Mordraud, Book One (48 page)

“
But I... It’s not my idea...!” Dunwich saw Asaeld had already stopped listening, and gave up. “Bah, screw yourselves... Pack of lunatics – that’s what you are...”

“
Did you say something?” Asaeld asked him, smiling maliciously.

“
Long live the Empire” murmured Dunwich.

***

“Are you really sure that’s what Berg said?!”

“
Of course, the other evening...”

“
Come on, Mordraud... We were there at dinner too... He said we should taunt them a bit and make them withdraw from the river area. He didn’t say:
You
make them withdraw from the river area!”

“
It’s the same thing.”

“
No! It’s not the same thing!”

Mordraud
was sharpening and polishing his sword, sat on the Rampart, surrounded by the men in his unit. Thirty lads almost unanimously at their first contact with weapons, all of which had endured the field-test during the Battle of Fire. Practically all new recruits who’d found themselves near him when the action had begun. Adraman had rewarded him with that responsibility, and he didn’t want to betray the trust, not at any price.

During
a reconnaissance a few days earlier, he’d found the unmistakable signs that troops had passed through a few hours beforehand, south of the Rampart. One of the Empire’s battalions had camped near a river flowing into the Hann – so far all rather routine. The bitter cold also brought with it a truce. Which would last until the thaw, and there was still a month till spring. But Mordraud didn’t feel comfortable about it. Those tracks were too close to the Rampart and – more significantly – pushed too deep into the forest. What were they searching for? Mordraud had spoken to Berg, and he hadn’t ordered an attack, but he also hadn’t said to stay put and relax where they were. Which was more than enough confirmation for him.

“
We’re off home in a few days’ time... They’ll give us a couple of weeks’ rest. Do we really want to risk our necks right now?” grumbled one of the lads, Red. He’d earned his name because of his pocked, disfigured cheeks. Mordraud whacked him on the back of the neck, making him topple to the ground.

“
If you’re in such a hurry to go home, why not go hide somewhere – perhaps in the bogs. I reckon you might feel more at ease there.”

“
But, Mordraud... I’m only saying we should follow orders...”

“
Perfect.
My
orders are: We go out on patrol. Go on, go get your stuff!”

The woods around the
Rampart were laden with snow and shrouded in silence. The soldiers’ heavy paces sounded muffled and mellow, as if the men were walking on a fluffy woollen blanket. Mordraud led his group into the hinterland for a couple of hours, coasting the Rampart perimeter, looking for fresh tracks. They chattered in hushed tones, as he scoured the compact snow, step by step. The cold was intense and froze his breath. Red snorted, slapping his hands against his sides to warm up, trudging along behind them all.

“
Hey, boss, what you going to do when we return to Eld?” asked Hammer, the hulk who’d worked as a blacksmith for his father before joining the army. “We’ve got a vague plan... and you might be interested.”

“
What is it, Hammer?”

“
We’ll club our savings together and buy a house in the country, east of the fief. Then we’ll all go and live there when we finish our service. A bit of land, a couple of rows of vines, potatoes and onions... You know, we’ll keep ourselves out of sticky situations.”

“
Doesn’t seem bad... but maybe a bit boring.”

“
Boring?! That’s because you ain’t heard the rest of the plan...” sniggered the soldier. “The second part is... we open a brothel! We’ve already got a name:
The Sweet Country Rest.
Naturally, we’d expect our cut... in kind! Besides, we’d already have the vines, the potatoes and the onions... What d’you say?”

“
It’ll be a roaring success.”

“
We don’t doubt that. We’re offering you a great privilege, chief,” went on Hammer. They all nodded with extreme conviction, except Mercy. He had a slight smirk on his lips.

“
So you’re interested in my money, or am I wrong?”

“
Well, no, of course we’re not...!”

“
Hmm... sure... absolutely not...” mumbled Mordraud.

“
Well, how can you blame us?! You slay all the Lances! How many have you harvested so far?”

Mordraud
stopped and began counting on his fingers.

“
Fourteen... No, fifteen. I’m not sure about one.”

“
But do you sniff them out?! You always manage to find yourself their captain during every raid with Berg...” Red burst out, pretending to smell his shoulder.

“
They’re all small fry, nothing special.”

“
But they’re still Lances! Know what everyone calls you?! The
Lance-Snapper
...”

“
Hey, it hasn’t got a bad ring to it...”

“
Come on, boss, tell us the truth...” said another lad close to Hammer. He was short, slight and scruffy. They all had a nickname at the camp: his was Giant. “You’re really hoarding you money to get a gift for a woman, aren’t you?! For a nice fiery lady!”

Mordraud
didn’t lose his smile, but the talk had already wearied him. “I’ve no time for chasing women, Giant. And besides, I like the ones who don’t want presents.”

“
So what you going to do when you go home with all that money?! Going to drink it all? I can give you a hand if you like...”

“
I won’t be going back to Eld with you. I’m staying here.”

T
hey all stared at him with wide eyes. Mordraud went back to hunting tracks, without another word.

“
But what makes you want to stay here, I ask...? You’re the only one who’s not happy to return home...”

“
I prefer the Rampart. Now let’s knock it off – we’ve got work to do.”

“
Ah, you really are a strange one...” Hammer blurted.

“
SHH! Listen!” whispered Red behind them. “Did you hear that?”

Mordraud
strained an ear and a faint smile lit up his face. Somebody was digging with a spade and pickaxe not far away.

“
Who on earth’s working the land right here?!” muttered Hammer. “And in this season!”

“
You twit! It’s not peasants...” Mordraud silenced him. “Wait here. You come with me, Giant. You too, Mercy, and bring your bow.”

“
Yep... That sounds good.”

Mordraud
noticed Mercy’s cruel smile with a shudder. When he wanted, that man knew how to curdle his blood. Luckily, he was on his side, he thought with relief. Mordraud padded a few paces between the trees, and when the noise grew more defined, he ordered them onto their stomachs to slither through the snow. Concealed by the vegetation and a heap of soil, four men in armour were digging holes, while another six kept their eyes on the wood.

“
But that armour...” hissed Giant. “Isn’t that the colours of the Irinne Point cavalry?”

Mordraud
looked carefully and nodded in silence. Irinne Point was one of Eld’s allies in the war against Cambria. It was a small fiefdom north of the coast looking out onto the Ocean of the East. It contributed only a handful of troops, and they were usually men who spoke little and kept very much to themselves. They hadn’t seen Irinne soldiers at the Rampart for many months.

“
A perfect disguise for infiltration. Assassins sent by the Empire.”

“
Are you sure, Mordraud?”

“
More than certain. Beanpole, can you hit a couple of them from... let’s say... down there?”

Mordraud
pointed to a thicket of dense trees opposite. The throat-slitter nodded with an extremely serious air and slipped away.

“
Go and call the others. And remember, no noise!”

Mordraud
waited impatiently as his men took up their positions. The scent of the anticipated clash excited him, as always. The snow, the air and the wood seemed to twinkle as if in a daydream. Fear was an entirely secondary sensation.

“
Ready...”

An
arrow sped through the trees, embedding itself perfectly in the first soldier’s neck.

“
ATTACK!”

Mordraud
sprang into action, stirring flurries of snow and swirls of frozen air. The silence was total, broken only by his breathing burdened by the cold. One of the guards grabbed his bow and tautened the string towards him. Mercy’s arrow deadened any hope he might have. Mordraud pounced on the enemy, twirling his sword to free it from the frost.

The first fighter tried to defend himself but didn
’t have the time. Mordraud gouged a deep groove in his face, at eye height, with the tip of his blade. But he’d calculated the distance badly. Spurred on by his own eagerness, he knocked the soldier over and tumbled into one of the holes gaping in the ground, squashing under his weight the man at work there. One of the shovels nearly punctured his thigh, ripping his padded leather protections. The mud made everything more laborious. Mordraud tried to wield his sword but there was insufficient room. So he smashed its hilt into the face of the stunned man beneath him and used his body to climb up out of the pit.

Whilst
struggling to hoist himself up, fumbling with numb fingers in the slippery sludgy snow, Mordraud saw a soldier in Irinne armour unsheathe his sword just a few paces from him. He was about to loosen his grip, but hesitated when he saw he wasn’t the warrior enemy’s target: he was aiming to strike one of his own. One of the few left alive, a thin middle-aged man bent over under the load of plating that was clearly too large for his narrow shoulders.

“
NO! DON’T!” yelled the feeble little man. “PLEASE!”

It was like imploring
the wind. The soldier who’d been his comrade until a few moments earlier no longer existed. He thrust his sword into his torso, up to the hilt.

“
TAKE THAT MAN ALIVE! DON’T KILL HIM!” Mordraud yelled. Red and Giant quickly freed themselves of their opponents and leapt over the hole to seize the traitor warrior, but he just managed to escape them. Mordraud saw him run into the thick of the forest.

“
Damn! What are you waiting for?! After him!” he cursed, hauling his body up from the pit. Mercy and he jumped on his trail, tramping through mounds of snow and protruding roots.

They
’d walked that wood far and wide a thousand times, during the months of training at the camp. Adraman drew almost perverse pleasure from ordering them to gather wood there at any time of the day or night, forcing the new recruits to get up at unearthly hours and accept gruelling toil. Mordraud was thankful. He knew where he was going, and so did Mercy. Without uttering a word, they split so as to drive the prey into their trap. The trees passed by in a haze, all frozen and warped in the same manner by the cold. The ground felt like granite and the branches scraped against his stiff arms like blackened bones. He was panting, and his leg injured by the spade was gradually growing numb under the weight of his paces. But the unmistakable gurgle of the stream fuelled him with new energy.

The
Imperial explorer had headed straight towards the only river in the forest, penetrating between slick rocks. At that point, the banks were high and steep, with the waters slicing between the stone. Ice was clogging up almost the entire course, but a trickle still persisted, despite the bitter cold. When they reached the bank, the fugitive was looking earnestly about, gripped by desperation. He saw Mercy, and attempted to get away.

He ended up in
Mordraud’s clutches.

“
Got you, you idiot!”

A couple of well-placed blows
dulled his burning spirits. Mordraud tied his hands tightly behind his back with a leather lace, relieved him of all his weapons and didn’t forget to dish out some more punches, just so the man knew who he was dealing with. The other rebels arrived in dribs and drabs, laughing coarsely and congratulating their captain.

“
Hey, lads, I told you so...” Giant yelled. “Mordraud can pick up on Cambria’s scent better than dogs do!”

“
All just luck, isn’t that right, boss?!”

“
What d’you mean, luck?! I’m just doing my job. Not like you lot.”

Mordraud
dragged the restive soldier by an arm and, to coax him along, unfurled a couple more blows to his stomach. But he miscalculated.

There was only the slippery icy rock of the river
’s cliffs beneath his feet.

Mordraud
lost his balance for a moment, and the soldier took his chance. Instead of flinging himself forwards and attempting a hopeless escape, he let himself fall backwards, like a dead weight.