Book 6: Chapter 18 |
SLOWLY, ALMOST RELUCTANTLY, evening was starting to fall over Gondreville. Six days had passed since we liberated it. Sunset threw soft, warm shades of pink and orange across the sky that contrasted brightly with the deep blue of the sky beneath the clouds.
The cobbled streets and alleys rang with the sound of happy laughter. Gondreville’s residents, of all ages and social classes, were making their way to the main square, which was filled with the sound of holiday mirthmaking for the first time in several years.
Local traders, along with comedians from Pierre Girot’s troupe, helped create a festive atmosphere. Jugglers with flaming torches flitted through the crowd as musicians played happy melodies on flutes and strings, and soon the whole area was filled with children and adults dancing. The air was heavy with the smell of freshly-baked bread, spices, and grilled meat.
The houses around the square were decked out in flowers and banners (those of our forces and of local guilds alike). Lights danced inside the windows, adding an atmosphere of comfort and warmth to the evening scene. People stood on balconies, exchanging friendly smiles and happy shouts with passersby.
In the middle of the square, a big podium had been erected, where the town’s elders (who had supported us along with their people during the assault) were already gathered and taking turns interrupting one another with fiery speeches of thanks to the heroes who had saved their city.
The whole atmosphere was one of relief and hope. People embraced one another, celebrating the downfall and death of the “Scarlets,” whose corpses had been thrown out into the latrines beyond the city walls.
The citizens understood that their trials were far from over, and that the Gray Reaper would soon appear outside their walls with his army, but they were ready to fight. Especially since they would no longer be fighting alone.
Jean-Claude de Bacri and his people, along with Pierre Girot and all his crew, had already seen to it that word of the Margrave de Valier’s prowess spread through the entire city. These rumors asserted that the new Margrave was not only the most powerful avant in Mainland, but also an invincible battlefield commander. The fact that we had taken the city so quickly, and with so few losses, was proof of that.
As night fell, candles and fires from the public ovens became the main source of illumination for the square. The fires twinkling in the darkness created an aura of magic and mystery. People started to organize dances on the square. The rhythm of the drums and the melodies from the flutes buoyed the fun and exciting atmosphere. The dancers were all wearing bright, colorful outfits. Together, they looked like a multicolored whirlwind in the light of the fires and candles.
The old men spoke of old times, inspiring the young and getting them excited about the events to come. There was a spirit of unity in the crowd, and a feeling of decisiveness. These people would fight for their homes to the last drop of blood. Gondreville’s people had felt the full brunt of the red cloaks’ occupation, and they were in no mood to contemplate submitting to another one.
I wound my way around the main square through some alleys, along with my bodyguards, and stepped into the city hall building through the backdoor. I was already expected on the second floor, in the small hall where the city council usually met.
Upon seeing me arrive, the legionaries guarding the door froze at attention. As I walked past, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that they had drawn small, bent stripes on their pauldrons with deep-orange paint. The curvature looked like that of a strung bow, or maybe a smile.
Heh, I thought... This is becoming an epidemic. Baron de Bacri started it unintentionally at our first meeting, and my squire Leo von Grimm took over spreading it from there.
The day after those memorable talks with the leader of the mountain men, I noticed a little orange mark on Leo’s pauldron. At first, I didn’t think anything of it, but by evening a similar mark had appeared on the pauldrons of all the soldiers in the “Savages.”
Upon closer inspection, it turned out that the spot was actually a little curved line. A chat with my squire, whose eyes were afire with mischief, revealed that the line was a stylized representation of a fox’s tail.
Naturally, I found Leo’s action to be rash in the extreme and gave him a thorough dressing down about the need to ask me first before doing things like this. I even called Lorin to back me up and help me knock some sense into the kid, but it turned out that the hejdelf himself was already sporting a little red-orange tail. As were all my fairies. Even Sigurd and Aelira had the little mark on their armor.
I need hardly mention that the little red mark on my soldiers’ armor didn’t go unnoticed. Pierre Girot’s team immediately got to work churning out songs and plays about a certain sly fox who could wind enemies and ill-wishers around his finger and help out good people who found themselves in trouble.
Slowly but surely, the “red-tail epidemic” spread out to the rest of the army, starting with the Mertonians. It became especially popular after the successful assault on Gondreville. And all the plays about the sly fox helping the Plucky Cairn get rid of an infestation of red rats were cheered to the heavens time and time again by the assembled townspeople. As it turned out, the authors of the play managed to work quite a bit of Gondreville symbolism into the plot. Prominent among these symbols was the city’s sigil: a cairn (a large stack of rocks), walking proudly on two legs.
At first, the sight of the little red tails on my soldiers’ shields and armor made me frown, but eventually I stopped noticing it.
“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen!” I said as I strode into the council chamber.
Everyone assembled greeted me with loud cheers. I quickly glanced around the room, just to make sure everyone was in their proper place.
Our council of war, which met pretty regularly, had expanded somewhat in size. Its participants had broken off into groups prior to my arrival, and they were all busy discussing something as I walked in.
Baron Jean-Claude de Bacri was standing by the window with his old friend Henri de Latour, who used to be the head of the city council before the coming of the red cloaks forced him to flee Gondreville. It was thanks to this man, and his network that had remained behind in the city, that the local residents were ready and able to support our assault at the appointed time. After all, their default course of action would have been to defend the city against the strange army that had appeared out of the mountain valley, about which the “Scarlets” had spread all sorts of negative rumors. We were alleged to be arsonists, rapists, and monsters who would enslave any Bergonians we came across.
Even while we were still en route to the city, Henri de Latour and his people had been moving mountains in the hearts and minds of the citizens, especially among those whom the red cloaks had entrusted with weapons prior to the assault. In the end, however, trusting these citizens proved to be a fatal mistake.
There was also a short, bald man with a sharp-pointed black beard standing with Baron de Bacri and Chevalier de Latour. The right side of his face was wrapped tightly in a bandage. This was Jacques Chamot, commander of the citizen levies who had turned en masse against the “Scarlets.” Thanks to this man, not one of the defensive ballistae on the walls had fired a bolt at our oncoming force during the assault. True, Jacques Chamot himself had paid for this with his right eye. It could well have cost him his life, too, if it hadn’t been for my timely intervention.
Later, he led me on a tour of the walls and bastions. During this little trip, I had a chance to get acquainted with the fortress’ artillery.
The city was armed with no fewer than seven massive, twin-layer arch-ballistae, each of which was somewhat awe-inspiring in terms of its size and power.
Four of them were especially monumental and powerful, designed to throw long, spear-sized arrows over huge distances. Their hulking steel frames seemed more or less impervious to damage. As I examined them, I finally understood why Bergonians were famous as the best weaponsmiths on the continent.
The arrows (or maybe more accurately, spears) were made from hardwood and had tempered steel points, capable of punching through even the thickest suit of armor.
The remaining three archballistae were equipped with special grooves that allowed them to fire lead and stone balls about the size of a human head. These machines seemed even more diabolical to me, given the unique type of damage such a projectile would inflict on its target.
Most of these machines were in great condition. Their wooden components had been carefully sanded and polished, their metal components cleared of rust and liberally coated with axle grease. Two of the machines, however, looked a little bit worn-down. The wood had cracked slightly in several places due to age and moisture. All the same, according to Jacques Chamot these archballistae would still serve for a very long time, even in that condition.
At my command, all these machines were moved and installed along the western wall. And the soldiers started test-firing them to hone their accuracy and ranging ability. According to our original plan, this was the place where we would assemble for the confrontation with the Gray Reaper and his force.
Another group in the room consisted of Gaston Laforte, Samuel Kroner, and Henri de Châtillon. The latter was invited to join the group after I had a chance to talk to him. At first, the Viscount was quiet, and answered my questions in short, laconic quips, but after a while I managed to get him talking. As it turned out, our duel had turned into quite a pivotal moment in his life. He even managed to get himself locked in the “Gray Tower,” the jail in Herouxville where criminals of noble origin were confined.
The only thing the Viscount de Châtillon wanted anymore was to die in battle. He even broke with convention and sent a request to the King himself, in which he asked for permission to join the “Legion of Last Chances.” Which, naturally enough, was where he ended up. Laforte would have tried to nominate the Viscount as his second-in-command, but de Châtillon declined the offer — he was seeking death on the battlefield.
So I had to knock some sense into him. In this, I had help from our lunari. A couple good dreams, and the Viscount came to me of his own free will. Prior to that, I had offered him the chance to recruit the best horsemen in our army to form a special raiding unit. It wouldn’t be the easiest task, but it would be a promising one. One that would offer prospects for the future.
In the end, André agreed, and before long his unit could already boast 70 men. And the Viscount had general permission to recruit from among the Mertonians, the “Last Chances,” and Kroner’s cohort alike.
I must say that the Viscount took his task extremely seriously. After I helped him choose the very best chargers from among the trophy horses, he proceeded to drill his soldiers so that any of them could perform exactly the same maneuvers as the others, giving the unit a highly-modular, highly-adaptable command structure. Everyone understood, of course, that former infantrymen would probably never be able to match knights who had trained in the art since childhood, but that didn’t dissuade the stubborn Viscount one bit. I was soon filled with curiosity about how the whole thing would turn out.
As for the bad blood that had once existed between us... Well, that was a thing of the past. During one of our conversations, he shared his suspicions regarding his former friends with me, and I found myself in total agreement. Viscount de Châtillon had been deliberately egged on against me. And most likely, it was just for the entertainment of his friends. After he finished sharing his suspicions with me, I suggested that perhaps someday, we could return the favor. At this, a flash of excitement lit up André’s eyes.
The third group in the room consisted of Baron Reese, along with Kurt von Hartha and Georg von Linz, who had been invited to the council at my insistence.
Samira Clemand was there as always, an island unto herself. True, she was no longer looking at me with as much hostility or guardedness as before. After all, fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with someone in battle, and counting on each other for cover, tends to bring people closer together.
The night before our attack, she came to see me and expressed a desire to participate in the night attack. Per our plan (which ended up working out even better than I had anticipated), we were deliberately making a show of confidence with our unhurried, slow, and deliberate preparations for an eventual assault. Of course, this also had a secondary effect, which was to suggest that the assault wouldn’t be coming any time in the immediate future.
As it turned out, the leader of the red cloaks fell right into the trap, obviously assuming that we wouldn’t be attacking for at least a few days.
Lulled into a false sense of security by our plodding pace, they weren’t at all prepared when two units of strykers led by our avants infiltrated their walls under cover of invisibility and slit the throat of every “Scarlet” at the northern and eastern gates. Samira Clemand asked to join my unit specifically, and she gave an excellent account of herself.
“I assume something has happened, since you’ve called us all here so late, and during a holiday, no less,” Chevalier de Latour exclaimed loudly.
“Exactly so,” I replied as I sat down at the head of the table. “You can order the “Scarlets’“ banners removed from the walls and have the dummies in red cloaks dismantled. Our ruse has been discovered...”
“But how...” Samuel Kroner was surprised. “You told us that it worked! That the Gray Reaper took the bait!”
“I thought so, too,” I shrugged. “But the whole time I was exchanging messages with Alberto di Lanzi, pretending to be the late Cesare di Nobile, di Lanzi was the one pulling my leg, not vice-versa.”
The mention of Cesare di Nobile put a bloodthirsty grin on Baron de Bacri’s face. Agh... I sure would have liked to keep Cesare at my side, to keep extracting information about the “Scarlets” as the occasion required, but a deal is a deal.
I promised the werewolf that I would give him Cesare. The junior master had sure kept himself busy. There was a lot of true gifted blood on his hands. Among many others, he had first tortured, then executed Baron de Bacri’s pregnant wife. Had I reneged on my promise to Jean-Claude, our alliance would have been at an end. I would have lost all trust among the other commanders.
Still, it was a shame... Cesare told me so much before his untimely end. And I suspected that that was just the tip of the iceberg...
“So Cesare was somehow feeding you inaccurate information, despite everything you did?” Samira Clemand asked. Her tone was slightly mocking. Sure, we had fought alongside one another, but that didn’t change the fact that she was there as a representative of the Amber Guild, with whose grand master I had a... Well, let’s just say a tense relationship, to put it mildly.
“Impossible,” I shook my head.
“Then what makes you so sure our ruse has been discovered?” Chevalier de Latour asked.
“Are any of you familiar with a man by the name of Jacques Sarreaux?” I asked him.
“Of course,” replied Chevalier de Latour. “Monsieur Sarreaus is a respected citizen of our city. In fact, Jacques Sarreaux helped many people with medicine while the red cloaks were in control of the city. He’s the local apothecary. Why do you ask?”
“The fact is that Monsieur Sarreaux is, in fact, not really Monsieur Sarreaux at all,” I replied. “Alas, I don’t know his real name. But I do know for certain that he’s a spy for the Order of the Scarlet Shield. I learned that Sarreaux had come to your city several years before the Atalian invasion, and it seems that he was passing information to the masters of the “Scarlets” the entire time. By the way — I’m also certain that Cesare didn’t know anything about the fact that there was a spy in the city sending constant reports to the Gray Reaper about the state of affairs. It was he, I think, who told Alberto di Lanzi that we captured the city. We intercepted his message.”
If it hadn’t been for Vaira, who managed to identify and capture the spy’s birds, I would still have believed that the Gray Reaper had fallen for our ruse. Hm, I thought... There’s obviously something interesting in my Margraviate, if the Order went so far as to send a professional spy to this little village nobody has ever heard of, and keep him there for years on end.
“Where is the scoundrel?!” Chevalier de Latour roared.
His face was contorted with rage. I could see the horrified realization in his eyes. He seemed to have realized just how close he himself had come to death when he was preparing the people for the assault. He was lucky that Jacques Sarreaux wasn’t one of the people we took into confidence about the Bergonians’ plans. Otherwise, he would certainly have informed Cesare, even if it cost him his incognito profile.
“Alas, he turned out to be a very cautious and experienced man,” I said with a frown. “We didn’t manage to take him alive. He took a very fast-acting poison.”
I was still angry with myself about this little slip-up. I simply hadn’t expected an experienced sleeper agent with years of experience in this forgotten little backwater. He died quickly, and almost painlessly. I was already physically walking up to his stall when he realized everything and bit down on a little capsule that he had affixed to one of his teeth. Neither my speed nor my aura could prevent it. The concentration of poison (obviously from some kind of Shadow beast) was simply too powerful.
The only compensation was the stash we found hidden in the spy’s home. True, the little hidey-hole had a very nasty surprise waiting inside, but thanks to true vision I managed to disarm it. And there were a lot of interesting things inside. Including the key to the Order’s cipher. With this in hand, I could read any messages we intercepted. And once I could do that, I soon learned that di Lanzi already knew about everything that had happened.
“So the plan to lure the Gray Reaper and his cohort into an attack has failed?” Samuel Kroner concluded pensively.
“And now we’re going to have to chase them all around Shadow Pass,” Gaston Laforte added with a snicker.
“We need a new plan, ladies and gentlemen,” I said as I leaned back in my chair.