The Trials of Empire, page 17
In the lee of the fortress was a small township, a mixture of building styles from the very rough – little more than single-room lean-tos – to sturdy stone structures with plastered façades and intricate geometric patterning. I could see one modest stepped pyramid which looked as though, in contrast to those of the capital, it still functioned as a place of worship. Such places accreted organically over many decades, beginning with a small garrison fortification and a semi-permanent encampment for travelling merchants, to a rude fortress and shanty township, to a permanent castle and walled city. They were ten a penny in the Empire. This one was called Kalegosfort, and it was the name of both the dusty, pink-stoned fortress of the Grasvlaktekraag, and the settlement that lay to its south.
We drew plenty of attention as we passed through the town. Like Port Talaka, Kalegosfort was home to a mixture of Kasar and humans, though the concentration of white-skinned Sovans here was much more marked, presumably because of our proximity to the Frontier. Kalegosfort would represent, in theory, the first safe haven for a Sovan merchant after the southernmost Templar fortress of Zetland.
Kalegosfort had that innate quality of isolation to it, like an island in a vast sea. This was the final, northernmost outpost of the Kasar, itself many days’ travel to the nearest sizeable town. Here, the wind moaned across the desolate plains and insects chirped and rattled in the grass.
Ran-Jirika rode on ahead, the hooves of his Plains horse kicking up clouds of red dust where the grasses had been cleared away and the earth compacted by decades of human and wolfman feet. Our approach had long been noticed by sentries atop the walls of the fortress itself, and the main gate – a portcullis of latticed iron – rattled open on Ran-Jirika’s approach.
“How will this go?” Vonvalt asked Danai.
“Honestly, I do not know. But the presence of Ran-Jirika and the Questioner is a great boon.” She shrugged. “Besides; I hardly think the Grasvlaktekraag will need much in the way of encouragement to join us. The problem has been keeping them here, to heel.”
We approached the fortress. I saw now that the northern side of it was built atop a steep escarpment, giving Kalegosfort a commanding view of the southern Frontier. The nearest Sovan settlement was the wayfort at Randshut, several tens of miles away and probably visible on a clear day. It was little more than a fortified outpost for traders, and had never held any serious garrison thanks to its proximity to Qaresh. Its isolation had made it easy pickings for the Saekas, too.
I looked up at the walls to see that we were being observed by a dozen armoured Kasar. Unlike the Hyernakryger, the soldiers of the Grasvlaktekraag were more heavily armoured, with mail hauberks and surcoats. Each had a scimitar, which was buckled about their hips, and each carried a huge halberd the same height as themselves.
We passed into the fortress, into a paved staging area. Here were more Grasvlaktekraag. They were dusty and rugged looking, many visibly scarred. Their surcoats were pale earth-red and embroidered with Kasari devices. But though there was an air of expectation, I did not detect any noticeable hostility. Instead, there was almost a sense of reverence as the Questioner dismounted and joined Ran-Jirika in speaking to a Kasar I assumed was some sort of commander.
“That is the Kraagsman,” Danai said quietly to the three of us, gesturing subtly to the Kasar Ran-Jirika and Salana were speaking with. He was black-furred and grey-muzzled, unarmoured and stripped to the waist. I saw that a large burn scar had eaten away a huge swathe of his belly fur, and the grey skin beneath was knotty and discoloured.
“The leader, I am assuming,” Vonvalt said.
“Indeed. I believe the serjeants are known as ‘skarls’, and the individual companies are ‘skarlsgrup’.”
“And you say there are how many? Four hundred?”
“Yes,” Danai agreed. She looked away for a moment to listen to something in Kasarsprek; then she said to us, “We are being asked to dismount.” We did so.
The Kraagsman approached Vonvalt. Vonvalt stood his ground, but I could tell he was intimidated.
He flinched as the Kraagsman thumped him on the shoulder, almost sending him sprawling on to the flagstones. “You and your people are welcome here, Saxan Konrad,” the Kraagsman said in faultless Kasarsprek. He placed a palm on his chest. “I am Zuberi, leader of the Grasvlaktekraag.”
“Thank you, Zuberi,” Vonvalt said, slightly winded. “I see that I have been introduced. I am grateful for your hospitality and I hope that you will find my arrival and my purpose auspicious.” Vonvalt spoke in halting but what I took to be very passable Kasarsprek, judging by the reception of the broader assembly.
Zuberi’s lupine features broke into a broad grin. “Together, we will hunt Templar scum!” he roared, and the host behind him bellowed their agreement.
And so it was we entered the inner fortress to lay plans to move north.
XII
A Costly Mistake in Time and Blood
“I have never known a greater sorrow than to have ended the life of a person I might have called friend.”
MARGRAVE ERNUST HUNFRID
In spite of the extraordinary burden of administration – the Grasvlaktekraag could not simply up sticks and abandon Kalegosfort – we were prepared to leave the following day. Danai and Salana – and many others, I have no doubt – were correct; Kraagsman Zuberi had required little in the way of honey in his ear to press north. The barest threshold of official approval had been crossed in the form of the Questioner. Now, much to Vonvalt’s savage delight, matters progressed with great speed.
I remember vividly being in and amongst the maelstrom of activity as the wolfmen organised themselves. Plains horses were checked, reshod, fed, watered and packed. Great quantities of food were brought out of the fortress’s stores – cured and salted meats, carefully staled bread, a special paste made from ground wildflowers, tubers and oil which could outlast the Empire itself and remain edible – packed with skill, and stowed; blades and horse horns were sharpened, scimitars were sheathed, halberds were protected with leather covers and tied to saddles; armour was checked and repaired with haste and proficiency.
As we watched the Grasvlaktekraag prepare to sally, Danai came to speak with us.
“This is where I leave you,” she said to Vonvalt. We had not expected her to accompany us, but I was sorry to see her go nonetheless.
“Yes,” Vonvalt said, turning away from the spectacle of the Kasar making their preparations. “I owe you a great debt of gratitude.”
“I agree,” Danai said with a hint of wryness. “I have done all I can to explain, in detail, the full nature and purpose of your mission to Ran-Jirika, but you should be conscious of the nature of the Kasar. They can be… ungovernable. They do not have the discipline of the Sovan military formations you are used to dealing with.”
“I am used to dealing with all sorts,” Vonvalt murmured.
“Notwithstanding,” Danai said with a hint of impatience. “They are formidable warriors, but they are akin to a barrel of blackpowder. Once the fuse is lit, there is little to do except stand back and watch.”
“Duly noted.”
There was a pause. “I am sorry that we reached this point via so much… unsavouriness, but I am not sorry that we have reached this point,” Danai said eventually.
Vonvalt was quiet for a few moments, his attention seemingly back on the wolfmen. “No,” he said. I found my hand idly going to my chest, where the mark of the Trickster sat like a faded tattoo.
“I am not sure that it could have gone any other way.”
Once again, we set out north. Ran-Jirika remained with us as a political representative of the will of the Kasaraad. Zuberi led the Grasvlaktekraag. He had left a skeleton force in Kalegosfort, perhaps twenty Kasar; the rest, nearly four hundred wolfmen, struck out on to the Frontier. It was an impressive sight, watching these soldiers and their huge horses, as well as a sizeable baggage train, make its way across the plains.
Vonvalt took the time to pass on what Kasarsprek he knew to von Osterlen and I. I think, for all he had appeared to brush off Danai’s warning about the Kasar being an unruly mob, he was concerned enough to pass on a few key phrases – “wait”, “stop”, “yes”, “no,” and so on – and though he did not tell us why, I suspected he was worried about preserving innocent lives. Although the Kasar were a civilised race, the Grasvlaktekraag were soldiers, and soldiers were capable of all manner of things when their blood was up.
We rode on, this time cutting north-east. Vonvalt’s plan, as he had explained to the Kraagsman, was to make for Grunhaven. But it was on the second day of our journey that something unexpected happened.
“What’s going on?” von Osterlen asked no one in particular as some minor commotion seemed to be taking place at the head of our force. Vonvalt, who had been lost in introspection, looked up sharply, to see wolfmen pointing to the north-west. There, in the distance, one of the outriders was heading back, and, to our surprise, he had, slung across the back of his saddle, a person.
Vonvalt said nothing, but immediately spurred his horse on to intercept the wolfman with the captive. I strained to see whether the person was a Templar, but as they approached, it was clear that they were simply a merchant.
I watched and listened as Vonvalt conversed with the outrider, and then latterly Ran-Jirika and Zuberi as they too converged on the former. Then, after some back and forth, Vonvalt motioned for me and von Osterlen to approach, and we did so.
The merchant – a man – was pulled unceremoniously off the back of the Plains horse and set upon the ground, where he immediately collapsed on to his backside. Vonvalt undid the man’s gag.
“Water,” the man said immediately, and Vonvalt provided some from his own waterskin.
I studied the merchant as he slaked his thirst. He was middle-aged and bald, his head wrapped in cloth to keep the sun off – though his face was still weather-beaten and his lips cracked and dry from want of water. He wore clothes appropriate for a long trek across the Frontier.
“Why don’t you tell me who you are and what happened,” Vonvalt asked after the man had gathered his wits. Still, he did not take his eyes off the line of mounted Kasari soldiers stretching away into the distance.
“Are you going to kill me?” was his first question. It came out as a gasp. He certainly had a Sovan accent, a Hauner by the sounds of it.
Vonvalt shook his head impatiently. “No. Tell me what I’d like to know and you can be on your way.”
The man seemed to be placated by this, more still by the presence of us humans amongst the Grasvlaktekraag.
“My name is Bertrand Kaufmann,” he said. “I am from Oldenburg.” I smirked, pleased with my ear for accents. Kaufmann nodded in the direction of Kalegosfort. “I am making for Port Talaka.” He looked shifty for a moment. “My business is my own.”
Vonvalt shook his head. “I am afraid it isn’t.”
Kaufmann sighed. “I am looking to make enquiries about the sale of some precious items.”
Vonvalt’s eyes narrowed. “I am not about to rob you,” he said, though even as he said it, he seemed to lose interest in the nature of the man’s business. Ultimately, what did it matter?
“A man such as myself, a Sovan citizen no less, should be able to travel without let or hindrance—” Kaufmann continued, emboldened by Vonvalt’s retreat, but Vonvalt waved him quiet.
“Enough of that. Tell me what happened.” He nodded towards the Kasari outrider as he said it.
Kaufmann looked surly and disgruntled. “Little enough to tell. I was walking down the path to Randshut. Making for the border.” He shrugged. “I saw your caravan on the horizon, and thought it was more Templars.”
All three of us, von Osterlen, Vonvalt and I, exchanged a sharp glance.
“More Templars?”
“Aye.”
“Where?” Vonvalt demanded.
Kaufmann looked taken aback. “A-a day north of here, perhaps?”
“Nema, be more specific!”
Kaufmann floundered for a moment. “Gods, I must’ve seen them… Flame of Savare, perhaps twenty miles east of Zetland? Radovansburg.”
“Which direction were they heading in?”
Again, Kaufmann thought.
“Think!” Vonvalt snapped, but von Osterlen made a placatory gesture.
“Easy,” she murmured.
Vonvalt looked annoyed at the interruption, but at least had the good sense to take the point.
“Still east. They were heading east. The reason I remember is that there is a stained-glass window in Radovansburg chapel, and I remember it catching the morning sunlight. And the Templars were moving from my right to left.” He shrugged. “I know not where they were heading. Zetland was in the opposite direction, and there is little enough between there and the coast—”
“Grunhaven,” Vonvalt and von Osterlen said in unison. “How many?” Vonvalt demanded.
Kaufmann shrugged. “I know not. Many hundreds, perhaps thousands.”
Vonvalt turned to us excitedly. “Claver will be making up the coast, and then up the Kova. I’ll warrant Iliyana of Casimir will be there to meet him with the Confederation Navy, and spirit him to Kzosic Principality. He will attack the capital from the east.”
“If we are quick, we will be able to intercept him,” von Osterlen agreed.
We all straightened up. Von Osterlen offered Kaufmann her hand, and she pulled him to his feet. Whilst Vonvalt spoke to Ran-Jirika, she offered the merchant some advice.
“Tread carefully in Port Talaka,” she said. “Sovans – even wealthy merchants – are not as welcome as they once were.”
Kaufmann nodded his thanks. “The times are changing. Not since the final days of the Reichskrieg have I known such disarray.” He took one last look around the Kasar of the Grasvlaktekraag. “You look as though you are prepared for violence. I did not know the wolfmen ventured this far north.”
“They do not. Ours is a special purpose.”
“Then I bid you good fortune,” Kaufmann said, only slightly uneasily.
“And I you.”
Kaufmann repaired to his horse, and then was gone.
A matter of minutes later, so were we.
We continued on to Grunhaven with renewed purpose, though for all their stamina and hardiness, the horses’ energy needed to be husbanded as carefully as that of any other. The temptation was to canter on to the coast, but we had to content ourselves with a steady trot.
Vonvalt and von Osterlen speculated at length about Claver’s movements, though given what we knew about the man’s affiliation with Iliyana of Casimir and the Kòvoskan rebels, most of their speculation was a simple evolution of Vonvalt’s conjecture. In and amongst all this excited talk, it seemed to me that we were all overlooking the most crucial question of all: what exactly it was that we planned to do when we got there. Claver and Margrave von Geier had at least five thousand Templars under their command, and probably closer to twice that in other forces. We were four hundred Kasar. Even if every member of the Grasvlaktekraag killed five men apiece – and, given what I had heard of their abilities, I did not doubt that to be a perfectly possible outcome – that was a fifth of our enemy’s number. And what happened then?
To my greatest surprise, Vonvalt seemed untroubled by my concerns, which I raised during the last meal we took before we reached Grunhaven. It was midday, but the sun was obscured by a low ceiling of grey cloud, and the air, leaden and sultry, felt charged with anticipation.
“Do not let the numbers trouble you too much, Helena,” Vonvalt said. “Defeating an army does not require you to kill every last man in it. It is true that they will likely outnumber us, but you are assuming that this is Claver’s entire force. It may well only be a part of it. After all, ten thousand men require a vast number of ships to transport. And,” he said, warming to his theme, “even if it was all ten thousand, there are any number of ways to pick apart such a force. If we burned their ships and baggage train, they might lose half the army to thirst. We shall have to take the measure of them first.”
I did not have much in the way of appetite, though von Osterlen encouraged me to eat to keep my strength up. Once we had finished, and the horses had been given all the rest they were going to get, the Grasvlaktekraag saddled up, and we made for Grunhaven.
As the violent confrontation drew closer, I found my nerves once again beginning to fray; and so in a quiet moment I drew my Plains horse up alongside von Osterlen’s, and spoke to her in a low voice.
“I feel as though I am always afraid,” I confided. Vonvalt was at the head of the company, talking to Zuberi and Ran-Jirika. “No matter how many fights I get into, the fear never leaves me. It simply returns afresh, every time the prospect of violence rears its head.”
Von Osterlen seemed genuinely surprised that I thought there could have been an alternative. “It never goes,” she said simply, unsure if she’d fully grasped my meaning. “It will never leave you.”
My features creased in confusion. “What do you mean? You feel fear?”
Von Osterlen chuckled in what was an exceptionally rare display of mirth. “Of course, Helena. I am only human. I do not want to be stabbed any more than the next person. It’s fucking painful,” she added.
“Then how do you do it?”
“How do you do it?”
I considered this for a moment. “Because I have to,” I said.
Von Osterlen shrugged. “There you have it. And besides, you do get used to it. Not fully, but it does get easier.”
I eyed the horizon. “I hope I never have to get used to it,” I said uncertainly.
“Yes, well,” von Osterlen agreed. “There is that, too.”
We both looked up as some small commotion drew our attention at the head of the company. Grunhaven had come into view, little more than a distant smudge in the late afternoon haze. But it was not the fortress that was drawing the attention of the Kasar; it was the group of soldiers to the north.
