The Blade Itself

“Or in. A vital point. Considerable time and resources were spent on the defences there. The very latest designs were used, our finest architects. A garrison of three hundred men, with stores of weapons and food to stand a year of siege. It was considered impregnable, the lynchpin of our plans for the defence of the frontier.” Burr frowned, deep grooves appearing across the bridge of his nose. “Gone.”

West’s head had started hurting again. “When, sir?”

“When is the question. It must have been at least two weeks ago, for these “gifts” to have reached us. I am being called defeatist,” said Burr sourly, “but I guess that the Northmen are loose and that, by now, they have overrun half of northern Angland. A mining community or two, several penal colonies, nothing so far of major importance, no towns to speak of, but they are coming, West, and fast, you may be sure of that. You don’t send heads to your enemy, then wait politely for a reply.”

“What is being done?”

“Precious little! Angland is in uproar, of course. Lord Governor Meed is raising every man, determined to march out and beat Bethod on his own, the idiot. Varying reports place the Northmen anywhere and everywhere, with a thousand men or a hundred thousand. The ports are choked with civilians desperate to escape, rumours are rife of spies and murderers loose in the country, and mobs seek out citizens with Northern blood and beat them, rob them, or worse. Put simply, it is chaos. Meanwhile we sit here on our fat arses, waiting.”

“But… weren’t we warned? Didn’t we know?”

“Of course!” Burr threw his broad hand up in the air, “but no one took it very seriously, would you believe! Damn painted savage stabs himself on the floor of the Open Council, challengess us before the King, and nothing is done! Government by committee! Everyone pulling their own way! You can only react, never prepare!” The Marshal coughed and burped, spat on the floor. “Gah! Damn it! Damn indigestion!” He sat back in his chair, rubbing his stomach unhappily.

West hardly knew what to say. “How do we proceed?” he mumbled.

“We’ve been ordered north immediately, meaning as soon as anyone can be bothered to supply me with men and arms. The King, meaning that drunkard Hoff, has commanded me to bring these Northmen to heel. Twelve regiments of the King’s Own—seven of foot and five of horse, to be fleshed out with levies from the aristocracy, and whatever the Anglanders haven’t squandered before we get there.”

West shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That should be an overwhelming force.”

“Huh,” grunted the Marshal. “It better be. It’s everything we have, more or less, and that worries me.” West frowned. “Dagoska, Major. We cannot fight the Gurkish and the Northmen both at once.”

“But surely, sir, the Gurkish, they wouldn’t risk another war so soon? I thought it was all idle talk?”

“I hope so, I hope so.” Burr pushed some papers absently around his desk. “But this new Emperor, Uthman, is not what we were expecting. He was the youngest son, but when he heard of his father’s death… he had all his brothers strangled. Strangled them himself, some say. Uthman-ul-Dosht, they are calling him. Uthman the Merciless. He has already declared his intention to recapture Dagoska. Empty talk, perhaps. Perhaps not.” Burr pursed his lips. “They say he has spies everywhere. He might even now be learning of our troubles in Angland, might even now be preparing to take advantage of our weakness. We must be done quickly with these Northmen. Very quickly. Twelve regiments and levies from the noblemen. And from that point of view it could not be a worse time.”

“Sir?”

“This business with the Mercers. A bad business. Some of the big noblemen got stung. Brock, Isher, Barezin, and others. Now they’re dragging their feet with the levies. Who knows what they’ll send us, or when? Bunch of half-starved, unarmed beggars probably, an excuse to clean the scrapings from their land. A useless crowd of extra mouths to feed, and clothe, and arm, and we are desperately short of good officers.”

“I have some good men in my battalion.”

Burr twitched impatiently. “Good men, yes! Honest men, enthusiastic men, but not experienced! Most of those who fought in the South did not enjoy it. They have left the army, and have no intention of returning. Have you seen how young the officers are these days? We’re a damn finishing school! And now His Highness the Prince has expressed his interest in a command. He doesn’t even know which end of a sword to hold, but he is set on glory and I cannot refuse him!”

“Prince Raynault?”

“If only!” shouted Burr. “Raynault might actually be of some use! It’s Ladisla I’m talking of! Commanding a division! A man who spends a thousand marks a month on clothes! His lack of discipline is notorious! I’ve heard it said that he’s forced himself on more than one servant in the palace, but that the Arch Lector was able to silence the girls.”

“Surely not,” said West, although he had actually heard such a rumour himself.