The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (68 page)

James and a knot of his officers were sitting behind a row of sharpened stakes on a mound erected just behind the front lines. Soldiers had shoveled for a week to erect the little hill so the emperor would have a decent observation post. The towers were reserved for archers, although he stood almost as tall as the shooting platforms.

It seemed a wave of almost fifteen thousand women would hammer his position almost at the same moment. They were all coming on foot, so the stakes and the ditches designed against cavalry did not matter that much. Commander Nicholas and the old sergeant were protecting the right flank. The Seventh Legion and men from Councillor Vareck’s contingent were deployed east. The first and the second held the middle.

Behind, the sprawling tent city polluting Ecol’s surroundings was abandoned, all of the craftsmen, helpers, cooks, maids, and noncombatants having fled into the town. All that remained behind was the scattered gear and the stench of rotten vegetables.

More troops waited in the three forts, including the rebuilt south one, and the cavalry was hiding behind the walls, trying to maintain some element of surprise. But with soldiers so eager to fuck anything with a pair of tits, the men never bothered asking if any of the wenches wandering in their camp might be
Parusite spies, so James did not believe he would truly catch Princess Sasha off guard.

A hundred of his men shared his position, ready to defend and escort him away if needed. Timothy was there, too, looking somewhat dazed, although he was coming to terms with his promotion earlier last year.

When the Red Caps came within bow range, the archers loosened all they had against the women, shielded or not. The sky darkened with a thousand needles, and they dropped on the enemy in a squall of cracks. Only a few women dropped, far too few.

Bold move
, James admitted grudgingly. He did not know if he’d have the nerve to send his troops marching against an entrenched foe with such easy determination. But then, these battles against the Red Caps were the first real campaign his men had fought. They had defeated the Oth Danesh, but the enemy had been worn-out, weakened, and outnumbered. Then, they had celebrated their quick conquest of northern Athesia against brigands. Now, at last, they were learning what real war was really about.

As the troops came closer, a ragged shout rose from the throats on both sides, an anticipation of imminent death. Then, the ranks collided, almost too slowly, and the killing began. The lines buckled, wavered, rippled back and forth, but nothing significant happened.

Xavier tapped one of the runners on the shoulder, pointing toward a weak spot in the second legion’s formation. The man nodded, then skidded down the hillock and clumsily raced off with the new orders, his large wicker shoes helping him tread more lightly through the muck.

James watched, a mix of impotence, elation, and determination washing over him. He wanted to be closer to the front,
but they would not let him. And he knew how stupid and useless that would be. But he could not stop wondering how his father might have conducted this war. At what point had he stopped dipping his own hands in blood and let others do the grisly work for him?

Rob might be able to tell him, but his friend was dead.

James pushed the White Witch tale out of his mind.

From two hundred paces away, death seemed very neat. Men fought and died, or they killed someone, and the pile of bodies grew thicker. There was a lot of screaming, and the weapons clanged, but it became a unified roar of wood and metal and sore throats.

The emperor wanted to surprise his enemy, but he had nothing. Sasha was just as cunning as he. She was well prepared for his ruses. She ignored his baits and traps. She protected her sides all too well. He had mounted a few raids, only to draw out his men before they were butchered. Ecol had been under a loose siege for a long while now, and he could not escape the feeling this was like Roalas all over again.

Amalia would not speak of it much.

She was not there to witness the killing. He could not blame her. Round this time last year, she had lost her father’s realm and fled as a nameless refugee.

Neither Jarman nor Lucas were there, and he briefly wondered if their magical shield around him worked even if he could not see the wizards.
Forget that!
Ah, the Sirtai saw this war as an unnecessary, sorry affair that distracted them all from the real threat. But with the air misting with blood, and men and women dying by the dozens every moment, the story of some ancient immortal man seemed empty.

“I want Colonel Perry committed,” Xavier snarled at another messenger. “Now!”

The man fled.

Gilles was biting his lower lip, scanning the battle line with a looking glass. He was wondering when he might deploy his horsemen. But the ground was tricky, slick and soft, and it would hobble the animals. The princess had chosen her timing well; James could strike back from the flanks and try to encircle her with cavalry. She would have ample time to regroup and defeat him. All he could do was send men slogging through mud and hope for the best.

The smaller, lighter people had an advantage in this terrain, he thought sourly. Like women. They did not sink as deeply into the gray soup.

To the west, his troops were buckling. Nicholas seemed to be in trouble. One of the adjutants raised a red flag and waved furiously. Somewhat to the rear, a thousand men waiting for their turn in the killing began moving forward, toward the gap tearing where the Fourth Legion was fighting. James had three thousand more fresh troops in reserve. He hoped that would be enough.

Luckily, the Red Caps did not have any olifaunts. He was not eager to meet those monsters in battle. They sounded frightening enough in the stories, and so much more real than the White Witch of Naum.

From what little rumors from south of Athesia that did reach him, King Sergei and his sister seemed to disagree on how the war should proceed. The king was pushing for some fragile standoff peace with him, but Sasha wanted to fight at all costs. Just as Amalia and he had united, the Parusite brother and sister had grown distant.

James scanned the battlefield, left, right, behind him, as if to reassure himself Ecol still stood. Then, he spotted a small party moving toward him. He scowled. He thought he could see Amalia and his two Sirtai advisers.

Why would they come here
now
?

His sister was wearing those garish red galoshes, hiking her skirt high, although the hem was all muddy. A small retinue trailed after her, keeping away from the Sirtai. She weaved her way around the sharpened yew stakes, climbing to the top of the hillock. Some of the officers had turned to regard her, momentarily forgetting about the battle. They saluted somewhat awkwardly.

James wished to turn back to watch the fight evolve, but he was curious why Amalia would show up here suddenly. “Any trouble, Sister?” he asked with some alarm.

She shook her head. “I want to see the fighting,” she said.

He wondered what had propelled her to witness the horror, but he saw an inkling of determination in her eyes. There was a struggle there, but she did not share it with him.

Amalia took her place at his side in the waist-deep ditch. Somewhat reluctantly, Jarman lowered himself into the fetid water. Lucas remained outside, the soldiers keeping a respectable distance from him.

The young wizard frowned with distaste. “When does one get fed up with killing?”

James ignored him. He stared at the killing field. But his eyes wavered toward Amalia. She seemed as if she were forcing her eyes to watch the death, as if she was trying to overcome some deep fear. James could only begin to imagine how she had lived through the months of siege and the battles, how she had felt when her empire crumbled.

Then, he realized another uncomfortable truth.

When Rheanna returned, there would be
two
empresses in Athesia. It would become really crowded. He also knew everyone was gossiping about how he should produce an heir. That was a rather tricky topic. He had never discussed it with Rheanna. He was not sure what she had in mind, but the fact she
had remained unmarried for so long spoke of her commitment to her profession. Maybe she did not want children. James had no clue what was expected of rich female councillors. In Wind-point, women would settle down as soon as they could and raise families. If they did not, they were treated with disdain and mistrust. But in Eybalen, things might be different. They probably were.

But then, Amalia was unmarried, and she needed a husband, too.

He did not dare talk to her about it, although for the sake of the realm, they both should be thinking about offspring. Only, what would happen if they both had sons? Who would be the claimant to the throne? In fact, what would the two of them do once this conflict was resolved? Could they continue ruling side by side? Would Amalia be willing to step down?

He was male and older, and by all traditions, the throne belonged to him. But then, he was only a bastard, conceived before Emperor Adam had forged his realm. He was a foreigner, too, raised in Eracia and with Caytorean paid soldiers as his followers.

Neither Blackwood nor Askel nor kal Garmen had prepared him for that. In their books, decisions were simple.

“Do you enjoy command?” Amalia asked, her voice barely audible. He had no doubt the question was addressed only to him.

James spared a glance at Jarman. His scholarly eyes were boring toward the death he deemed so unnecessary. “Did…Did you ever see Father lead in battle?”

Amalia looked at him. “No. I only heard stories. I only had his greatness as my guide.” She shrugged. “He tried to teach me, but you cannot learn war from stories, even your own father’s.”

James let his lip twitch in a ghost of a smile. “I always wonder how he fought. Whenever I lead in battle, I am trying to envision the situation through his eyes. Try to guess what he would have done in my place.”

“Do you think we can win?” She looked uncertain, maybe even afraid.

The emperor grimaced. “The enemy has superior strength. Even if we fight off the Red Caps, the king has more troops in Roalas. And he has mercenaries. He might summon his lords with reinforcements from Parus.” It did sound hopeless when he thought about it. But maybe the common people would rise in rebellion against the invader. His marriage to Caytor might grant him a wider military alliance from the High Council. Maybe. So far, he was defending himself against the Parusite assaults, and he could not find any way to grab the initiative.

“I once thought Athesia was invincible,” she admitted. “I was such a foolish girl.”

Jarman noticed their talk and stepped closer. He shattered the moment James had with his sister. His face radiated one message: unity. Maybe that’s why they had come. Maybe they were in secret league with Amalia? He wanted to feel anger, but he was too anxious.

James tried to empty his mind of worry. He looked at the battle. His troops held. The enemy seemed to have lost its momentum and was slowly retreating. He had no idea what Princess Sasha had tried to accomplish, and he hated reacting. But every little victory counted.

A horn sounded victory once the Red Caps pulled back, holding their shields above their heads as they marched back to their lines a mile away. The cheering defenders responded with new volleys of arrows, but they did little damage.

Another attack thwarted. Somehow, though, he did not feel like a great military genius. He doubted Emperor Adam would have bragged about withstanding a dozen wintertime assaults by women. But his troops were that much more experienced after today’s fray, and that counted for something.

Once Rheanna arrived, he would invest all his energy into consolidating his forces and spit shining their loyalty. He was hoping she could help him secure fresh troops, fresh finances. He needed Caytor behind him, all of it.

Then, maybe, he could begin to wonder about what an imperial marriage really meant.

“Do you ever consider marrying?” he inquired.

Amalia was silent, but Jarman nodded. “One of Sergei’s dukes, perhaps.”

James grimaced. “Jarman, please.” He thought he saw a tear sparkle in his sister’s eye.

“No,” she said at length. She shook her head as if banishing bad thoughts.

Wounded men were creeping back toward the rear. Soon, it would be a chaos of wailing, weeping, screaming men flooding the camp. Throughout the night, the tent city outside Ecol would ring with the hollers and shrieks of the maimed and injured as healers poured boiling tar on their severed limbs and stitched their guts with coarse thread.

There was no more time for self-pity. James pushed himself out of the ditch. His bodyguards milled around him. Xavier was looking grim yet satisfied as he led the command staff toward Ecol. The emperor and his sister followed, both veiled in grim thoughts. The two wizards trailed after them, looking like hounds. Perhaps they could sniff out his vulnerability and doubt like hot blood.

James knew it would be so easy to devote himself to their fable, to let them steer him into a frightening magical future
where he was an unwilling player. It would be easier on his conscience. But he would not be his father’s son if he let them do it. He may never have met Emperor Adam, but that would not stop him from trying his best to be like the most feared leader in known history.

From everything he had heard about his father, everything Rob had told him, the man had never lost a battle. James did not intend to surrender himself to the Parusites. He would defeat Princess Sasha first, and then there would be time to discuss wild stories.