Martin Scott - Thraxas at War

'They can't advance, they can't retreat and they can't go sideways. If my phalanx is called on to move more than eight feet in any direction, we're all done for.'

'Me too. If the young guy behind me drops his spear on my shoulder one more time I swear I'm going to stick it down his throat.'

'You remember the phalanx we were in down on the fringes of the Simian Desert?' asks Gurd. 'Now that was a phalanx. Charged over hills and valleys without once breaking formation.'

I nod. We did. The Unbreakables, they used to call us. Finest phalanx in the desert. Chased off an army three times our size with our superior manoeuvring.

'We could do with the Unbreakables right now,' muses Gurd. 'How well organised do you think the Ores are going to be?'

'Probably not that well organised. Prince Amrag hasn't been war leader for long. He hasn't had time to drill them into shape. Probably they'll be a huge mass of Ores without any formation, and a few phalanxes of trained troops. That's what they're usually like.'

'Gives us an advantage then, if we can get our formations in order. The city should have been doing it long ago.'

Gurd mentions that Makri is at present as mad as a mad dragon.

'What have you been doing to her?'

I explain the matter of the latest meeting which she held in my office. Gurd looks shocked.

'What do these women want to hold meetings for?'

'Because they're crazy. Like Hanama. She's an Assassin, for God's sake. Heavily rumoured to have killed the deputy head of the Honourable Association of Merchants only last month after his unfortunate dispute with the head of his Guild. Hardly the sort of woman you'd associate with progressive politics, yet there she is, drinking wine with Lisutaris and plotting the overthrow of society.'

Gurd looks worried.

Are they plotting the overthrow of society?'

'Who knows? Makri says its a reading group, but she's lying. Anything's possible.'

At least Tanrose doesn't have anything to do with them,' says Gurd.

'Oh no? She lent them a rug.'

'She lent them a rug? What for?'

'To make my office look nicer.'

Gurd winces. It's all more serious than he realised.

'I'll talk to Makri,' he says. 'I can't have this sort of thing going on.'

Gurd asks if I've discovered who was behind the attack on me in Saint Rominius's Lane.

'No idea. Haven't had time to look into it yet.'

It shows what a sorry state I'm in. With the Lodius investigation and my military practice I haven't even had time to investigate a lethal assault on my own person.

'Maybe you're getting close to the culprit?'

'If I am, it's news to me.'

Makri hurries by with a tray in her hand. The tray has six large flagons of ale on it and Makri carries it through the crowd without spilling a drop. Another of her talents. She takes it to Viriggax's table. Viriggax and his men roar with pleasure when Makri arrives, partly at the sight of the beer and partly at the sight of Makri. They shout out some crude comments about her figure and Makri insults them back, but good-humouredly. I notice that Toraggax doesn't join in with the banter but just thanks her politely for his beer. As if being good-mannered will have any impression on the mad warrior woman. The young mercenary is a fool. Makri picks up her tip, crams it into the fat purse she has slung around her neck and moves on to the next table. Outside, Quintessence Street is caked with ice, but inside the Avenging Axe it's hot from the fire and the press of bodies. Perspiration runs down Makri's neck. I find myself dabbing my brow with my sleeve 'Business is good.' Gurd nods.

I'll have a fair bit saved after this winter is over—' He breaks off, looking at me in a now familiar manner. For once in my life I find myself frustrated with Gurd. How indecisive can a man who once charged a dragon be?'

'Ask her to marry you, for God's sake. Or don't ask her. Just pick one.'

'Which one?' says Gurd.

'How would I know? How much more can I do to demonstrate my complete lack of competence in this field?' 'I just need your opinion.' I'm begging you not to ask me.'

'I'm asking your advice as an old friend,' says Gurd, and looks slightly hurt.

I shake my head.

'Then askTanrose to marry you. After all, we're quite likely to be dead before spring is over.'

Gurd nods.

'That's true.'

'So even if things go badly, it probably won't last too long. I mean, marriage is a big step, Gurd, but when we're all going to be slaughtered by the Ores, it's not the end of the world. If I was a poetic man, I might have something to say about going off into the next life together.'

Gurd slams his mighty palm on the table top.

'Yes!' he exclaims. 'That is good! Off to the next life together!'

The image seems to have touched his Barbarian heart. He rises to his feet, drains the dregs of his ale, and marches off, strong, erect and barbaric, his grey pony-tail swinging jauntily behind him. I drain my own flagon and head off to my office. Any more talk of romance and I'm liable to remember that my wife left me for a Sorcerer's apprentice many years ago. Mostly I try not to remember that.

As a consequence of fleeing the tavern some time before I'd intended, I arrive early for phalanx practice and stand around on the cold field outside the city gates waiting for the others to arrive. I'm the first regular trooper there, and when Senator Marius sees me he congratulates me on my enthusiasm.

'Maybe you're not such a waste of time after all.'

Senator Marius asks me how this phalanx compares to the others I've fought in.

'Badly.'

He nods.

'I know. You'd think some of these young men had never held a long spear before. You're not a great soldier, Thraxas, and you're never going to be. But compared to the rest of them, you're not such a disaster. I'm promoting you to corporal.'

I nod. It makes sense.

'Maybe we can get them into shape before the Ores come,' says the Senator.

'Maybe.'

Neither of us sounds too convinced. By now the other recruits are arriving and the Senator moves off to confer with General Pomius on a hillock nearby.

So now I'm a corporal. Not that important a position. There are ten corporals in the five-hundred-man phalanx, subordinate to the five centurions, and our commander. But it's a position of some responsibility. It carries enough weight to make anyone regret it if they stick their spear in me again.

As we're forming up, I notice Praetor Capatius's phalanx moving off in front of us. The Praetor is one of Turai's richest men. He owns his own bank and plenty more besides. One of my recent cases brought me up against him and for a while I thought it was him that had levelled the charge of cowardice against me. Now I'm not sure. Professor Toarius, the head of Makri's college, also had it in for me, and the Professor is very well connected in aristocratic circles. It could have been him.

Wherever it originated, the person who actually brought the charge to court was Vedinax, a large and very thuggish individual in the employ of Capatius. I can see him striding along at the front of Capatius's phalanx. We were mercenaries together. He's a bad man in many ways, but a good soldier, which is going to be more important in the months to come.

Being a corporal doesn't make the phalanx practice any easier. We stumble around, shivering in the wind. When Senator Marius gives a command, half the men obey it while the others get it wrong. Strong abuse flows from the Senator to his centurions and from them to the corporals. I pass the abuse on to the men under me, not as vehemently as I might. I was never really officer material. There are some men around me so unsuited to being in the army that it seems almost a crime to abuse them. One man, thirty or so, small and skinny, only moved to Turai the year before last to take up a position at the Imperial Library. Now he finds himself with a thirty-foot spear in his hand and no real idea what to do with it. I try and point him in the right direction, genially at first, then more harshly as my patience wears thin. He's going to be beside me when the Ores attack. I've some sympathy for him but I don't want to lose my life because of his incompetence.