had been torture, really, when he thought about it. It was strange how, at the time, it had felt normal to be punished physically by the teachers. It was only afterwards that it seemed overly harsh. He remembered the headmaster whipping a boy who had failed to control his urges, caning the back of the boy¡¯s calves. When he was done, the headmaster, Apidenus, turned to the other students and said, ¡°What I have done to this boy is nothing compared to what he does to himself when he over-imbibes. It is the soul that suffers most. Catalysts are the wood, memory is the oxygen, but the disciplined mind is the match that ignites the flame.¡± Professor Mavros had told them many times, when illustrating how magic worked, ¡°Make too much, and you will certainly burn.¡±

    Mar did not know how true his teacher¡¯s words were, but he and all wizards trained at the King¡¯s Conservatory lived by them. Moderation was key, they said, do not become like the low wizards of vulgar nations, do not become an addict, driven by the whims of the flesh. So, only a tiny pinch of the stuff went into the cigarette. Mar rolled the paper between his fingers, licked to close it, popped the end between his lips and waited. Take the stuff too soon, and it would burn out before he needed it. He wanted very badly to light the cigarette and inhale. He remembered the cane hitting the back of his calves, the flesh rending. Every wizard in training was given such treatment at one time or another. It was necessary, they said, to make a battle mage. Vivid memories made the most potent magic and painful ones the most lethal. He closed his one eye, took a slow breath, and waited. As he sat, calming his mind and dredging up dark memories, a roar echoed across the river.

    His golden eye snapped open, and he scanned the area. A bird still flew, but it seemed closer and larger somehow. He could not see the distance well. As he watched it fly, he realised it was not a bird. It flew quite unlike a bird, more like a bat. Its leathery wings beat the sky. He had thought the creature much closer, but as it flew, he realised it was much further away and far bigger.

    ¡°Drake!¡± He shouted to Pugh, who was organising a platoon of men at the gatehouse.

    ¡°What? Sergeant Drake is with Dryden!¡± The young major shouted back.

    ¡°No! A drake!¡± He shouted again, pointing into the distant sky.

    Pugh looked to where Mar was pointing, pulled out his spyglass, and scanned the sky. Then he stopped, turned, and ran back through the gatehouse towards Havor¡¯s command post, which was a tent further back from the rest, near where the supplies and horses were being kept.

    Mar stood on top of the gatehouse. The enormous monstrosity was coming closer quickly. It was flying straight to the bridge. The musket fire was growing more intense at the far gatehouse. The sappers were still in the middle of the bridge, rigging the explosives. They were working quickly, but they were nowhere near done. Edmonds needed to hold the far side of the bridge at all costs until Wolfgang and his men were finished. Mar swore. He was on the wrong end of the bridge. He could do little from here. He needed to be closer to the fighting and the dragon. He tucked the cigarette into his black cavalryman¡¯s jacket pocket and began climbing down as quickly as possible. Stones slipped under his hand, and loose bricks tumbled as he raced down. He nimbly scrambled down the bit where the stairs to the top had half-collapsed, but soon he was down. He raced past soldiers who were waiting to defend the bridge, who gripped their muskets white-knuckled. Most were very young, maybe even new recruits.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Sir, where are you off to?¡± Sergeant Steele called after him as he ran.

    ¡°Tell Pugh, won¡¯t you, I¡¯m for the other end of the bridge. Edmonds will need help with that dragon!¡±

    ¡°I will, sir!¡± Steele called back, glancing at the sky at the mention of a dragon.

    Then Mar was gone, racing across the bridge. Carts loaded with barrels of sapper powder were still out while Wolfgang and his crew were working to rig the bridge. He ran past them. Wolfgang was standing about pointing and ordering his men this way and that.

    ¡°Dragon!¡± Mar shouted as he ran past, pointing at the air.

    Wolfgang looked up and swore in his native tongue. Mar had only read of dragons. He had never seen one. Every book he had read on the subject said they breathed fire. Even a small spark would set off the explosives they were working with. Even just an errant musket ball or spark could set it off. Musket smoke wafted on the breeze, and he could smell the saltpetre in the air. Another volley sounded. Then, the smell of burning thatch joined the musket smoke. The next row of huts had caught fire, and the village was burning now. A few townspeople who had not yet fled now ran from their homes down towards the river and away from the fighting, but the town was virtually empty aside from soldiers. Mar was almost to the gatehouse. The dragon was closer now, nearly upon the burning village of Bogat. Mar dove behind the cover of one of the domed structures that lined the bridge and pulled his cigarette from his pocket, along with a small box of matches. He struck the match, lit the cigarette, and inhaled deeply. He felt bliss take hold of his mind. The whole world snapped into focus, and everything slowed as if the passage of time had nearly frozen. This Rhakani aethium was like a cold river pulling him under where the aethium of Vurun had been a gentle cooling breeze. He felt cold, even though the day was hot and humid. All worry left him.

    He saw a musket ball fly through the air and crash into the stone bridge, causing a spray of dust and shrapnel. He saw every grain of rock that flew through the air. Mar stood, every moment spread out into an eternity. He did not move more quickly but had time to think, remember, and feel everything. He looked and saw a group of enemies rushing Lieutenant Edmonds¡¯ platoon. A crash and volley of muskets firing together sounded; the fire and smoke burst from the first rank of black-clad troopers and ripped into the charging enemy. Men wearing the white and green uniforms of the Rhakanese infantry fell and screamed. The second rank of troopers stepped forward and aimed. Silence reined for what felt an eternity to Mar. He was close now. ¡°Fire!¡± Screamed Sergeant Krach. The second rank fired their muskets. He could see every detail, flame and smoke erupting from their guns, the men of the enemy falling and dying before them. Then, the third rank was ready, stepping forward and aiming their guns.

    The drake was coming in low to burn them out. What memory could bring it down? Mar had only moments, yet he felt he had all the time in the world. He quieted his mind. He sifted through the many agonies of his training. He had dozens of spells to choose from. Some learned, and others of his own invention. The Threshing was strong, but was it enough to bring down a drake such as this? No, the wings would be its weakness. He remembered being bound up in captivity. He remembered the sting of his headmaster¡¯s whip. He grinned and grabbed hold of the memory. The aethium surged through him. In his mind, he merged with the dragon, they were one and the same. He remembered the lash cutting his legs and arms. He took hold of the headmaster¡¯s whip. He forced himself to change. In his mind¡¯s eye, he saw himself. He was no longer the student. He was the headmaster. The dragon was the student, bound and bent. He swung, lashing the wings of the dragon. He cut bloody ribbons across them. The dragon shrieked. He swung again, then again. He whipped until his arm was heavy. He heard the screams of the dragon, then the screams of a boy. The dragon had his face. That wasn¡¯t right. He whipped the dragon¡¯s wing again. He nearly retched at the pain in his arm. He let go of the memory, and it squirmed from his mind¡¯s grasp like a living snake and ripped away from him. The world returned to normal.

    The sounds of the real world raked at his ears. Musket fire crackled through the smoke that hung on the bridge like a cloak. He looked about. Edmonds and his men still held the bridge, firing in their ranks. He scanned the sky for the drake but did not find it. He stood, pushing himself up from the stones of the bridge, still keeping low. His arm was on fire, and he saw a cut on his sleeve. He pushed down the pain as he had been taught and moved forward. Usually, after he had done magic, he felt weak and would swoon, like he was soon to faint. He would feel weak as if he had not eaten in days. A kind of distilled form of weariness would enter him until he rested. He had been taught to push through this feeling, but doing too much magic could cause a wizard to collapse. He felt nothing of the sort with this new aethium, only a mild haze.

    He approached the far gatehouse carefully. He passed several wounded men who had been shot. Lieutenant Edmonds had a bandaged arm but stood with his men, giving them orders, his sword in hand. The Lieutenant was a short and strong man with broad shoulders and a ruddy face. He had the red nose of a heavy drinker, thick dark mutton chops, and cold hazel-grey eyes.

    ¡°You see that dragon, Sorcerer?¡± Edmonds asked Mar without looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the road up which the enemy could approach the bridge. Scores of Rhakanese dead lay about it. Some wounded moved, cried, and crawled away. The approach to the bridge was a slaughteryard.

    ¡°Aye.¡± Mar replied, ¡°Took care of it.¡±

    ¡°Appreciate that, sir. Catch a stray shot?¡± Edmonds finally turned his steely eyes on Mar and gestured at his arm.

    ¡°Not sure,¡± Mar replied.

    ¡°Rollins, check to the wizard¡¯s arm!¡± He shouted.

    A private came running up. He had a healthy-looking tan face, was clean-shaven, and had dark brown eyes and hair. He was a rather unremarkable-looking soldier, though very young. He carried a bag that marked him as a medic, though that was only an informal role. The surgeon and his assistant sent with the regiment were back with the supplies near Havor¡¯s command post. Mar unbuttoned his jacket and shirt and took his arm out. It was not bleeding badly, but there was the unmistakable mark of a lash upon him, and he knew that the magic had done this to him. His magic had never rebounded in such a manner before. The dust looked and felt like aethium in many regards, yet it was something new. The private began tending to him with a salve and a bandage.

    ¡°Did you see what happened to the dragon?¡± Mar asked Edmonds.

    ¡°No. It was coming for us, and then it shot away from the fight, roaring and writhing. Then it was gone. I assume that was you?¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    ¡°Well, we appreciate it. I thought we were done for. Never seen a dragon before. Do they truly breathe fire, sir?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a dragon before either, Lieutenant. Few have. I suppose we don¡¯t know what it is capable of. Those terrible claws seemed dangerous enough.¡±

    Edmonds grunted, then turned to Sergeant Krach, ¡°Are we ready if they come again?¡±

    ¡°Aye, we¡¯re ready. Muskets all loaded and ready for another round, sir.¡±

    ¡°Good. What about you, wizard?¡±

    ¡°If the dragon returns, I believe I can handle it. We must hold until the bridge is rigged, then fall back, eh?¡±

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s what Major Pugh instructed,¡± Edmonds confirmed.

    As if to punctuate, a man who had climbed atop the gatehouse to scout shouted down, ¡°The Rakes are comin¡¯ again, sir!¡±

    A moment later, a mass of infantry came into view, hundreds deep, armed with muskets fixed with bayonets. Their dark faces and green and white uniforms seemed to blend into the terrain. Some wore strange helmets upon their heads, while others wore shakos in the Western style. They moved forward together in lockstep.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t they stop and shoot?¡± Mar asked as they came forward.

    ¡°Pugh said the Gantish trained them, didn¡¯t he?¡± Edmonds asked.

    ¡°He did.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t Suvor from Gant?¡±

    Mar understood what he was referring to. The greatest modern general, the man who had revolutionised warfare. Ilya Rimnik Suvor, the Grand Marshall of Gant. Mar had heard him quoted a thousand times by dozens of officers. His words were famous. Men lived and died by them in the service. ¡°The bullet is a fool, but the bayonet is a fine fellow,¡± Suvor¡¯s most famous saying. Vastrum soldiers and officers had used the words many times in battle. It felt different now that the enemy was fighting by them. The last place Mar wanted to end up was on the end of a Rhakenese bayonet.

    ¡°Front rank, kneel!¡± Edmonds cried.

    The enemy was closing. He could see their faces, their eyes. He began to roll another of the aethium cigarettes. A pinch of tobacco went onto the paper. The enemy broke into a trot. They were a hundred yards distant. Close enough to kill with muskets.

    ¡°Front rank, present arms!¡±

    Mar¡¯s hands shook. The ground thundered as hundreds of enemy charged. The way was narrow up to the bridge, especially with the fires burning in Bogat. Flames billowed above the town. Smoke rolled in, choking the road and occluding sight. He fumbled with the vial of aethium, sprinkled too much. There was no time to correct it. The cry of a drake cut the sky above.

    ¡°Front rank, aim!¡±

    ¡°Aim low boys, aim low!¡±

    He rolled up the cigarette, put it to his lips and struck the match.

    ¡°Fire!¡±

    He inhaled a puff. Bliss retook him like the shock of icy water, and the thunder of muskets rolled.

 Chapter Ten - To The Queen!

    Chapter Ten

    To The Queen!

    The emerald-green forests of Ayodh rolled by as Julia, Helena, and the ladies of the court rode along in a long procession of carriages. Queen Ella had arrived in Kanmak. Recovered from her illness, the common sort that afflicted many newcomers to the colonies, she had made the long journey up the Yuna River by steamship. The queen had been laid in bed in a palace in Bankut, recovering until she was well enough to travel. She had finally arrived to join her husband shortly after the creature, the yali, had killed so many men, including members of the court, and had nearly killed her husband, King Victus, as well as her brother and several cousins, who had attended the hunt. She had demanded to see the beast, which still lay in the field where it had been killed. All the ladies of the court joined her, along with their many servants, attendants, and guards. The day was fair and hot, but puffy clouds filled the sky, giving shade, and a light breeze blew. A bend in the road took Julia¡¯s breath away as the creature came into view through the carriage window.

    John had described it to her after he had returned. Rumours had swirled about a vast creature and the damage it had wrought. Many had scoffed at the descriptions. But looking upon it, Julia felt they had not done it justice. Twice the size of an elephant, they had said. It was bigger than that. Three or four elephants, perhaps. It was no longer a majestic creature, however. Men had cut off its head, presumably to mount it as a trophy for the king. Still, the vast carcass lay draped across the land, a dead giant from some legend, slain by great men of myth. Nevertheless, it was not some storybook thing. It was real, here before them. Even in death on its side, its body as tall as the trees.

    Helena gasped as she saw the thing and put her hand to her mouth in horror. Rathma sat quietly in their carriage. When he saw the beast, a small noise of shock issued forth. It was the first sound that he had made the whole trip. Rathma, Mar¡¯s Dravani manservant, had been left behind by the sorcerer. Mar had offered the services of his servant to the Drydens. The sorcerer did not want to bring his servant to war, and Julia needed someone to help her with John being on campaign. Rathma was the ideal choice. He was an ever-silent, watchful guardian. John had said he trusted Rathma like no other servant. He had initially been Havor¡¯s servant, had been captured during the massacre, and then sold with the other surviving natives as a slave. Furthermore, he was a good fighter, having protected and fought alongside Havor and her husband on occasion. She was somewhat put off at her servant being a man, not a woman, but John had repeatedly assured her it was not a worry. She supposed she should count it a victory that she had any servant after the fights between them on the subject. John had been intractable until now.

    She and Helena all but stuck their heads out the window of the carriage as it rolled along, watching the enormous dead beast as they approached. She saw that the body was that of a massive but still lithe feline, like a lion, though it was pale. She supposed the paleness was expected since it had been dead for days. It was also painted with the script of the temples of the East, which she had seen many times before when visiting holy places while growing up in the colonies. It was the holy script from Ayodh to Gulud, which lay at opposite ends of the subcontinent.

    When they got closer, she could see that off the side of the road was a vast swathe of destroyed tents, carts, and trees that had been snapped at the trunk. The land was gouged as though a giant¡¯s plough had furrowed the earth. Ahead, Queen Ella was stepping from her carriage. She stared up at the great yali, her expression a mix of awe and terror. The two feelings often went side by side, Julia felt.

    The coach driver opened the door, and the ladies stepped down onto the long grass. Ahead and behind them, more coaches stopped, and the ladies of the court stepped out to view the great dead yali. Together, they wandered up in a crowd and stood before it gaping in astonishment.

    ¡°Rathma, can you read the letters painted on it?¡± Julia asked.

    The dark servant¡¯s silken voice replied, ¡°A little, but I am no priest.¡± His voice was soft, halfway to a woman¡¯s.

    ¡°What does it say?¡± Helena demanded.

    ¡°I believe it is a blessing. I cannot read it all.¡±

    ¡°Who painted it?¡± Julia asked, looking up at the vast carcass.

    ¡°Priests. Yali are gentle protectors until they are provoked. Priests cared for it, likely for generations. They protect their mandir, their holy place. Perhaps the King¡¯s hunting party awakened its wrath, or the mahouts flushed it from the forest. Who can say?¡± Rathma¡¯s voice had a touch of sadness to it as he spoke.

    ¡°You speak as if this was not a great monster?¡± Helena¡¯s tone was dismissive.

    ¡°It was not,¡± Rathma replied firmly.

    Helena scoffed, ¡°Yet it killed so many.¡±

    ¡°It was a peaceful protector until provoked,¡± Rathma repeated.

    Julia was surprised that she could see the Dravani servant¡¯s point. The creature looked fearsome, and without its head, it also looked grotesque. It would have seemed a monster to Julia, too, but it had a garland of flowers about its neck and was lovingly painted with the holy script of the land. It might have seemed a gentle beast when seen in repose at its temple. That its people loved it was clear by how they adorned it. She longed to see one alive and in its peaceful state.

    ¡°Is there somewhere that we could see a living yali?¡± Julia asked.

    ¡°I do not know Ayodh well, but I know of two in Dravan. They are rare. This death is a great tragedy.¡±

    As they slowly approached the great creature, Julia noticed a droning noise that grew louder as they walked down the line of carriages following the other ladies. Then, as they drew near, the sound turned into a low and repetitive chant, and she saw a crowd of people seated among the trees watching near the edge of the forest. Those at the front were dressed in white robes and chanting rhythmically, bowing forward in time with their incantations.

    ¡°Who are those people?¡± Julia asked.

    ¡°The priests are those that cared for the yali. The people are the villagers from nearby who have come to see. They have come from far and wide to pay respect.¡± Rathma explained.

    Every so often, one of the villagers would cry out and wail in agony as they looked on. Julia saw how the people cried. She saw a woman watching, who was wearing an infant in a sling and holding another child''s hand. Tears streamed down the woman¡¯s face. Her child looked on impassively at the queen''s procession and her ladies.

    Then they were there, next to the corpse. Julia looked up at it. ¡°How did anyone survive this?¡± She asked softly, ¡°Let alone kill it?¡±

    An unfamiliar voice with a Free Cities accent sounded behind her, ¡°Men are capable of great things when we set our will upon them.¡±

    She turned and saw a priest standing there. Priests in Vastrum were rare. The old gods of the West were dead. The man was old, though not quite elderly. He was balding on top of his head with short-cropped white hair around his head. He had a neatly trimmed white beard, tan skin, and bright blue eyes that sparkled. He wore a great robe that was covered in brightly woven Styranic Runes.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Julia and Helena curtsied to him. Though the gods were dead, the priesthood still held respect.

    ¡°You are Lady Belfair unless I miss my guess, which makes you Lady Dryden, yes?¡± The priest bowed his head to them.

    ¡°You have us at a loss, sir,¡± Helena replied.

    ¡°I am Schema Jost.¡± He was a monk, and Schema was his monastic title.

    ¡°A pleasure,¡± Helena said, offering her hand as if the priest should kiss it.

    He looked at her hand strangely and did nothing. It was a breach of etiquette, Julia knew. If anything, young ladies were supposed to kiss the priest¡¯s ring, not vice versa. Helena smirked as she pulled her hand back.

    ¡°Mr. Jost, that is quite a monster, don¡¯t you think?¡± Helena asked. She emphasized Mr., ignoring his title.

    The schema ignored her disrespect, ¡°Indeed. Quite a specimen. Seeing such grand displays of divine power in the East, makes one wonder at the mysteries of our own gods, does it not?¡±

    ¡°Wonder what?¡± Helena replied, ¡°Our own gods are dead and gone.¡±

    ¡°Are they, now?¡± The priest replied, ¡°Seeing the power of this, a mere divine servant, I have to wonder¡­¡±

    Helena laughed, ¡°Sir, you cling to your religion like a drowning man! Our gods have been silent for centuries.¡±

    ¡°Did you see them die?¡± The priest asked.

    ¡°Proof of their death exists in every old church in Vastrum. Shards of their death are held in reverence throughout the country. I have seen them. We all have. Furthermore, they are silent. If they lived, we would see proof, as we do here.¡± She gestured to the yali.

    The monk smiled knowingly, ¡°Perhaps the world is not all as it appears, child. Mysteries abound!¡±

    ¡°Away, Monk, cease your prattling and leave my ladies in peace.¡± A woman¡¯s voice snapped.

    The monk backed off several steps and bowed deeply. Julia and Helena turned their heads to the voice. The queen stood before them. She wore a simple black silk dress and held a parasol to shade herself. A slender silver crown encrusted with emeralds sat upon her black-haired head. She had soft pale skin, grey eyes lined with black, and bright ruby-red lips. She was very beautiful and much younger than her husband, King Victus. Furthermore, she had a regal bearing that the king lacked. Julia instinctively dropped into a deep curtsy.

    Queen Ella nodded to her and bade her rise.

    An older, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a forehead wrinkled from furrowing stood nearby. He was the queen¡¯s secretary. He introduced them, ¡°This is Lady Belfair and Lady Dryden.¡±

    ¡°Ahh, my young ladies who were rescued from the clutches of the Vuruni pretender.¡± Her voice was sweet and light, dancing in the air, ¡°It is a great pleasure to meet you finally.¡± She smiled faintly.

    The smile from the queen seemed the greatest honour she could have bestowed upon Julia. She felt herself smile back, ¡°It is an honour to meet you, Majesty.¡± Julia felt herself say. She felt awestruck being before the queen herself.

    ¡°Walk with me, won¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Majesty,¡± Helena answered for both of them with a curtsy.

    The queen then turned and began walking down the length of the yali. She walked slowly but with confidence. She did not turn to look back at them, clearly expecting them to follow. The ladies hurried to follow. They waited for her to speak as they walked. She was taking her time, inspecting the beast.

    ¡°I would ask you of Vurun,¡± Queen Ella said as they walked, ¡°I have heard many things from many people who were not there.¡±

    ¡°What would you know, Majesty?¡± Helena asked.

    ¡°Were you harmed?¡±

    ¡°No, Majesty,¡± Helena answered quickly.

    ¡°That is good¡­¡± The queen began to say.

    Julia interrupted, ¡°We were not, my queen, but many were. The wives¡­¡±

    It was the secretary of the queen¡¯s turn to interrupt Julia, ¡°You must not interrupt the queen, Lady Dryden.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s quite all right, Aberlour. I wanted the truth, and she was telling it to me. Do not interrupt her again. Please continue, Lady Dryden.¡± The queen¡¯s voice was soft and gentle.

    ¡°The noblewomen were protected, Majesty, but the women of the sepoys, the wives of the soldiers, they were sold as slaves. Many were¡­ ¡° She sought a word that would suit the moment and be appropriate for the queen to hear.

    ¡°Raped?¡± The queen asked. The word sounded vulgar from her lips.

    ¡°Yes, Majesty.¡±

    ¡°It is always the women and children who suffer most in war, is it not?¡± The queen asked idly as she stared at the great dead yali beside them. She reached out and put a hand on the great paw of the beast, which was nearly as tall as her. ¡°Gods below,¡± She whispered, ¡°I, too, wonder how the hands of man could slay such a thing. Yet here it is, slain by hunters.¡±

    A large number of people from the village who were standing at the edge of the wood now started to creep forward. They were pointing at the queen and her retinue. They were still too far to hear their words, but Julia could tell they were interested in the queen. More of them were moving forward.

    ¡°My queen, we ought to head back to the carriages.¡± Her secretary, Mr. Aberlour, urged softly, ¡°We are attracting a great deal of attention.¡±

    ¡°Very well. I have seen what I came to see.¡±

    ¡°You ladies will ride with me.¡± She honoured them greatly by allowing them to ride with her back to Kanmak. Usually, the honour would be granted to the daughters of dukes, royal family members, or her ladies in waiting.

    They began to walk towards the line of carriages and horses. The crowd of Ayodhis began to come quickly. Someone shouted in Vastrum, ¡°Queen! Queen!¡± The crowd was pushing, and the villagers, of which there were hundreds now, broke into a jog, coming towards the women of the court.

    ¡°Aberlour, do something.¡± Ella hissed.

    Her secretary shouted, ¡°To the queen!¡± and a group of Huzite sepoys jogged forward in a line to block the way. They wore the black and tan uniforms of their home country. Only a thin line of Huzite soldiers stood between the crowd of villagers and the Queen¡¯s court. Julia¡¯s heart began to beat quickly. She saw the woman with the children reaching with her hand past a soldier who was pushing her back. ¡°Queen!¡± The woman cried. Julia did not know what she hoped for¡ªa blessing, perhaps, a favour, a coin, or just the chance at touching greatness. ¡°Queen!¡± the people shouted as they pushed at the soldiers. There were so few soldiers and so many Ayodhi villagers. Julia felt panic rising. She remembered how the natives rioted before the revolt in Vurun. More were coming now from the other side of the great dead yali. A few guards and servants formed a line to try to shield the queen from that side.

    ¡°Faster, Majesty,¡± Aberlour hissed.

    All the women hiked their skirts and quickened their pace as they hurried back to the carriages.

    A small group of sepoys from Huz pulled out lathi sticks. One of the tanned soldiers, an officer, swung and connected¡ªa cry issued forth. The officer swung again and again. The crowd parted. Julia could see where he had connected. Red welts marked a young man who had received the lashing. The soldier raised his stick and charged. Folk from the villages fell back where he threatened with his bamboo lathi stick, but they surged elsewhere. The line of soldiers broke on the left, people pushed past and engulfed the soldiers, and pandemonium reigned.

    ¡°To the queen!¡± Aberlour shouted again, and louder.

    A group of Vastrum soldiers, the Queen¡¯s guard, appeared from nowhere. Men in crisp black, white, and red uniforms with sharp swords and polished steel helms stepped in and crowded in around them, forming a protective circle and facing outwards. One of them held a sword that reminded Julia of her father¡¯s, now her husband¡¯s, Styranian blade. It hummed with power. The crowd of people pushed forward. ¡°Queen!¡± they shouted, reaching out hands, ¡°Please! Queen!¡±

    Only the blades of the Queen¡¯s guard kept them at bay. The queen, Julia, Helena, and Aberlour were loaded into the royal carriage. Julia looked around and did not see Rathma anywhere. Her servant had disappeared in the chaos. There was no time to look. The door closed, someone hit the side of the carriage, and they were off. The crowd shouting and crying and pushing behind them.

    ¡°Aberlour, what of the rest of my ladies?¡± Queen Ella asked as they left.

    ¡°The guards will protect them.¡± He said.

    Julia looked at Helena and saw she doubted the words. Queen Ella looked out the window and back at the chaos. It was impossible to see what was happening.

    ¡°They only wanted to see me,¡± Ella said softly as the carriage sped away. The way she said the words made Julia realise how young the queen was¡ªas young as Julia herself. Her naivete surprised Julia, but then, she had not seen Vurun.

    ¡°I have seen such crowds trample and kill, Majesty.¡± Aberlour''s voice was grim, ¡°Even those beloved to them. A man can be left to do as he pleases. Men are dangerous and must be ruled. A mob like that? It is a fire that cannot be tamed, my queen. We ought to have brought more guards with us. I apologize for my error, Majesty, and I beg forgiveness.¡±

    The queen only nodded to her secretary in a way that said the mistake was forgotten.

    ¡°My manservant was left,¡± Julia said softly as the carriage bumped along the road.

    ¡°That is a shame. I¡¯m sure he will be able to find his way back,¡± Aberlour said coldly.

    Julia knew that Rathma could handle himself. She wondered whether that was true, though, that he would find his way. It was a long road home in a dangerous land, and as Aberlour had said only moments before, a mob was like wildfire. Anything could happen to Rathma or anyone else left behind. The rest of the way back to Kanmak, they rode in silence. Julia stared out at the trees and baked dry farmland that rolled on and on. Only when they were coming back into the walls of the cantonment did Julia begin to feel safer. When they left the carriage, the queen retired to her quarters to rest. Julia did the same, going to her small cottage. She walked straight into the bedroom, laid in bed, curled up, and cried, wishing John were there to hold her, or even just Rathma to sit outside, anyone to keep her safe in this damned country. Anyone at all.

 Chapter Eleven - A Black Business and Terrible Work

    Chapter Eleven

    A Black Business and Terrible Work

    Dawn found that the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> still held the Bridge of Bogat. All day, Edmonds and Mar had held the far gatehouse. Volley after volley until their ears were deaf and their lungs burned from the saltpetre smoke of the musket fire. The town, such as it had been, was a burnt ruin that smouldered in the morning light. Wolfgang and his boys had finished their work under the protection of Edmonds and his men. Shortly after dusk, they had retreated across the bridge. They had lost only four men of twenty, but nearly all were wounded. Still, they had held and done a damn good job. Pugh had stood and watched through his spyglass and resisted the urge to send more men across. War was as much a game as a clash of brutal violence. You did not put all your pieces on the board at once. You moved them only if and when they were needed, and not before. Havor had left command of the bridge to him. Dryden was in command of Baine¡¯s Crossing. That was what they were calling the ford. He had taken Captain Khathan¡¯s new squadron of native cavalry and had dug in upriver.

    The enemy had not come during the night. Presumably, they were waiting for daylight to attempt a crossing. Now that light was here, Pugh did not expect it would take long.

    Mar sauntered up to Pugh, holding a tin cup of tea, and held it out. ¡°Good morning, Major,¡± Mar spoke a little too loudly.

    Pugh took it and sipped. He had not slept all night. The tea was weakly brewed, but it was better than nothing, ¡°Much appreciated. How fare you after yesterday¡¯s action?¡±

    Mar cupped a hand to his ear, ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°How to fare you?¡± Pugh raised his voice.

    He pointed to his ears, ¡°Can¡¯t hear. Damned musket fire. I¡¯ll live.¡±

    Captain Benton walked up soon after. He had dark circles under his eyes; like Pugh, he had not slept much. He squatted down next to where Pugh and Mar were seated.

    ¡°How are we fixed, Captain?¡± Pugh asked.

    ¡°The boys are ready and eager, Major.¡±

    ¡°Good. How is Edmonds faring?¡±

    ¡°Well, considering. Just a bit of shrapnel in his thigh. The surgeon says he¡¯ll keep the leg more than likely.¡±

    Lieutenant Edmonds came hobbling up as if on queue, using a makeshift cane to help himself walk. He stopped and saluted his superior officers, who saluted in return.

    ¡°How fare your men, Lieutenant?¡± Pugh asked him.

    ¡°A little banged up, sir.¡±

    ¡°You did well yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Where do you want us today, sir?¡±

    ¡°In reserve.¡±

    ¡°Sir, we¡¯re still in fighting shape, if you don¡¯t mind my saying.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind you saying. All the same, I want your men to get some rest today. They¡¯ll be needed sooner rather than later. You¡¯ve one of the finest platoons in our regiment, and I¡¯d not waste you all.¡±

    ¡°Sir, I protest¡­¡± Edmonds frowned. He was not making a show of it. The mad bastard truly wanted to be front and centre again.

    Pugh smirked at him, ¡°Better give the rest of the regiment a chance for some action, eh, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°Sir!¡± He stamped his foot and saluted.

    Pugh chuckled, ¡°At ease. Won¡¯t you sit and have you breakfasted?¡±

    ¡°I did with the men, yes.¡± The lieutenant relaxed and sat across from Pugh and next to Benton.

    ¡°Holding that bridge is the stuff promotions are made of, you know.¡±

    The lieutenant looked abashed at the suggestion.

    ¡°I¡¯ve written a commendation.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir. It was as much the boys as it was myself¡­ Sergeant Krach, too.¡±

    ¡°Write a commendation for the good sergeant. He and five others. We need good men to replenish our sergeants and officers. We lost more than half our number in Vurun, yet they still expect us to do the job of a whole regiment. The recruits were a good start, as were Khathan¡¯s native squadron, but we need men leading them who have seen real combat.¡±

    ¡°There will be plenty of those soon enough, including our new recruits, I¡¯d wager,¡± Mar added.

    Will and Tommy were split from the other Marrowick boys when they received their assignments back in Kanmak. They had been placed under Lieutenant Albans¡¯ command in Captain Brine¡¯s squadron. Most of the other recruits had gone to serve under Adams and Benton. Brine, though young, had been given a squadron of veterans, presumably to make up for his youth.

    Albans was the most senior lieutenant in the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>. He had fought in a dozen wars and come up from the ranks. Will felt lucky to have been placed under Lieutenant Albans, that is, until he realised, they would be put front and centre to defend the bridge once Lieutenant Edmonds had fallen back. They had spent a day digging trenches and foxholes all around the approach to the bridge, but they were positioned so close to the gatehouse that their unit had no clear line of fire. To the north of the bridge, a slight rise gave Benton¡¯s squadron a good raking firing angle, but the men of Albans¡¯ squadron would have to stand and get right up into the gatehouse to defend it. It would have been hard enough to do so against men, but everyone had seen the dragon flying above the fight the day before, and they all knew the enemy likely had wizards and artillery, too.

    Usually, during the quiet waiting, the boys would play cards, complain about the heat and biting insects, or find something to eat. Today, there was none of that. All the men sat silent. Some sharpened bayonets or cleaned muskets. Others went through their musket cartridges, ensuring each was in good condition. Will did his best to clean his musket with the rest. He had been taught how and had done it before many times, but now his hands shook, and he fumbled with the gun. The silence and the waiting were killing him. Part of him wanted to turn and run, while another just wanted the enemy to come and get it done. For a long time, nobody spoke.

    It was Tommy who broke the silence. Of course it was Tommy, Will thought as soon as his friend began speaking. ¡°Oi, why¡¯s it us at the front of the line?¡± His friend said out loud. Tommy was a lanky youth with red hair, green eyes, and rodent-like front teeth. He had always been a talker from the first time Will had met him when they were boys at the church school down in the low end of Marrowick.

    ¡°Shut it, boyo,¡± A nearby veteran replied without looking up from sharpening his bayonet. It was a trooper called Gideon. The man was short and thin but sinewy with lean muscle and had a rugged, scarred face, black hair, and dark eyes. The thing that stuck out to Will, though, was that he had a scar about his neck as if he¡¯d been hung and lived. Will didn¡¯t know the man but knew he was one of those that the rest called the ¡°Black City Men¡±. Will didn¡¯t know much about why they were named such but knew they were regarded as the toughest bastards in the 13<sup>th</sup>.

    Tommy was never one to back down, especially not when he ought to, ¡°You shut it. Don¡¯t tell me when I ought to speak. Why is it not them native boys up here instead of us? That¡¯s what thems for, ain¡¯t it? Being in the front to eat the bullets?¡±

    ¡°I said shut it, and I won¡¯t tell you again.¡± The man turned his dark eyes on Tommy.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Tommy started to say something more, but Will elbowed him.

    ¡°What, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re on his side, eh?¡± Tommy asked.

    ¡°We¡¯re all on the same side, mate,¡± Will said softly, ¡°So why don¡¯t you find something else to crab about.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s cause the darkie is the Major¡¯s pal, isn¡¯t it?¡± Tommy hissed, ¡°He some guluk lover, eh?

    The man with the scar on his neck stopped and stared hard at Tommy, ¡°Them¡¯s hangin¡¯ words, boy.¡±

    ¡°Oi, you know all about that, do ya?¡± Tommy smirked at the man, gesturing to his scar.

    ¡°I do.¡± The man said, ¡°I¡¯ll not hear you say a bad word about them two. There¡¯s not a better fighter in the king¡¯s army than them. Not one. You open that gob again, and it ain¡¯t an apology, I¡¯ll string you up myself on that gatehouse.¡± He pointed up with his bayonet, ¡°We mind our words in the 13<sup>th</sup>. Respect your betters.¡±

    Tommy opened his mouth to say something more. He never knew when to shut his mouth. Will didn¡¯t know what else to do to keep him from talking, so he punched him straight in the face. Tommy took the punch straight in the cheek, and spittle flew from his mouth. He fell sideways and shook his head, then without saying anything, he leapt up and tackled Will. They rolled, scuffling and wrestling. Men began to shout and form a circle, howling with laughter as they wrestled. He got his arm up under Tommy¡¯s neck, and Tommy had his knee in his gut. They were grunting and heaving and trying to get the upper hand.

    Somewhere, a sergeant was shouting, ¡°Oi, what in the blue bloody demon is going on there! You! Get those two shit-a-beds separated.¡±

    The rough hands of their fellow troopers pulled them apart. Will let them take him, but Thomas struggled, still trying to flail and kick at Will as he was dragged away.

    ¡°What¡¯s all this, then?¡± It was Sergeant Major Flint. He looked over the two troopers, their black uniforms scuffed and muddy, chests heaving. ¡°Eager to fight, eh? A couple of proper doodle-dos, are you? Couldn¡¯t wait for the enemy to come, had to fight your brother?¡±

    For once, Tommy kept his mouth shut. So did Will. Flint turned to Gideon, ¡°What¡¯s this all about, eh, Gideon?¡±

    ¡°That one was talking shite. That one shut his gob. Simple dust-up between boys.¡±

    ¡°Not fou, are they?¡± Flint asked.

    ¡°Sober as foxes,¡± Gideon answered.

    Flint turned his dark grey eyes back onto Will and Tommy, ¡°First rule of the army, boys, fight the enemy, not your brothers. And on the morning ¡®fore a battle. I ought to give you two some hard shite jobs, but there¡¯s none harder than fighting, and we¡¯ll all be in for it soon enough. Here¡¯s your reward for foolishness; fight like picaroons today, and I¡¯ll forget the whole damn thing, eh?¡±

    Tommy and Will both nodded, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± They said. The men released them. Will glanced at Tommy, who still looked furious, but at least he didn¡¯t keep fighting.

    ¡°We good? No more slogging, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± They said again.

    Flint nodded, turned, and stalked off back towards his foxhole. Other men began to settle back in.

    As soon as the sergeant was out of earshot, Tommy looked around and asked, ¡°What¡¯s a bloody picaroon?¡±

    That brought a great bout of laughter from everyone. A veteran trooper clapped Will on his back and handed him a hot cup of tea. He had time to take one sip before a cry was raised by a lookout atop the gatehouse, ¡°Enemy sighted!¡± Moments later, the bugle sounded the call to arms. Men readied themselves to fight at the sound, though most were already in fighting order or close enough that it took only moments for them to be. Lieutenant Albans and Captain Brine approached the front, trailed by Sergeant Flint, near where Tommy, Will, and the rest of Albans'' platoon were positioned. They were close enough that Will could hear them well. They could not see down the length of the bridge, only the looming gatehouse above them and the wheel-rutted stone ramp up to the bridge''s long walkway.

    Brine looked through his spyglass. ¡°They¡¯re coming all right. Looks like infantry, and a lot of it. Albans, I want ranked fire front and centre. Same as Edmonds did yesterday. I want that bridge piled with enemy dead. Benton will provide enfilading fire from the flank just there.¡±

    ¡°What if that dragon shows itself again?¡±

    ¡°Mar will handle it again.¡±

    Just then, a tremendous blast sounded from across the bridge, followed by a cracking sound as a cannonball whipped in and through just where the officers were standing. Lieutenant Albans was ripped from his feet. Then, silence. Albans was on the ground rolling. Brine turned to him, his face white. Sergeant Flint knelt, already tending to the officer.

    ¡°Sir, I¡¯ve had it,¡± Albans said, his tone steady.

    ¡°Gods below, have you indeed?¡± Brine replied, his chin jutted forward. ¡°You there.¡± He pointed to two nearby troopers, ¡°Take the lieutenant to the surgeon¡¯s tent. On the double, if you please.¡±

    Flint had already pulled Albans¡¯ belt off and was using it as a tourniquet to stem the flow of blood from the lieutenant¡¯s mangled lower leg. Will could see that the cannonball had half-torn off the leg at the calf. Blood soaked the officer¡¯s dark trousers, and the leg flopped limply. He would certainly lose it at the surgeon. Soon, the soldiers would be up and into the same line of fire that had mangled the lieutenant. Once Flint had secured the officer¡¯s dangling leg with a splint and tourniquet, the two troopers hoisted him up and carried him away towards the place where the baggage train and surgeon¡¯s tent were located.

    Brine and Flint retreated to where there was better cover, ¡°I¡¯ll command the defence,¡± The captain told his sergeant.

    ¡°Sir, no. We cannot risk you there. It¡¯s not a job for a Captain.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve no spare lieutenant. We¡¯ve too few officers.¡±

    ¡°And no spare captains, either. I¡¯ll do it, sir, if you¡¯ll permit me.¡± Flint said.

    Brine sighed, ¡°Very well. Lead the defence, sergeant.¡±

    The crack of musket fire sounded from the flank where Benton¡¯s men opened fire on the bridge from their high ground. They had dug trenches, and their position was better prepared than at this low ground before the bridge. The cry from the lookout at the top of the gatehouse came again, ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡±

    Flint¡¯s booming voice sounded, ¡°All right, form up, you men. This bridge is our bridge, a Vastrum bridge, the King¡¯s bridge. Those bloody Rakes are comin¡¯ to kill you and take it over your stinking corpses. Are you gonna let them?¡± He shouted.

    ¡°No!¡± The men sounded back.

    ¡°It¡¯s a black business and terrible work I mean to do. Will you do it with me?¡±

    ¡°Aye!¡± The men yelled out, ¡°We¡¯re with you, Sergeant!¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s get to it. Give me two ranks, now. Straight across the gate there. That¡¯s good.¡±

    The men followed the orders and formed up, their training taking hold. The constant drilling they had done meant they acted on instinct. Will was in the front rank next to Tommy. The boys were pressed in close on either side, standing together. The veteran Gideon was to his right. Out across the bridge, hundreds of enemy soldiers marched forward. The enemy came in their green and whites, tiger banners raised above them in the morning sky, and bayonets fixed. A cannonball whipped in and cracked above, hitting the gatehouse and showering Will and the rest with stones and debris.

    ¡°Load carbines!¡± Flint bellowed.

    The men obeyed.

    Will marked the steps he had been taught: first, take a cartridge and tear it open with your teeth. The smell of saltpetre filled his nostrils as he bit it open. The cartridge was a small paper-wrapped package containing everything he would need to shoot his muzzleloader. It was greased to prevent spoiling in the damp, and he tasted beeswax and tallow on his lips. Second, pour the powder down the barrel and drop in the ball. He shook slightly as he poured the powder, losing a little. He cursed himself silently. Third, take your ramrod and ram down the barrel. He fumbled with it but felt thankful he didn¡¯t drop the ramrod. The wad of powder and the ball felt good and tight, and he secured the ramrod back on the gun. Third, bring the rifle to his hip and replace the percussion cap. Fourth, set the sights. The enemy was close enough, halfway across the bridge. One hundred yards would do. Fifth, cock the hammer back. Sixth, present arms, finger on the trigger. Seventh, mark his target. He aimed at the lead man jogging towards them. He was front and centre of the enemy advance. He was one of those men wearing the strange-looking bronze helmet that Will took as the sign of an officer. He seemed a brave man, his dark face full of righteous fury, with an almost euphoric look on his face. Will had never killed before. The man seemed as good as any target. He aimed down his sights. He waited for the order to shoot. All the men in the first row now had their rifles loaded, cocked, and presented. The moment before the order to fire stretched out into an eternity. Will¡¯s heart was beating hard. His whole body buzzed with adrenaline. The enemy was getting closer every second. Muskets fired from the flank, and enemy soldiers fell. The man at the front kept coming. He could feel the enemy¡¯s fury as the man roared defiance at Vastrum.

    ¡°Fire!¡± Flint bellowed.

    Will squeezed the trigger on the command. Fire and smoke and lead balls belched forth. The front rank of the enemy fell to the firing squad, but the men behind them pushed on.

    ¡°Front rank, kneel and reload! Second rank, present arms!¡±

    Guns were presented just above and beside the heads of the front rank.

    ¡°Fire!¡± Flint roared again.

    The crack and roar of muskets sounded right next to Will¡¯s head. His ears rang as he rammed the next cartridge down the barrel of his carbine. Another cannonball crashed into the bridge nearby, sending shards of stone shrapnel flying through the men. Something hit Will¡¯s cheek, but he ignored it. He had a job to do.

    ¡°Front rank, present!¡± Flint¡¯s voice sounded far away and muted through the ringing in Will¡¯s ears. He was shaking less now. He marked his next target. They were much closer now.

    ¡°Fire!¡±

    He squeezed the trigger again. The muskets roared less loudly in his ears now, but they were no less deadly. Another wave of the enemy fell. The rear rank fired again, and more corpses were made upon the bridge. A cannonball finally hit home. Two men to his left were plucked from the line. Medics dragged the wounded away, and reserves came to plug the hole in the line. He presented arms again. Fired. Three times a minute. Each rank of men made a volley every ten seconds. He lost track of how many times they fired and how many cannon shots hit nearby. The bridge was peppered with shot and littered with enemy dead. Then suddenly, the enemy was falling back, leaving piles of dying and dead men. The men on the bridge cheered. Will and Tommy were still with them. As they cheered, another cannonball hit home. Will felt something hit him, and he was thrown back. The ringing in his ears was deafening. His vision went white. He heard someone crying out in the distance. It seemed a familiar voice, and he realised after a moment that it was his own. He felt hands lift and carry him away. ¡°We¡¯ve got you, boyo.¡± Was the last thing he heard as he faded from consciousness.

 Chapter Twelve - On The Third Day

    Chapter Twelve

    On The Third Day

    Gideon sat watching the boy while he slept. He was a young man, really, and not all that much younger than Gideon himself. The difference between man and boy was measured in the pain endured over a lifetime and in the deeds won. If that was true, then this boy was well on his way to manhood after the day before. The young man¡¯s name was Will. He had taken a hit from the shrapnel of a cannon ball, which had hit the bridge and exploded well in front of the platoon. Most of the shards had bounced over them. Gideon had taken a few small burning shards of shrapnel, nothing serious. He had dug the hot shards out of his arm with his bayonet. The talker, the boy named Tommy, who had been on Will¡¯s other side, had escaped harm entirely. The man standing in the row behind Will had been torn to shreds and died on the spot. That had been one of Gideon¡¯s friends, a Black City man named Barner. Will had been hit in the head and had his arm shredded below the elbow. The surgeons had taken what was left of the arm and wrapped his head in bandages, and now he lay unconscious on a cot in the medical tent. The tent was full of men after the bloody day before. Few were as bad off as Will. Lieutenant Albans lay nearby, awake but silent, staring at the ceiling. Albans was a good officer, though now his days as a cavalry lieutenant were certainly done. A man could not ride in a cavalry charge on one leg. In the lull between attacks, men had each taken a watch to sit with the wounded soldiers. Young Tommy had taken a double watch to sit with Will. Gideon¡¯s watch was nearly done. Will groaned, and his eyes fluttered as if he might wake, but then he drifted back to unconsciousness.

    Flint walked through the tent flaps, ¡°Oi, Gideon, you¡¯re needed.¡±

    He turned to his sergeant and saluted. There was no finer Sergeant, as far as Gideon was concerned. He followed Flint out of the tent. It was nearly dawn outside the tent, and the first light was warming the horizon, ¡°Another attack, Sarge?¡± He asked as they walked.

    ¡°No,¡± Flint said little unless it needed saying or he was shouting at troopers.

    The sergeant strode towards the command tent instead of returning to Albans¡¯ Company. Guards nodded to Flint as they went inside. Colonel Havor sat in his chair, sipping tea. Major Dryden, the sorcerer Mar, Captain Brine, and the famous hunter Connall Baine were all seated around a local area map, apparently talking strategy. Flint and Gideon snapped crisp salutes and stamped their feet when they entered.

    ¡°Aye, we¡¯re here, as requested, sir,¡± Flint said as he stood, his hand at his forehead.

    Havor gave a lazy salute back to them, ¡°Be at ease, both of you.¡±

    It was hard for Gideon to be at ease around these men. They were gentlemen and officers. He was a lowly common trooper. Still, he tried to affect a more relaxed countenance. It was hard, however, with Dryden sitting and watching him intently. He had once pulled a sword on Dryden. It had been on pure foolish instinct. Dryden had picked him up and tossed him to the ground while he was having his way with a local girl. He understood now that he had been wrong to do it to the girl. He had not been the first and had done it egged on by other foolish young men. Then, for the crime of pulling a blade on a superior officer, he had been hung. He had felt the life choking out of him, his vision fading, clawing at the rope which burned his neck with friction. Then, blessedly, he had felt himself fall. He had gasped for breath, coughed, and been unable to talk for days. Even now, when he spoke, he could feel the gravel in his voice, a reminder of his sins. It was not hate, anger, or resentment that made it hard to meet Dryden¡¯s gaze, rather it was the shame of his great mistakes. He had let down the greatest man he knew of, the most noble and honourable Major Dryden. The man who had led them into Dau, fought a demon, and led them out alive. He was the man who had brought vengeance for Vastrum, rescued the prisoners, and taken the city of Vurun, charging single-handedly ahead of the rest. The enemy had fled before him. Gideon had let him down. For that, he could not forgive himself.

    ¡°You¡¯re being promoted.¡± Havor said matter of factly, ¡°Both of you.¡±

    There was silence. He could see that Flint was silently fuming. Gideon was taken aback. He had not expected anything of the sort. He counted himself lucky that he was still breathing. He scratched at the old scar on his neck. ¡°Sir?¡± Gideon asked, confused.

    ¡°We lost Albans yesterday. We do not have a battle-tested officer to replace him. Flint, like it or not, you¡¯re receiving a battlefield commission.¡±

    ¡°What about Mallick or Longview?¡± Flint asked.

    ¡°I will not deprive Adams¡¯ squadron when I have a perfectly good candidate right before me.¡± Havor insisted, ¡°If you¡¯re worried about the money, do not. It will be taken care of. It is no longer a choice I am giving you, Mr. Flint. Congratulations.¡±

    Flint frowned but jutted his chin with a bit of pride, ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    ¡°Gideon. You will take over as sergeant under Flint.¡± Havor said next.

    ¡°Sir.¡±

    ¡°No complaints?¡± Havor asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised, is all.¡± Gideon replied, ¡°But no, no complaints.¡±

    ¡°Surprised?¡±

    ¡°After what happened in Ladash.¡± He said, glancing momentarily at Major Dryden.

    ¡°Ahh, well, it was Dryden who recommended you. It was a mistake many soldiers have made before you, Gideon. Many will make it after. Aside from Ladash, your service has been exemplary. Every officer you¡¯ve served under has written that you behaved as a leader in the platoon. Men make mistakes in life. They ought to get second chances when they prove they have changed, don¡¯t you agree?¡± Havor asked.

    ¡°I suppose so, Colonel.¡± Gideon nodded.

    ¡°Here.¡± Dryden tossed a badge to each man¡ªa lieutenant¡¯s for Flint, a sergeant¡¯s chevron for Gideon, ¡°I don¡¯t have pauldrons for you, Flint. That will have to do for now. You¡¯ve an officer¡¯s pistol?¡±

    Flint shook his head.

    ¡°Have mine,¡± Dryden said, handing his pistol to the newly promoted lieutenant.

    Brine stood, stepped forward, and extended his hand, ¡°Congratulations to both of you.¡±

    They all shook hands. Havor pulled a bottle from his saddlebags, which sat beside him on the floor, ¡°Care for a celebratory drink?¡±

    ¡°Too early for me, sir,¡± Flint said.

    ¡°For me, too.¡± Gideon agreed, ¡°I like to fight sober.¡±

    ¡°About that. Pugh is out there now, watching the bridge. He told me earlier that he thinks the main force of Rhakan has yet to arrive at the bridge. He expects it today.¡±

    ¡°That was just the van we¡¯ve been mucking about with?¡± Flint said, almost disbelieving.

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Havor said, ¡°Unfortunate, but true nonetheless. We may have to blow the bridge before long.¡±

    Dryden cut in, ¡°It is a foregone conclusion in Pugh¡¯s estimation. I must say that I concur. When we do destroy it, I suspect Baine¡¯s Crossing will be the primary action. I visited two other possible crossings with Mr Baine, none nearly as passable, and we¡¯ve had the Jirimanji scouts up the river thirty miles looking for more fords over the Brurapura. This will be where they try next. Captain Khathan defends it now.¡±

    It was Havor¡¯s turn to speak, ¡°Nevertheless, we must hold as long as we can. Haddock is coming up behind. We had a messenger yesterday. Haddock¡¯s letter said he had sent the 2<sup>nd</sup> Hussars and two troops of the King¡¯s Horse Artillery. That¡¯s 12 6-pounders between both troops. They should be here in days, not weeks.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with us?¡± Flint said, meaning he and Gideon, ¡°You do the commanding, we do the fighting, eh?¡±

    ¡°As the ones doing the fighting, it has everything to do with you. I want you front and centre again,¡± Captain Brine replied, ¡°It was a damn good showing yesterday, and we are asking for more of the same. We know it is a hardship, and you ought to know what the sacrifice is for.¡±

    ¡°We lost some good men, sir. Why not let some of Adams¡¯ boys take a turn at the bridge,¡± Flint asked.

    Havor answered, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t trust Adams to hold, frankly. He¡¯s got most of the raw recruits. I want Black City men up front.¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Gideon was surprised at the candour of the colonel. He wasn¡¯t sure he disagreed about the quality of the men. It was bloody work standing in there on the bridge, though. Many units would have fled in the face of artillery. The men were exhausted. He knew it was his job to speak for them as sergeant. ¡°The men are tired after yesterday, sir. It was a long, bloody day.¡±

    ¡°It was. Give us one more day like that, and we¡¯ll give them a rest, Sergeant. If we slow the Rhakan advance even a few days, it could make all the difference.¡±

    ¡°If you spend all the Black City men now, there¡¯ll be none for later,¡± Flint growled.

    ¡°Flint¡­¡± Brine began to reprimand his newly promoted lieutenant.

    Dryden raised a hand to stop the captain from speaking, ¡°It¡¯s a fair point that needs answering. If we lose this crossing, Serg¡­ Lieutenant, there is a good chance we will lose the war. Losing this war threatens the eastern colonies, Ayodh and Dravan in particular. Lose them, and Vastrum herself is threatened. Victory is often won in the frugal spending of good lives. I would not throw them away, but if there was ever a time to spend them for a good cause, this is it. Hold the bridge, Lieutenant, but do not spend the men frivolously.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Flint replied.

    ¡°Brine, if the situation is dire, pull the men back and light the fuse,¡± Havor added.

    Brine nodded at his commander, ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°One last thing, who do you want for Sergeant Major, Lieutenant Flint?¡± Brine asked.

    ¡°Sergeant Steele,¡± Flint said without hesitation.

    ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Go hold that bridge, Lieutenant.¡± Havor said, ¡°Brine will be along shortly. Dismissed.¡±

    The two men saluted, turned on their heels, and left the tent. Gideon knew he should be elated at the promotion, but he was not. It didn¡¯t mean less danger. It meant more, if anything. The added responsibility fell heavy on him. He had men to care for now.

    Flint spoke as they walked back to the men, ¡°Don¡¯t bully them just to bully them, eh?¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± He asked, unsure how to respond.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to shout at ¡®em, swear and curse and maybe beat a few down. You¡¯ll give ¡®em the hard jobs when they fuck up. You¡¯ll have to pick them up from the foxhole and throw them towards the enemy. They are unruly bastards, the lot. Terrible drunks, fighters, shit-kickers, and worthless scum, all.¡±

    ¡°Was I so bad, sir?¡±

    Flint laughed, ¡°You were the worst of the worst, Gideon. You¡¯re going to hate them and love them, both. They¡¯re terrible cunts, but they¡¯re your children now. Yours to care for. You scream, hit, and punish to let ¡®em know when they¡¯ve done wrong. The lads don¡¯t understand kindness. They¡¯re hard boys from the low side, like us. A bad sergeant ballyrags with no cause. I¡¯ve had a few of those in my day. A good sergeant is the toughest bell-bastard of the lot, and he¡¯s got reason behind his cruelty. It¡¯s why, out of all the rotten gullions in the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>, I picked you for my replacement.¡±

    Somewhere on the other side of the river, a cannon fired. The shot hit the bank of the river, flying up and away. A second shot came in and hit the gatehouse. A piece of the edifice crumbled sideways onto the riverbank. The lookout atop it seemed largely unharmed but began scrambling down. A few moments later, a third shot came flying in and hit one of the small domed chhatris on the bridge, which exploded outward in a shower of stone fragments. Men all across the approach to the bridge, on both sides of the road and the ramp, dove into trenches, foxholes, ditches, and anything that would provide cover. It appeared the bulk of the enemy artillery had finally arrived. Flint and Gideon ran towards the cover of the bridge¡¯s approach. The day before, no shot had hit that spot, as the incline up to the bridge and the sturdy stone gatehouse provided excellent cover.

    Major Pugh kneeled off to one side behind the gatehouse, peering around the corner with his spyglass. ¡°Congratulations to the both of you,¡± He said without looking up as they approached. ¡°They¡¯re going to soften us up before they try again. Find some cover. Get the men prepared. We¡¯ve good cover at the low point here before the bridge. They¡¯ll figure that out soon enough, and when they do, I expect they¡¯ll throw everything they have at us.¡±

    The roar of a dragon sounded in the distance. Gideon had seen the one on the first day flying above the bridge. It had been a vast dragon, gold, green, and jungle-dark¡ªscales shining in the sun. It might have seemed magnificent had it not been coming to kill them. Mar had driven it off with his magic. Gideon had heard it roar in pain, seen it writhe in the air and then swoop away like lightning. He had wondered when it would return. He wished never to see the drake again, but he knew better than to hope. Hope had left him when he had seen Dau. All his darkest nightmares manifest in the void of that great yawning pit. He remembered the many-eyed demon flowing through the smoke and shadow, taking men until Dryden and the wizards had wounded it. Few things scared him once he had seen that¡ªmaybe that dragon was one of them.

    More cannon fired. They were big guns, Gantish 12-pounders, by their sound and impact. The day before, the guns had been lighter, maybe 6-pound cannonballs, 8 at most. He knew they were in for it. If they¡¯d had the support of their own artillery, they could hold. Vastrum had the benefit of reliable and plentiful artillery. But they had none with them. They had travelled light to make the bridge in time. You could not ride 40 miles a day while dragging cannons with you. Another shot whizzed in far to the right, hitting one of Adams¡¯ trenches. Gideon hunched down near the gatehouse and hazarded a peek across the bridge. Enemy soldiers were preparing to cross. He and his men would be in it soon enough. Somewhere off on the right flank where the trench had been hit, a man was screaming about his leg. There would be a lot of that today. The surgeons would be busy, and that medical tent would fill fast. The enemy was on the bridge now, marching across it in formation. When the shooting started, the formation would crumble, and they would come in a howling mass. There seemed many more than the day before. The main force that Pugh was worried about seemed to have arrived. It was time to kill them.

    ¡°All right, form up! Two ranks!¡± Flint shouted over the din. Sergeant Steele lifted the bugle to his lips and blew the call to arms.

    Men rushed to line up across the bridge just in front of the gatehouse. Flint strolled up like it was a spring Sunday morning and he was out for a sashay in the park. Gideon growled, found some courage, and stood. He was the sergeant now, and he had to be the hardest man of the lot. He couldn¡¯t be the last man up. Flint started to bellow his orders, then paused, remembered his new role, turned to Gideon and said, ¡°Prepare to fire.¡±

    The words came to Gideon like he¡¯d said them all his life, ¡°All right, boys, load your muskets! Set your sights to 100 yards!¡±

    He knew the drill. He¡¯d been through it hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. They had practised once a week, every week when they weren¡¯t at war, with real ammunition. He¡¯d been through dozens of skirmishes and a few big battles in his career, too. He knew the rhythm of the firing line like he¡¯d been born to it. Most of these men knew it, too. Even Young Tom did. It took just a short while for the muskets to be loaded.

    ¡°First rank, present!¡± He screamed at them.

    ¡°Fire!¡± Flint yelled.

    Muskets roared, and the front of the enemy fell. Then, the second rank fired. Then the first again. The ranks alternating, reloading and firing. The enemy still came, though slowly. The bridge was thick with them. Cannon shots fell around them. Shrapnel ripped through a man on the right. He was dragged back and replaced by a new man. Private Collins stepped in, another Black City man, a hook-nosed Marrowick boy that Gideon had come up with. His face was grim, but he did his duty.

    Then Gideon saw it¡ªthe drake. The sun was behind it, and its shadow fell across the platoon. The dark shape of the dragon seemed to swim through the air, its wings and serpentine shape rippling across the sky towards them. Gideon¡¯s breath caught in his throat. The enemy was swarming forward by the hundreds¡ªfresh soldiers who had arrived in the night. Raking fire from Benton¡¯s position hit the bridge full of enemy soldiers, and many fell. The bridge was piled with dead from two hard days of fighting. But the soldiers and the dragon were still coming. The cannon shot was still hitting near them, blessedly most missing its mark.

    ¡°Keep firing, damn you!¡± Flint shouted.

    Gideon realized that the men had stopped firing. They had all seen the dragon and frozen. ¡°You heard the lieutenant!¡± Gideon roared, ¡°Who told you to stop shooting, you muggy bastards! Fire! Reload!¡±

    The men resumed firing, and the rhythm of the line continued. The Rhakani soldiers died upon the bridge. He could see the dragon coming in low. The men wavered again. Most of these men were veterans, solid boys. Maybe half of them had seen Dau, and the rest were good Andaban men. Even the toughest men like Collins wavered in the face of the drake.

    A voice came from behind him. He was nearly deaf from the firing line. All sound was muted. But this voice seemed to speak straight into his mind. It was Mar. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve got a dragon problem?¡± Gideon turned and saw him smoking one of his cigarettes¡ªthe wizard exhaled indigo smoke from his nose. His gold eye was glassy. His dark beard and pale, scarred face looked almost haggard. He muttered some words under his breath, pointed his cigarette at the dragon like a wand, and the dragon screamed. Gideon saw the drake¡¯s bat-like wings tear apart in bloody ribbons. Mar grimaced as he did it. Then, suddenly, the dragon fell, a gout of flame erupting from its mouth. It hit the bridge like a ten thousand pound burning stone, dropping among the Rhakanese soldiers.

    ¡°Get down!¡± Pugh cried, ¡°The fire!¡±

    Gideon turned and tackled Mar down the slope. They could not lose the wizard. Flint and the rest of the men dove for cover. The bridge blew as the dragon¡¯s fire touched off the powder Wolfgang and his sappers set. A chain of blasts ripped through the bridge from where the dragon had hit. Each of the bridge¡¯s dozen supports had its own charge, and each was set off in turn. The great bridge, which had stood for a thousand years, exploded in a great blast of stone, fire, and charred corpses. Men who had not ducked in time were thrown back as shockwaves tossed stones and enemy soldiers through the air. Chunks of stone rained down. A huge piece landed not three yards from Gideon and Mar. A falling stone crushed one trooper thirty yards from the bridge. Pieces of the dragon rained down, too. After a few moments, all was silent again. Gideon and Mar extricated themselves from one another and stood looking at the destruction. His ears rang, and all sounds were muffled. His right ear especially had gone nearly deaf as it had been turned towards the firing line. Through the smoke, they could see the bridge was gone. Only remnants of the great thick stone supports and gatehouses at either end remained as a testament to there once having been a bridge. Wolfgang had done his job well.

    Flint and Pugh were checking on the men. Gideon and Mar joined them, helping men to their feet and checking on the wounded. Sergeant Major Steele stood by with blood seeping from a head wound where a shard of stone had cut him. He held a cloth to stem the flow and waved off help.

    Once all was quiet, the men stood around staring at the destruction. They could see the tiny figures of the Rhakanese doing the same, looking back at them, staring at where the bridge had stood. So many enemies had been upon it when it blew. Gideon wondered how many had died in the blast. Hundreds certainly.

    Major Pugh said something with a smirk. Nobody could hear him.

    ¡°What?¡± Mar shouted, ¡°Can¡¯t bloody hear.¡± He pointed to his ears.

    Pugh turned and repeated himself, shouting, ¡°That answers that question.¡± He grinned, ¡°It appears dragons do breathe fire.¡±

 Chapter Thirteen - The Shadow Of The Great Protector

    Chapter Thirteen

    The Shadow Of The Great Protector

    The crowd jostled and pushed against her. Hundreds of people quietly sitting and mourning had suddenly pushed forward to see the Queen of Vastrum. It was not often that the people of the land would ever brush against greatness. They might only see their lord a handful of times in their life. They might see the priests of the local temple once or twice per year. To see the Queen of Vastrum? To shake her hand? It would be the kind of meeting that they would tell their grandchildren of. If she thought it would have made any difference, she would have warned the queen and her court against such a visit to the yali. Doing so was liable to raise a riot, and sure enough, it had.

    These Vastrums held suzerainty over Ayodh but did not know it or any of their colonies. Gods, people, and land, they did not understand the forces they meddled with. Even though Ayodh was not her land, she was from Dravan to the south, she knew it better than they ever could. Ayodh was not so different from her home. She could see the faces of her brothers and sisters in the dark eyes around her, pushing and throwing themselves towards the queen and her court. They were the same kind of weak and foolish people who let themselves be thrown into a frenzy by the crowd around them. She had seen crowds go mad over far less than a queen. Now, she was the victim of such a throng. Something hit her in the head, and she fell. The press of people around her jostled and buffeted. Feet stepped on her. She cried out and tried to rise. A foot kicked her in the press of bodies. It was not intentional, how could it be? They were only people being pushed about and trying not to fall themselves. Another foot stepped on her. Her breath was driven from her lungs as another victim of the crowd fell upon her. She began to panic. She remembered the press of the undead and the horses and the dying men around her when they were massacred below Golconda. She had covered her unconscious master, Lord Havor, and protected him as slaughter reigned around them. She struggled to breathe but did not panic. She had survived then, and that was far worse.

    The person atop her struggled to their feet. Rathma had a moment of reprieve. She rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up with a yell. She looked about. The noble ladies were retreating to their carriages. Servants, drivers, and guards were falling back. She found herself surrounded by Ayodhis. A guard was swinging his lathi hard into the crowd. She was on the wrong side of the line now.

    ¡°Back, you bastards!¡± The guard was shouting. He was a tanned and thickly bearded soldier from Huz.

    Rathma tried shouting, asking for help. She was a servant, not one of the villagers! Could he not tell? Her voice was lost in the din of the mob.

    The crowd fell back now. The wealthy Vastrum ladies were departing. The queen was gone. Her carriage had disappeared in a cloud of dust. Now, it was only the crowd of villagers and the guards. The object of the crowd¡¯s desire had departed. They began to disperse in the face of the lathis and the line of guards advancing on them. They began to go back to the forest. It did not take Rathma long to be mostly alone, facing a line of guards. She was bruised and dusty from having been trampled in the dirt. She stepped forward.

    ¡°Go back!¡± One of the guards bellowed at her, raising his lathi.

    ¡°I am a servant of Lady Julia!¡± She said.

    ¡°Back, you liar!¡± The guard yelled, ¡°Back!¡± He stepped forward before she could react and smacked her with the stick.

    The lathi was a hardened bamboo baton meant for controlling crowds. Though it was hard and could break bones, because it was bamboo, it also flexed like a cane. It whipped as well as bludgeoned. The guard¡¯s swing was not nearly as hard as he could have swung. He just saw a small lone unthreatening Dravani. The swing stung. Rathma could feel a welt forming almost immediately, and she cried out.

    ¡°Back, you dog!¡± The Huzite guard yelled, ¡°Don¡¯t make me hit you again.¡±

    ¡°I am a servant of Lady Julia!¡± She cried.

    ¡°Liar!¡± He screamed.

    Tears filled her eyes as helplessness overwhelmed her. She had dressed like a man and had always done so since she was a young girl. Her outfit was simple cotton. She did not look much like a lady¡¯s servant, and she well knew it. She felt weak. Loathing filled her. The feeling of boys mocking her, taunting her, her brothers, her cousins, the boys from the sangam, the village school, chasing her and calling her names, calling her weakling, little ugly chick. She hated them and herself for being unable to fight back, for being weak. He whipped at her again, and this time, she jumped back to avoid the blow. He threatened again, and she retreated further. She knew she would make no headway with these men. They were so much like the very worst men of her village: angry, obstinate, unable to listen or reason. Now, she was caught in a land full of strangers. She was Dravani, not Ayodhi. Surely, they would see that if they opened their eyes. But their minds were closed off, bent only on dispersing the crowds. Besides, they were from Huz, just a few short steps from being Westerners themselves. They surely saw her as the Vastrum did, as just another dark-skinned easterner. To them, Ayodhi, Dravani, Sangam, Desha, Dhekan, Bhodan, and Jirimanjin were all the same. She could see every difference between all these people. The Westerners could not.

    She wondered how she might return to Kanmak, a city she barely knew and a country of which she knew even less. It had taken many hours to ride by carriage from the cantonments in Kanmak up to where the yali lay dead. Even if she could retrace the path, how long would it take to walk back, days perhaps? And in an unfriendly land to Dravani. Less friendly still to women who dressed and acted like men. The Vastrum could not see the difference because they could not see past her skin or the clothing she chose, but certainly, the Ayodhis would see her for what she was, and as everywhere else, they would despise her for it. Furthermore, the afternoon sun was waning, and this was jungle. Tigers and worse hunted here. Perhaps she could find refuge at the temple, but once more, she did not know the land. Even if she found people to ask directions, her Ayodhi was not strong. She spoke parts of eight languages, but this tongue was her weakest.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    She retreated from where the soldiers stood until she was out of sight. Then she sat against the great dead yali, put her head into her hands, and wept. She had not felt so helpless very many times in her life. First, when she was young, the boys chased her, called her names and threw stones. Second, when she had been taken into captivity in Vurun and sold as a slave. The third was now. She hated it and herself.

    Once the last carriages holding the noblewomen had departed, their guards retreated away from the yali, mounted up, and followed them. The villagers had all retreated back to the forest. She could hear them resume mourning as she sat up against the great dead beast resting. Her body ached where she had been trampled and stepped on. She pressed herself down into the crook of the yali¡¯s feline paw and found that, though it had been dead some days, it still felt warm. To her surprise, neither was there any stench or rotting. It was comforting there against the arm of the yali, and she closed her eyes and slept.

    As she slept, she dreamed. She knew it was a dream because she was back home in her village of Kamparak. She had not been home since she left when she was fourteen. The sun was shining. There was no cloud in the sky. The day was warm, with a sea breeze blowing gently off the water. The sand of the beach was white against the turquoise waters. All the men¡¯s boats were out, a few just visible on the horizon. They were fishing for the great leviathans from which they harvested gris. They would be gone for days, searching far out at sea for the beasts. When they finally did catch one of the great tentacled deep-sea horrors, they would hook it, raise it with air bladders, and then drag it back to shore to extract the gris. It was dangerous, and she had lost two uncles to the trade when she was young, but lucrative. She knew it was a dream, too, because, in her dream, her mother still lived. Rathma saw her standing by the entrance to their home between two coconut palms. She was holding a tiny baby who was sleeping peacefully.

    ¡°Ati,¡± Her mother said to her, waving her over.

    She came to her mother.

    ¡°Come meet your brother, Ati.¡± Her mother¡¯s dark face was warm and smiling, dappled in sunlight.

    No, this wasn¡¯t right. Something felt off. Her mother smelled wrong. She used to smell like coconut oil and spices. Now, she smelled like the forest floor. The way she smiled was wrong, too, like someone was wearing the memory of her as a mask. Rathma stepped back.

    ¡°Darling Ati, what is wrong?¡± The creature asked.

    ¡°You are not my mother, and this is a dream.¡±

    ¡°True.¡±

    Her mother slipped into another form¡ªa dark woman wearing a cobra¡¯s hood like a headscarf. Rain clouds billowed from the bright sky, darkening the beach and the ocean. She wore resplendent regalia, a whole rainbow of coloured silks and jewels. Lightning struck the water, and for a split second, Rathma could see that the woman had four arms and fangs.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± Rathma asked.

    ¡°You know who.¡±

    ¡°Ammamaha.¡± She spoke the name slowly in a kind of reverence. The woman before her was a goddess. They worshipped her in her village. She had a shrine in every village. They had temples to her all along the western coast of the Bay of Accad, from Desha to Dravan down to Sangam in the far south. Only one thing confused Rathma, "Why are you here, Amma?¡±

    Lightning cracked in the distance, revealing the goddess''s form again. ¡°Am I not allowed to come and see one of my little children?¡± She asked, trying to sound innocent.

    Her mother had told her more than once, ¡°Pray, be good, make your offerings, but do not be too pious. Beware a god who takes notice of you, tiny girl. You are an ant to them.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Amma.¡± A feeling of dread filled Rathma, ¡°I only mean, what is it you want of me?¡±

    ¡°You are sleeping beside my great yali. Her name was inaudible to a human ear. You would only hear it only as the patter of rain. She guarded the great temple of Krurushustana. She is gone now, returned to the living earth from where I raised her. She was among the last of my great ones.¡±

    ¡°What can I do?¡± Rathma asked.

    ¡°Nothing. It has nothing to do with you. You are not called or chosen, little one.¡± The tone was dismissive.

    Rathma was angry at the tone, ¡°Then why do you disturb my sleep?¡±

    ¡°My great one no longer guards these forests. The great maw widens. Sorrow will fill the land. You cannot stop it. I have taken pity upon you, for you fell to sleep beside my great one. I tell you this so you may wake and flee.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± She tried to say, but the goddess was gone.

    Rathma woke as abruptly as the goddess had vanished. The image of her village, childhood home, and the beautiful beach where she grew up were all gone. A light rain was falling. Small misty droplets of water hit her face. The forest was quiet. It was still pitch black. Clouds had rolled in and were covering the moon and stars. She carefully looked out from her hiding place. Though her eyes were accustomed to the dark, she could see nothing. A twig snapped, followed by a grunting noise. Something large was near. She stayed quiet and hunkered down, hidden in the enormous paw of the yali.

    ¡°Run, little one.¡± She heard a voice in her head, her mother¡¯s.

    A scream cut the night. Half fury, half pain. It was inhuman, bestial, but not of any animal Rathma knew. It was near. She waited two heartbeats, then leapt up and fled. She had always been a fast runner, faster than most boys she grew up with, faster than many grown men. She kicked off her sandals and flat-out ran up on the balls of her feet down the stone road they had arrived on. Whatever it was, it was chasing her. She hazarded a look behind her. The thing in the dark was gaining on her. Instinctively, she reached into her cloak and found a knife, a simple katar that she kept under her clothes. She gripped it as she ran, pulled it from her shirt, turned, and reversed back at it. Quick as a snake strike, she met the oncoming dark shape. It was not expecting this. She rammed the katar home, straight into the centre of the oncoming shape. It bowled her over, and they tumbled to the ground. Blood sprayed, and the thing bleated and screamed strangely. Like a goat with its throat cut for sacrifice. She ripped the blade from it and plunged the katar back into it. Together, they rolled. Terrible claws gouged her flesh as they wrestled. She took the knife again and again, stabbing as fast as she could, making holes in the thing and ripping them wide. It began to weaken, its cries changing as it died. She remembered the death rattles of the great leviathans when they were pulled ashore to be drained of gris. It wasn¡¯t exactly the same, but it was more the horrible clicking groans of those than it was a dying man. She had killed men before this way, though they gave up much faster. Soon, the thing stopped moving. Rathma¡¯s arms burned, her lungs burned, the claw marks on her shoulder and body burned. She knew it would hurt far worse when the adrenaline of the fight wore off. She rolled off it. The sky was beginning to brighten now. She could only half make out what it was in the pre-dawn darkness, though it was barely more than a dark shape in the cart track. Eyes like a tiger. Tusks like a boar. Arms like a man. Claws at the end of terrible strong fingers. Black skin like the night. It lay on the ground, unmoving. Rathma shuddered in horror at the memory of this thing on her, attacking, clawing, breathing, screeching, and trying to kill her. Another scream sounded much further off in the forest. Her mother¡¯s voice called to her again, ¡°Run, Ati!¡± Without any hesitation, she turned and ran. She did not fully understand the words she heard in her dream, but she knew with utter certainty that the hunters should not have killed the yali.

 Chapter Fourteen - The Bloody Banks of the Brurapura

    Chapter Fourteen

    The Bloody Banks of the Brurapura

    Dryden knelt low near a tree, looking across the Brurapura River as dawn came. Captain Khathan stood leaning against the tree, his red turban catching the morning light. His dark eyes scanned the far shore. Neither man spoke. They could see little figures, distant enemy soldiers moving in the brush. They were too far for muskets, and the 13<sup>th</sup> had no cannon. All the men knew the battle would come here now that the bridge was gone. It was only a matter of time. It was not far from the bridge, and it would only take the better part of the night to be repositioned for a crossing attempt. The men of the 13<sup>th</sup> had held the bridge valiantly by the accounts relayed to him. Hundreds, if not close to a thousand, of enemy infantry had been killed over three days of fighting. The losses for Rhakan were huge. Mar had also taken down a dragon. It was the stuff of legend. Dryden hoped they would not try Baine¡¯s Crossing, but he knew better. If they were right about this being the only viable crossing for a hundred miles, the battle would come here next. The men of the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> knew not to hope. For a soldier, there was only preparation, action, and violence.

    There had been just a few small figures on the eastern shore the evening before. Scouts, Dryden knew, looking for good crossings. The tiny figures had come, looked, and then ridden south on their horses. They had surely told their commanders where the best ground was. They would find the same that Dryden and his scouts had. There were a few dangerous crossings, but one damned good one. This one. Baine¡¯s Crossing, he had named it when he wrote it on the map. Just a place where the river ran smoother, slower, and shallower than everywhere else. It was a place where the men would not be swept away to drown so badly, horses would not struggle so much, and they would not be too exhausted to fight upon making the other side. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was a crossing worth fighting over. Every crossing within a two-day ride was not half as good as this. The Brurapura ran too deep and swift or too wide to cross safely in many places. No, this was the spot they would cross, or it would cost them weeks. Weeks would be time enough for Haddock to arrive and check their advance across the open ground west of the river. Dryden had hoped the bridge would last a few more days, but the dragon¡¯s fire had ignited the explosives, so the fight now came here for better or worse.

    They had prepared well for it. They had used all three days to dig defences. Captain Khathan¡¯s men had sweated and dug with less complaining than was usual for soldiers. These men were natives. They toiled hard and without moaning over it. Neither did many of them drink arrack or smoke gris like the Vastrum troopers often did. So there were fewer fights. These men were used to such work and the heat of the eastern sun.

    Half the men were from Kathalamanyr and half from Dravan. They had been among the retinues of the rulers of those lands, some of the best riders they had to offer. The opportunity to have native soldiers in a Vastrum regiment was too good to pass up. Furthermore, their leader, Captain Khathan, was a native, a Guludan, and now a knight in the King¡¯s favour. These princes wanted to show their quality, so they sent some of the best soldiers. They had resented Khathan for his success as a Vastrum man, but they saw, too, that he had opened a door for them, and now they crowded through after him. It was the very reason that men like Belfair had resisted Khathan¡¯s captaincy and knighthood and the formation of a native squadron in the King¡¯s army. It helped that he was a Guludan, too, as Dryden understood it. Kanmak had been the seat of an old empire. Gulud had led the resistance against them, breaking their power well before Vastrum and the V.A.C. arrived as colonial invaders. Guludan soldiers were well respected by the people of many colonies outside of Ayodh.

    ¡°How soon do you expect them?¡± Captain Khathan asked.

    ¡°Today,¡± Dryden replied. It was not a long ride up from the bridge.

    ¡°They will try with the horse first,¡± Khathan said.

    The Rhakani cavalry was famous. Though they had all manner of weapons to fight a war with, including elephants, wizards, guns, and dragons, it was said that their invasion of Tangong had been won solely on the back of their horses. These riders would be veterans of that war, men of empire and conquest, good soldiers, brave and brutal¡ªnot so different from the men of the 13<sup>th</sup>.

    ¡°Look, on the southern approach.¡± Dryden pointed.

    Columns of cavalry were coming into view, silhouetted in the pink light of dawn that rose behind them. The sun would be in the eyes of the 13<sup>th</sup> just when the enemy came across. If they¡¯d cannon, now would be the time to use it, but alas, they had none. Getting here fast had been more critical than bringing up light horse artillery. That was coming with the Hussars, but they might still be days away. Good cavalry could make forty or more miles per day. The light horse artillery would slow them to twenty at the very fastest. A week¡¯s ride became two if you were pulling artillery.

    As more and more cavalry began to fill the far bank, Dryden¡¯s heart began to sink. There were thousands of them. They could have held the bridge for days, funnelling that infantry into a narrow approach. It was a shame the bridge had gone. This wide crossing, with all those cavalry, he didn¡¯t see how they could hold back that tide for long. He would certainly try. There would be no point in running, he well knew. Not now. Not with those cavalry there. Some of the fastest cavalry might make it away, but it would be a slaughter if the defenders broke. No, the only chance was to stand, fight, and butcher the enemy in the waters of the Brurapura, to turn the river red and choke it with corpses until the enemy lost the will to cross or reinforcements arrived.

    To his right, he heard the sound of hooves in the distance. He pulled out his spyglass and looked. Dragoons were coming into view. He saw the raven banner of the 13<sup>th</sup> flapping in the morning air.

    ¡°Good, the more men, the better,¡± Khathan noted.

    ¡°Benton¡¯s men,¡± Dryden noted. They would not be needed at the bridge now that it was blown.

    Adams¡¯ men came behind them, too. Only Brine¡¯s squadron was left at the bridge as a precaution to keep the enemy from trying to repair the bridge or use its ruin as a makeshift crossing.

    As the cavalry was coming in and dismounting, Dryden noticed a man was walking up the hill towards them. Corporal Higgins, the V.A.C. officer, who had ¡°led¡± the retreat out of Thom¡¯s Crossing. He and his men had been pressed again into service by Dryden. The man was a coward. He was slightly overweight like he was filled with too much cake, with a round face and brown hair. His face was marked with an air of Vastrum arrogance at all times. Dryden misliked the man. He rarely liked Company men.

    ¡°Do you see now?¡± The corporal said shrilly as he approached Dryden, gesturing towards the enemy cavalry forming up on the far side of the river.

    ¡°I must go to my men. We will prepare to defend the ford,¡± Khathan bowed to Dryden.

    Dryden nodded at Khathan and tried to ignore the corporal. There was no ignoring him, however. He was a loud, obnoxious man with no sense of decorum. It was likely why he was in the V.A.C., not the king¡¯s army. A man like this could never have made it in the proper army. Khathan turned on his heel and strode away, his turbaned head held high and his talwar at his hip.

    ¡°Do you see?¡± The corporal cried again, mounting the slope.

    ¡°Higgins,¡± Dryden said, greeting him coldly.

    ¡°The enemy is here, as I warned you. We should have run when we had the chance!¡±

    ¡°Higgins, you will control yourself, or I will have you remanded to custody and brought up on charges of cowardice.¡±

    ¡°You cannot charge me with anything. I am a V.A.C. officer!¡± The man practically squealed at him.

    ¡°I have pressed you into service. For now, however much I despise and regret it, you are under my command.¡±

    ¡°We can still run, sir. Leave these natives to hold it. We officers can mount up and ride.¡± When he saw Dryden¡¯s scowl deepen, he quickly changed his approach. ¡°You can just let me go, send me as a messenger. Just send me away from those devils!¡± he cried.

    ¡°Are you unwilling to obey my orders, Corporal, at dawn before a battle?¡±

    The man froze. He knew what it meant if he refused during or just before combat and refused for no other reason than cowardice. It meant, at best, a firing squad. Dryden would not have to wait for a court martial or a trial. Dryden¡¯s eyes said he would not even wait for the formality of a firing squad. He would shoot him down on the spot.

    The air went out of him like a deflating pastry, ¡°No. I will do my duty. I¡­ please see reason, sir!¡± He pleaded.

    ¡°You say the enemy is there, Corporal. You complain that we do not flee before him. Let me explain it to you. We are here because he is there. This spot is where the fate of empires will be decided. This river, this crossing, is everything. If we fail here, our power wanes. We hold here, give blood to the river and the mud of its banks, and win. Our blood, theirs, yours. I would give the blood of ten thousand Corporal Higginses to hold this river. It¡¯s a shame all I have is the one of you.¡±

    The man¡¯s face paled, and he took a few steps back, ¡°Sir. Yes, sir.¡± He said weakly and gave a hasty salute.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Dryden saluted him, ¡°I expect you to hold, Corporal.¡±

    ¡°Sir!¡± He squeaked, turned, and practically fled back down the hill to where his survivors sat in their foxholes.

    Captain Benton strode up next. He saluted as he approached, ¡°Sir. Who was that fool?¡± He had an amused look on his face. Lieutenants Dobbson and Edmonds trailed behind him. Edmonds had a bandage on his forearm and dark red scabbed-over cuts across his face. Dryden had not seen Edmonds since the fighting had begun, but he knew the Lieutenant had been tasked with defending the bridge on the first day and that he had held it well.

    Dryden saluted the officers as they came up, ¡°My compliments, Mr. Edmonds, on your defence of the far gatehouse.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir. I only wish the bridge had held a few more days.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s done is done.¡± Dryden nodded to him, ¡°How is Lieutenant Albans faring?¡±

    ¡°Surgeon says he¡¯ll live. They¡¯ll send him and the other wounded back to Kanmak as soon as it''s safe.¡± Benton answered, ¡°I see the enemy is preparing to cross.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, Mr Benton. Captain Khathan is preparing them a fitting welcome.¡±

    ¡°Very good. Where do you want us?¡± Benton asked.

    ¡°How many do you command?¡±

    ¡°A hundred and two. We didn¡¯t lose many at the bridge.¡±

    ¡°Dobbson form up left of the V.A.C. men I commandeered. I don¡¯t expect them to hold. Their officer, Corporal Higgins, strikes me as a man to run. I¡¯d have our left hold. As for you, Edmonds, I want you in reserve. Stay with your horses. I¡¯d have at least one good cavalry charge at my command.¡±

    Adams sauntered up with his winning smile and blonde hair shining in the light, ¡°Boys, looks like we¡¯re in for a scrap today, eh? The lads and I are eager to join the fight. Tell us when and where.¡±

    Dryden frowned at him, ¡°Mallick takes the far right. Longview should dig in just behind Khathan¡¯s natives.¡± There should have been four lieutenants in every squadron. Instead, there were only two. Even with Khathan, the recruits, and the Andaban squadrons, they were still severely short of men, especially officers.

    ¡°Sir!¡± Someone shouted, ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡±

    Dryden turned and looked. The hordes of enemy cavalry were starting to swarm down towards the banks of the river. They were within musket range now. The cavalry wore a dark red uniform with a gold helm. Some carried lances, others a sword which was like a sabre. Others carried Fyrin carbines. Each Rhakani cavalryman seemed to carry whatever weapon suited him best.

    ¡°In position, quickly now, men. This is it. Kill every Rake who wets his boots in that river. Hold at all costs¡ªeven the lives of every man. These are the King¡¯s waters. Dismissed, get to it.¡± Then Dryden turned Sergeant Drake, who stood by, ¡°Sound the defence. I want those bastards to regret they tried to cross.¡±

    The old hunter Connall Baine stood by near a tree where he was smoking a cigarette, ¡°They¡¯re going to test you.¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡± Dryden asked.

    ¡°Those cavalry are just a test.¡±

    ¡°There are hundreds of cavalry over there. You¡¯re saying that¡¯s just a test?¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡±

    ¡°How do you know this?¡±

    The muskets of Vastrum roared. A volley hit the horse and men as they began to surge into the shallows on the opposite shore. Screams issued forth. The enemy spurred their horse, and the whole mass of cavalry surged into the water in defiance of the guns facing them.

    ¡°I know it because I helped train soldiers for the king of Rhakan,¡± Baine said as men died in the waters of the Brurapura, ¡°The old king, that is.¡±

    Dryden said nothing at first, ¡°You were sent because of your great knowledge of this land. It should not surprise me. I find I know little of you, Mr. Baine.¡±

    ¡°When I was a younger man, I spent the better part of a decade in Rhakan. Had me a Rhakanese wife for a time.¡±

    Another volley spat smoke and lead towards the advancing enemy.

    ¡°Were they good, the men you trained?¡±

    ¡°They were.¡±

    ¡°What can you tell me about them?¡±

    ¡°The general you¡¯re facing is a man named Da Kuru. Means Uncle Blood in Rhakanese. He¡¯s a bastard and a half. Reminds me of you, except he¡¯s in charge of the whole circus instead of just half a regiment.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have told us sooner?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t see his banner until this morning. It could have been one of the other generals they¡¯ve got. Dahon Shan or Ta Yi Bha.¡±

    The enemy was nearing the middle of the river. The current was strong. Muskets had stopped firing with any semblance of order. Men were now firing at will. Dryden watched as a horse, and his rider struggled against the current, coming closer to the near side than any other. A musket ball took his horse in the head, and he and his rider were carried downstream. The cavalry seemed so many, but musket fire from Khathan¡¯s natives was withering. They were good soldiers. They picked targets before they shot.

    ¡°They¡¯re stubborn and ruthless. You know they have a dozen thrones? A king chooses one at his coronation. He takes on the aspect of it. Rules according to its tenets. He becomes the physical embodiment of it. I don¡¯t just mean he represents it. He becomes it.¡± The hunter pointed to the other side, ¡°That banner there. The golden one with the tiger. That¡¯s the king¡¯s banner. Means he chose the cruel throne, the throne of cunts, if you ask me.¡±

    ¡°What kinds of thrones are there?¡± Dryden asked, curious.

    ¡°All kinds. Thrones for kind kings, compassionate ones, brave, strong ones.¡±

    ¡°Why have a throne for cruel ones?¡±

    ¡°The Rhakanese say that sometimes a king must be cruel. A king must act without love or compassion in hard times. He must be a bastard of a man. He must do worse than kill. Now, for instance, his generals will send men to their death for nothing more than to test the defenses that hold a crossing.¡±

    Dryden nodded, it made sense to him, ¡°So they test us. If we hold them back, what happens next?¡±

    ¡°If Da is anything like I remember him, he¡¯ll send cannons to soft us up.¡± The old hunter said.

    More men floated downstream, cut down by the Vastrum muskets. So far, few had made it further than halfway.

    ¡°So let¡¯s say we take that artillery beating. What then?¡± Dryden pressed the subject.

    ¡°Well, you deprived him his drake. If he¡¯s got another one, he might send it. If not, it might be he¡¯ll try with war elephants. He won¡¯t expose his wizards for anything less than a pitched battle.¡±

    ¡°Any advice?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re the soldier. I¡¯m just a lowly hunter.¡±

    ¡°You said you trained his men. What did you teach, if not soldiery?¡±

    ¡°I taught them marksmanship. You won¡¯t want to face his skirmishers in the jungle, let me tell you.¡±

    The survivors of the first wave of cavalry were falling back now, riding back up the far shore. Some were hurt, others merely exhausted from trying to ford the river under withering fire. It did not take long for another group of horsemen to come down the river and try again.

    ¡°Those cavalry are professional soldiers.¡± Baine gestured to the men riding down, ¡°They call them the Miyi. They¡¯re like a kind of knight, you could say. Raised from birth to ride and fight. It¡¯s a shame they¡¯re being used like this.¡± The old hunter sounded almost sad at the thought, ¡°They¡¯re like you. Many of the officers are noblemen.¡±

    When the enemy cavalry reached the middle, Dryden could see that many were indeed finely dressed. Their swords were polished bright. They had a different look to them than the Rhakanese infantry. They rode hard, and their horses only needed to swim a little until they were in the shallows on the near side. They came despite the musket fire and their losses. They were brave men. There was no doubt of that. A cadre of cavalry splashed from the water, having made it to the Vastrum side, the first of the day to do so. They spurred their horses up the slope, but a volley of musket fire from Khathan¡¯s men cut them down, too.

    ¡°Sergeant Drake,¡± Dryden said. The sergeant stood nearby.

    ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°See if any of those men still live. I would speak with them if they are. Do not take any unnecessary risks.¡±

    Drake saluted and walked swiftly towards the carnage at the water¡¯s edge, ensuring to stay in good cover. More men were trying to cross, horses struggling in the water. Musket fire raked them as they swam. Limp bodies, man and horse alike, were swept downstream by the current.

    ¡°When will they lose the stomach for this slaughter?¡± Dryden asked.

    ¡°Soon, I expect,¡± Baine answered.

    He was correct. Within half an hour, the failed assaults stopped. The men who had flooded down and tried to cross the river were called back, disappearing into the terrain on the east side of the Brurapura. Dryden knelt and called out, ¡°They¡¯ll be shelling us shortly!¡± Just as the words left his lips, a crack sounded in the distance¡ªthe first cannons were firing. The whizz of a cannonball and then a heavy thud sounded as a ball struck just a few yards left of the tree by which Dryden and Baine were standing.

    Dryden flinched slightly as dirt sprayed him. Baine rolled away from it, the remains of one of his cigarettes flying off into the dirt.

    ¡°Great thundering cunt fire! Bloody fucking bastard bollocks¡­¡± The old hunter let loose a torrent of curses that turned to simple incoherent yelling. He stood, dusted himself off, then leaned down to scoop up his long gun, ¡°Too bloody close, that was.¡±

    Drake appeared then, walking up the embankment, a bound Rhakanese soldier in tow. Dryden had never seen a man from Rhakan up close. The man had light brown skin, a broad nose, a shallow chin, high cheekbones, slightly almond-shaped eyes, and short black hair. He was perhaps only a few years younger than Dryden. He had the look of an officer. He was wounded, too, with a musket wound in his right shoulder and a bandaged cut on his thigh. He was still wet from his trip across the river. His uniform looked like a bastardisation of a Western one, though he wore a layer of padded cloth armour atop it. Drake was holding the man¡¯s sword. It was short for a cavalry weapon, barely curved, and sharp on just one edge. Dryden thought it was a strange sword for a horseman.

    More artillery cracked¡ªa ball hit near a trench, followed by a cry for aid. The artillery barrage was picking up intensity.

    ¡°Do you speak Vastrum?¡± Dryden asked.

    The man looked at him blankly. He glanced at Drake and Baine.

    ¡°Baine, translate,¡± Dryden said. He did not ask or wait for the man to agree, ¡°What is your name?¡±

    The hunter dutifully relayed the words. The man spoke a lyrical tongue. ¡°He says he won¡¯t tell you,¡± Baine answered.

    ¡°Ask him how many men they have.¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t tell you, you know.¡± The old hunter said.

    ¡°I expect as much. Still, ask him.¡±

    Connall Baine shrugged and relayed the question.

    The man laughed and said some words, then spit.

    ¡°He insulted your mother,¡± Baine smirked.

    Dryden ignored it, ¡°Tell him that I will send him back with a message for his commander.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to let him live?¡± Baine asked, surprised.

    ¡°Tell him, that if he cooperates and answers all my questions I will send him back with my message alive. If he continues like this, I will send the message with his corpse.¡±

    The hunter relayed the message. The man looked around at his surroundings. Dryden wondered if he was thinking about running. Then he looked back at Dryden and met his eyes.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem afraid of you, eh?¡± The hunter commented.

    ¡°Has he heard what was done to Vurun?¡± Dryden stared back.

    The hunter asked. The man replied in a few words. ¡°He has.¡±

    ¡°Ask him if he knows who I am?¡±

    There was more talking. ¡°He hasn¡¯t.¡± Baine shook his head.

    ¡°Tell him everything, all the vile rumours and the worst things they say about me and the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>.¡±

    The hunter leaned in and began whispering. He seemed to be weaving a story. His tone grew dark. Then he turned and pointed to Dryden. He gestured to the raven banner that flew over the men of the 13<sup>th</sup>. As he spoke, the man¡¯s face paled. He pointed to Dryden, put his finger straight in his chest, and said one word that Dryden recognised, ¡°Butcher.¡± A cannonball hit nearby with a crack, bouncing off the ground and away into the muddy farmland behind them. Everyone but Dryden flinched. He only stared more intently at the prisoner.

    The man flinched too at the impact, then dropped his head and quickly spoke in Rhakani.

    Connall Baine looked up and grinned at Dryden, ¡°He will take your message. He says his name is Ba Da Thol, and he is the nephew of General Da Kuru.¡±

 Chapter Fifteen - The Battle of Baineéˆ¥æªš Crossing

    Chapter Fifteen

    The Battle of Baine¡¯s Crossing

    Captain Khathan watched as a hundred war elephants prepared to cross the Brurapura. The 13<sup>th</sup> had endured two days of bombardment. They had lost men. It was not a kind of warfare that the cavalrymen cared for. Still, they had hunkered in their makeshift earthworks and waited for the shelling to end. When it had ended, they knew the enemy was preparing to come once more. The trumpeting and stamping of the elephants could be heard in the gloom, their silhouettes outlined against the pale blue pre-dawn sky. The elephants knew what was coming just as well as the men. Khathan was not a mahout, nor had he fought elephants much, but he had been near them to know they were smarter than many men he could name. There was little fanfare when the mass of elephants surged forward. They meant to break the 13<sup>th</sup> today.

    ¡°Load!¡± He shouted. All the men spoke Vastrum well enough. Bugles sounded. Men in the trenches tore cartridges open with their teeth and rammed the powder and musket balls home. The elephants were nearing the far edge of the water. The water was too deep for a horse to ride across without swimming, but only just. The elephants would have no difficulty.

    ¡°Pick your targets!¡± He shouted. He gripped the hilt of his talwar. He knew the sword would be next to useless fighting elephants, but holding the sword gave him courage for some reason, ¡°Aim for the heads and trunks!¡± He shouted. These men knew, though. His men were other natives, mostly Kathalans and Dravani. They were good soldiers and experienced with fighting elephants like only a native of the colonies could be. The first elephants entered the water. They were huge beasts with long ivory tusks and powerful trunks. Each elephant carried a small platform, each with three warriors atop it and a fourth man, a mahout, riding just behind its ears. Some soldiers on the elephants held muskets, while others wielded long spears. The beasts were also armoured across the foreheads with thick metal plates. They were fearsome-looking foes. Though the armour on the elephants was imposing, it could still be penetrated by musket fire.

    ¡°Fire!¡± He roared. His sergeant, a Kathalan named Uroth Cherok, bellowed the order too.

    Musket fire rolled. One of the lead elephants trumpeted and reared up. More elephants trumpeted. One fell into the water, dumping its riders into the river, where they were carried away into the waters churned by the massive stamping feet of yet more elephants. Another elephant fell. Then, the men were reloading. A volley fired from further up the slope behind Khathan¡¯s men. Another elephant fell. Still, the great mass of beasts came forward, trumpeting, bellowing, and flapping their ears. The great beasts were furious now, and they held little fear. The bullets had killed but a few. The rest were angry, and they surged forward through the river.

    ¡°Fire at will!¡± Captain Khathan shouted. Another elephant died, but what difference did it make if ten fell when there were ninety more still charging? Just a handful would be enough to break the men. The native squadron had prepared in the dark of night, assuming the elephants would be the next to attack.

    The first elephants were almost upon them. Two huge beasts, fearsome ivory tusks dripping water, loomed large before Khathan and his front ranks.

    ¡°Bayonets!¡± He yelled. He did not know what good the bayonets would do if the great beasts got among the men.

    ¡°Loose formation!¡± He shouted. The order was repeated down the line. It was better against elephants if you did not bunch your men into tight formations. It was harder for the elephants to trample and cause devastation if you spread out.

    One of the beasts charged out of the water, and as it did so, it bellowed in pain, fell to its knees and refused to rise. Khathan felt a grin form on his face. The second elephant crashed to the ground, trumpeting in pain. His men had planted bamboo spikes in the mud at the water¡¯s edge, making them impossible to see. Thousands of them had been placed there. The men had been busy all night. Men stepped forward to spear one of the beasts, and the men now tumbled from the backs of the elephants. Other men fired into the chaos. More elephants surged forward and around the fallen, trying to find a way through. But the whole shore was thick with nearly invisible bamboo spikes just below the water¡¯s edge. The great pachyderms who pushed forward fell or stumbled, and their momentum was lost. Those behind in the river milled about, unable to charge past the fallen. Musket fire from rear trenches rained as Adams¡¯ and Benton¡¯s men unleashed a hail of death. A dozen of the behemoths were down now. More gunfire poured in. Men with bayonets swarmed the dying creatures, stabbing their riders. Blood flowed. The river began to flow red, and screams of the dying foe filled the air. A drum sounded from the other side of the river, and the surviving elephants began to retreat. They were not willing to pay the toll to cross the river.

    ¡°We¡¯ve done it!¡± Sergeant Cherok shouted. Men cheered all across the line as the elephants fell back.

    Before they could truly celebrate, a bugle sounded from the rear. A warning. Khathan turned his head and looked. A scout was riding hard towards the top of the embankment where Major Dryden and a few officers were positioned. Dryden stood, hand on his sword, a look of concern on his face. He turned to Lieutenant Edmonds, one of the Andaban officers, a man he knew well. Edmonds had been under Khathan¡¯s command for a time during Haddock¡¯s campaign of retribution and on the ride to Dau. He was a good man, taciturn and reliable. He was not prone to panic. Now, the man practically ran back towards where his reserve of troopers was waiting and shouted the command to mount up. Dryden was barking commands to the men around him. Drake came running down the slope, doing his best not to slip on the steep bank of the river. A bugle was sounding.

    ¡°Captain!¡± He shouted as he neared, ¡°The enemy is coming from the north. They have found another crossing! Their cavalry is coming in force from the rear!¡± He shouted as he arrived.

    Khathan frowned. Good things never last in war. A few other officers stationed on the front lines came up to hear the news. Corporal Higgins, Lieutenants Dobbson, Mallick, and Longview crowded around Drake.

    ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± Higgins asked. He had seemed a man prone to panic, but he had held as well as any during the defence of Baine¡¯s Crossing.

    ¡°We must pull back to the bridge,¡± Drake said, ¡°It is more defensible.¡±

    Higgins frowned, ¡°I thought we were to hold until death?¡±

    Drake shrugged, ¡°We have done our duty. We cannot hold here with an enemy to our rear. Now, we must survive. That is what Dryden said.¡±

    Khathan nodded, ¡°Sensible.¡± Holding changed little if the enemy had crossed in force at another place, ¡°Sacrifice loses much of its nobility when it gains nothing.¡±

    Edmonds and his men were riding north to screen the retreat. Bugles were sounding. Men looked nervous.

    The Guludan looked around at the assembled officers. He could feel the eyes of the officers on him and those of all the other nearby cavalrymen under their command. They needed the words of a leader, ¡°There is no moment in battle where discipline is more vital than in retreat. Break, and they have us. Fall back in an orderly manner. Take care of your brothers, and we will survive this.¡±

    The lieutenants all nodded. Khathan was surprised they looked at him in this moment rather than one of their people. He supposed they had seen him in battle and knew he had been knighted. More than that, they had faced impossible odds together and held firm. That brotherhood was greater than the colour of his skin or the land of his birth. ¡°I will be the last to fall back.¡± He said, ¡°Higgins, Longview, Dobbson, fall back first. Mallick, we will go last, falling back in turns and covering one another.

    ¡°Very good, sir.¡± Men saluted.

    The officers dispersed and went to obey. Soon, soldiers were falling back to where the horses were being kept, which was in the wide, dry farmland behind the hill that rose above the river. Men mounted up in turns and fell back. Khathan was surprised the enemy did not attempt to cross again as they retreated. To the north, musket fire sounded. Edmonds had found the enemy. There were enough trees that they could not see the fighting, but the sound carried, echoing gunfire reverberated through the bright green forest. Only when Khathan and the last of his native soldiers had pulled back up the bank did the enemy begin to come again to the water¡¯s edge, preparing to cross. He had done all he could, but the ford was theirs now.

    Major Lionel Pugh hated the waiting. He hated being relegated to the rear. He was not one for charging pell-mell, but he had always wanted to be just behind the action. He needed to see what was happening. Distant gunfire alternating with the rumble of cannon several miles north at the ford had gone on for days while Major Pugh had waited at the bridge commanding the ¡°defence.¡± Of course, there was nothing to defend anymore. A token infantry force held the burned-out town of Bogat on the far shore. Little was left of the thatched roof village. Edmonds and his men had set it ablaze to prevent the enemy from using the buildings as cover. Now, the enemy was encamped among the scorched structures. They looked as miserable as Pugh felt listening to the fighting north of them.  Regular reports had come in every few hours during the battle. They told of enemy assaults thrown back or the bombardment. They had reported that they expected and were preparing to fight the enemy¡¯s elephants. Rhakan was famous for its war elephants far and wide.

    Gideon sat behind, leaning against the stone of the gatehouse, which still stood over the ruined bridge. The newly promoted sergeant had felt something like Pugh¡¯s shadow, following close at his heels. He was an intimidating man, though there seemed nothing special about him. He had the hollow eyes of a veteran who had seen and done everything that might be asked and more. He had been among those the rest had taken to calling Black City men. As far as Pugh could see, he was not a particularly noble or good man, but that made him the very best of sergeants. Men feared him. The man was sitting and reading a small journal, occasionally jotting something down.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Pugh asked his sergeant, trying to start a conversation. He always liked to get to know the men under his command. Gideon was not a talkative man, and when he did speak, his voice was all gravel and musket smoke.

    ¡°Something Flint gave me when they made me sergeant. You could say it¡¯s a bit of an informal logbook.¡±

    ¡°Of what?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s got all the names of the boys we lost over the years. Little bits about ¡®em. Things we remembered. Been handed down from sergeant to sergeant. Albans had it before Flint. He wrote a few dozen names in there, from when we fought in Huz. Flint filled in all the boys we lost in Vurun. I¡¯ve been fillin¡¯ in the boys we lost these last few days. Two dozen good lads, killed in a muggy shitpot named Bogat.¡± He paused for a spell. Pugh had nothing meaningful to add. Gideon filled the silence, ¡°I¡¯ve been callin¡¯ it the book of the dead.¡±

    Pugh was silent. It was the most Gideon had ever said to him, and suddenly, Pugh had nothing to reply with.

    ¡°Lot of good boys in there, all gone to the pit.¡± Gideon closed the book and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

    ¡°Just the enlisted, or does it have the officers too?¡±

    ¡°All of ¡®em. Every cursed one, all the way back to the founding of the 13<sup>th</sup>. Way before Havor was Colonel. Book¡¯s halfway full. Reckon there¡¯s plenty of room for more.¡± Gideon¡¯s usual frown deepened.

    Pugh looked back at Havor¡¯s command tent. The Colonel had not engaged in the fighting at all. He had barely left his tent as the battle over the bridge raged. It was very unlike him. The man had once been a fierce combat leader who fought at the front. Pugh had always respected that trait. Since Vurun, the man had changed, becoming withdrawn, often drinking more than was appropriate. He was still a competent officer in many respects, but his lack of presence in the battle was beginning to rankle Pugh. They needed him, or at least they needed the old version of him from before the imprisonment. He wondered if this broken version of the man would do any good or if it was better that he hid in his tent. He still had the same old charm that Havor had always possessed, but it felt hollow, like a piece of him had been stripped out, and he was using drink to fill the void. He was lost in thought when, in the distance, a bugle sounded. Pugh could not quite make out which bugle call had been blown. Nearby, a group of soldiers was playing dice and laughing.

    ¡°Bloody sevens,¡± One of the men grumbled.

    ¡°You cheat!¡± Another said.

    ¡°Oi, what are you on about? These are your bloody dice? If anyone¡¯s cheating, it¡¯s you!¡±

    The bugle sounded again, closer. Pugh stood, staring north.

    ¡°Give me my bloody coin!¡± One of the men said, leaning over the dice.

    ¡°Quiet!¡± Pugh snapped, ¡°What¡¯s that bugle call?¡±

    Sergeant Gideon stood and stepped forward from the shadows where he had been seated, listening intently. The bugle called again, but closer.

    ¡°Bloody pit,¡± The sergeant muttered, ¡°They¡¯re sounding the retreat.¡±

    Pugh stood taller and scanned the area, ¡°Get everyone together. They¡¯re coming this way. See that embankment, sergeant? I want half of the squadron behind it, the other half behind that slope overlooking the field. That field there is our killing ground. I want muskets loaded, eh?¡± Without waiting for the response, he turned to the group of dice players, ¡°Your name, private?¡± He said to the man who had accused the other of cheating.

    ¡°Tommy, sir.¡± The young trooper said, standing and saluting. He had a gangly look to him.

    ¡°Well, Tommy, find Lieutenant Flint. I think I saw him up near the latrines a bit ago. Get everyone down here on the double. The fighting is coming to us.¡± Pugh grinned. He liked fighting perhaps too much. The red roar of battle was the only time when the memories of pain and humiliation from Vurun faded.

    ¡°Sir!¡± The trooper saluted again and ran to find Flint.

    Gideon bellowed at them to move. Men sprang to action, running to follow orders. Men doused campfires, put on boots, and grabbed swords, knives, and muskets. Pugh grabbed two men who were slow to get moving, ¡°You two. I want you carrying the ammo crates behind the lines. I want every platoon to be bloody overflowing with cartridges.¡±

    The men snapped to attention and went to run off.

    ¡°Oi, the ammo carts are that way,¡± Gideon grabbed one by his jacket collar and turned him bodily, ¡°If I find either of you shirked your duties, I¡¯ll hang you from the gatehouse myself, eh?¡± Gideon¡¯s dark eyes seemed to bore holes in the men, and they turned and ran towards where the ammo carts were secured, which was in an earthwork, well away from the rest of the baggage train or main encampment.

    Pugh strode towards the command tent. Gideon began to follow him, ¡°I need you with the men.¡± He said.

    Gideon saluted and jogged towards the embankments where the men were gathering. Sergeant Major Steel was there, too. They would have to do until the officers could be rounded up. Havor¡¯s tent was back from the bridge, beyond the camp where the men were billeted. Pugh pushed the tent flap open and walked in. Havor, Brine, and Mar were seated, chatting quietly.

    ¡°Our men are retreating from the Ford. They¡¯re headed this way.¡±

    ¡°Bloody hells,¡± Brine said. He was a young captain. His face paled. He stood and looked at the colonel.

    ¡°Why?¡± Havor asked.

    ¡°I assume the enemy broke through. We have had no messenger.¡± Pugh replied.

    ¡°Blood and hounds,¡± Havor said. He looked weary, ¡°How are we responding?¡± He asked.

    Pugh found it odd that Havor was deferring to him in this manner, but he was the commander. It was his prerogative, ¡°Setting a new defensive line. Preparing to meet the enemy should they attempt to pursue our squadrons. I suggest we pull everything back to the abandoned palace west of here. There¡¯s no better spot to defend.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Do it. Find the quartermaster. Make it so. Whatever you need to do, make it all so.¡± Havor¡¯s voice was weary, as if planning and decision-making had become impossible, as if he was burdened heavily by it.

    ¡°Where do you need me?¡± Mar was already rolling up one of his aethium cigarettes. His face had taken on a hollow look over the last few days, and his gold eye had lost its lustre somehow.

    ¡°With me,¡± Pugh replied.

    The wizard stood slowly and nearly toppled over but caught himself.

    ¡°Are you well?¡± Pugh asked.

    ¡°No.¡± Mar said bluntly, ¡°But what difference does that make? We have a battle to fight.¡±

    Gideon knelt, looking out across the field to the north of the bridge. The river was on his right¡ªthe road behind running off to his left. Flint had been found and brought. He looked poorly. The men were arrayed along an old dike built long ago to keep the Burapura from flooding the approach to the bridge and perhaps the palace itself. It would serve as good cover for the men of the 13<sup>th</sup>. Fifty men were positioned along it, their muskets loaded. Another fifty knelt just behind the top of a second embankment, so the soldiers were arranged in an L shape, both sides of which overlooked the same field. They could still hear shooting and bugles sounding to the north. The retreat sounded orderly, with the occasional pause, followed by the rolling thunder of a musket volley. Flint collapsed behind Gideon and sighed. He lay on the grass of the berm and closed his eyes.

    ¡°You well?¡± Gideon asked his lieutenant.

    ¡°Been up with the cobbler¡¯s marbles all night, lad.¡±

    ¡°Eh?¡±

    ¡°The runs. The trots. The whisky shits. The raja¡¯s fucking great and terrible retribution¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± Gideon said.

    ¡°My arsehole¡¯s bloody raw,¡± Flint said, his eyes still closed.

    ¡°I said I¡¯ve got it,¡± Gideon growled louder, his eyes fixed on the distant trees where their men should appear any moment. ¡°You well enough to fight¡­ Sir?¡± He kept forgetting that the man was an officer and was due a greater amount of respect even than he had as a sergeant. It was hard to remember since Flint himself didn¡¯t seem to care much for the rank and had little sense of decorum.

    ¡°Aye. Day I can¡¯t fight is the day I¡¯m dead, eh?¡±

    There was movement in the far trees, ¡°Look there.¡± Figures were coming through. Men on horseback came in riding hard.

    Flint rolled over and squinted in the morning sunlight, ¡°Ours looks like.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡± More horsemen were breaking from cover. More men broke from the trees. ¡°Looks like Adams¡¯ men.¡±

    The group spurred their mounts and rode in. Gideon stood and greeted Lieutenant Longview as he rode in, ¡°What¡¯s the situation, sir?¡±

    Longview had the face of a beaten man. His blue eyes seemed pale in the morning light, ¡°Enemy came across the river just after dawn. Everyone is pulling back.¡±

    ¡°Pugh told us to hold here.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re pulling back.¡± He repeated dumbly.

    Flint stood and stared at him, ¡°To where?¡±

    ¡°I, I don¡¯t know. We¡¯re falling back.¡± He repeated again.

    Pugh and Brine came striding up with Mar in tow, ¡°Report.¡± The Major barked.

    ¡°This fuckwit is pulling back. To where, he won¡¯t say. Knock some sense into him, Major, sir.¡± Flint said, half amused.

    Pugh ignored the lack of decorum and turned to Longview, ¡°What were your orders?¡±

    ¡°Adams said to pull back.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. That¡¯s all he said. We did as he said.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve pulled back. I want you to ride over to those ruins, take them, and hold them until the rest of us work our way there. Can you do that?¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course, sir. The ruins. On it.¡± Longview answered, seeming to snap out of his stupor. He turned and began issuing orders to men.

    The whole company rode through the lines and turned down the road towards the palace. As they moved away, more riders streamed from the woods. This time, it was the rest of Adams¡¯ men and half of Benton¡¯s. Benton himself led them. Another small group of men, mostly sepoys, wore V.A.C. uniforms and were led by a company officer that Gideon did not recognize. It seemed they had suffered only a few losses. Only Edmonds'' company and Khathan¡¯s squadron had yet to return. Dryden was still out there with them, too. More gunfire rolled in the distance. Men and horses streamed back through the lines. Some assembled on the road. Others bolstered the defensive line set by Pugh. Others were sent to escort the baggage train. More gunfire rolled, but closer. Then they were through the trees. Khathan¡¯s men in black uniforms with red turbans bright against the brown and green terrain. The natives had brought up the rear. Dryden rode with them. Some of Edmonds'' men were there, too. They rode hard for the lines, and Gideon could see why. Enemy cavalry was hot on their heels, breaking from the trees.

    ¡°Hold!¡± Pugh shouted, ¡°Hold until our boys are clear, then let the Rakes have it!¡±

    The enemy rode hard, trying to catch the Vastrum men before they could reach safety, but their horses were smaller and just a little slower. They had been able to keep up because the terrain had been poor, and the smaller mounts were sturdy, but once the troopers of the 13<sup>th</sup> made it to the open ground they were quick to gallop away from the Rhakani soldiers. They went up and over the berm. The enemy cavalry pulled up short but well within musket range.

    ¡°Fire,¡± Pugh said softly.

    Gideon stood and roared the order, ¡°Fire, you filthy bastards!¡±

    He felt a thrill as the thunder of battle roared. The enemy fell. There was something about commanding men in battle he liked¡ªordering his men to fire and seeing the enemy driven back. He grinned. ¡°Reload!¡± he bellowed. Men went to obey, but the surviving enemy cavalry were falling back. Dead and wounded enemies lay upon the ground.

    Dryden dismounted his horse, handed the reins to a nearby private, and came to join them. Riding bound and tied next to him was a Rhakani soldier. Dryden offered no explanation for who the man was and it was not Gideon¡¯s place to ask.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Edmonds?¡± Pugh asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Still out there, perhaps.¡± Major Dryden answered. Gideon knew the truth, though, that Edmonds and his men were unlikely to be alive. ¡°What are Havor¡¯s orders?¡±

    ¡°We move to the ruins west of here. Defend there. Hope we can divert the enemy long enough for the Hussars and cannon to arrive.¡± Pugh answered, ¡°I¡¯ve already sent men to secure it. What happened at the crossing?¡±

    ¡°We held their war elephants admirably, but their cavalry crossed in force further upstream.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said there were no more crossings.¡± Pugh frowned.

    ¡°There is always a crossing if you¡¯re foolhardy enough to try it. They took a risk and met with success. We could not defend ourselves on two fronts.¡± Dryden explained, ¡°What¡¯s done is done. To the ruins, then, we must needs survive this day.¡±

 Chapter Sixteen - We Ainéˆ¥æª› Infantry, Sir

    Chapter Sixteen

    We Ain¡¯t Infantry, Sir

    The old palace of Bogat was a crumbling shell of what had once been a magnificent sprawling estate. In addition to the main structure of the Raja¡¯s mansion, there were another half dozen large buildings and a dozen smaller outlying ones. The once ornate buildings still had flakes of paint that clung stubbornly to the stone walls. Relief carvings were etched throughout the place, worn from the passage of time. The roofs of most of the buildings were gone, but the bulk of many structures still stood. The men of the 13<sup>th</sup>, the horses, the baggage trains, carts, and more, crowded into the structures and took up defensive positions around the estate. They had run off the enemy and pulled back to the ruins. Of the enemy, they had seen only scouts shadowing them. In the distance, they had heard the sounds of the great Rhakani army on the move. The trumpeting of elephants, faraway sounds of marching men, the screeching of something fearsome, perhaps another dragon. Soon, they would be cut off. Three riders had been sent with messages, telling Haddock of the situation.

    To: Marshall Haddock

    Bridge destroyed. Rhakani army crossed the Brurapura in force on the 27<sup>th</sup> of Sommertine, two miles north of Bogat.

    Must beg pardon. 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons cut off, defending the old palace near the bridge.

    Best regards,

    Lieutenant Colonel Lord Havor, Earl of Coldbridge

    It was a simple letter with little of the formality or flowery language usual in the letters that were common between commanders. There was simply no time to waste. Pickets and a defensive perimeter had been set. The few hundred men that made up the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> now sat and waited for the enemy to come. Havor had set up his command in one of the few smaller buildings that still had something like a roof. The only officer that had been lost was Lieutenant Edmonds. No one had seen the man die, so they had listed him in the logs as missing in action along with those of his men who had not turned up. He was last seen leading a charge against a superior force of enemy cavalry north of Baine¡¯s Crossing. His charge had delayed the enemy enough for the rest of the men to fall back.

    The senior officers had now gathered. Dryden, Pugh, Mar, and the captains were all present. Connall Baine was there, too. Havor¡¯s face was weary and more pale than usual. He looked sober to Dryden, at least. Losing a battle, being cut off, and surrounded by enemies was enough to sober up any soldier. Major Dryden looked around at the beaten faces of the men. Few of them seemed to have much fight left. The 13<sup>th</sup> had been beaten badly in Vurun. They¡¯d had their revenge, but it was hard not to see the same kind of massacre playing out now. They were faced again with death or imprisonment. Rescue seemed unlikely. The Hussars with artillery had been behind them, but by how many days? They¡¯d had no word since the battle at the bridge started. Furthermore, the rest of the army could still be weeks behind the Hussars. No, Dryden thought, there was no rescue coming any time soon. They would have to hold or take matters into their own hands. The dark eyes of doomed men started vacantly. They had given everything to defend that bridge and then the ford. They had fought valiantly. It hadn¡¯t mattered one bit, and now they were trapped.

    ¡°What¡¯s the state of the men?¡± Havor asked, his tone subdued.

    Benton answered, ¡°We had a long ride followed by four days of hard fighting. They¡¯re tired, Sir.¡±

    ¡°Morale?¡± Havor asked.

    ¡°They¡¯ll fight, Colonel,¡± Major Pugh responded, ¡°If that¡¯s what you mean. Not a man among them would run.¡±

    ¡°Half the regiment died in Vurun.¡± Havor said, ¡°I would not see the other half die in this shitheap."

    ¡°You¡¯re not thinking of surrender, Jack?¡± Dryden blurted out, aghast at the implication.

    Havor looked up at him with sad eyes, ¡°I won¡¯t see three hundred more of our boys die for nothing. I would negotiate terms with them.¡±

    Dryden remembered the broken face of Havor at Golconda. He had been the officer who had capitulated after Blackwater died. He had been the one who had told them to lay down arms. Now, he was considering surrendering again. Was that who this man was? He had once heard that a cavalryman who lived beyond thirty was a blackguard or a coward. He had not thought Havor either. This made him doubt. That his commander would give him cause to doubt made him angry. Dryden scowled, ¡°The men won¡¯t have it, Jack, I can tell you that. Remember what Kurush did in Vurun. They let none of the enlisted men live. They played polo with their bloody heads.¡±

    ¡°Rhakan won¡¯t treat ¡®em any better than Vurun,¡± Baine spoke, ¡°Sarawa chose the throne of the tiger, the throne of the cruel king. I¡¯d be surprised if he lets any of you lot live, even the officers. Wouldn¡¯t matter even if he¡¯d chosen a kinder throne to rule from, though. It¡¯s no great secret when it comes down to it. All kings are cruel bastards. You can¡¯t rely on any of ¡®em to treat you fairly. Less so, Sarawa Maw. Before he took his throne, I heard he hung the heads of the dead traitors and their families all along the banks of the Ravati from the coast up to Angmaw. The man chooses the kind of throne he sits on. You surrender, you¡¯re giving yourselves up for execution. He¡¯ll make a spectacle of you lot, show what it means to resist his conquest. I¡¯d hate to have my head used as a decoration along the Brurapura.¡±

    Jack¡¯s face fell, ¡°I need to think on this.¡± He said, ¡°You are all dismissed. Except you, John. I need a moment.¡± He rarely used John¡¯s first name except when he was truly concerned.

    Dryden stayed seated as Mar, The Old Salgair, and the officers filed from the room quietly. A few blades of sunlight cut down through the deteriorating roof, breaking the gloom. Silence filled the makeshift office. Dryden waited for his commander to say something, but for a long time, he did not. He sat, head down, hands in a posture that reminded Dryden of prayer. It had been a long time since he had prayed. He found that the dead gods of Vastrum did not listen, and those gods that might hear him in The East were not deities whose attention he desired. He regretted the last time a god had heard him. It had led to much suffering and death. Despite that, it did seem a time to pray, if there ever was one.

    ¡°What do we do, John?¡± Jack Havor asked after a time.

    ¡°That¡¯s your prerogative, Jack,¡± Dryden answered.

    ¡°Give me options, then.¡± Colonel Havor looked up at him as if somehow he had an answer that made sense.

    ¡°Pugh has a better understanding of¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking Major Pugh¡¯s opinion. I¡¯m asking yours.¡± Havor snapped, ¡°He¡¯s a better tactical mind, there¡¯s no doubt. I don¡¯t need tactics now. I need a man who knows what¡¯s right and will act upon it.¡±

    The choices seemed simple to Dryden, ¡°We negotiate, run, or fight here. A wiser man might recommend negotiation, but you know me, Jack, I¡¯m a fighter to the end.¡±

    ¡°My only regret, John, is that we¡¯re not to die on our horses but penned up in this old rubbish heap. One last good cavalry charge would have been a fine thing indeed.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s still¡­¡± Dryden began to say there was still time for that. Nothing said they couldn¡¯t ride out and meet the enemy. It would be a doomed ride for cursed soldiers. More of the men would prefer that end to the slow and miserable deterioration of a siege or the humiliation of captivity and inevitable execution. He was interrupted before he could say it.

    There was a brief knock at the door, and it opened.

    ¡°I said we needed a moment¡­¡± Havor said, then broke off. He grinned and stood as he saw who it was, ¡°About fucking time.¡± He said with a huge smile on his face. It was the first smile that had broken on Colonel Havor¡¯s dour face in many months.

    Major Trant of the 6<sup>th</sup> Hussars stood there grinning at them. Dryden felt a smile creeping onto his own face as well. Trant had a wolfish look to him. He was an older officer, at least for a cavalryman, with a bushy black beard and piercing eyes. He had a wicked scar that ran from his cheek past his eye and disappeared under his shako. Dryden and the 13<sup>th</sup> had ridden alongside him when they had chased the witch Aisa An-Beya from Andaban through Ghinai. He¡¯d been injured by the blast at the bridge over the Jaxa, which had given him the scar.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Lieutenant Flint pushed in behind the Major, ¡°Look who fucking decided to turn up, boys.¡± He clapped Major Trant on the back. The man smirked, ¡°I see someone decided against their better judgement to promote this crusty old cunt to Lieutenant.¡± He put an arm around Flint¡¯s shoulder and laughed, ¡°I told you you¡¯d make something of yourself one day. Congratulations.¡±

    ¡°We came up together, sir,¡± Flint explained to Havor, who bristled at the vulgarity.

    ¡°Thought this bastard was dead and done in Vurun,¡± Trant put in.

    ¡°I¡¯m not an easy man to kill, brother.¡± Flint added, still grinning, ¡°The Shah¡¯s dungeons were downright jammy compared to Caribonne, eh?¡±

    Dryden had not known that Flint was at Caribonne, though he and Trant were certainly old enough to have been.

    Trant disengaged from Flint and looked about, ¡°Indeed, it¡¯s good to see you lot, but onto more important matters, eh? Where¡¯s my fuck-up of a nephew? He still stuck at private? I haven¡¯t seen him since that debacle at the bridge in Ghinai.¡±

    Flint laughed, ¡°He is. Danny¡¯s with Benton¡¯s squadron now. He¡¯s had a commendation from the battle; expect he¡¯ll make sergeant soon.¡±

    ¡°Apparently, you lot will promote just about anyone.¡± Trant laughed. They laughed with him. He had an easy manner for a man who looked as gruff as he did.

    ¡°He¡¯s a good lad, Danny is,¡± Flint interjected.

    Havor interrupted, ¡°Major Trant if you please, we can all catch up later. Have you been brought up to speed on our situation?¡±

    ¡°Only a little. Your messengers reached us a few hours ago. We¡¯re here to help you hold the line.¡±

    ¡°Cannon?¡± Dryden interjected.

    ¡°We¡¯ve twenty guns with us. They¡¯re coming in now. Where do you want them?¡±

    Havor looked like a man who had been delivered from the firing squad, ¡°Speak with Major Pugh,¡± He answered, ¡°He¡¯ll know the lay of the land.¡±

    Pugh stood atop the ruined palace with a few other men, including Sergeant Gideon, looking out over the surrounding area. He had climbed up just a few moments before. The meeting of officers had not gone well. He had climbed up, hoping to see their situation more clearly. Thus far, there had been no great revelation, and the situation still seemed unwinnable. To the east was the broken bridge at Bogat. North was a vast farmland that covered a wide seasonal floodplain. South was the swamp. West, there were farms too, but much of the land was a mix of dry open savannah and light forest. No physical barriers to keep Rhakan from advancing to Bankut and Benna, both of which were cities on the Yuna River in Ayodh. He could see well into the distance from the top of the large crumbling ruin. The vast army of Rhakan was moving west, swarming over the landscape. Smoke burned from fires to the northwest, where they had found villages to pillage. If the 13<sup>th</sup> were not completely cut off, they would be very soon. Running was no longer a real choice. He had seen the Hussars arrive, pulling their cannons. It was good they were here, but it was too little, too late. Everything in the Vastrum army always seemed to arrive a bit too late to do any real good.

    Pugh also saw that the ground was poor for deploying the cannon effectively around the old palace ruins. The dikes provided cover but also blocked lines of sight. At best, the cannon would delay the inevitable until they ran out of ammunition. Worse, even than the weakness of the defences, this was a flood plain. The same dikes that blocked the proper deployment of their cannon were there to keep the land from flooding, but those around the ruined palace were in very poor repair, with wide gaps. He could see where the water came up to on the side of the buildings. Those water lines were frighteningly high. Pugh reckoned at least nine feet. They were still in the dry season, but the monsoons would come as summer went on and drown anything that remained in this lowland. The enemy encircled them, yet they could not stay without risking the yearly flood. The enemy would likely sit and besiege them until the rains came, then finish off any who survived once the waters receded. It was a poor place to endure a siege of any length. The hussars¡¯ arrival relieved the men, and morale was bolstered, but in more practical terms, the 6<sup>th</sup> Hussars and their horse artillery were now just as doomed as the 13<sup>th</sup>. In that sense, their timing could not have been worse. They had arrived late enough not to affect the battle but early enough to be encircled. As always, the king¡¯s army was a day late and a penny short.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bad spot, Major,¡± Gideon murmured, ¡°We¡¯re like drowning men clinging to the floating bloated corpse of a whale.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve a way with words, Sergeant,¡± Pugh smirked. Gideon wasn¡¯t wrong, ¡°What would you do, Gideon, if you were in command?¡±

    The dour man cast his eyes and squinted at the ruins below, ¡°We¡¯ve been fighting like infantry, Sir. Staying here means more of the same. It¡¯ll be bloody fucking work, and at the end of it, we¡¯re all like to die choking in the mud.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Pugh wholly agreed with the assessment, as bleak as it was.

    ¡°Only problem is we ain¡¯t infantry, eh?¡±

    Pugh nodded. Gideon didn¡¯t have to explain more. All these men were cavalry. The 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons were trained to fight in all conditions. They drilled with horse, sword, and musket, but all of them, in their hearts, were men of the horse. Pugh stared out, watching a group of war elephants moving west in the distance. They looked so small out there, miles away in the hazy afternoon sun. The answer felt close at hand. Gears turned in his head. They were horsemen. Soon, they would be at the enemy¡¯s rear with 12-pound guns that could travel at speed. Why hadn¡¯t he seen it sooner? The answer seemed obvious as he considered it, ¡°Thank you, Gideon, this conversation has been illuminating.¡±

    Gideon looked confused, ¡°You¡¯re welcome, sir?¡±

    ¡°Find me if anything changes in our situation," He told the sergeant, and then Pugh began climbing back down the ramshackle wall of the building. He dropped onto a ledge, swung himself down several more large stone blocks, and practically sprinted past the makeshift hospital towards Havor¡¯s offices, just away from the main structure. He didn¡¯t knock as he went inside.

    Havor, Dryden, Flint, and the Hussar¡¯s Officer, whom Pugh did not know, were grinning and shaking hands. They all looked like fools, as if the arrival of the Hussars had somehow saved them all. Perhaps it had, but not for the reason they would assume.

    ¡°Sir!¡± Pugh saluted as he entered.

    Havor stood at the table he was temporarily using as a desk, ¡°At ease, Major. Have you met?¡± He gestured to the Hussar officer, ¡°No? This is Major Trant of the 6<sup>th</sup> Hussars. Trant, this is Major Lionel Pugh, 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons.¡±

    ¡°Pleasure.¡± Trant extended a hand.

    ¡°Likewise. Call me Leo.¡± Pugh took his hand and shook it. The man had a strong grip.

    ¡°What was it you wanted, Pugh?¡± Havor asked, ¡°You came through the door like a firecracker. You must have needed something, or was it just the arrival of the 6<sup>th</sup>? I was just sending Major Trant your way for advice on how best to place the guns.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, sir, I have been considering our predicament. I have an idea, sir. It is a bold one.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it,¡± Havor said, sitting and leaning back.

    ¡°First, we are encircled. The enemy is north and west of us by now. East is the river. South the swamp. It would help if we could refer to the map.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Havor leaned over, pulled a large piece of parchment and unfurled it upon the table. The lands of the border rajas lay before them. Bogat was marked with a red X. There were dozens of other towns, villages, and smaller and larger rivers. Several roads were marked, including the old road that ran back to Bankut. Some larger cities, such as Sava, Vetra, and Dhek, were marked. ¡°What do you propose?¡±

    ¡°We must assume that our retreat is well and truly blocked.¡±

    ¡°I concur,¡± Trant added, ¡°We had their scouts practically escort us in.¡±

    ¡°They already know what I have finally tumbled to. We are all trapped. They let the Hussars in, knowing that we cannot fall back. I expect they have an eye towards our cannon. It is only a matter of time until they have them. The rains will come soon enough, sir, and this spot will flood with the rest of the delta.¡±

    ¡°Get to it, Pugh. I was almost pleased for a moment that reinforcements had arrived. You are souring the mood.¡± Havor frowned.

    ¡°They are only blocking our movement north and west, sir. It would be suicide to go south into the swamps. It leaves us an option open, however.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡±

    ¡°We cross the Brurapura ourselves.¡± Pugh grinned, ¡°Sergeant Gideon reminded me of something this afternoon, sir. We are cavalry. We move fast and strike hard. We take the fight to them. Their army has the needs of any other. They must eat. Whatever wonders and horrors it can summon, magic cannot supply them with grain. We command an elite cavalry force with twenty guns at their rear. They will not expect us to cross the river, sir. They think we are hemmed in. I propose we defy expectations. We attack. We burn and pillage and kill. We take their supplies, we¡­¡±

    ¡°Where do we cross?¡± Havor asked, ¡°The bridge is blown, and they are occupying the best fords.¡±

    ¡°The engineers, led by Wolfgang, would make a temporary floating bridge secured to the remaining stone pillars.¡± Pugh replied, ¡°It needs only last until we¡¯re across.¡±

    ¡°What of the wounded?¡± Havor asked softly.

    ¡°We can do little for those that cannot ride,¡± Pugh admitted, ¡°We lose a few wounded men to captivity, sir, or we lose everyone.¡±

    ¡°We can negotiate, sir.¡± Dryden interjected, ¡°Trade our prisoner for their safety, perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Can we trust them to honour any agreement we make?¡± Havor¡¯s voice was grim, ¡°I would not have men mistreated.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve no choice, sir.¡± Dryden countered, ¡°Pugh¡¯s plan is better than any I¡¯ve come up with. You said you wanted options. Well, here¡¯s a bold one.¡±

    ¡°Objections?¡± Havor asked.

    There were none.

    ¡°Very well. Make it so. My apologies, Major Trant, but it appears there will be no respite for your men. Pugh, please find how long it will take to build the bridge and make it work. We will not have long once they discover our plan. Dryden, find a way to contact the enemy. Tell them we wish for our wounded to be evacuated and to make an exchange.¡± Havor seemed to be regaining some of his usual fortitude as the plan came together in his head, ¡°We are done fighting on our back heel. We will take the fight to them and make them bleed for every man we lost holding the river.¡± He stood, his hand on his sword, ¡°If we must die, so be it, but we¡¯ll not die here, swimming in our own filth, waiting for the rains to come. If they seek to swallow us whole, we will cross the Brurapura, ride straight into their terrible jaws, and make them choke upon our steel. Come, let us live like men and die as heroes.¡±

 Act 2 - Interlude - The Wheel of Vengeance Unending

    Act Two

    Interlude

    The Wheel of Vengeance Unending

    Jaqu Rovan stood upon the deck of a djong, the type of large sailing ship used by Rhakan and the island kingdoms to its south and east. It was a large ship with a proud stern and low bow. It had two masts, each sporting a substantial rectangular sail. Bare-chested brown Rhakanese sailors moved about the decks in controlled chaos, trimming sails and tying down ropes. Jaqu was not a sailor. He only marvelled at the agility of the men who were. Salt spray kicked up over the sides, whipped by the wind, hitting his cold cheek. He stood with a wide stance as the ship rolled against the ocean swells. He was not accustomed to sea travel. Jaqu had spent the last several years in the deserts, wastes, and steppes in the central part of the continent. He had incited rebellion, gathered armies, and done his best to create new kingdoms where men were governed, if not by the principles of the Republic, then at least, by their own kings rather than foreign ones. Of course, those attempts had ended in disaster. Vurun had burned. The aethium fields were now ash. Ghinai, Andaban, and Unkabi were in anarchy. He knew Vastrum to be a cruel empire, but he had not understood the depths to which they would sink. He had thought Dryden a worthy adversary in the great game between Vastrum and Fyranis. Now he understood the Vastrum cavalry officer was a butcher. He could hide behind duty and honour, but the trail of corpses he left behind was too immense to conceal. He had thought Vastrum might leave if they knew they had lost the war for Vurun. Instead, they had burned it all. If they could not have the aethium, they would scorch the earth and leave none but beggars alive. Worst of all to Jaqu, they had killed Aisa An-Beya, the woman that Jaqu had loved. She had not loved him in return, he knew. She had not been capable of real love, not with all the pain she had endured. Nevertheless, she had taken him to her bed. They had been lovers for a time. He had cherished it, fought for her as much as for Fyranis, as much as for freedom from tyranny. Then she had died, been murdered, and with her, his raison d''etre.

    With the burning of Vurun and the deaths of the An-Beya clan, the Northern Wastes and the riches of those trade routes were lost. The Fyrin Republic had now turned its gaze elsewhere. He had a new mission. Reestablish diplomatic relations with Sarawa Maw. Aid his war against Vastrum. Sabotage the V.A.C.¡¯s new aethium supply from the rebellious province of Ssam. That was all secondary to Jaqu, however. All he wished for was revenge upon Major Dryden and the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup>. They had taken Aisa. They had handed him the burning wreckage of his failure, stained with the blood of his lover. Fyrin agents in Ayodh said the Butchers of Vurun were deployed somewhere in the border rajas. Going there himself was outside the scope of his mission, but he knew that anything to further the war effort of Rhakan would be a small act in service to his vendetta. Dryden would bleed, the 13<sup>th</sup> would pay, and Vastrum would burn. First, he needed to reconcile Fyrin relations with Rhakan. It was a minor miracle that Rhakanese court officials had agreed to meet with him after the assassination attempt on the new emperor and the subsequent killings of the Western ambassadors. Now, the Rhakanese djong was preparing to enter the mouth of the Ravati River, dangerous with its swirling currents and ever-shifting sandbars. The sailors of Rhakan knew it well.

    He looked west. The main fleet of Vastrum was just visible on the horizon. The masts of their tall ships seemed as thick as the trees in a forest. They were preparing to invade the port city of Dagon, which lay near the mouth of the Ravati. Once they had taken that city, they would come here next, brave the dangerous mouth of the Ravati, and sail up the river to Angmaw. There was only one reason Sarawa Maw would need a Fyrin ambassador now. They needed the Fyrin fleet. Jaqu smiled inwardly. The fleet had already been assembled at the Fyrin island colony of Sachal, which lay close at hand to the south. The Fyrin navy was among the handful that could match Vastrum¡¯s. Vastrum¡¯s ships were superior, but the Fyrin sea witches were second to none, and the gris harvested down in Kalimai was an especially good catalyst for controlling the weather. Vastrum had their colonies, and Fyranis had theirs¡ªa necessary evil for fighting the oppression of Vastrum.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    It took a few hours of fighting the currents for the djong to make it far enough into the river delta where the sailing was easier. The wind was coming from the south now. On the deck, an old woman with faded gold eyes softly sang what sounded like an old lullaby. He knew she was soothing the wind and water, making the ship''s passage easier. Most ships could not afford such a luxury, but for such an important mission, Rhakan had provided one of their sea-singers. Like the Fyrin sea witches, the gris they used to ply their sorcery clouded their minds and broke their memories. That was the price of its power. Another hour and the ship was heaving to, and pulling into the small port of Kangyon just upriver from the mouth of the Ravati. It was not a great city, but it was a spot where Rhakanese officials often met foreigners, a kind of customs port. A large group of men stood waiting on the stone quay.

    The weather at sea had been warm but breezy and comfortable, and the sun had been bearable. Almost as soon as the boat began to dock, a wall of hot and humid air hit Jaqu, and he began to sweat. The officials, dressed in red and gold, stood under bright parasols made of bamboo and silk.

    The Rhakani ambassador stood with a plastered-on smile. He wore dark makeup around his eyes and on his lips and had black Rhakani writing densely tattooed on his light brown face. He stepped forward and bowed. He spoke passable Fyrin, ¡°In the name of his most divine and terrible emperor of Rhakan, Agan, Tangong, Ssam, Desha, Aragan, Khanesh, Gura, and Dzhamuzhan, Sarawa Maw, he who dares to conquer the world, first of his house, first to choose the throne of the cruel since the great Ghalu Min, I welcome you, Fyrin. Sarawa Maw permits you to step foot in his land. You may take three steps off the boat, prostrate yourself before me, rise, and tell me what you offer my emperor. Whether you may stay after depends upon your gift.¡±

    Jaqu stood tall. He wore a high-collared and intricately brocaded silk suit. It was the height of Fyrin fashion and presented him as an imposing figure. He had been trained in diplomacy since his youth. He had spent years in the Fyrin government, the grand assembly, and the army. He had stood before kings and warlords. He was not an easily intimidated man. Despite this, he felt small before the array of officials and guards who watched him disembark the ship. One slip of any kind, and this journey would be for nothing. His foot touched dry land. He strode forward, chin held high. One. Two. Three. He stopped before the court official. Now came the worst part, the debasement. He was a Fyrin man of the Republic. He bowed to no king. Yet, to achieve his aims, it was required. Aisa¡¯s face came to mind, her beautiful gold almond eyes staring up at him. The breath from her mouth on his neck. Smoke from Vurun on the horizon as Vastrum burned it all in their jealousy and rage. His knees touched the stone of the quay before he even realised that he had knelt. He breathed slowly and touched his head to the stone. Anything for revenge. Debasement. Humiliation. Agony. All of it became as light as a feather.

    He rose slowly, met the official''s eyes, and spoke in Rhakanese, having practised the words a thousand times until his accent and meter were perfect. His voice was silky and calm, ¡°To our most cherished friend, the most holy and terrible ruler of Rhakan, Sarawa Maw, on behalf of The Republic of Fyranis, I offer the aid of our fleet against Vastrum, which, even now, sails on the horizon towards Dagon.¡±

    Just for a moment, something like surprise and genuine pleasure flashed across the tattooed official''s face. He bowed his head just slightly, almost graciously, ¡°Sarawa Maw accepts your gift. You are permitted to stay in Rhakan. You will return to the ship. You will sail to Angmaw. You will stay as the emperor¡¯s guest.¡±

    This had been the plan. Still, he knew from the reports of spies what the king''s state was. He was a terrible beast. Jaqu would be the emperor¡¯s prisoner as much as his guest. If Jaqu Rovan could have been anywhere else in the world, he would have been, but there was only one way he knew that he could have his revenge against Vastrum, the 13<sup>th</sup>, and Major Dryden. Win the war. Crush them. Use Rhakan as the greatest weapon against them. He shivered as he stepped back aboard the djong, which would take him upriver to Angmaw. He would do anything to win, even debase himself and risk life and limb standing beside a tyrant and monster. Somewhere far to the north, the roar of cannons at sea thundered. Vastrum was beginning its bombardment of Dagon. Soon, the war would broaden and enter a new, more deadly phase. Vastrum would pay. Jaqu grinned. He no longer cared how many died or what agonies and debasements he was forced to endure. He, Jaqu Rovan of Fyranis, would have his revenge.

 Chapter Seventeen - All War is Unwise

    Chapter Seventeen

    All War is Unwise

    The mid-morning sun was already rising hot and hazy over the floodplain which lay between the Brurapura and Padesh Rivers. Small raised roads snaked through the vast delta. The land was as flat as a chessboard, thick with farms, and broken only by stands of jungle and the dikes upon which the roads ran. The 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons had spent most of a week riding east from Bogat. Dryden looked out through a spyglass from the top of a berm. The farmland here was as flat as the rest, broad, dry, and fallow. Through his lens, he could see hundreds of small figures moving down a similar raised road that ran parallel on the other side of the large field. The enemy. They moved by the hundreds and thousands towards the west. Though some soldiers would be with them, most of these men were not soldiers themselves. They were slaves moving supplies to the front. Oxen pulled dozens of wagons. The wagons were strange to Dryden; they had only two great wheels instead of four and a rounded bamboo top that covered both the cargo and the driver. Hundreds more porters trudged forward with massive loads strapped to their backs. Soldiers walked with them, though they seemed less concerned with protecting them than keeping the slaves in line. They would not be expecting any resistance. The border rajas had been pacified, the V.A.C. forces east of the Brurapura had been dealt with, and the nearest Vastrum army was Haddock¡¯s, somewhere far to the west. They thought this land safe. Dryden gave a wry smile. This conceit would be their undoing.

    The major looked to his left. A line of cavalry was assembled behind the berm. Benton¡¯s men were at the ready. He looked to his right, where Khathan¡¯s men mirrored Benton¡¯s. He knew that Adams¡¯ and Brine¡¯s men were somewhere a mile distant on the other side of the enemy, waiting behind a similar berm. Pugh was with them. Havor, the Hussars, and the artillery were positioned to the west. They had prepared this ambush well. Connall Baine and his Jirimanjins had scouted well and helped to set the trap. In a few moments, chaos would be unleashed upon the baggage train. Dryden dropped back down the berm and practically leapt into Rosie¡¯s saddle. It had been too long since he had fought atop a horse. The last time had been when they took Vurun. Since then, it had all been fighting on foot. He was not one to complain, but, not so secretly, he detested the work of infantrymen. His heart began to beat with the anticipation of a fight.

    Major Dryden turned to Sergeant Major Steele, a grim-faced soldier who had ridden into Dau with him, ¡°Sound the charge, if you please.¡±

    Steele put the bugle to his lips and blew high, clear notes. Men spurred their horses. They surged together, mounting the embankment and coming down the other side like a wave. Dryden spurred again, and Rosie shot forward over the dry field. She was quicker than many other Vastrum steeds, and Dryden found himself slightly ahead of the line. As he rode, he found that his sword was in his hand, though he had not remembered drawing it. That often happened with the Styranian blade. He held it in his gloved right hand. He often wore gloves of late to hide the cruel burn scars that the sword had inflicted on him. He spurred Rosie again, though she was galloping hard already. Bugles were blowing in the distance, Pugh and his squadrons. Cannon thundered to the west. Shots ripped through palm trees that lined the road, tearing men and carts apart as the 6-pound lead shot ruined carts, oxen, and men alike. One good volley to create pandemonium, and the cannon went silent again, then the cavalry hit home. Rosie mounted the berm, split between two short palm trees, and Dryden was among the enemy. He cut down a soldier who was turning to face him. The hilt of his Styranian blade was hot through his glove, and the sword carved through the man in a bloody spray. Rosie surged past the dead man, and he pulled the reins to avoid the death throes of a dying ox and the splintered cart it had been pulling. An old Rhakani soldier swung at him with what might as well have been a walking stick. He cut the man down. Then there was no more. The rest of the line of cavalry was among the baggage train, too. The few soldiers fled. Porters threw down their packs and ran.

    As the enemy fled, Dryden saw Brine¡¯s men coming up from the north side of the road. They hit the fleeing men in the open field. He saw a man barreled over by a warhorse and then trampled by the hooves. Another was cut in two by a trooper. Sergeant Gideon led a few Black City men through the field, cutting down fleeing Rhakani soldiers like wolves among lambs. The fight, if you could call it that, was over in mere moments.

    Dryden looked about him for officers and sergeants. He saw a few near him, Flint among them, and called out, ¡°Lieutenant Flint, gather what slaves and porters you can. Round up the supplies. Let the men loot what they will, but we need powder, ammunition, and guns for the regiment. Burn everything we don¡¯t take with us. We¡¯ve no time to lose. Havor wants the regiment moving again before noon.¡±

    ¡°Aye, Major.¡± Flint saluted. He turned, found several sergeants, and started barking orders. Then he turned back, ¡°What of the prisoners?¡±

    ¡°Kill any soldiers you find. We cannot take them with us. Round up the surviving slaves. Find Baine to translate for me. I would speak with them.¡±

    Men went to follow orders. Soon, Pugh rode up with a small contingent around him. Captain Brine was with him. The raven banner of the Bloody 13<sup>th</sup> flew above him, ¡°Well met, Major.¡± Pugh said, ¡°Invigorating fight, eh?¡±

    Dryden frowned. He could not deny he enjoyed the fighting, but looking around him at the dead, the victory felt hollow, ¡°Killing old men guarding baggage trains is hardly sporting,¡± He replied, ¡°Still, it is good to fight on horse again.¡±

    ¡°Quite so. There is nothing like it,¡± Pugh agreed.

    ¡°Have we any casualties?¡± Dryden asked.

    ¡°One horse has gone lame, it appears. A man took a small wound from a spear. Nothing serious. We took them completely by surprise. There were few real soldiers here.¡±

    Baine came riding up, flanked by his red-skinned Jirimanjis, ¡°You wanted me, Boyo?¡± He practically growled. He did not salute.

    Dryden ignored his lack of formality, ¡°Indeed. I need to interrogate some survivors.¡± He gestured to where a group of them were being rounded up. They were practically naked, dressed only in white loincloths, some with white cloths wrapped around their heads. None wore any shoes. Most were rail thin and wiry, not quite starved, but not far off.

    Dryden edged his horse up to where the crowd of men was. There were perhaps a hundred porters rounded up already, some with wounds from the raid. Most of these men had quickly surrendered at the start of the fighting. As slaves, they had no interest in defending the goods they carried. They looked up at him silently, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. He saw scars and whip marks on many of the men. He spoke loudly, ¡°Who will speak for you?¡±

    Baine moved his horse up so he was beside Dryden. In his rough voice, he repeated the words in Rhakani.

    A man stepped forward. He was young, perhaps in his twenties, but he had a hard look in his eyes. He was strong, with broad shoulders. He had a long, bright scar running down his face from a blade, and his shoulders were crisscrossed with many scars. His hair was cut short, though he had a thick beard. He spoke. His voice was raspy but deep. Baine relayed the words, ¡°He¡¯ll speak. Says his name is Suravashtra Gulgati.¡±

    ¡°Where did they come from? Where were they going?¡± Dryden asked.

    Baine passed along the answer, ¡°They came from Drahk. He says they crossed at Sava a week ago. They did not know where they were going, but they were always walking west. He says they are slaves, not soldiers. He asks what you will do with them.¡±

    ¡°Where is he from?¡± Dryden asked. He wracked his brain trying to decide what to do with them. He could not care for them, not without slowing the march. But to leave them alone in this country might be the death of them. At best, they might find themselves recaptured by Rhakan. He detested the idea of abandoning the men to death or slavery. He had left people before to such fates. He would not do it again if he could help it.

    Baine and the man exchanged more words, ¡°He is from Ssam. These men are from all over the empire. Some are from Tangong and Desha, captured during the conquest of their lands. Some are rebels who fought against Sarawa Maw. Some are men who could not pay taxes to the new regime. These men are not your enemy, Major.¡±

    ¡°You said some were fighters? Would they fight against Rhakan?¡±

    Baine frowned but translated. There was silence at first. Suravashtra looked around and repeated the question to the other slaves. Some stepped forward and said words that Dryden took to mean ¡°yes¡±, but others began to push and shout. A few men wailed and cried. Dryden scowled. He had not thought the question would create so much discord. He wondered for a moment if he had misjudged this, if some of these men had loyalty to Rhakan. He hopped down from Rosie, grabbed the whip from a nearby dead cart driver, stepped forward and cracked the whip beside him, ¡°Quiet!¡± He shouted. The men did not understand his words, but they fully understood the meaning of the whip. In moments, the whole mass of prisoners was silenced and staring at him fearfully.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Why are they fighting amongst themselves?¡± He demanded.

    ¡°Some of them despair,¡± Baine replied. ¡°They do not believe Rhakan can be beaten.¡±

    Dryden set the whip aside and stepped towards Suravashtra. He extended his hand to the man, ¡°Tell them Rhakan can be killed. Tell them Vastrum will do it. Will he fight for us?¡±

    Baine again translated, ¡°He asks if he will get to kill Rhakanis?¡±

    ¡°He will.¡± Dryden looked the man in the face. He could see that the man had lived a hard life. Up close, he saw that the man was even more muscular than he had thought. There was a kind of intensity in his eyes that bordered on rage.

    Suravashtra stepped forward, his strong chin and thick black beard jutting forward, his dark eyes appraising Dryden in return. He said some words but did not take Dryden¡¯s hand.

    ¡°He says he will fight.¡± Baine gave the man¡¯s reply.

    Dryden kept his hand extended towards the man, ¡°Good. Any man who fights may take weapons and ammunition from the baggage train here. Tell him they can keep what they can loot. They must go their own way, though. They will be too slow on foot. We only ask that they cause chaos among the Rhakani supply lines.¡±

    Baine looked at him quizzically but repeated the words. The bare-chested man from Ssam looked shocked. Dryden knew the man had likely expected to continue as a slave, only with a new master, after the fighting. Perhaps he had even expected to be killed. At best, perhaps, he had thought they would be cut loose to fend for themselves. But here Dryden was, offering the man not only his freedom but the weapons to fight back.

    ¡°Tell him we do not have slaves in Vastrum, ¡± Dryden stared the man straight in the eye as he said the words.

    Upon hearing Baine¡¯s translation, Suravashtra finally took Dryden¡¯s hand.

    ¡°He says he had heard Vastrum was an empire of cruel men. He wonders if he has not heard wrong,¡± Baine translated.

    Dryden thought momentarily, then replied, ¡°Tell him he has heard right¡ªwe are as cruel as any empire. We only know that men fight harder when they find themselves masters of their own fates.¡±

    The man looked at him strangely, then nodded in understanding. He turned and repeated the offer to the rest of the slaves. Every man among them took a musket from the supplies they had been hauling. Once supplied with all the guns and supplies they could carry, they jogged off across the field to the north. Dryden watched them go for a moment. As the men began to disappear into the trees, he saw Suravashtra stop, look back once, catch his eye, and then he turned into the dark green jungle and disappeared from sight. He did not know if he had done the best thing, he only knew it felt right.

    Dryden again mounted Rosie and said, ¡°See that the rest of the supplies are gathered and taken with us.¡± The order was redundant, as Flint had dozens of troopers doing just that.

    Major Pugh pulled his horse alongside Dryden¡¯s, ¡°You think that wise?¡± He asked softly so the men could not hear his comment.

    ¡°What?¡± Dryden asked.

    ¡°Arming the slaves. You have not recruited soldiers but have formed a band of outlaws. So, I ask again, you think this wise?¡± Pugh asked softly.

    ¡°All of war is unwise, yet here we are all the same. If it causes any chaos, it would be at the enemy¡¯s rear and to our great benefit.¡±

    Pugh nodded sagely, ¡°You may be right. Still, do we not have a responsibility here?¡±

    ¡°What responsibility?¡±

    ¡°To bring order, rather than sow chaos?¡±

    Dryden scoffed, ¡°We have a responsibility to win. It is our only duty. Once the war is won, we can consider such things.¡±

    ¡°What of honour? Ought we to be arming bandits, John?¡±

    ¡°Honour deserted us long ago, Leo. Besides, what of our responsibility to those slaves we rescued? Ought we to take them with us? Or leave them defenseless? There are a dozen responsibilities, all competing with one another. I have only chosen the one that might see us closer to winning, even if the chance is only slight.¡±

    ¡°Arming brigands is spitting into the wind and hoping it hits your foe. It is a futile gesture and as like to blow back at us.¡± Pugh frowned.

    ¡°What¡¯s done is done, or do you propose we spend the afternoon chasing those men back down now that we have armed them?¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Pugh said, sounding annoyed, ¡°Whatever the case, we must not tarry here much longer. Havor wants to make the city of Sava within the week.¡±

    ¡°Does he mean to cross the Padesh as well?¡± Dryden asked, surprised.

    ¡°He has not shared his plan with me.¡± Pugh sounded annoyed at that, too.

    Since the 13<sup>th</sup> had stolen away, crossing the Brurapura in the dead of night, Havor had kept only his own counsel. Even Mar had been kept at arm¡¯s length. Colonel Havor had only given orders as needed and relied upon the initiative of his officers. Crossing the Padesh would mean entering Desha, one of the many conquered kingdoms of Rhakan. The 13<sup>th</sup> was already well beyond their orders. But to cross that line was something else entirely.

    Dryden¡¯s face darkened, ¡°Come, let us speak with the Colonel, find out what he means to do.¡±

    ¡°Captain Brine.¡± Dryden called out, ¡°Pugh and I are going to speak with Havor. You are in command here for now. Round up the men and supplies. Rejoin the main camp as quickly as you can. We must not tarry. I want it done within the hour.¡± Then he turned to Connall Baine, ¡°Mr Baine, stay with us if you please.¡± Then he spurred Rosie, who had mostly recovered from the skirmish, and together he, Pugh, and a small detachment of troopers rode back down the road toward the position where the artillery, baggage train, and the 6<sup>th</sup> Hussars were waiting with Havor.

    They rode down a raised road that followed one of the numerous dikes through the floodplain. Rice fields, palms, and bits of wetland cut by dikes, ditches, and small streams went as far as they could see. As they passed, Dryden could see the eyes of frightened farmers and villagers looking out at them from tiny collections of raised huts. Soldiers passing by in war were always a danger, be they friend or foe. Soon, they arrived back at the position that the artillery had taken. Several guards challenged them briefly before they saw who approached. They rode by several pickets and 6-pound guns placed along the tops of the dikes. They found Colonel Havor sitting in a foldable chair of bamboo and canvas. He was seated beside Mar, Major Trant of the Hussars, and the artillery commander, Major Van Dijk, a short but stout taciturn man, with dirty blonde hair and a short moustache.

    ¡°How went the fight, Majors?¡± Havor stood as they approached, smiling.

    ¡°A simple matter. One casualty, but it was nothing serious. Brine will be bringing up the supplies we took shortly. There were some slaves that the Rhakanese were using as porters. I questioned them, gave them weapons, and released them.¡±

    Havor¡¯s face darkened, ¡°Why on earth would you arm them?¡±

    ¡°It seemed the proper thing in the moment,¡± Dryden replied.

    Pugh glanced sideways at him but said nothing of his disagreement.

    ¡°The proper thing?¡± Havor asked, ¡°Giving guns to the natives?¡±

    To Dryden¡¯s surprise, Major Pugh spoke up for him, ¡°Many of them are ex-soldiers captured by Rhakan. They will make good fighters at the rear of the enemy. He gave them what they needed to fight and let them go. They¡¯re heading north.¡±

    Havor stood looking between his two majors, ¡°You¡¯ve made brigands¡­¡° He began but then stopped himself, ¡°Very well. I suppose there¡¯s nothing to be done now but live with the choice. Did you need something more?¡±

    Pugh dismounted his horse and spoke, ¡°Indeed, sir. We came to find out what we¡¯re to do next. We¡¯ve had little enough of a plan since we crossed the Brurapura except to ride east and capture the supplies of the enemy. We¡¯ve done that for a week. We know the enemy pursues us. Are we to head for Sava and cross the Padesh? Are we to head north towards Dhek and rally with General Belfair? If there is a plan that you have kept from us, now is the time for us to hear it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re crossing the Sava,¡± Havor said, ¡°Taking the fight into Rhakan herself.¡±

    ¡°If I may, that is a bold plan, sir. Are you sure it is not too bold?¡± Pugh asked.

    ¡°What would you have me do, eh?¡± Havor¡¯s tone shifted to one of weariness.

    ¡°Sir, I only mean to say that should we not consider other possibilities?¡±

    ¡°Strange, I would have thought the plan would appeal to you, Leo.¡±

    ¡°Have you considered heading for Dhek, sir?¡±

    ¡°Considered and rejected.¡±

    ¡°On what grounds?¡±

    ¡°General bloody Belfair,¡± Havor said the name with utter disdain.

    ¡°He makes a fair point, Leo.¡± Dryden interjected, grinning, ¡°Being under Belfair¡¯s command makes for dangerous ground, as you well know.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t choose your path based on old grudges, sir,¡± Pugh complained.

    ¡°I can, and I will. Besides, I think this path is superior on its merits. We¡¯re not just riding across the Padesh for a holiday. We are bound for Drahk.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s in Drahk?¡± Pugh asked.

    ¡°Khaung Maw,¡± Havor replied cooly.

    Connall Baine interrupted before he could explain further, ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous country between Sava and Drahk. Hills, jungle, tigers, dragons, and that¡¯s before you talk about the hill people. There¡¯re no roads, at least not for hauling carts and cannon. You¡¯d have to be dicked in the knob to ride in there. Even Sarawa himself wouldn¡¯t do it. Khaung Maw lost the war for the throne, yet he¡¯s been able to hold out in the north. Ask yourself how.¡± Then, without waiting for the question, he answered, ¡°Because it¡¯s bloody impossible to get up there, mate.¡±

    ¡°Yet I mean to,¡± Havor said, his voice stony and face full of determination.

    ¡°And yet he bloody well means to, he says.¡± Baine scoffed, ¡°And I suppose you expect me and my boys to lead the way, eh? Well, you can bloody well forget it.¡±

    ¡°What will it take for you to reconsider?¡±

    Baine did not skip a beat, ¡°Triple the fee Haddock is paying. Double the bounty on any beasts I kill protecting the men and horses.¡±

    ¡°A true mercenary,¡± Havor smirked at the man, ¡°Done and done.¡±

    Baine cursed and laughed, ¡°That was too easy. Bloody well should have asked for more, eh?¡±

    ¡°Is it as dangerous as you say?¡± Dryden asked, dubious of the claims. Of course, the country would be hard, but perhaps not so hard as that. He wondered if the claim had been merely a negotiating tactic by the Old Salgair.

    ¡°Aye, sonny, it is, and more besides. If we get up there by some chance, boyo, it¡¯ll be a proper grog fight for the ages.¡±

    Pugh sighed, ¡°Before we concern ourselves with the jungle, first, we must take Sava, which will be no small feat. Unlike Bogat, Sava is a real city. It will be defended.¡± Pugh frowned, ¡°And we must do it with only cavalry and a few cannons, all while staying ahead of the enemy who may be chasing us down from behind even while we stand here talking¡­¡±

    Havor¡¯s face broke into a grin. ¡°Well then, Major, we haven¡¯t a moment to spare, eh?¡±

 Chapter Eighteen - The Queenéˆ¥æªš Farewell

    Chapter Eighteen

    The Queen¡¯s Farewell

    The gardens of the Governor¡¯s Residency in Kanmak were filled with the ladies of the court lounging, sipping tea, and engaging in small conversation. The hot summer air of the garden was filled with the scents of hibiscus, jasmine, bougainvillea, roses, and other flowers that Julia did not know. The brilliant summer blossoms filled the gardens with vibrant reds, magentas, and oranges. Several sprawling trees provided shade for the guests. Julia was once again given a place of honour, seated with Queen Ella, though why they were given such a space, Julia did not know. She was only a commoner, the wife of Major Dryden, yes, but still, she felt out of her depth. It was the royal court¡¯s last day in Kanmak. This garden party was the queen¡¯s sendoff. She and King Victus were moving on from Ayodh, heading west to Kathalamanyr, then to Gulud and eventually Huz, continuing their tour of the Eastern Colonies. If the cantonment at Kanmak had seemed empty and lonely since the army had gone and John had left, it would feel all the more so when the court left as well.

    Sitting with them also was Roxana An-Dakal, who held her baby son in her arms. The tiny boy looked half a child of Vastrum, and half of Vurun. He had a child¡¯s light, almost blonde hair, which would darken as he grew, and Lord Havor¡¯s blue eyes, but his skin was a darker shade, olive, like his mother¡¯s. The child was awake and silent, looking around quietly. He gave a small coo, looking up at his mother, Roxana, the Vuruni princess. Julia couldn¡¯t help but smile at the sound. There had been little hope these last years and few joys, but the tiny sounds of the infant gave her hope for the future, even when all the world felt bleak. That alone was the difference between a world of grim darkness and a bright one¡ªhope. Children were that hope for her. She hoped someday to have children of her own. John had frowned when she broached the subject months before, saying it was not the right time. She wondered when the right time would be. Certainly not now that he was off at war.

    Julia took her teacup, a bright porcelain painted with pink flowers, and sipped. It had sat for a while and cooled. It was lukewarm now and overly sweet. She had added one lump of sugar too many and now avoided drinking it. She took a small biscuit and nibbled at it, not wanting to show how hungry she was. She was also avoiding being the first of the women to start a conversation. She had no idea what to say, and beside the presence of the queen, any small talk, such as the weather, seemed absurdly quaint. She imagined how the ladies would laugh behind her back, ¡°She had the honour of being sat with the queen and brought up the weather! How dull can you be?¡± Better to say nothing and let someone else begin the conversation.

    The fourth lady at the table, an older, middle-aged woman who had been introduced to her as Lady Margaretta, looked down at Roxana¡¯s child. ¡°Cherish it, darling; they grow up so fast.¡± She had a deep, rich voice with a thick accent. The woman had the look and accent of a Styranian. She was olive-skinned, with long, flowing, straight black hair and pale green eyes. Despite the heat, she wore a high-necked black dress, numerous layers of silver jewelry that flashed with emeralds in the morning sunlight, and a small black bonnet on her head. Julia had not met many Styranians. It was a Western nation, yet lay far from Vastrum or Fyranis, south of Gant, on the other side of the free cities and Ist. It was a land of enchantment, so people said, full of sorcerers, witches, and demons. Lady Margaretta seemed friendly enough. She had a wry smile on her face, almost like she was appraising both Roxana and Julia.

    Roxana turned to Lady Margaretta, ¡°You have children? How many?¡± She asked.

    ¡°I have four. Three boys and a girl. They are grown now.¡± She answered.

    Julia saw Queen Ella look down as they began to speak of children, almost as if she were ashamed at the conversation. She knew the queen had no children. She was young and had married an older king whose wife had passed away. The king had sired no children with either of them. The lack of any heir was much fretted over, if little discussed. The king had named no successor, and it was thought that he was waiting for a child to be born. There was no law in Vastrum that said it must be a boy. Any legitimate child would do. There had been queens who had ruled Vastrum several times before. Ella raised her chin again. The shame of a conversation about children, when she herself was childless, was only briefly upon her face, but Julia had seen the look. She felt the same. Fair or not, a childless wife was something the aristocracy would look down upon, especially other ladies. Most of them were married not for love, but for status, wealth, and above all, bearing male heirs to the great noble houses of Vastrum. John had certainly not married Julia for her money or status. He also did not seem to care for the idea of having children. She wondered briefly if the marriage had been solely from pity, for she had brought nothing of value to it, nor did he seem to have married her for love. So, if not for children, love, money, or power, then for what?

    The queen took a sip of her tea, which, due to a copious amount of added cream, was nearly as pale as her own skin. ¡°Julia, I hope you will forgive me asking, but I would hear of your travails in Vurun.¡±

    Julia blushed and looked down. That was why the queen had wanted her close, she was curious about the imprisonment, ¡°Majesty, I do not know what there is to tell. We were kept in the Shah¡¯s palace. We were well guarded and protected and rarely allowed outside our apartments.¡±

    ¡°I understand that you had negotiated to secure your own release.¡± The queen commented, ¡°That is no small feat.¡±

    It was true. She and Helena had negotiated with her captors, specifically with the man protecting them, Kal¡¯kuris Dravetta. They had promised him a great deal of money, and he had agreed to take it. Everyone thought that Dryden had heroically ridden to her rescue. His ride across the north was becoming something of a legend. That story was also true to some extent, but it left out the fact that the captured noblewomen were on the verge of having rescued themselves. She blushed at the question, feeling unworthy of the attention and praise of the queen. ¡°That is true,¡± Was all she said.

    ¡°How in the world did you manage it?¡± The queen asked.

    ¡°We were housed with the daughters of our captor. Over the months we were there, his daughters became sympathetic to our plight. His eldest daughter broached the subject with him slowly over several weeks. Once the idea was planted, he brought it up as if it were his own. Really, it was as much Helena as myself who negotiated. It was her father¡¯s money with which we bargained.¡±

    The queen smiled at Julia, ¡°Remarkable. Such initiative. If only we had more such women in Vastrum.¡±

    Lady Margaretta smirked, ¡°It is a shame the story is about a man riding a horse to rescue helpless women. What ever would we do if not for the men playing at war with their toys?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps it would be better if the men were away more often. Think of all we could accomplish.¡± The queen replied.

    They all shared a small laugh. Women at the other tables looked on, envious that they were not seated at the table with the queen. Julia caught some glares. They did not like that a commoner was seated in what they probably viewed as their rightful chair.

    ¡°Still, they are useful for some things,¡± It was the queen¡¯s turn to smirk. She looked over at one of her household guards and admired him in a way that felt inappropriate to Julia. He was a tall, handsome, gallant-looking man with a crisp blue uniform, tan skin, auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline. He had a blade at his side that reminded Julia of her husband¡¯s Styranian blade, which had also been her father¡¯s.

    Roxana caught the look that the queen gave the man and raised an eyebrow at Julia, wondering the same.

    ¡°My youngest,¡± Lady Margaretta called out, ¡°Allow me to introduce you. Karlos, darling, won¡¯t you come and meet our new friends?¡± She waved him over.

    The young man took a few steps towards the table, bowed slightly, and greeted the women in turn, ¡°Majesty. Mother.¡±

    ¡°This is Roxana An-Dakal, princess of Vurun.¡± Margaretta smiled at him.

    Roxana extended her hand. The young man took it, bent down, and kissed it while maintaining eye contact with the princess. ¡°Charmed," he said, practically leering at her.

    Julia raised an eyebrow. The look he was giving Roxana seemed almost seductive. Then he turned to her. She felt herself flush slightly at the forwardness of his gaze.

    ¡°Julia Gorst,¡± Margaretta caught herself, ¡°My sincerest apologies, Julia Dryden. She is married to Major John Dryden.¡±

    She extended her hand. Karlos took it and bowed, giving her almost the same seductive look he had given Roxana. ¡°Enchanted, " he said, his smile bordering on arrogant.

    She wanted to slap him, but said ¡°Likewise,¡± Instead.

    He stepped back to his position several feet away behind the queen where he had been silently watching and protecting.

    ¡°I truly am sorry, Julia.¡± Margaretta said, ¡°How are you finding wedded life?¡±

    Julia began to smile, but felt it fade from her face, ¡°Lonely.¡± She admitted. She did not know why she admitted it, but she did all the same.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°I am sorry to hear that,¡± It was the queen who spoke. She genuinely sounded sad.

    ¡°It is only that as soon as we were married and beginning to settle into our life together, that war began, and he was pulled away,¡± Julia explained, hoping that they would not think the marriage a poor one.

    ¡°Ah, the life of a soldier¡¯s wife is often lonely. Many of us find diversions to occupy ourselves while the men are playing their little games.¡± Margaretta smiled.

    ¡°Is your husband a soldier?¡± Julia asked.

    Margaretta smiled, ¡°My husband was a great general, my darling. I was married to Lord Blackwater.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± She stumbled over her words, feeling embarrassed. It seemed to her that she ought to have known, ¡°I did not know.¡± The colour of Margaretta¡¯s gown and bonnet suddenly made a great deal more sense, she was still in mourning.

    ¡°Think nothing of it. Ours was more a political alliance than a marriage for love, darling. I spent my days at court, and he spent them campaigning around the world. I have lost a great ally more than I have lost myself a husband. I was sorry to hear of your father. Marcus was a great man. I was very fond of him.¡±

    ¡°You were friends with my father?¡± She asked.

    ¡°When we were young. He served with my uncle Suvor at Caribonne. He was a very gallant young man back in those days.¡± Margaretta had a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke of Julia¡¯s father, ¡°That¡¯s where he received that sword. Did you know that sword was in my family for ten generations before it came to your father?¡±

    Julia shook her head, ¡°I knew very little about it, only that it was special. Honestly, I grew up hating that sword and all it represented.¡± She said, ¡°It was a symbol of his life as a soldier. He was often on campaign. My governess raised me. It always felt as if that sword was taking him away, and now John has it¡­¡± She almost felt as if she could not stop herself from talking, as if she was saying too much and it was outside her power to stop. Something about the older woman, her dark eyes, glittering jewels, and smoky voice, made her want to keep talking.

    ¡°Now it has come to your husband.¡± The woman¡¯s voice sounded half amused and half annoyed at the idea. The look of a predator crossed her face for just an instant.

    Hairs stood on the back of Julia¡¯s neck, as if this were some ambush, ¡°I truly know little of it. You would need to speak with him.¡± She said, trying to end the discussion.

    Margaretta dropped the conversation as the queen¡¯s secretary, Aberlour, walked up to the table, leaned in and whispered something to Queen Ella. Her face paled slightly.

    ¡°What is it, Majesty?¡± Margaretta asked, ¡°Is everything all right?¡±

    ¡°There has been a riot north of the city,¡± She said. ¡°Soldiers were forced to open fire. Some people were killed.¡± Then she stopped and collected herself, smoothing her dress, ¡°I am sorry, this is not good conversation for a tea party. Sadly, I believe we will have to go to deal with this.¡±

    ¡°Surely the king can¡­¡± Margaretta began to interrupt.

    ¡°No, the king cannot. He is unwell.¡±

    ¡°His council members and advisors, then.¡±

    ¡°I must deal with this.¡± She said, standing, ¡°As you well know, if we leave all the important work to the men, nothing would ever be done properly. I think we have left this to the men long enough, have we not? The dead Ayodhis are proof enough of that.¡±

    ¡°As always, you have a point, Majesty,¡± Margaretta smiled sweetly at the queen.

    Other guests'' eyes were glancing towards the queen now, looking at her with something like alarm. If they did not know what had happened, they could sense it.

    The queen stood tall and spoke to the whole gathering, ¡°Do not worry, friends. We are safe here in the cantonment and the residency. Please, take your time, and enjoy the beautiful day and refreshments.¡± Then, the queen turned and walked off, almost gliding over the stone path through the sprawling gardens, her advisor and guards in tow. All the members of the court stood and bowed to her as she passed on her way back to the residency manor.

    She was barely out of sight when Margaretta took up the subject of the sword again, ¡°You know there are only a dozen such blades ever made, darling.¡±

    ¡°What is so special about these swords?¡± Roxana interjected. She had been silent most of the conversation, tending to her little infant, but now she spoke up, her Vuruni accent thick.

    ¡°What do you know of the gods of the west?¡±

    ¡°You westerners have no gods.¡±

    ¡°True, and also not. It would be more correct to say that we had gods.¡±

    ¡°You cannot kill a god,¡± Roxana snorted with laughter, ¡°Are you sure they are not just napping?¡±

    Margaretta smirked, ¡°I could not kill a god, but that does not mean they cannot be killed.¡±

    Julia sat listening quietly. She had heard this story many times growing up. Priests told the story in every church. Like many young people, she had not been particularly religious. She saw no point in worshipping gods when they were silent, but her governess had insisted she be educated in religion.

    ¡°They killed one another,¡± Margaretta answered, then anticipated Roxana¡¯s next question, ¡°There was a war between the gods. Just like we war with one another.¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with the swords?¡± Roxana said dismissively, taking a bite of a sweet biscuit from the table.

    ¡°These swords were forged using fragments of the dead gods. There are perhaps thousands of such fragments. Half the churches in Vastrum claim to possess such relics; a few really do. In the days after the great silence began, these swords were forged. The church outlawed anyone who owned the shards or used them for any purpose other than worship. The makers of these swords were hunted down and killed as heretics. Of course, the church could not undo the forging of the swords, so they were gifted to noble houses.¡±

    ¡°Who has the swords, aside from John and your son?¡± Julia asked.

    ¡°There are four in Vastrum, including your husband¡¯s. Three in Fyranis. Three in Styrania. One in Gant.¡±

    ¡°That makes eleven. You said there were twelve,¡± Julia said without skipping a beat.

    ¡°You¡¯re quick. One was lost.¡±

    ¡°Why are you speaking of these things? I don¡¯t see how this is relevant.¡± Julia had the distinct impression that the woman wanted the sword back.

    ¡°Little girl,¡± Her accent was thick, her voice husky. You misunderstand me. That sword is not a blessing but a curse. Most of these swords used pieces of different gods. Each one is unique.¡±

    ¡°What god is my husband¡¯s sword made from?¡±

    The woman leaned in, ¡°Even though the god is dead, I hesitate to speak his name.¡± She spoke softly, ¡°Orgos.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t know that god.¡± Julia said, ¡°I should have paid better attention to my governess.¡±

    Margaretta leaned back and rolled her eyes, ¡°Always the youth are forgetting the past. I cannot blame you too much. I did not learn either when I was a silly girl. It took many years and too many mistakes before I understood anything. Orgos was a god of my land, a god of blood, war, and terror. His sword has killed more men than any other, his wielders included. It drives men to bloodlust. Let me ask you, what will you do, my darling, when the sword takes your husband?¡±

    Julia sat silent, ¡°My father lived many years with the blade, the better part of a lifetime.¡±

    ¡°Marcus was a disciplined man. Clear-minded. Not prone to outbursts or bloodlust in battle. He rarely drew the sword, seldom fought with it. As I understand, your husband is a terror in battle, even without the sword, is he not? Sooner or later, the sword will take him. So please, I do not require an answer now. Consider the question. What will you do when the sword takes him?¡±

    Julia did not need to wait. The presumptuousness of it all was infuriating, ¡°You do not think I have considered what I will do when he dies in battle? I made him promise to come home, but I know. I am no fool. His family will give me no wealth. I knew it, but I married him despite it. If I cannot find a new husband, I will be left to live on the queen¡¯s mercy. That is what awaits me when he dies, if not in this war, then the next. That is what awaits all wives of soldiers. So, unless you have another choice for me, that is my answer; you need not wait. If that is all, I tire of this garden party. The heat of the day has become too much for me. I will return home.¡± Julia¡¯s voice rose as she spoke. Half the women in the garden were looking at her with mouths agape.

    Margaretta only laughed in response, as if the outburst were just the silliest thing. Her face seemed to say ¡°there is no need for such dramatics,¡± but, blessedly, the woman said nothing aloud.

    Roxanna stood, holding her tiny sleeping baby, ¡°I think I will retire as well. Little Edmund is sleepy. We can walk together.¡±

    Julia rose from the table, trying not to make more of a scene than she already had. Only the barest scraps of dignity remained, and she clung to them now. She was good at making scenes, apparently. A servant brought her parasol and handbag to her and a stroller for Roxana. The princess put her infant into the buggy, tucked him in, and then the two women strolled from the garden together. Roxana had a serene look to her. When they arrived at the gate and were well away from the party, Roxana burst into laughter, ¡°I enjoy your honesty, Julia. It is so rare among the highborn women of Vastrum.¡±

    ¡°I should not have said what I said. Or, at least, I should have said it privately or with more tact.¡± Julia replied, ¡°Still, she was so presumptuous to ask what I plan to do when my husband dies, as if that is her business, and to ask it while he still lives! They will speak of my outburst, natter over the scandal of it, when they should whisper and gossip about the nature of her questions.¡±

    ¡°I do not think she expected the answer you gave her.¡± Roxana smiled at Julia. They talked as they strolled back to the small cantonment neighborhood where the officer¡¯s families were housed. It was like strolling through a little village back in Vastrum, except for the palm trees and the intolerable heat.

    Julia sighed. It was good to be in the company of someone she could call a friend. ¡°I was not raised at court, Roxana. You were. What is it she wants from me, do you think?¡±

    ¡°I was not raised in a Vastrum court. Your ways are strange to me. Such questions would not have been tolerated in my father¡¯s court. Have you considered that she is only concerned for your wellbeing?¡± Roxana wondered aloud.

    ¡°If there is one thing I am sure she is uninterested in, it is my well-being.¡± Julia scoffed.

    ¡°You are right. She had the look of a cobra preparing to strike. She denies it, but perhaps it is your father¡¯s sword she desires. She did her best to frighten you over it.¡±

    ¡°There is much to consider. Thank you, Roxana, for your support and friendship. It means much.¡±

    Roxana smiled, ¡°Of course. There are few enough friends in this land. Most of those ladies will be gone, sailing off with the queen. We will be left here to wait for our men. We must support one another.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡± Julia smiled back at Roxana. They had arrived at the small cottage where she was housed and asked, ¡°Won¡¯t you come over for tea tomorrow?¡±

    Roxana¡¯s face darkened, and for a moment Julia wondered if she had made a mistake with the invitation to tea, but then Roxana pointed at her house, ¡°Julia, your door.¡±

    She turned and looked. Her door was ajar. She was quite sure she had not left it open, and she was certain she had latched it when she left. She looked around nervously. There was no other sign of anything wrong in the cantonment or her yard. Julia took a step forward towards the door.

    ¡°Julia, we should call the guard,¡± Roxana hissed at her.

    ¡°Hello?¡± Julia called out.

    A figure staggered into view and put a hand on the door. The figure was caked in dry blood, with dirty, ragged clothes. The figure made no noise, only stood in the shadows of the cottage¡¯s dark interior. Then it stepped into the light. Julia gasped and put a hand to her face. The figure collapsed to the cobblestone path. A word escaped her lips, ¡°Rathma.¡± She went and knelt by the figure.

    ¡°Should I call the guards?¡± Roxana asked.

    Julia¡¯s reply was urgent, ¡°No. Find the doctor.¡±

 Chapter Nineteen - The Hospital Ship

    Chapter Nineteen

    The Hospital Ship

    Will woke to the rolling and bumping of a wagon. His eyes cracked open, and he took a deep breath. He tried to orient himself. The world seemed foreign as his brain tried to identify where he was and what was happening. He remembered only bits and pieces of what had happened to him. The last he remembered was going up on the bridge to fight. Then something had happened, a great pain had flooded him, and then there had been only dark dreams broken by fits of wakefulness in the infirmary. Flashes of someone trying to feed him with gruel and drips of liquid. He tried to sit up. Around him in the cart were other wounded men, all laid on stretchers. One of them was sitting up watching him.

    ¡°Welcome back to the land of the living.¡± The soldier said in a gravelly voice.

    Will tried to rub his eyes. Only one of his arms responded. He looked down at his left arm, which, though he could feel it, refused to respond. He was filled with shock at the sight of a stump that ended halfway down his upper arm. He wanted to vomit. He could still feel the arm and hand. He tried to flex it, to stretch it, but could not. Of course, he could not; there was no hand there.

    ¡°Happens to the best of us,¡± The man said holding up his own half-missing arm.

    Will pushed down the building panic, ¡°Where are we?¡± He asked.

    ¡°On the road back to Ayodh, I suppose. They tell us shit all.¡±

    ¡°Did we win?¡± He asked numbly.

    The man laughed, ¡°No, but we lived. That¡¯s a kind of victory, I ¡®spose.¡±

    ¡°How¡­¡± Will started to ask but trailed off.

    ¡°They made a trade. Prisoners for the safe return of the wounded. We reached Haddock¡¯s lines yesterday. You¡¯ve been sleepin¡¯, boy. They¡¯re sending us to the coast, far as I can tell. More n¡¯likely we¡¯ll board a boat and go up to Kanmak to recover. Then home, I suppose, at least for those of us who ain¡¯t whole enough to fight.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Will.¡± He pushed himself sitting to lean against the wooden side of the wagon bed.

    ¡°Jake. I¡¯d shake, but, y¡¯know.¡± He nodded to his missing right arm, ¡°Where you from, Will?¡±

    ¡°Marrowick. You?¡±

    ¡°Little village in Sommerhall. Delbury. Doubt you¡¯ve heard of it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve a cousin lives near there. He¡¯s a cooper up in Blyhavn.¡±

    Recognition bloomed on the man¡¯s face, ¡°Maybe I know him. What¡¯s his name?¡±

    ¡°Quincy.¡±

    ¡°I do know him, but not well. Small world, ain¡¯t it?¡± Jake said.

    Will¡¯s stomach growled, and he realized that he was terribly hungry, ¡°Food?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll come around to feed us eventually.¡± He reached for a flask of water and tossed it to Will, ¡°Drink up.¡±

    Will took it, opened it, and took a large chug. He sputtered as he realized that it was not water but arrack. He coughed and sprayed the fiery liquid all over himself.

    Jake burst out laughing.

    ¡°You could have warned me.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t want the water, believe me. You¡¯ll shit yourself to death inside two days. Half the army is laid up with the bloody flux.¡±

    Will took another swig of arrack. It still burned, especially as he had not drunk much. Knowing what it was made it easier to swallow. Still, it made his stomach tie up in knots. The cart continued to roll and sway for another few hours before, blessedly, it stopped. The canvas covering the back was lifted, and a face peered in. ¡°You lot still alive back here?¡±

    ¡°Aye, no thanks to your driving. Did you have to hit every rock on the way down to the coast?¡± Jake barked.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± The voice replied humourlessly, ¡°We¡¯re unloading here.¡±

    More men, most of them native porters, came to do the heavy lifting. Some wounded could walk on their own. The porters carried the men on stretchers down to where a makeshift floating pier had been constructed that led to a shallow-drafted steamship which waited to take them to Bankut, and then upriver to Kanmak, which was the army¡¯s primary headquarters. Will wondered why they would not just let them recuperate in Bankut, or send them home to Vastrum. He looked around at other stretchers and other injured men being hauled down the pier to the ship, looking for friendly faces aside from Jake. There were many men, far more than just those of the 13<sup>th</sup>. There were very few faces he recognized. He was laid in a holding area at the end of the dock. He found that he had been put directly beside Lieutenant Albans, who was lying on a stretcher of his own. The officer was staring off into the distance at nothing.

    ¡°Sir.¡± He said, greeting the officer.

    Albans stared blankly and only grunted in reply. He was missing most of a leg.

    Will looked back towards the carts. Dozens upon dozens of carts were being driven up and unloaded behind them. He quickly thought through the numbers. There had to be at least a couple hundred wounded here. ¡°So many, " he said softly.

    ¡°Oi?¡± Said a sailor sitting around smoking a pipe on the dock, ¡°What you on about?¡± He was a short, swarthy man covered with tattoos.

    ¡°There¡¯s so many casualties.¡±

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s a fact, son, and those are just for today¡¯s sailing. There¡¯ll be another ship in two days and another after that, on and on until the whole bloody war is done. We offloaded reinforcements and supplies this morning. Now we¡¯re taking you lot back. We¡¯ll be back in a few weeks with more supplies and soldiers for the grinder. Fact is, boy, I¡¯m a bit jealous of you.¡±

    ¡°What? Why?¡±

    ¡°The nurses in Kanmak, sonny.¡± The old sailor laughed. Then he looked up, someone was calling him, ¡°Oi, I¡¯ll see you on the boat, lad. Or not.¡±

    Will nodded, ¡°See you.¡± He said in reply, but the man had already darted away. He doubted he would see the man again.

    There was a great deal of waiting as men were unloaded from carts and slowly loaded onto the paddle-wheeled steamship. Waiting, it seemed, was the majority of a soldier¡¯s life. The sun was just going down when someone finally came and lifted his stretcher and bore him towards the gangway onto the ship. He was carried down the deck and placed out in the open. A cloth covering had been erected to provide shade, but otherwise, he was just out on deck. He had expected a room, or cabin, perhaps just a cargo hold with bunks, but the boat was so full that there was no room for such luxuries. He was placed just between Jake and Lieutenant Albans. Men were crowded all down the deck of the ship with all kinds of wounds and in all manner of states. Many men were missing parts of limbs¡ªthe surgeon¡¯s work. Better to lose an arm to the surgeon than to die to gangrene. Some men were lost in trances, others spoke softly with neighbors. Albans was one of the former, staring at the horizon. Will sat up against the outer wall of the ship¡¯s main cabin and looked out through the railing at the sunset over the bay. A brilliant orange sky lit up the coast and cast a glow over the whole ship. Soon, the ship¡¯s great engines began to thrum, the gangways were pulled onto the ship, the great paddlewheel churned the calm, shallow waters, and the ship pulled away.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Soon, native attendants began to serve the men, passing out bowls of porridge and cups of water. Will took his bowl and scarfed it down as best he could with only one hand. It was simple and near flavorless, but it was the first meal he had eaten in a long time, having been in and out of consciousness since his injury. Albans was handed a bowl of the gruel, but he did not eat. He only set it aside and lay back down.

    ¡°May I?¡± Jake gestured at the uneaten food.

    ¡°Take it,¡± Albans replied. It was the first thing he had said to anyone since Will had awoken.

    Will watched the water go by. He was on the port side, facing the open sea as they traveled south. Eventually, the last light faded, and he put his head down to sleep. The soft rolling of the ship made a few men seasick, but the rocking was comforting to him, and he was soon fast asleep.

    He woke while it was still dark to a sound like thunder. He sat up and looked. More thunder rolled on the horizon, along with a faint glow. He quickly realized that it was not thunder but flashes of cannon fire in the distance, just beyond the horizon. He also realized that a man was standing next to him, smoking a cigarette. He looked up and saw the face of the sailor from before, illuminated by a nearby ship¡¯s lamp. He was standing and watching the guns roll in the distance.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Will asked softly, trying not to wake anyone.

    ¡°Best guess is the Fyrins are making a run at the fleet guarding Bankut. Fleet went out to meet them, rather than get trapped in the harbor. They¡¯re duking it out away from the bay.¡± More cannon fire rolled.

    ¡°What does that mean for us?¡±

    ¡°Depends who wins.¡± The man took a long drag from his cigarette.

    Something exploded enormously on the horizon, and fire lit up the night. The sound cracked like a musket, as if someone had shot one close by. Men sat up, awakened by the blast. Men who could still walk stood and went to the railing to see. Smoke billowed far away, blocking the moon and stars and darkening the sky to the southeast. Fire illuminated it and gave it an eerie orange glow.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Someone asked.

    ¡°Powder magazine,¡± The sailor answered grimly, ¡°Poor bastards.¡±

    More cannon fire rolled in the distance. The battle, it seemed, was far from done. The battle continued. Eventually, the men went back to their cots to sleep. Will found he could not. He was transfixed by the battle on the horizon. The ships dueling through the night.

    ¡°My brother is on one of those ships out there,¡± Albans said out of the blue.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Will replied, not sure what to say.

    ¡°He¡¯s a boatswain''s mate on the R.V.S. Blackerton. Third rate ship of the line. 60 guns. Hanish built.¡±

    ¡°How do you know she¡¯s out there?¡±

    ¡°They were in Bankut. I had planned to go on leave for a few weeks, sail down the river to visit him. Then the war began. If the fleet from Bankut are in the fighting, he¡¯ll be there in the middle of it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Will replied. Then, to clarify, he added, ¡°That you did not get a chance to see him before the war started.¡±

    ¡°Indeed, but that is life. Have you thought of what you will do, Private?¡± Albans asked.

    Another volley of cannon sounded in the distance.

    ¡°What do you mean, sir?¡±

    ¡°After you are recovered and the army discharges you?¡±

    He had not thought of it, ¡°No, sir. I do not know. What of you?¡±

    Albans was quiet for a moment, ¡°I was a cavalryman for so long, I know no other life. I will stay in the service if I am able. I will surely be put behind a desk. Still, better that than to live on the King¡¯s pension.¡±

    Will had no reply to give. They sat in relative silence, only the thrum of the steamship¡¯s engines, the gentle lapping of waves, and the occasional distant thunder of naval guns could be heard. They sat like that, watching the lights of the battle like a storm on the horizon, neither saying a word. No sleep found Will again that night, nor Albans. Eventually, dawn found them. The guns had thundered throughout the night, and dark smoke billowed across the horizon when the sun rose. The steamship slowly churned away, its great wheel steadily moving the ship along the coast. It was noon when a ship¡¯s mast broke the horizon.

    ¡°Ship sighted to port!¡± A lookout cried.

    Will stared out at it. It was coming from the direction of the battle, to the east. It was not long before it became clear the ship was listing to the side. It had sails out and was slowly hauling towards the coast. Presumably, it was taking on water, and the captain wanted to get as close to the shore as possible before it went down, giving his sailors the best chance of survival, or perhaps, he even wanted to beach her on the shallow sandy shore. The men watched as the ship slowly lumbered westward with the breeze. Soon, it was close enough to see sailors milling about the deck. The flag they flew was clear as day, the checkered red and white of a Vastrum naval ship. A man on deck was waving flags to signal them. He did not know the meaning of the colorful signal flags, but he could feel the ship''s engines slowing, and the boat slid to a stop. The sails of the Vastrum warship were reefed in, and the great ship of the line stopped nearby.

    ¡°Do you know the ship?¡± He asked Albans as they watched quietly from the deck.

    ¡°No. Looks like a fourth rate frigate. I count maybe forty some-odd guns. Can you read the name?¡± He asked.

    Will squinted, ¡°R.V.S. Black Drake,¡± He replied.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know it. Looks Gantish built.¡±

    ¡°You can tell?¡± He asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s the way the poopdeck rises higher. It¡¯s old-fashioned. We build our ships sleeker. Gant is famous for the style. You can tell it¡¯s not an old ship. It has a good modern shape to the hull. More likely, it was taken as a prize in the Black Isles.¡± He referred to a war fought a decade ago between Gant and Vastrum over a small chain of northern islands. The war had been small and isolated to several naval engagements before the competing claims were settled.

    While they talked, a rowboat from the Black Drake was lowered into the water. Men climbed into it, including a man dressed in the blue and white uniform of a Vastrum naval officer. The boat was then rowed over to the paddlewheel steamship. A rope ladder was dropped over the side, and the officer mounted it nimbly. The man had the stripes and pauldrons of a first mate. His bicorn hat was worn front to back in the more modern style. The man was middle-aged, with a handsome, clean-shaven face. He looked precisely as Will thought a naval officer should look, like he had jumped out of a story book. The captain of the steamship, who Will had not seen before, was a short, pugnacious man with a frown. The two men met on the deck near where Will was lying.

    ¡°What do you want?¡± The captain practically snarled.

    ¡°We require aid.¡±

    The captain scoffed and gestured to the numerous injured men on deck. ¡°We¡¯re a hospital ship. I¡¯m full to bursting, sir, as you can see. I am already rendering all the aid that I am able.¡±

    ¡°There has been a battle.¡± The man said haughtily.

    ¡°Aye, we heard the guns all night, but, sir, there have been many battles on land and at sea. We are bringing wounded soldiers to Bankut. The wounded are bound upriver for Kanmak.¡±

    ¡°Good luck to you, sir, getting into Bankut now.¡±

    ¡°Did we not win the battle?¡± The captain demanded.

    The naval officer¡¯s face darkened, but he answered, ¡°It was a draw, at best. We could not oust them, nor could they fully dislodge us. Both sides lost ships. I think the harbor will be held, but getting into and out of Bankut will be challenging until the third fleet arrives from Durzan. The second fleet could not turn back as they were already engaged at Dagon. We hold the mouth of the Yuna, but barely.¡±

    ¡°What is it you ask of us?¡± The captain asked.

    ¡°Take our wounded. Our hull is taking on water. We must make for shore so that we do not sink. We needs must patch the hull.¡±

    ¡°I have no room.¡±

    ¡°You are riding high in the water, sir. You have room about the deck for more.¡±

    ¡°We have no food for more men, little enough good water. You ask much of me.¡±

    ¡°Yet, for the sake of my men, I must ask it. We cannot care for them. We must repair the hull and go back to the fight. We¡¯ve no time to argue over it. I will send my wounded over.¡±

    ¡°Damn you. Men will die if we cannot feed them.¡±

    ¡°Men will die whither you accept them or no. I would only give my wounded some kind of a chance. I ask only this, though you know full well by the King¡¯s law that I could ask much more of you. I could dump your men ashore and take your ship if I wanted. I ask only passage for those who can no longer fight.¡±

    The captain nodded. ¡°We will find a way.¡± He growled, ¡°But ask no more of me, eh? I would see these men safe.¡±

    The two men shook on it. Then, the first mate turned to go.

    ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± Albans sat up, ¡°I must ask after my brother.¡±

    The first mate turned, eyebrow raised.

    ¡°I am Lieutenant Albans of the 13<sup>th</sup> Dragoons. My brother serves on the Blackerton.¡±

    The man¡¯s face softened, and a wry smile played at his lips, ¡°Albans, did you say? I know not your brother, but the Blackerton still fights. She is a stout ship with good officers. She is the greater part of why the day was not wholly lost and why the harbor of Bankut has not fallen.¡±

    Albans smiled at him and nodded, ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    Then the first mate of the Black Drake turned, climbed back down to his rowboat and was gone. It was another two hours before the injured sailors had been transferred to the deck of the hospital ship. If the deck had been crowded before, it felt doubly so now. There was hardly room for any sailors to walk. Then they departed once more, sailing for Bankut. When food and water were distributed later in the day, their rations were thinner. Even Albans ate his food then. In the distance, the thunder of war rolled on. Then the darkness of night retook them. Flame and cannon fire on the horizon rumbled. It took another day for the fighting to cease. They knew not who had won, if any had. Before them yawned a great unknown as they sailed for the port at Bankut. Few of them spoke, all waiting in silence for the end of the journey to come, one way or another. They could only wait in quiet resignation as the great paddlewheel churned ever southward through the dark eastern sea.