Warbringer - Chapter 6
Romaine let out a sigh as he lowered himself onto a boulder and sat back to watch the recruits at their practice...
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Centuries ago, the world fell.
From the ashes rose a terrible new species—the Tangata.
Now they wage war against the kingdoms of man. And humanity is losing.
Recruited straight from his academy, twenty-year-old Lukys hopes the frontier will make a soldier out of him. But Tangata are massing in the south, and the allied armies are desperate. They will do anything to halt the enemy advance—including sending untrained men and women into battle. Determined to survive, Lukys seeks aid from the only man who seems to care: Romaine, the last warrior of an extinct kingdom.
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Romaine let out a sigh as he lowered himself onto a boulder and sat back to watch the recruits at their practice. Two weeks had passed since his return from the south, and somehow he now found himself the unofficial instructor for the Perfugians. He now had almost two dozen men and women under his wing; half of the regiments surviving number.
Watching them struggle through the drills he’d set, Romaine tried to keep his face impassive. It was times like these that he was convinced the Gods still watched over humanity, if only to make mischief for their own amusement. How else could he have ended up here, when all he’d wanted was to be alone?
A sigh slipped from his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment, responsibility weighing heavily on his shoulders. When he opened them again, he found Cara standing nearby, one eyebrow raised. He cursed inwardly to have been caught in a moment of frailty, but gestured to join him on the boulder anyway. Their numbers had forced Romaine to move the training to the central plaza, where his activities would be known to all. He was still waiting for the general to come asking after him.
“You’re tired,” Cara said. An uncharacteristic frown creased her face.
Romaine grunted by way of answer.
“Do you not sleep?” the young woman pressed, frown lines deepening.
“I sleep,” Romaine replied, though perhaps that was an exaggeration.
He had taken to sitting atop the walls most evenings, watching the darkness. Waiting was not amongst his talents. He longed to return south, to fight back against the creatures that had stolen his nation, that had taken everything from him.
But while the general had resumed scouting this side of the Illmoor, there had been no more crossings. Fogmore had not even found a new ship capable of making the journey.
Silence fell between them and Romaine turned his gaze back on the recruits. The clack-clacking of practice spears rang across the square, drawing the eyes of bystanders, though none had complained so far about the commotion. He’d separated the recruits into two groups to practice drills with shield and spear. One side would attack, running through a series of predetermined movements, while the other matched with the required blocks.
“They seem…slow,” Cara said beside him.
Romaine chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be out there practicing with them?”
Cara shrugged. She had continued practicing with Lukys at first, but as more and more recruits came asking for Romaine’s help, she’d joined them less and less. At least her arm seemed to be healing well. Lukys still changed the bandages regularly, and the last time the bruising had almost vanished.
Silence fell between them again, and shaking his head, Romaine watched as the recruits ran through another drill. Lukys stood in the middle, wielding his spear against a taller man they called Travis. The exercise started with a high stab for the opponent’s throat, followed by a spinning riposte, and finally an attacking thrust from the enemy’s shield. The two performed the drill well with only minor faults, but even so, Romaine could see Cara was right.
“It’s not enough,” he murmured, unable to keep the words to himself. “I can’t help them. Against ordinary soldiers, with a few more weeks or months, maybe I could make a decent fighting force out of them. But against the Tangata…”
“They are getting better,” Cara replied, glancing at him. “More than you realise.”
As she spoke, a grunt came from nearby as a recruit crashed to the ground. It was one from the attacking group. The thrust of his opponent’s shield had caught him in the chin and knocked him off-balance. Romaine let out a sigh.
“You were saying?”
“Maybe you’re right,” Cara said after a long pause, “maybe you’re wrong.” A smile lit her face. “But it makes no difference to them. Somehow, you’ve given them hope. Can’t you see it in their faces?”
Romaine looked at the Perfugians again, but as the drill continued, more mistakes bled into their exercises. Frustration began to take hold. He sighed.
“I see only fear.” He should not have been confessing such things to the woman, but he was in over his head, needed to speak. “Only desperation.” He swallowed. “I’ve heard them, after these sessions, whispering to the Gods, thanking them for sending me.” His eyes stung but he forced the words out. “If I have given them hope, it is only a false one.”
“All hope is false in the face of desperation,” Cara replied. She glanced at Romaine, looking older than her years. “If theirs is a false hope, surely the same must be said for that of humanity. You said it yourself: the Tangata are too fast, too powerful. What hope can there be for your victory?”
Romaine swallowed, but caught in her amber gaze, found he did not have the words to reply. Cara spoke into the silence:
“Yes, they’re afraid,” she murmured, “and desperate. They know there’ll be no ground given in the war to come. And so they learn.”
A shudder ran down Romaine’s spine as Cara fell silent. They sat together watching the recruits for a while longer, until the ice finally left his veins.
Before the conversation could resume, the sound of approaching hooves rattled from across the plaza. They looked around as a single rider emerged from the main street leading north. It was a fine winter’s day and she wore a velvet bodice and slim-cut pants of Flumeeren red rather than furs. Despite her obviously recent arrival, her clothes were untouched by the dirt of the road.
Electric blue eyes swept the square, dismissing the blue-garbed recruits at a glance before continuing towards Romaine. Settling on his green-hued uniform, she heeled her horse towards him. Romaine let out a sigh—he knew a royal courtier when he saw one.
“A Calafe warrior!” the woman exclaimed as she approached. “I did not think any of your kind were left on the front lines.”
“Where else would I be, lass?”
The woman’s lips twisted in a frown and she scrunched her nose, but did not answer his question. Instead she looked away, eyes fixed on the distance now.
“Where is your general, soldier?” she asked.
Silence had fallen across the plaza at the woman’s appearance. Her clothing was of a far better quality than that of any of the citizens still in Fogmore. The rich had fled long ago, packing up their possessions and heading north to escape the coming war. Even without the expensive clothing, her long golden hair and bronzed skin was something of an anomaly amongst the Flumeeren and Perfugian soldiers. They spoke of southern heritage, an oddity in itself given the woman’s apparent standing in the Flumeeren court.
When Romaine’s reply was not quick in coming, the woman swung back to face him. “I asked you a question,” she said curtly.
“Forgive me, lass,” Romaine said, taking a step towards the horse, “but who in The Fall are you?”
The woman’s mouth fell open at his words, her face turning pale. Romaine only folded his arms and waited. The woman’s arrogance probably matched her importance, but not technically being a Flumeeren citizen, he was willing to risk the reprimand. He certainly didn’t have the patience to play her games.
“My name is Erika, Archivist to the crown, sent by Queen Amina herself!” The woman spouted the words as though they meant something to Romaine. “And you will show me some respect, Calafe!”
Romaine stifled a sigh and decided it was best to make the woman someone else’s problem as quickly as possible.
“My deepest apologies, ma’am,” he exclaimed, exaggerating a bow. “I had not heard of your arrival. I am sure General Curtis awaits your company with bated breath.”
The woman seemed taken aback by his sudden change in conduct. Her eyes narrowed but after a moment she gave a short nod.
“Very well,” she murmured, lifting her nose in a way that suggested she was above the apologies of a mere soldier. “You are forgiven. Now, the general?”
“Last I heard he was surveying our defences on the banks of the Illmoor,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the river gates. “You should find him there.”
The woman faltered, the colour draining from her cheeks. Romaine suppressed a grin. What was this woman doing on the frontier? He watched as she lifted her left hand and clenched it into a fist, and for the first time noticed she wore a gauntlet, though the metal links were too fine to offer any protection. Stranger still, her right hand was bare.
“Was there not an attack here, just two weeks past?” she asked. To her credit, there was no hint of fear in her voice. “What is the general doing outside the walls of this…city?” She said the final word like she could not quite believe the description.
“The Tangata are unlikely to attack in broad daylight, ma’am,” Romaine said, attempting to mimic the woman’s haughty air. “And the general is eager to bolster our defences. But your fears are…understandable. Perhaps you would prefer to wait—”
“No.” The woman drew herself up and set her eyes on the distant walls. “You will take me to the general, now, Calafe. I cannot afford any further delays.”
“Very well, ma’am,” he murmured, then turned to the recruits. They had stopped their practice at the woman’s arrival. It was time they resumed their duties at the quarry anyway. “Off with ya!” he bellowed, gesturing towards the mountains. “We’re done here for the day.”
The recruits moved off without further complaint. Lukys and Travis waved their goodbyes, grins on their faces, and Romaine nodded back. When they were finally gone, Romaine let out a sigh. Best he get this over and done with. Turning to the woman, he extended a hand in the direction of the river gates.
“After you, ma’am.”
Erika dismounted in front of the so-called river gates and cursed as her boot immediately sank to the ankle. The ground before the palisade had been churned to mud by the passage of horses and men—but she still could not understand why these gates were being used at all. The report she’d received in Mildeth spoke of dozens of Tangata attacking in the night. She was no officer, but it seemed beyond foolhardy to risk soldiers beyond the admittedly questionable protection of the palisade.
She glanced at the Calafe warrior that had guided her this far and balled her gauntleted hand into a fist. If this was all some joke…No, the man had been insolent at first, but had been the model of good behaviour since learning of her importance. Though she was tempted to have him fetch the general back...
But no, she would be venturing far beyond the wall before long. Letting out a sigh, she nodded to her guide. At a gesture from the warrior, the guards on the gate leapt to remove the heavy locking bar from its brackets. These wore the red of Flumeer, marking them as true soldiers—unlike the Perfugian rabble she had observed in the plaza. Why their island neighbours bothered to send soldiers at all was beyond her when those were the best they could offer. They might have copied the Gemaho and just sent no one at all.
The gates squealed as they swung open, revealing a plain of churned-up mud leading down to the black waters of the Illmoor. A shiver ran down her spine as her eyes continued on. The day was clear and in the distance she spied a hint of green—the banks of Calafe. Enemy territory.
Home.
She pushed the memory away. Calafe was not her home. Mildeth, with its towering walls and spiralling citadel and noble queen, that was home.
Forcing her mind to the present, she walked past the guards and out into the sunlight beyond the palisade. The Calafe warrior fell into step beside her but before they could go far, racing footsteps chased after them. To Erika’s surprise, another woman ran from the city to join them.
Erika frowned, her stride faltering. The woman wore green, though it was so dark it could have been black, and like Erika she wore pants rather than a dress. Was this the warrior’s daughter? No, their complexions were too different. Though they certainly seemed to know each other.
“What are you doing here, Cara?” the man rumbled.
The woman ignored him, instead offering Erika a broad grin. “Cara,” she said. Her accent was soft, unlike the warrior’s.
“Erika,” she said reluctantly, still studying the woman. One of her arms was in a sling, though even that could be an act.
“Don’t mind Romaine, here,” Cara said lightly, pointing a thumb at the Calafe warrior. “He’s just tired.” She swung back to Erika. “So, what brings you here, Archivist?”
The hackles stood up on the back of Erika’s neck at the question and she narrowed her eyes. How did this strange woman know who she was? Could this Cara be another of Gemaho’s spies? No. She forced the thought from her mind. The woman had probably just overheard, back in the square.
“I’m afraid that’s a sensitive matter,” she replied coolly, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead.
The muddy path was treacherous enough as it was without distraction. She glimpsed movement down near the river and was relieved to see the blue cloaks of her fellow countrymen. So the Calafe hadn’t been lying, that was something.
Then her eyes alit on something in the river. A vice closed around her heart as she stared at the blackened ruins sitting just above the water level. Even from a distance, she could see it was clearly a ship. A fresh breeze blew across the mudflats, carrying with it the cloying stench of smoke.
“What happened?” Erika croaked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. There was no sign of another ship; had they truly been so careless as to lose their only vessel for crossing the Illmoor?
“The attack,” the Calafe murmured.
“Poor men,” Cara added. “They…were kind to me.”
“Where…there is another, surely?”
The Calafe shrugged. “Afraid not.”
“But I…” Erika trailed off. There was no point spouting secrets to these two. It was the general she needed. She picked up the pace.
As they neared the river, Erica saw that the soldiers were hard at work driving giant wooden spikes into the mud, the sharpened points directed at the water. They had already covered the entire bank and now seemed to be doubling back to add more.
Scanning the ranks of mud-stained men, Erika searched for the general. The men at work did not wear their helmets, though a group standing off to the side looked ready for war. They would be the lookouts. No doubt she would find the general there. Erika started towards them, but a call from the Calafe drew her back.
“Where you are going, lass?” he called, falling back into his informal manner.
“I can find my way from here, Calafe,” she called over her shoulder, continuing towards the group of men.
“Glad to hear it,” the man’s voice chased after her, “since you’re heading the wrong way.”
Erika came to a stop. “What?” She glared back at him.
The Calafe wore a broad grin as he turned towards the working men. “General Curtis, messenger from the queen for you.”
Amidst those working, one straightened with a groan and looked around. Mud covered his face and clothing, though on closer inspection Erika saw this man was older than the others. Grey hair shone through the grime and frown lines marked his forehead. Otherwise, there was nothing to suggest this could be the legendary General Curtis, veteran of a dozen campaigns and hero of Flumeer.
Anger touched Erika as she realised her mistake in trusting this Calafe. A general of such repute would not be here, digging in the dirt. She swung on Romaine and raised her fist, readying herself to release the magic. She would not be made a fool of!
“Romaine!” a voice called from the mud. She looked around as the older man strode towards them. “I heard you were busy wasting your time with the Perfugians. What are you doing delivering messenger girls?”
Erika gritted her teeth as a smug smile appeared on the Calafe’s face. Exhaling a breath through clenched teeth, she faced the approaching man.
“General Curtis, I presume,” she said, drawing herself up. “And I am afraid the Calafe spoke in error. I am Erika, the royal Archivist, not a messenger. The queen sent me on urgent business.”
“Did she now?”
The general made a gesture towards the working soldiers. Groans echoed around the work site as the men downed stakes and shovels and wandered towards the lookouts, who were offering waterskins and strips of what looked like beef jerky.
Satisfied his men were cared for, the general returned his attention to Erika. Smiling, he offered his hand.
Erika studied the filthy digits, struggling to keep the reaction from her face, before finally reaching out to accept the gesture—though she only placed her fingertips in his palm. Grime did not bother her, when it served a purpose. But this…any man could be sent to dig in the mud. What was the commander of the entire allied army doing here?
“My apologies for the poor welcome,” the general went on. “In wartime, there are little resources to spare for luxuries here in Fogmore. My little city must be quite the change from the capital.”
“Nonsense, General,” Erika replied, forcing a smile to her lips. “I did not get to be the Queen’s Archivist without getting my hands dirty.”
“I see,” the general replied.
His eyes swept her up and down, no doubt taking in her clean clothes and face. She’d been fortunate enough to find an inn with a bathhouse for her last night on the road, though it had taken some convincing to have the innkeeper prepare the waters. Erika had been the woman’s only guest in days.
“I must admit though,” Erika added. “I did not expect to find the famed General Curtis working in the mud. Surely we are not so short on hands that a common soldier could not be assigned in your place.” Despite her best efforts, she could not keep the disdain from her voice.
The general only chuckled. “I am not always so occupied, but at this moment we have little intelligence about the Tangatan invasion plans. There’s not much else to do but ready our defences.” He paused, but when Erika only raised an eyebrow, his grin spread. “It does me well, to remember my roots as a common soldier, Archivist. And it is good for the men to see their officers are not above a hard day’s labour.”
“I see,” Erika replied, though she did not understand at all.
The queen did not clean her own privy chamber. To do so would be to invite questions of her authority. Had age begun to erode the general’s famed military mind?
“In that case,” she continued delicately, deciding it was best to leave that line of thought to others, “perhaps my assignment will be of interest to you.”
“Oh?” the general asked. “And what task has our illustrious queen assigned to her young Archivist?” As he spoke, he unclipped a waterskin from his belt and upended it over his head. He used his spare hand to wash his face clean.
Erika bristled at his tone, but forced herself to calm. She could not afford to upset this man, not when the success of her mission relied on his benevolence. If he wished to think of her as a youth…she would manage. Perhaps she might even use it to her advantage.
She offered the general an innocent smile. “Through my research, I have found another of the ancient sites,” she began delicately. “One I believe has lain undiscovered since The Fall.”
“Another of those underground ruins?” the general asked. Wiping the last of the water from his face, he offered the waterskin to the Calafe. The man waved a hand, declining the offer, and the general returned it to his belt. “I thought the queen had abandoned her interest in those dusty old tunnels?”
Erika frowned at his words. “Clearly your knowledge is out of date, General,” she replied. “Through my research, the magic of the Gods has been returned to the hands of humanity.”
Raising her hand, she clenched her fist, igniting the cold light of her gauntlet. Silence fell over the men at the sight, while nearby the young woman leaned closer, her eyes growing large. The other soldiers were too far off to notice the glow in the bright sunlight. After a moment, Erika lowered her hand and allowed the light to die.
“So you see, General, why my mission is important,” Erika murmured. “With magic on our side, the Tangata will be rebuffed, and Flumeer will stand supreme amongst the kingdoms of man.” Her heart pounded against her chest as she faced the general, watching for his reaction.
He laughed.
“Archivist,” he said after a moment, a grin stretching his cheeks. “The Tangata will not flee from a pretty light show.”
“The magic is much more than just light—”
“Oh, I know,” the general said, waving a hand as though to dismiss her. “A carrier bird arrived from the capital just yesterday speaking of your demonstration.”
“Then why…” Erika trailed off.
“I wanted to see it for myself,” the general replied, his grin fading. “Now that I have…” He shook his head. “Archivist, all due respect, but this war will not be won by magic. The ancients thought the same, and look what happened to them—all dead or turned to mindless beasts. No, mark my words, those devices are not for human hands. I’ll keep my sanity, thank you very much. We’ll win this war the old-fashioned way, with sweat and blood and cold, hard steel.”
“I…” What was happening? This meeting was not going at all as she had expected. Why had the queen pre-empted her arrival with a letter of her own? Shaking herself, Erika drew her thoughts together and faced the general. “All due respect to you, sir,” she said coldly. “That is not your decision to make.”
She unclipped her satchel and removed the documents the queen had provided her. Silently she handed them to the general.
“Orders for you to provide me with a squadron to venture south of the Illmoor,” she said coldly. “Signed by the queen herself.”
Beside her, the Calafe warrior started, his face showing surprise. “You want to cross the Illmoor,” he gasped.
She faced him, her face carefully blank. “Yes, Calafe. And if you are unable to keep that mouth of yours shut while your betters speak, I would suggest you return to your charges.”
The man’s face went blank at that, though she could see the rage behind his eyes. She let a satisfied smirk touch her lips. She faced the general again. In stark contrast to the Calafe, he had shown no reaction to her announcement. No doubt the queen’s letter had forewarned him.
“You are insistent on this path, Archivist?” the general asked calmly.
“With all due respect, General, we have tried your way.” Erika lifted her chin, confidence growing now. “It failed. Calafe was lost. Yet still you cling to your beliefs that the Tangata can be defeated by the sword alone.”
“In the south, it was not my armies that were defeated, Archivist,” the general replied, his voice like ice now. “The Calafe, for all their repute as warriors, were not soldiers. They fought alone, and died for it. There is a reason it was our armies alone who escaped.”
His words took the impetus from Erika’s argument. She was surprised the Calafe man did not speak up, though a glance in his direction revealed his jaw was clenched tight.
“Perhaps what you say is true,” Erika murmured, adopting a consolatory tone, “but the time for caution is over. All weapons must be explored if we are to save our kingdom from destruction. Surely you understand that.”
“Do not lecture me on the ways of war, Archivist,” the general snapped. His eyes drifted down the riverbanks, to where the burnt ship still lay. “You know nothing of desperation, of what it is to face the Tangata, man to beast.” He sighed and looked back at her, eyes sad. “I had hoped to dissuade you from this path. But I see now that was never a possibility.” He handed her back the papers.
“Then you will obey the queen’s orders?” Erika insisted.
“The Tangata are already in the forests beyond the Illmoor,” the general said after a moment. “Romaine was amongst the scouts who encountered them. How many did you lose again, Calafe?”
“Two,” her guide rumbled, before adding: “Not including the ferryman and his crew.”
“Nor the soldiers we lost when they gave chase and attacked the city,” the general added. “I still wonder at that. Why did they come here, throw away lives on an assault that could never have succeeded…?” He trailed off, then shook himself, facing Erika once more. “Your devotion to the Gods has blinded you to reality, Archivist. You would need an army to reach your sacred site. But I will obey my queen, as in all things.”
“I will be successful,” Erika said in response to his doubt. “We will travel fast, set cold camps, fight if we must. It is you who does not see, General.” She lifted her gauntlet, gaze lingering on the shining threads of metal that had somehow fused to her flesh. “This is our future, our salvation. What lies in those caverns, I must find it, claim it for our queen.”
“I will not risk our nation on a fool’s gambit,” the general continued as though he had not heard her. “This river is the only thing standing between our people and oblivion.” His eyes took on a haunted look, before he shook himself and looked at the Calafe. “Romaine, take the Archivist back to the city and have my clerics find her quarters. And have them send a message to Charcity, we will need one of their ships.”
“What about my regiment?” Erika insisted as the general made to turn away.
“You will have your soldiers,” the general replied curtly. “Until the morrow, Archivist.”
Lukys’s shoulders ached as he finished the last trip back from the quarry, barrel loaded high with gravel. It was a thankless task, mining the rock and towing it back to the city to lay on the streets each day, only to watch it be stomped into the mud the next morning. There were simply too many people, too many soldiers, in Fogmore for the unsealed street to be maintained.
What they needed was brick, like they used in Ashura. But the Flumeerens he’d spoken to had laughed at the idea. Their nation was too preoccupied with war to waste their energies on enhancing the city.
So instead the Perfugian recruits marched into the hills each day and gathered gravel.
This trip, Travis had taken the first shift with the barrow, hauling the load through the foothills until they reached the Queen’s Highway. That left Lukys with the longer shift, though the way was easier, with less hills and potholes to navigate. Even so, he was glad when they finally entered the shadow of the palisade.
Several others from Romaine’s group walked nearby with barrows of their own, but Dale and the others had reached the city long ago. They did not work quarter as hard as Lukys and the others, only half-filling their barrows to make the way back easier. Dale had not spoken to Lukys again since that first day in the quarry, though Lukys had noticed the man watching him.
In a way, Lukys pitied those others. Most of the noble born had spurred Romaine’s training, but without the Calafe warrior, they had no hope. You could see it in the way they walked, in how their shoulders slumped and they lowered their heads as they returned to the city. They believed what the general had told them, that they were worthless, a waste of resources best done away with. Only the threat of being hunted down as mutineers kept them in line.
A sliver of despair touched Lukys’s heart and he quickly forced his mind from such gloomy thoughts. He had to concentrate on the good. They were getting better, getting proficient with spear and shield. With time, they would become true soldiers, not the frauds they had arrived as.
The only question was, would it be enough, when the Tangata came?
“Why so gloomy, Lukys?”
Lukys looked up as Travis spoke, but before he could speak another voice piped up from nearby.
“He’s always gloomy,” Cara said as she joined them. A smile took the sting from her words.
Though she rarely participated in Romaine’s training now, she did occasionally follow them up to the mine. With her arm, she didn’t help much with the work and she rarely spoke to the other recruits, but he and Travis had developed somewhat of a comradery with her.
“You’re not eating the same slop as the rest of us,” Lukys grunted.
Cara only grinned, though his words were sadly true. Despite their progress, the officers of Flumeer still refused to take the Perfugians seriously. They were barred from the common soldiers’ mess hall, and received only the sparest of meals. If there was even any left—Dale and his cohort showed little restraint when it came to saving food for stragglers.
Even worse than the food though was the thought of returning to their barracks. Left in those unlit rooms, there was nothing to occupy their minds but thoughts of what was to come. Alone in a room of dozens, it was strange how those times had come to haunt him. The faint hope that Romaine had given them was little match for those unoccupied hours from dusk to dawn.
“I wonder what that woman is here for,” Travis mused as they dumped their load of gravel in a pile inside the gates, to be spread on the roads come morning.
They looked at Cara—she’d followed Romaine and the newcomer after all—but she only looked away.
“Had to be someone from the queen’s court,” Lukys said finally. “Not like it matters though, she won’t be sticking around once the fighting starts.”
“You are in a bad mood today,” Travis replied with a grin. “You’re telling me you don’t appreciate the presence of a beautiful woman?”
“Ahem,” Cara interrupted, a scowl lining her forehead.
“Ahh…” Travis grew red, words failing him for once in his life. Cara punched him in the arm with her good hand.
Lukys laughed as the man looked in his direction. He raised his hands. “Don’t look at me.”
“Hey, there’s Romaine!” Travis said quickly, pointing ahead and changing the subject. “I’m sure he can tell us more about our new guest—hey!” he exclaimed as Cara hit him again.
Flashing him a final glare, Cara strode past him and headed for Romaine. Still grinning, Lukys joined her, a sheepish Travis bringing up the rear. Despite her time in the wilderness, Cara was more capable than anyone of putting the noble born in his place.
Lukys spied Romaine sitting atop the palisade, his gaze focused on the southern horizon. They often saw him there in the evenings. He seemed to be waiting for something, as though he expected the Tangata to appear at any moment. Just the thought sent a shudder down Lukys’s spine and he directed a quick prayer at the Gods for a quiet night.
“Romaine!” Cara called. Gravel crunched beneath their boots as they started up the steps. At least on the walls it remained long enough to be useful. “How goes the watch?”
A smile touched the warrior’s face as he saw them. Slowly he rose from the water barrel he’d been using as a seat. “I’m not on watch, lass,” he murmured. “Just like to watch the sun set…” He trailed off.
Lukys glanced in the direction of the river. The sky was clear but for the clouds that clung endlessly to the Mountains of the Gods, and the sun was just dipping towards the distant horizon. Today the fiery glow had an orange tinge. Lukys wondered whether that might be some omen, a warning for rain or snow or another fine day. Distantly he remembered a lesson from the academy. Perhaps if he hadn’t failed, he might have remembered…
He shook himself, casting off the memories. The waters of the Illmoor remained brown, polluted by its passage through hundreds of miles of Gemahan farmland. He could just glimpse the trees on the distant riverbanks through the fading light.
“And where are you three headed?” Romaine asked, filling the silence.
“Our mess hall,” Travis answered with an easy grin. “Thankfully, we’ve probably already missed the worst of the pig feed. We wanted to ask you about the woman today—” He broke off as Cara delivered a clean elbow to his ribs.
Romaine grunted. “That one’s trouble, if ever I saw it.”
“Really?” Lukys asked, his curiosity finally piqued.
The warrior waved a hand. “A worry for the morning,” he replied. A frown touched his forehead. “Did you say you’d missed dinner?” He shook his head. “Can’t have that. Come, you can dine with me in the soldiers’ mess hall.”
“Erm…” Lukys exchanged a glance with the others. “We’re not allowed—”
“Like The Fall,” Romaine interrupted. “You’re with me. Come.”
He started off down the steps back into town, leaving the three with no choice but to follow. They shared a glance before starting after him. Romaine seemed in a strange mood, and Lukys finally joined Travis in wondering why the strange woman had come. It was bound to be something bad. Surely the queen would not have sent her Archivist so close to the frontier unless it was urgent, not with the Tangata on their doorstep.
His spirits lifted though as they entered the city and Romaine started towards the mess hall. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal since they’d arrived—there was no telling what the cooks put in the grey slop served to the recruits; it was barely food.
The temperature plummeted as they made their way through the darkening streets, the thought of a hot meal drawing them on. It was a welcome sight when the lights of the mess hall finally came into view. The guards on the door gave Lukys pause, but Romaine only offered them a nod, and they said nothing as the two recruits and Cara followed the Calafe inside.
Warmth washed over Lukys as they entered the mess hall. The sight that greeted him did not disappoint. Large tables filled the main floor, most occupied by off-duty soldiers, while on the far wall a large window opened into the kitchen. Two men stood on duty behind the window, serving the soldiers lining for their food. A second counter seemed to be used to return the dirty plates. On another wall, flames burned in two great hearths, casting back the winter chill.
Removing his coat, Romaine gestured for them to hang theirs on a rack beside the door. Lukys sighed as he removed the heavy fur. Travis did the same but Cara left hers on—she didn’t seem to like even a hint of the cold. Together they followed Romaine across to the kitchen window. A massive Flumeeren man wearing a grease-speckled apron greeted the Calafe with a grin. Bulging eyes flickered as Lukys and the others approached, before returning to Romaine.
“Your pups?” he rumbled. Romaine grunted, and the cook burst into laughter. “Look like they could use a decent feed.” He gestured for them to approach the window. “Come, what can old Dante get you lot? Got some fresh mutton tonight, still hot. Mash too, and ‘cauli and ‘coli, if vegetables are your thing. Take a plate, help y‘selves.”
“Thank you!” Lukys gasped.
Travis nodded his own excitement. Plate in hand, Cara was already a step ahead of them. Grabbing utensils of his own, Lukys speared a chunk of meat from the platter, then took a generous helping of mashed potatoes as well. There was broccoli and cauliflower too. Once he might have avoided vegetables, but after the endless slop, he’d go for anything with a green shade to it.
Afterwards, they took a seat at an unoccupied table and Romaine disappeared again. Still taking in their surroundings, Lukys noticed that one of the boulders that lay in the plaza formed part of the mess hall as well—one of the walls had been shaped around the giant stone, rather than moving it.
Shortly, Romaine reappeared with four large mugs and a carafe of some deep red liquid. Curious, Lukys wafted it under his nose and was surprised when he detected the scent of cloves and cinnamon. He raised an eyebrow at Romaine.
“Mulled wine,” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hardly touched my quota these past few weeks so there’s plenty to share.”
They passed the carafe around, each filling their mugs to the brim, and then sat back to take it all in. Mulled wine was considered a delicacy in Perfugia, a drink they had only enjoyed on special occasions at the academy. Breathing it in, Lukys savoured the rich aroma.
“You’re meant to drink it, you know,” Travis said, raising his mug to cheers.
“Right.” Lukys’s cheeks warmed and he chinked his drink with the others before taking a sip.
It was sweeter than what he’d tried during the winter celebrations in Perfugia. Stronger too, though the spice of the cloves covered much of the taste. There was still some warmth in it, and he welcomed the sensation of heat spreading from his stomach. Eating and sleeping in their frigid quarters, it seemed an age since he’d last been truly warm.
“It’s good!” Cara exclaimed. She sat across from Romaine and Lukys, with Travis. She lowered the mug only long enough to make her point before taking another swig.
Romaine chuckled. “Did your parents never let you try a southern vintage?” he asked. “The Gods help ‘em, there’s a reason they spice the stuff here. Undrinkable without it.”
“Better than your cooking, Romaine,” a man Lukys did not recognise said as he lowered himself down beside Travis.
“That so…Lorene?” Romaine said. There was an obvious pause, as though he had trouble remembering the name. “Don’t recall you volunteering to cook during our last trip south of the Illmoor!”
The man grinned but said nothing, only scooped a lump of mash from his plate and took a bite. Lukys and the others looked from Romaine to the newcomer. The Calafe warrior grunted when he finally noticed their confusion.
“This is Lorene,” he said. “Joined me on a few scouting trips down in Calafe.”
“One, to be exact,” Lorene replied, and for a moment his eyes took on a haunted look. “Barely made it back with our lives, too. Though I suppose we did rescue poor old Cara here,” he added, gesturing beside them.
“Will you go south with the others then?” Cara asked suddenly, lifting her head from the mulled wine.
Lukys and the others at the table started at the announcement, while Romaine fixed her with a glare. She frowned when he did not reply, before her eyes widened and she muttered a curse.
“Oh, right, that’s meant to be a secret.”
Beside Lukys, Romaine groaned and buried his head in his hands.
“What The Fall, Romaine?” Lorene hissed, leaning forward. His voice adopted a slight tremor as he went on: “They’re sending us into Calafe again?”
The Calafe shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “It’s that Archivist woman. She wants to go south, find some sacred site of the Gods.”
A gasp slipped from Lukys’s lips. “What?”
In Perfugia, disturbing any relic related to the Gods was a capital offence, one few dared to challenge. All knew what had become of the last souls who’d dared to meddle with the Gods and their magic. Now that Lukys had seen the Tangata himself, he wanted even less to do with such powers. What was the woman thinking, risking her life to seek out such a cursed place?
“She’s quite mad,” Romaine replied, not understanding the true source of Lukys’s indignation, “but she has somehow convinced the queen to support her. The general is to supply her with a regiment. He’s not happy about it. I suspect he will ask for volunteers.”
Across the table, Lorene let out a long breath, the relief in his eyes obvious.
“She’s not mad, Romaine,” Cara snapped, leaning across the table to glare at the warrior.
“Anyone who wants to go back there is insane in my book,” Lorene said cheerfully, raising his glass in salute. Romaine’s words seemed to have reassured him.
“Perhaps there is more to her than meets the eye,” Cara said softly, before glancing at Lorene. “Besides, I want to go back.”
Silence fell over the table as they all turned to stare at her. Lukys opened his mouth and then closed it again, unable to fashion a response. Calafe was Cara’s home, and true, he couldn’t understand what it must be like to lose that, but…
“Don’t be a fool,” Romaine growled, coming slowly to his feet.
Fool, fool, fool.
Lukys shook his head as the words rang in his mind.
“I’m serious, Romaine,” Cara said, standing as well. “I have to go home.”
Home, home, home.
“Home?” Romaine gasped. “Home is gone, girl! They took it. All we have left are our lives. Don’t throw yours away because some madwoman thinks it’s safe to wander around a forest swarming with Tangata.”
“You don’t understand,” Cara whispered, eyes shining in the light of the hearth. Silence had fallen across the mess hall as the other soldiers turned to watch the commotion. “I can’t stay here, I have to go.”
Go, go, go.
“Don’t understand?” Romaine raged. “I understand better than anyone! I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?” the young woman hissed, eyes growing dark.
Her hands balled into fists and for a moment it seemed she stood taller. Romaine said nothing, only stared at her across the table. The moment stretched out, punctuated only by the clattering of plates from the kitchen. Finally, Cara gave a curt nod. Without saying a word, she spun and marched from the hall without looking back.
Romaine watched her go, a haunted look on his face, as though he had just lost something dear to him. Finally he closed his eyes, head bowing.
“Piece of advice, lads,” he murmured, “if you want to avoid my mistakes. There’s no room in this war to care. About anything. Do yourselves a favour and burn that crap from your hearts now, before it gets you killed.”
With that he turned and walked from the mess hall, leaving the two recruits and Lorene sitting looking after him.
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