Martin Scott - Thraxas at War

'You saw how Tanrose took Makri's side against me last night. How can we get married? Why did you talk me into it?'

'What?'

Gurd looks pained.

'Why did you insist that I married Tanrose? I'm not ready.'

'I didn't—'

'I saved your life at the Battle of Ekinsbrog!' says Gurd. And this is how you repay me!'

I shake my head. He's a sorry sight.

'Don't worry. We'll all be dead before the ceremony.'

'What if we're not?' says Gurd. 'If I survive the war I'll still have to get married.'

'Yes, no happy solution there,' says Makri, icily. 'Maybe you should just ask Tanrose if she wouldn't mind cooking and cleaning for you for the rest of your life and just forgetting the marriage bit.'

'Don't you take that tone with me!' says Gurd, angrily.

And how dare you have these meetings in my tavern. And steal beer from the cellars!'

Makri looks accusingly at me.

'You told him about that?'

'He didn't need to!' yells Gurd. 'You think I didn't notice?'

'If you'd pay me better I'd be able to buy my own beer,' says Makri.

'You're fired!'

'Fine. I quit anyway. Remind me never to enter your disgusting tavern again.'

'You will never be allowed in my disgusting tavern again.'

Makri looks balefully at me.

'You just had to run and tell tales, didn't you?'

'Tell tales? You think that's bad?' I retort, with some justified outrage. After the catalogue of appalling behaviour you've involved yourself in recently? What a curse it was the day you walked into the Avenging Axe.'

We lapse into a brooding silence. As the landus passes through Thamlin, Makri departs towards Truth is Beauty Lane, home of the Sorcerers. She doesn't say goodbye. We turn east towards the Superbius Gate. Progress soon becomes impossible as we find ourselves mingling with a horde of part-time soldiers on their way to the practice fields. We leave the landus and join the throng. The snow is falling heavily. Visibility is poor. A few boisterous souls among the crowd attempt to cheer their friends by shouting encouragement, but mostly the citizens trudge along quietly. No matter what happens in the war, a lot of these men won't be around next summer.

Rumours in the city are rife. The Elves won't be able to sail because all the young Elves have become addicted to dwa. The Simnians won't come because they've decided to defend their own borders instead. The Niojans are doing a deal with the Ores to sack Turai and split the booty. Queen Direeva has done a deal with the Ores to provide them with a squadron of fresh dragons in return for leaving her kingdom alone.

The rumours are not all negative. Last week we heard a report that Prince Amrag had been killed in a feud arising from bad feelings among the Orcish nations over the rumour that the Prince's blood is tainted by a Human ancestor. There's little likelihood of this being true. The Prince has already shown himself capable of 'subjugating all opposition.

Before we reach the city gates we're forced to the side of the road by an official cavalcade. It is the Consul riding out with his retinue. As he passes in his liveried carriage it strikes me how ridiculous my investigation has become. It's brought me to the verge of accusing the Consul of conniving in the murder of Prefect Galwinius. How can I possibly pursue such a notion at this time? Even if I had proof, what could I do about it? Interrupt the War Council to accuse the Consul of murder? Hardly. At best I'd be ignored. At worst I'd be quietly got rid of. No one wants to hear the truth behind the murder of Galwinius.

More official carriages delay our progress. This time it's Prince Dees-Akan and various members of the War Council. Today will be a major event, with the whole of our forces arrayed on the field.

Once outside the gates I hurry along to join up with my phalanx. Our spears have been brought here by wagon and I supervise my troop as we get into position. The line of spears projects almost twenty feet from the front of the phalanx. As corporal in command of my section, I'm in the third row. The first row is made up of the youngest and strongest men. They have to carry large shields, and bear the brunt of an enemy attack. I know from experience that it's not a comfortable place to be. When I find myself screaming at some of the more incompetent soldiers under my command it's really because I know that if we don't do our job properly, the young men in front will be the first to die.

I can't see Gurd's phalanx; it's some way to the left of us. I regret that we argued this morning but no doubt by tonight he'll have got over his dread of marriage. Or at least he'll have got over blaming me. Gurd is too old a companion for us to really argue; we've been through too much together.

Senator Marius gives an order and the centurions start barking at us. We walk up the field, turn and come back again, more or less in formation. No one falls over. It's progress. We even manage to draw up alongside Praetor Capatius's phalanx without bumping into them. The mercenary companies have emerged from the Stadium Superbius to join in the drill. Intent on their own manoeuvres, they're no longer mocking us. I can hear Viriggax as he bellows at his men. Must be making young Toraggax's head hurt, after his experiences of last night. I'm annoyed that Makri let him into her room. I don't know why. None of my business, as she said.

After an hour or so of manoeuvres the Senator draws us up in ranks.

'Prepare to meet the Prince.'

Prince Dees-Akan trots up on his horse. It's a fine-looking stallion and the young prince makes for an impressive war leader in his shining chainmail and gold-plated helmet. He pushes the helmet back on his forehead and begins to address us. He's a good speaker and I can sense that the men around me are heartened by his words of encouragement. I'd be more heartened if the Prince had ever led an army into battle, but at least he looks the part.

After a nice build-up, he's exhorting us to stand firm when he's interrupted by the sound of galloping hoofs. Heads turn. Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is approaching fast, riding a white horse. The Sorceress is wearing a man's tunic and leggings, something I haven't seen her in since the last war, and there's a sword at her hip. Behind her comes Makri on a black horse, dressed in the light body armour she brought with her from the Orcish lands, made of black leather and skilfully wrought chainmail. There's no sign of the rest of the Sorcerers Guild. Obviously Lisutaris has come in haste. She leaps from her mount and hurries towards the Prince.

I'm close enough to hear the conversation. It starts badly. Prince Dees-Akan, showing little respect for Lisutaris's rank, rudely demands to know what the Sorceress is doing here. Lisutaris informs him that she has some urgent news. The Prince tells her that any news she has can wait till he's finished inspecting the troops. Lisutaris replies that it can't wait. Voices are raised. In front of the soldiers, it's an unseemly sight.

'You are no longer even a member of the War Council. Leave the field.'

'I will not leave the field until I've informed you of my latest findings.'

General Pomius, next in command after the Prince, shifts his stance uncomfortably, not at all enjoying the spectacle of his commander ordering Turai's leading Sorcerer from the field. There are mumurings from the troops and the mercenaries. It's bad for the city to have our commander and our main Sorcerer on such poor terms. Finally Iisutaris gives up on the Prince and turns to General Pomius.

'General. The Ores are coming. Soon. They've sent an army to Yal and they've been marching from there through the winter. Sorcerous interference in Turai has prevented us from tracking them. Worse, they've learned how to teleport dragons. They could be here any second.'