Battlemage Page 4

  “What did you do to get that job?”

  Vargus shrugged. “Just pointed out to a few of the lads what they should be doing. Bwillam took notice and told me to have a talk with some of the others.”

  Carnow raised an eyebrow. “And?”

  “And I get paid a bit extra.”

  “How much extra?” asked Carnow with a scowl. “’Cos I’ve three girls and a wife back home that need feeding. You’re piss poor with a bow compared to me, so if there’s more pay for teaching, I could do with it.”

  “I’ll tell Bwillam you were asking. See if there’s anything he can do.”

  “That’s good of you. New tooth?”

  “Fitted this morning. Steel,” said Vargus showing it off with a big smile. It wasn’t the first he’d been forced to replace over the years, and he doubted it would be the last. “Cost me enough, but it’s better than having to eat gruel for the rest of my days.”

  “Shit on that. First drink’s on me tonight if you tell me about Marrow Hill. I heard from one of the lads that you were there. Graegor won’t speak about it,” said Carnow looking puzzled. “It’s like he’s embarrassed or something.”

  “I’ll tell you what I remember.”

  “See you tonight,” said Carnow, heading towards the Old City.

  A few minutes later, as Vargus passed a temple of the Blessed Mother, he felt as if he were being watched. Not far away he saw a girl, who was maybe fourteen, stood in an alleyway beside the temple. Her face was thin, and faint blue stains from venthe addiction marked the corners of her mouth. She wore a dress that was almost transparent, revealing slender curves that were still developing. She beckoned him over, but he shook his head and kept walking. Another warrior passing the other way took her up on the offer. They moved further into the shadows beside the temple, a place devoted to purity.

  In Morrinow most people were devout and the punishment for speaking out in public against the Blessed Mother was severe. Having sex next to a temple was punishable by flogging for the woman and something more permanent for the man involving a small cleaver. There, priests wore chainmail and carried maces to enforce doctrine. Here, a chubby matron in white silk ignored the grunting warrior while rattling a collection plate at him.

  A short distance along the street was a dilapidated shrine devoted to Khai’yegha. The wooden doors were warped, the paint peeling and the carved eye was all but invisible. The roof gaped in several places, birds roosted in the rafters and a terrible air of regret hung over everything. A shadow flickered at the corner of his vision and then it was gone. The only living things inside the temple were vermin. With a sad shake of his head Vargus walked away.

  Outside the southern gates the grasslands were covered with a sea of tents and campfires. The army surrounded the capital, a nation in its own right on the move. The vast camp was a hive of activity with people preparing in a hundred different ways for the coming war.

  Some men were roaring drunk, even though it was early in the day. Warbling music from pipe and drum drifted by on the wind, and not far away a group of warriors danced with each other, howling and laughing, even when they fell over. A lot of the warriors had time to spare and they sought pleasure or oblivion, because all of them knew this could be their last opportunity to enjoy themselves.

  All over the camp dozens of people working for the quartermaster were busy at work, cataloguing food, weapons, armour and medical supplies. Those enjoying themselves pretended not to notice the black-capped field surgeons walking through camp. The crows would be in demand when the fighting began, with men screaming and begging them for attention, but like their namesake they were an omen best ignored until necessary.

  Further south on the plateau, units of cavalry practised against dummies and friendly units, running drills and mock battles over and over, until it became second nature.

  Smiths, grooms and farriers worked tirelessly to make sure the horses were in the best health, while general army staff made sure everyone else was well fed and equipped.

  The rhythmic clang of steel on steel drew Vargus’s attention. Lines of men dressed in leather and chainmail practised under the watchful eye of a drill sergeant. After only a few seconds Vargus could tell they were not used to thinking as a unit. Their moves looked rehearsed, learned through repetition, not instinct.

  Not far away he saw pairs of men fighting viciously and with far less style. Their movements were not for show, and their only purpose was to maim or murder. Sword against axe, mace against iron spear, lance against morningstar. A fight against someone armed the same as you was fine in practice, but on the battlefield there was no time to swap partners until you found someone you liked.

  A little further out units of men came together with a loud crash of shields. These men wore no armour and only carried wooden swords daubed with red paint. A balding drill sergeant called Kefi, barely half Vargus’s height, watched them with a critical eye. He pointed sharply at those men covered with a lot of red paint. They were declared dead and dropped to the ground for the remainder of the fight. After a few minutes of watching the mock battle it was clear why Bwillam had asked him to speak with this group. The fight was very one sided, but the winning unit only succeeded because they were generally larger and heavier.

  When the final man fell the other unit cheered at their victory. Kefi moved to stand beside Vargus, limping slightly on his right side.

  Vargus acknowledged his presence with a nod but kept his eyes on the men, picking out those who seemed the most capable. “Your assessment?” asked Kefi.

  “Sloppy. They have discipline, but aren’t taking this seriously. They’re not thinking as a squad. They don’t realise the odds they’re facing, or what’s at stake.”

  “Then I will leave them in your capable hands,” said Kefi with a curt nod. “Good luck,” he added, offering a wry smile as he departed.

  The men gathered around Vargus and more than a few were surprised to see him. He knew a few of them by sight, but the rest were total strangers. Honesty seemed like the best approach.

  “Do you want to live through this war?” he asked and silence greeted him. “Do you actually want to see the end and go home?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” said a big man with a silver ring in each ear and a shaven head.

  “Prove it.”

  Vargus unsheathed his sword and put it down on the ground. Vargus beckoned and the big man stepped forward.

  “Try and kill me.”

  The big man frowned. “What are you going to use?”

  Vargus showed him an empty hand. “This is all I need.”

  Without a warning he rushed the big man, screaming at the top of his lungs. The big man’s reflexes were good. He managed to draw his sword and make a wild swing, but Vargus easily avoided it by stepping to one side. He riposted by ramming a fist into the man’s stomach. The air whooshed from his lungs and the big man fell back, gasping for breath. After helping him into a sitting position, Vargus waited until his breathing returned to normal.

  By the time Vargus had retrieved his sword all of the men were paying attention.

  “I won’t lie and try to pass off grape-flavoured piss as wine. Some of you are going to die screaming for your mother. Maybe all of you. I was watching your training and I can see why most of you will die.” Vargus pointed at a short man with red hair and big ears. “What’s your name?”

  “Orran.”

  He pointed at Orran’s neighbour, a blond ranger from the south. “That man is your brother. You couldn’t look more different, except maybe if one of you was a Vorga.” A few in the crowd chuckled, easing the tension a little. The threat of violence faded, but their attention didn’t waver. “He’s your brother. When the fighting starts and he’s beside you on that field, stood in that line, you should know everything about him. Not just his name and how many children he’s fathered, or whether he likes big tits or small. You should know every thought in his head.”

  “How am I suppos
ed to do that?” asked Orran. Every face in the crowd was equally confused.

  Vargus shrugged. “It’s different for everyone. You’ve seen the others. Some drink until they pass out. Some talk for hours until the sun comes up. Some go somewhere quiet together, if that’s your thing. I really don’t care. Spend some time together and do whatever it takes to know each other. Because tomorrow, or the next day, the sun will come up and we’ll march to war. And the day after that we’ll be fighting for our lives and homes.”

  All around him other units had stopped fighting and a large group of men gathered to listen. This was for all of them. It was a thin reed of hope to hold on to, and given the odds they were facing, they desperately needed it. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. If they actually listened then the benefits would be huge. As much as they needed to hear it, he needed them to believe it if he was going to survive.

  “When the enemy charges, the noise will rise up and hit you like a giant wave. It’ll be hard to believe something could be so loud. Before you can count your fingers they’ll be breathing on you, screaming and trying to cut you to pieces. With so many of them, and less of us, all you can do is stare at the man in front. Look at how he fights, work out how to beat him, and get it done, any way you can.

  “The problem is, you don’t get to face just one of them, like in practice. There’ll be a clump, or pairs, and you’ll be outnumbered and about ready to piss yourself. I’ve seen it happen. I ain’t ashamed to say I done it myself when I thought I was gonna die. Times like that, it doesn’t seem like winning is possible.”

  The words settled over the men, spreading throughout the crowd. Every pair of eyes was locked onto him, but Vargus wasn’t seeing them any more. He was looking into the past, where grey-skinned men crashed into him and the others on the front line.

  He came back to the present with a start and saw only young men, eager for any knowledge that might save their lives when events didn’t go as planned and it all went wrong.

  “Except, you’re not out there on your own,” he said, pointing at Orran and then the ranger. “He’s there with you. And so is he, and him, and him,” he said, pointing at a skinny man with blackened teeth, a chubby man with long sideburns and several other men in turn. “They’re all your brothers. Every single one. They might not be kin by blood, and I’m not a priest so this isn’t a fucking sermon, but you’re all the same. He’s relying on you to watch out for him, and you know he’ll do the same for you, no matter what. That is what makes him your brother.”

  Orran and his neighbour looked closely at each other and he saw others doing the same. “If he sees a blade coming at your head, he’ll get in the way and he’ll stop it. He will risk his life to save yours, because he knows what you’ve got to lose. He knows why you’re fighting, and he wants to make sure you get home. He won’t even think about it; he’ll just do it.

  “Focus on the man in front and deal with him. But keep an eye out to the sides, and make sure you look after your family. Because without them, you’re already dead.”

  Vargus approached the big man he’d knocked down and offered a hand. He thought he would refuse, but with so many watching, the big man couldn’t ignore him. Vargus pulled him to his feet and shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m Vargus.”

  “Hargo Ke Waugh.”

  “We’re family, Hargo,” said Vargus with a smile. “And I’ll be with you, stood on your left, when the war starts. On my oath, on my life, I swear I’ll do everything I can to see that you survive the war.”

  Hargo looked as if he wanted to speak, to thank him or make a similar promise, but in the end he just nodded. He offered a smile, enough for Vargus to know he wasn’t sore about being knocked down in front of the others.

  “Training is done for today,” said Vargus, addressing those nearest him. “Go and do whatever you need to. But tomorrow when I come back, I expect you to know your brothers, and fight as if you want to live. I don’t need to scare you with stories about what will happen if they reach the villages. So you think about that, and what I’ve said.”

  As Vargus walked away he felt the eyes of many on him, but didn’t look around. The hum of conversation rose as he strode towards the city, his skin tingling with promise.

  The next few days would either see the men become brothers in arms who would die for one another, or there would be slaughter on a scale never seen before in history.

  CHAPTER 4

  Walking through the streets of Charas brought back so many memories. Even though he’d never lived in the city for more than a few months at a time, Balfruss had been visiting all his life. It was the closest thing he had to a home.

  While living abroad he’d sometimes dream of walking through the city, staring up at the stained-glass windows, the cathedral spires and uniform buildings. Damp grass would crunch under his bare feet as he wandered through the Queen’s park, his nose full of rich aromas from all the herbs and colourful flowers.

  The dream was always the same. He’d pause to watch bees aimlessly drift among the flowers and only then would he notice the cottage. Curiosity drew Balfruss towards it until he was standing at the front door of his childhood home. Although modest, the cottage was in good repair, the thatch tidy, the walls freshly painted and the small flowerbeds at the front were well tended. Herbs hung from nails beside the door, drying in the heat, filling the air with the scent of basil and mint. Through the window he could see soft cushions, comfortable-looking furniture and a welcoming home.

  The cottage, along with his mother, was gone. The dream always left him with a terrible sense of longing. He’d not had the dream in months, but similar emotions came to the surface as he approached Vannok’s home. The front door opened before Balfruss could knock, his friend filling the doorway.

  “Come in, come in,” said Vannok, gesturing. “Don’t let the heat get out.”

  As he stepped inside Balfruss noticed Vann wasn’t wearing his armour or carrying any weapons, and yet he still seemed too big for the room.

  “Close the door!” someone yelled from another room as Vann shoved it shut behind him.

  “I knew she’d say that,” Vann muttered, before gesturing at one of the chairs beside the fire. Vann poked at the blaze then added another log. Despite it being early spring the nights were still chilly.

  “Something to drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having is fine,” said Balfruss, not wanting to impose.

  “But you’re our guest,” said Theresa, coming into the room, with a baby in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. It had been several years since he’d last seen her, and yet Theresa looked exactly the same, a slender, beautiful woman who turned heads wherever she went. Standing beside Vann made everyone look short, but Theresa came up to his shoulder, making her tall for a woman in Seveldrom.

  A little boy charged into the room squealing with glee, ducked between his mother’s skirts, then tried to wriggle his way under the table. Vann’s face split into a huge grin as he scooped his son off the floor and held him up towards the ceiling. The boy screamed and started to laugh as Vann threw him into the air.

  “Fly, daddy, fly!”

  Balfruss took the offered bottle of wine from Theresa, kissed her proffered cheek and gently pinched the baby’s chubby little leg.

  “How are you, Terry?”

  “I’m well, although this one has been keeping us up a bit,” she said, nodding towards the baby dozing on her hip.

  “Who’s this?”

  “This is Jordie,” said Theresa, turning the baby around and giving Balfruss a brief glimpse of blue eyes and a shock of blond hair before Jordie shyly turned his face away.

  “The last time I saw you, Tannos was the baby,” said Balfruss, glancing over to see Vann holding his son upside down by one ankle. The boy was still laughing. “And now look at him.”

  Theresa rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Open the wine, I know I need a drink.”

  Balfruss tri
ed to help Theresa prepare the meal, but she insisted he stay out of the kitchen. Once, many years ago, he’d been determined to return the favour for the countless meals they had made for him. Unfortunately it had not been a great success and the look Theresa gave him made it clear her memory was just as good as his.

  For the next hour he found himself entertaining Tannos while Vann looked after the baby. The boy seemed to have an endless supply of energy, and after chasing him around the room and hoisting him into the air over and over, the muscles in his upper arms started to ache. Instead he suggested another game, and by channelling a small amount of power, he created a globe of light filled with a moving spiral of colours. It managed to hold Tannos’s attention until Theresa called them to the table, by which time he was exhausted.

  It had been a long time since Balfruss had tasted such a rich and tasty beef stew. In the far east beef was rare and expensive, making it a delicacy reserved for the wealthy. For the last five years he’d been eating a steady diet of goat and lamb. There were a number of benefits to coming home.

  He wolfed down every scrap of meat and all of the vegetables, then mopped up the gravy with bread until his plate was spotless. Vann ate at a more sedate pace, with Jordie balanced on one hip, but he seemed happy to share his meal with his son and didn’t begrudge Balfruss when he finished the last of the stew.

  Once they’d been fed the boys started to get sleepy, but before Theresa put them to bed Balfruss saw her exchange a pointed look with Vann.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Balfruss.

  Theresa raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t asked him?”

  “I didn’t have a chance, love.” Vann passed Jordie to his wife and pulled the dozing Tannos onto his lap, addressing Balfruss. “He’s been acting peculiar. Not all the time, just now and then. He tells me he hears people talking when there’s no one around. He says he has these feelings, but he doesn’t yet have the words. I wondered if it’s just a child’s imagination or if he’s sensing…”