Book 6: Chapter 7 |
FROM WHERE I STOOD ATOP A HILL, I had a great view of the military camp sprawled out before the walls of Bresmont. The camp looked like a huge anthill, full of movement and life. Colorful banners and tent flaps fluttering in the wind created the impression of pulsating energy.
The tents ranged in size from run-of-the-mill (for the rank-and-file) to the luxurious, almost palatial tents of the nobility. They were arranged in neat rows that delineated squares and rectangles corresponding in size to the status of their owners. From high above, I could also see the thin paths between the tents, and the movement along them that made them seem like arteries pumping blood throughout some massive organism.
How many people are living here, I wondered? Probably 20,000, counting the various civilians mixed in among the soldiers. I mean, look how many traders there are alone. They occupied a specially-designated area of the camp, and their multicolored carts were lined up along the pathways creating a sort of market street.
On these carts, and on the counters set up in front of them, were all sorts of products — from provisions and clothes to all the other things soldiers would need on campaign. I could also see a good number of marketplace women flitting between the carts in their colorful dresses, flirting with the men.
A little further on, there was a parade ground, where some captains had assembled their subordinates for drill and marching. To the right, I could see several dozen riders doing drills with their spears. They would charge at a gallop from one column to another, landing heavy blows on special targets as they went. On the left, I could see a shooting range, where hundreds of archers were engaged in an accuracy competition to the tune of shouts from their commanders.
Behind the camp there was a vast pasture, filled with war horses who would very soon find themselves charged with carrying their riders into battle. For a second, I pictured the scene, and a light shiver crawled across my body. I had to tip my hat to whomever was running this whole show. The way things were set up in this camp said a lot about the commander in charge of this army.
Heh... And to think that off in Bergonia, there was another war machine just like this (bigger, actually), and that these two machines would soon slam headlong into one another. I should point out that while I participated in some military conflicts between lords in my old world, I had never been involved in anything on this scale before.
“Your Lordship.” Kurt von Hartha’s pensive voice tore me out of my daydreaming. “I can see Krause’s horse.”
I turned my head toward where he was pointing and looked closer. So it was — a rider was coming toward us down the road. Kurt was right: the spotted horse on which Hans Krause, quartermaster for the “Savages,” was trotting along would have been pretty hard to miss.
I snickered with a nod. The captain had a cart following along behind him, filled with sacks and boxes.
The first time Kurt had introduced me to his quartermaster, he had characterized him (completely seriously, I might add) as a man who was able to obtain anything at all, and come to an agreement with anyone he might encounter. Hans Krause, who had ten rank-and-file soldiers under his direct command, was responsible for supplies, campsites, and the baggage train. Basically, if Georg von Linz was Kurt’s right hand, Hans Krause was his left.
Hans had started out as one of the Guild’s rank-and-file, but after losing his right hand (and wanting to stay on with the unit regardless), he learned the ropes as a quartermaster.
This energetic man combined a pragmatic mindset with the subtle skills of a diplomat. These qualities soon made him into an indispensable part of the unit. I don’t think it would be far wrong to say that if Hans Krause had left the mercenary life behind and opened some kind of business as a civilian, he would’ve been a huge success. As it happened, however, the “Savages” weren’t so much a unit for Hans as a family. And that was music to my ears. During the days of travel toward Bresmont, I had a chance to develop a healthy appreciation of the quartermaster’s talents.
True to form, Hans was hurrying toward us to pass on all the information he had gathered in Bresmont. This was the reason we had sent him ahead two days ago and agreed that we would meet right where we were meeting, at the time we were meeting, outside the city gates.
Despite Hans’ talents, however, I didn’t really believe that he would somehow manage to find lodging in the city for just shy of thirty soldiers. Bresmont was no Herouxville; it was just a small border town. And right now, people were packed inside it like sardines. All the hotels, inns, and taverns were full to bursting. Actually, forget the hotels... With a crowd like this outside the walls, every attic, basement, and haystack was turned into a makeshift “hotel,” from which the citizens were no doubt making a hefty profit.
So it seemed most likely that we were going to end up living in our field camp for an indeterminate length of time. Because I sure as hell wasn’t going to live in the main camp that I could see sprawled out on the field below me. Not with my sense of smell. Even from where I was standing atop the hill, I was picking up the disgusting stench of the overflowing latrines every time a breeze happened to blow toward us from the camp. And considering the constant noise of thousands of people shouting, all sorts of insects, the cramped conditions, and the smell of sweaty, unwashed men... No thanks. We would be getting plenty of that on the march anyway. Mind you, it probably wouldn’t have smelled much better in the city.
After arriving at our temporary rest stop and handing the cart with the bags and boxes off to his subordinates, Hans Krause hurried over to us with his report.
Hans was about the same age as Kurt. He was short, with deep golden hair and a wiry frame — he moved about with immense energy, sometimes darting to and fro as if he was running late for something. Where his right hand had once been, he had a special steel glove that was mounted to his arm with purpose-cut leather straps.
“How are things in the city?” Kurt asked once Hans was within a few paces of us.
“Bursting at the seams like an old wineskin!” The blond-haired quartermaster replied immediately. A flash of sarcasm flitted through his bright green eyes. “The citizens are praying to every one of the Gods that this army heads out on campaign as soon as possible.”
Kurt von Hartha replied with a derisive snort as he shook his head.
“So they’re sick of turning a massive profit out of His Highness’ army, selling all their products for triple the normal price?”
“Well, they don’t mind that part,” Hans laughed. “But even that can’t really compensate for having this camp full of restless soldiers for a neighbor.”
“Did you find the Duke de Clairmont’s quarters?” I asked. My unit might not be a part of his army in a formal sense, but I knew I had to report my arrival to him.
“Yes, Your Lordship,” replied Hans. “His Grace has taken up residence in the Count de Brisse’s palace.”
“How about us?” Kurt asked. “Did you manage to find something?”
“Alas,” the quartermaster shrugged.
Kurt glanced at me:
“If even Hans Krause couldn’t find anything — “
“Maybe it’s for the best, captain,” I cut him off, nodding toward the river that wound around “our” little hill before continuing: “Have them set up camp on the bank.”
Judging by Kurt and Hans’ satisfied expressions, they hadn’t been looking forward to spending several days in the main camp either. Especially considering that with my wagons and my field kitchen (which the soldiers had already had a chance to come to appreciate), we would be much more comfortable outside on our own than in some cramped inn filled with soldiers and lice. I’m talking about the city there — I won’t even begin to speculate on how much worse it would have been in the main camp. Here, on the river bank, ventilated by nice summer breezes, we could wait for the order to move out in relative comfort.
By the way — after almost a week of living outside my castle in their comfortable “houses on wheels,” the 25 “Savages” who we sent out with Captain Dupont were looking at their comrades with unconcealed envy. Although they had been happy at first when they learned that they would be traveling by water, rather than by land.
Once I filled him in on my plan, Kurt understood the reasoning why I had divided our forces up this way. He even suggested sending 25 soldiers instead of 20, and assigning one of his sergeants, Erika Bern, to command them. This woman was a powerful true gifted, a member of the werebear people. In other words, she was a shapeshifter who could take on the appearance of her people’s guardian spirit: a cave bear.
Kurt had three warriors like this, in addition to Erika. They were all from the same family, which had once been powerful but was now on the verge of extinction, and Erika was the eldest of them. And yes — all four of them detested werewolves. They already knew all about my escapades up north, so we got on more or less fine; I wouldn’t say we established anything like a friendship, but there was no unpleasantness either. Most importantly, I didn’t have to worry about the safety of my ship.
The Berns weren’t the only true gifted in Kurt von Hartha’s unit. Unlike the other shapeshifters and other members of the “Savages,” Thavin Brinn and his wife Kaylinn took me extremely seriously from the very start. Like the hejdelf Lorin, they referred to me as “auring” and always treated me with a marked degree of respect.
They were Glenns — members of a race of forest people who had once inhabited the valleys of the Foggy Isles. As far as I understood, they joined the “Savages” only after the latter had made their departure from Northland.
Being an excellent archer and tracker, Thavin quickly came to fill the role of head scout, while Kaylinn (who knew herbs like the back of her hand) took responsibility for medicines.
As for the strykers... Not counting Kurt von Hartha and Georg von Linz, or the young Leo von Grimm who was the hejdelf’s master, there were six combat mages in the unit. Three mages in the unit (one of whom was Leo) were experts. The others were all mediuses.
My scanner quickly informed me that the third-most-powerful gifted in our unit was Elsa Backer. Considering that she was only 25, she had achieved a truly remarkable mastery of her innate powers. Sure, she still had a long way to go to catch up to Kurt and Georg, but judging by her energy structure, the young woman had every chance of becoming an avant within about ten years if she kept up the pace. Provided, of course, that I didn’t end up intervening to speed things along...
I should point out that Elsa was grumpy old Georg’s ward, so it wasn’t surprising that her attitude toward me was pretty cold and somewhat suspicious. I frequently caught her burning, judgemental glare boring into me.
True, tales of my glory might be making the rounds in all the taverns and inns in the capital, but it didn’t seem that most of the “Savages” had fully accepted the stories; this was thanks in no small part to Georg, whose prickliness fully warranted his nickname “the Hedgehog.” Besides, I had yet to make a full demonstration of my abilities, so the “Savages” basically thought of me as yet another in a long line of employers, who was most likely not too different from all the ones who had come before.
“Your Lordship,” Gunnar suddenly distracted me from my thoughts. “What are your orders?”
Other than Sigurd and Aelira, Gunnar was the only person from my old unit that I had decided to bring with me. That said, I hadn’t originally been planning to do so. The young man gave an excellent account of himself up north, where he had managed to glean knowledge not only from Jacques and Lucas, but also from Bertrand. Basically, once Kevin set off to study with Monsieur Bertrand, my old valet started passing his knowledge on to Gunnar, who Bertrand chose as his eventual successor. The kid would become my new valet once the old man’s long life finally came to an end. Provided, of course, that I approved of such a course of action.
Heh... The old man still didn’t seem to realize that I had used magical means to extend that long life by quite a bit. He was still mentioning its impending end all the time.
Not long before, Gunnar had taken up residence in the merchants’ district. I didn’t have enough people I could trust there, so I had assigned the young man to work under Lucas. When word of the upcoming campaign leaked out, however, Gunnar hurried back to the castle, where Bertrand began training him with a renewed sense of zeal.
“Prepare everything for my visit to His Grace the Duke de Clairmont,” I said. “You’ve got an hour.”
“It will be done, Your Lordship,” Gunnar said with a bow before hurrying off to my wagon.
A few minutes later, a patrol unit stopped by our camp, under the command of a young lieutenant who introduced himself as Daniel de Jelenne.
He originally intended to start reading us the riot act — something like “in light of the developing situation you are forbidden from setting up your camp in this location,” but when he found out who he was talking to, he quickly backed off and hurried back to the main camp. But I made a mental note not to forget the loaded glance he shot back at the “Savages” in my camp.
* * *
Gunnar completed his assigned task with time to spare; meanwhile, after washing off the dirt and dust of the road and changing into a new outfit, I headed out toward the gates of Bresmont in the company of Hans Krause, Sigurd, and Aelira.
As expected, the city didn’t leave a great impression on me. Gray stone buildings, narrow, crooked streets, and a stench of filth that assaulted the nostrils more and more violently as we made our way to the city center.
I was struck by the number of people swarming through the dirty, overcrowded streets and alleyways. Yet again, I thanked my mysterious benefactor for giving me the body of an aristocrat. I no longer minded the poor condition the body had been in originally. This was because my status allowed me and my people to (for example) ride into the city on horseback, something that was categorically forbidden to commoners. Had I been reborn in the body of some shopkeeper, I would have had to squelch through the ankle-deep mud and filth of the narrow streets on my own two feet.
From time to time, the shutters of second-story windows would open, and with cries of “Watch out for water!” the contents of chamber pots and washbasins would splash down onto the dirty streets. To be honest, Abbeville was quite a cut above Bresmont in this respect. Although I should point out that throwing filth out of windows onto the street was common practice in all the cities I had been to. By the way — in the section of the merchants’ district that I owned, this “custom” was strictly forbidden.
The aristocratic neighborhood, where the Count de Brisse’s palace was located, was markedly cleaner. Having approached the gates, Hans announced my name to the guards, and we were let in without any fuss. It created the impression that we were already expected.
And once we were inside the inner courtyard of the palace, I realized that such was indeed the case. I saw a horse tied to a hitching post — that of the same lieutenant in charge of the patrol unit that had visited our camp an hour before. So, I thought... The Duke already knows I’m here.
Before, it would have surprised me to learn that my arrival could kick up such a fuss, but things had changed. I had just brought no less than eleven combat mages to join the army, two of whom were avants.
Since I had come without prior notification, we had to wait in the reception hall for a little bit while the Marshall finished with his other visitors.
After half an hour, his office door finally opened, and several people walked out from inside. Judging by their clothing and their gray cloaks, these were Stone Knights.
Their disdainful glances lingered on me for just a moment as they sauntered toward the exit. Suddenly, however, a short, well-built figure in leather armor broke off from their group and headed toward me.
A blond-haired woman. She had an oval face with prominent cheekbones, and her sharp facial features gave her face a vivid expressiveness and an impression of concealed power. There was a mischievous smile on her full, pink lips. Her deep-blond hair and light skin (so white it almost looked like porcelain) gave her away as a northerner immediately. That, plus the sigil on her chest, made it clear exactly who was standing before me.
Weird, I thought... What are the Frozen Spears doing here? Especially someone who’s obviously not just one of the grunts. Grunts don’t tend to walk around with so many artifacts that could conceal one’s true nature. True, the artifacts couldn’t fool my sharp senses anyway... I could still sense unusual magical emanations coming from beneath the veil of concealing magic. Suddenly, I had a sense of deja vu. But why, I thought? When have I felt this before?
It wasn’t death magic... I would have recognized even a tiny speck of that nastiness and its mana through anything.
Our eyes met. Her big, expressive, bright-gray eyes with their long lashes gave her gaze an intense aura of depth and penetrating ability. She was a true predator.
Oh, I thought! I know that gaze. I’d bet my arm on it... it was the gaze of a seer.
Her eyebrows rose slightly. Maybe she was surprised that she couldn’t see anything in me? That did happen, from time to time... And after all, she could see perfectly well that I didn’t have a single concealing artifact on me. I didn’t need them. My aura took care of that function all on its own.
By the way — I had seen the exact same look in Princess Sophia’s eyes when she stopped being able to see my energy structure. It occurred to me that that might explain why my goodbye with her was awkward, even a little bit cold. I didn’t see her at all during the week before our departure. Claiming she was ill, the Princess stayed locked in her quarters the entire time. I knew, of course, that there was no illness at play whatsoever. She just didn’t want to run into Kurt von Hartha, who had seen her several times when she was a young girl, back in the palace where she was raised. Sure, it was many years before, but it was anyone’s guess what kind of memory the captain of the “Savages” might have.
Although to be honest, Kurt didn’t have eyes for Verena or anybody else. His attention was riveted on Valerie. Max’s sister had obviously made an indelible impression on the imposing sellsword.
She, in turn, treated the captain of the “Savages” with marked coldness. But I could tell that Kurt von Hartha had also struck a chord with her. I especially remembered the sad glance she shot at the blond-haired stryker as we rode out of the castle.
When the gray-eyed northern woman stopped in front of me, I greeted her with a bow and introduced myself, as etiquette required.
“Oh, Your Lordship, you need not trouble yourself!” She smiled. “I know very well who you are.”
“Have we met?” I asked.
“Briefly,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “But we were never introduced.”
“Of course — I should never have forgotten you if we had been.”
“Oh, same for me, I assure you!” She said with another mischievous smile.
“Still, please forgive my insistence,” I said. “Where exactly did we meet?”
“I saw your duel with the Viscount de Marbot,” she replied with a click of her tongue as she shook her head with remembered amazement. “A thrilling battle, Monsieur! I’m still in awe.”
Interesting, I thought... What was one of the Frozen Spears doing at de Gondy’s ball? And why is she seemingly so nonchalant in telling me about it? I mean, isn’t she a soulcatcher, someone who could command shades? And why is she with the Vestonian army at all? Questions, questions, questions... Where would I find the answers?
“Thank you,” I replied with a bow. “Might I inquire whom I have the honor of meeting?”
“Fria,” she replied. “Sister Fria.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sister Fria.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you!” She said with another smile, before turning and walking out of the reception hall.
“Margrave de Valier!” The voice of the Duke’s secretary called out. “His Grace will see you now!”