Century of the Soldier: The Collected Monarchies of God (Volume Two) (56 page)

The Sultan of Ostraber strode into the Chamber like a gale, accompanied by a knot of his staff officers. He was dripping with jewels and gold once more, and a rich, fur-lined cloak whirled about him like a cloud. Silver tassels winked on the pointed toes of his boots.

Heria refastened her veil hurriedly.

"Shahr Baraz is off running an errand for me, my lord. Do not blame him. I wanted to see if he were truly mine to command."

Aurungzeb boomed with laughter. He bristled a kiss through her thin veil that bruised her lips. "Well done, wife! That family needs humbling - they take too much of the world's troubles upon themselves. Have you tumbled to my jest then? The officer's quarters are buzzing with it. A Baraz as a lady's maid! Keep him on the tips of his toes - it will do him good. But you are still in your bridal gown! Get those ancient rags off your back - tradition is all well and fine, but we cannot have my First Wife looking like a beggar off the steppe. Where are your attendants? I'll kick Serrim's fat arse next time I see him."

"They are preparing my wardrobe," Heria lied. "I sent them all off to do it - they are so slow."

"Yes, yes - you must be firm with them, you know. Have a few of them flogged, and they'll start to jump right smartly." Aurungzeb embraced her. The top of her head came barely to his chin, though she was tall for a woman.

"Ah. those beautiful bones. I do not know how I shall keep myself from them 'til the babe is born." He nuzzled her hair, beaming.

"I must be off, my Queen. Shahr Johor - hunt out those damn maids. My wife sits here alone like a mourner. And get the furniture sent up - the things from Aekir we had shipped." Aurungzeb looked around the room. It had been part of Pieter Martellus's chambers in the days when the Dyke had been Torunnan, and was as bare as a barracks.

"Poor surroundings for a woman. We'll have to prettify the place a little. I may just let this tower stand, as a monument. Better than a tent out in the field though. I must be off. We are to dine together later, Ahara - I have invited all the ambassadors. We are having lobsters sent up from the coast. Have you ever tasted a lobster? Ah, here is Shahr Baraz - what do you mean by leaving the Queen alone?"

Shahr Baraz stood in the doorway. His face was expressionless. "My apologies, Sultan. It will not happen again."

"That's all right, Baraz - she's been playing with you, I think, my western doe." And in an aside to Heria: "He looks so much like his terrible old father, and he's just as stiff-necked. Keep him on the hop, my love - that's the way. Well, I must be off. Wear the blue today - the stuff the Nalbeni sent us - it sets off your eyes." And he was gone, striding out of the room with his aides struggling to keep up, his voice booming down the corridor beyond.

B
Y THE TIME
Albrec had been brought to the new Queen's chambers she had cast aside her sombre marriage garments and was swathed head to toe in sky-blue silk. A circlet of silver sat upon her veiled head and her eyes were as striking as paint could make them. She reclined on a low divan whilst around her half a dozen maids perched on cushions. A tall Merduk of advanced years whom Albrec had never seen at the court before stood straight as a spear by the door. The room's austere stone walls had been hung with embroidered curtains and bright tapestries. Incense smouldered in a golden burner and several braziers gave off a comfortable warmth, the charcoal within their filigreed sides bright red. Three little girls kept the coals glowing with discreet wheezes of their tiny bellows. The contrast between the delicate sumptuousness of the chamber and the disfigured poverty of the little monk could not have been greater.

Albrec bowed at a nudge from Serrim, the eunuch.

"Your Majesty, I believe I am to congratulate you on your wedding."

The Merduk Queen took a moment to respond.

"Be seated, Father. Rokzanne, some wine for our guest."

Albrec was brought a footstool to perch himself upon and a silver goblet of the thin, acrid liquid the Merduks chose to call wine. He did not take his eyes from the Queen's veiled face.

"I would have received you with less ceremony," Heria said lightly, "but Serrim here insisted that I begin to, to comport myself as befitting my newly exalted rank."

Albrec cast his eyes about the chamber, a cross between a barracks and a brothel. "Admirable," he muttered.

"Yes - come, let me show you the view from the balcony." Heria rose and extended a hand to the little monk. He rose awkwardly off his low stool and took her fingers in what remained of his own hand. The women in the chamber whispered and murmured.

She led him out onto the balcony and they stood there with the fresh wind in their faces, looking down upon the ruin of the great fortress. Already the Long Walls were demolished, and thousands of soldiers were working to dismantle their remnants and float the cyclopean granite blocks on flatboats across the Searil. The foundations for another fortress were being laid there on the east bank of the river. The tower in which Heria and Albrec stood would soon be all that remained of Kaile Ormann's great work. Even the Dyke itself was to be dammed up and filled in through the labour of thousands of Torunnan slaves. The minor fortifications on the island would be rebuilt, and where the Long Walls had stood would be a Barbican. Aurungzeb was constructing a mirror-image of the ancient fortress, to face west instead of east.

"Tell me about him, Father," Heria murmured. "Tell me everything you know. Quickly."

The maids and eunuchs were watching them. Albrec kept his voice so low the wind rendered it almost inaudible.

"I have heard it said that he is John Mogen come again. He sits high in the favour of the Torunnan Queen - it was no doubt she who made him Commander-in-Chief. This happened after I left the capital. He fought here, at the Dyke, and in the south. Even the Fimbrians obey him."

"Tell me how he looks now, Father."

Albrec studied her face. It was white and set above the veil, like carved ivory. With the heavy paint on her eyelids she looked as though she were wearing a mask.

"Heria, do not torment yourself."

"Tell me."

Albrec thought back to that brief encounter on the road to Torunn. It seemed a very long time ago now. "He has pain written on his face - and in his eyes. There is a hardness about him."
He is a killer
, Albrec thought.
One of those men who find they have an aptitude for it, as others can sculpt statues or make music.
But he said nothing of this to Heria.

The Merduk Queen remained very still, the cold wind lifting her veil up like smoke. "Thank you, Father."

"Will you not come in from the balcony now, lady?" the eunuch's high-pitched voice piped behind them. "It becomes cold."

"Yes Serrim. We will come in now. I was just showing Brother Albrec the beginnings of our Sultan's new fortress. He expressed a wish to see it." And to Albrec in a quick, hunted aside: "I must get you out of here, back to Torunn. We must help him win this war. But you must never tell him what I have become. His wife is dead. Do you hear me?
She is dead
."

Albrec nodded dumbly, and followed her back into the scented warmth of the room behind.

Fourteen

I
T WAS RAINING
as the long column of weary men and horses filed through the east gate, and they churned the road into a quagmire of shin-deep mud as they came. An exhausted army, straggling back over the hills to the north for miles - an army that had in its midst a motley convoy of several hundred waggons and carts, all brimming over with silent, huddled civilians, some with oilcloths pulled over their heads, others sitting numbly under the rain. Almost every waggon had a cluster of filthy footsoldiers about it, fighting its wheels free of the sucking muck. The entire spectacle looked like some strange quasi-military exodus.

Corfe, Andruw, Marsch and Formio stood by and watched while the army and its charges filed through the gate of the Torunnan capital. The guards on the city walls had come out in their thousands to watch the melancholy procession, and they were soon joined by many of the citizens so that the battlements were packed with bobbing heads. No-one cheered - no-one was sure if the army was returning in defeat or victory.

"How many altogether, do you think?" Andruw asked.

Corfe wiped the ubiquitous rain out of his eyes. "Five, six thousand."

"I reckon they took another two or three away with them," Andruw said.

"I know, Andruw, I know. But these, at least, are safe now. And that army was crippled before we gave up the pursuit. We have delivered the north from them, for the time being at least."

"They are like a dog which cannot be trained," Formio said. "It lunges forward, you rap it on the muzzle and it draws back. But it keeps lunging forward again."

"Yes - persistent bastards, I'll give them that," Andruw said with a twisted smile.

The army had virtually destroyed the Merduk force they had encountered outside Berrona, charging down on them while they were still frantically trying to form up outside their camp. But once they had been broken and hurled back inside the campsite the battle had degenerated into a murderous free-for-all. For inside the tents had been thousands of brutalised Torunnan women; inhabitants of the surrounding towns gathered together for the pleasure of the Merduk troops. Ranafast's Torunnans had run wild after the discovery, slaying every Merduk in sight. Corfe estimated the enemy dead at over eleven thousand.

But while the army had been embroiled in the butchery within the camp, several thousand of the enemy had managed to flee intact, and they had taken with them a large body of captives. Corfe's men had been too spent to follow them far, and snow had begun to drive down on the wings of a bitter wind off the mountains. The pursuit had been abandoned, and after digging four hundred graves for their own dead the army had reformed for the long march south. The waggons had slowed them down, and they had shared out their rations with the rescued prisoners. With the result that not a man of the army had eaten in the last three days, and half the Cathedrallers were now on foot. As their overworked mounts had collapsed, they had been carved up and eaten by the famished soldiers. Six hundred good warhorses were now mere jumbles of bones on the road behind them. But the campaign had been successful, Corfe reminded himself. They had done what he had set out to do. It was simply that he could take no joy in it.

"Beer," Andruw said with feeling. "A big, frothing mug of the stuff. And a wedge of cheese so big you could stop a door with it. And an apple."

"And fresh-baked bread," Marsch added. "With honey. Anything but meat. I will not eat meat again for a month. And I would sooner starve than eat another horse."

Corfe thought of the Queen's chambers, a bath full of steaming water and a roaring fire. He had not taken his boots off in a week and his feet felt like swollen masses of sodden meat. The leather straps of his armour were green with mould and the steel itself was a rusted saffron wherever the red paint had chipped away. Only the blade of John Mogen's sword was still bright and untarnished. He had Merduk blood under his nails.

"The men need a rest," he said. "The whole army needs refitting - and we'll have to send south for more horses. I wonder how Rusio has been getting on while we've been away."

"I'll wager his backside has not been far from a fire the whole time," Andruw retorted. "Send out some of those paper-collar garrison soldiers next time, Corfe - remind them what it's like to feel the rain in their face."

"Maybe I will, Andruw. Maybe I will. For now, I want you three to go on inside the city. Make sure that the men are well bedded down - no bullshit from any quartermasters. I want to see them all drunk by nightfall. They deserve it."

"There's an order easily obeyed." Andruw grinned. "Marsch, Formio, you heard the man. We have work to do."

"What about you, General?" Formio asked.

"I think I'll stand here a while and watch the army march in."

"Come on Corfe - get in out of the rain," Andruw cajoled. "They won't march any faster with you standing here."

"No - you three go on ahead. I want to think."

Andruw clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't philosophise too long - you may find all the beer drunk by the time you walk through the gate."

Andruw and Marsch mounted their emaciated horses and set off to join the column, but Formio lingered a moment.

"We did all we could, General," he said quietly.

"I know. It's just that it never feels as though it's enough."

The Fimbrian nodded. "For what it is worth, my men are content to serve under you. It seems that Torunna can produce soldiers too."

Corfe found himself smiling. "Go on - see to your troops, Formio. And thank you." He realised that he had just been given the greatest professional compliment of his life.

Formio set off in the wake of Marsch and Andruw without another word.

C
ORFE STOOD ALONE
until the rearguard came into sight almost an hour later. Then he mounted his own horse and trotted down to join them. Two hundred Cathedrallers under Ebro and Morin, thir steed's noses drooping inches from the ground.