She marched a troop of four hundred towards Fin-Larger under the unrelenting heat of the Light Above. The grasslands were golden, waving in the circle winds which brought a little blessed cool for her and her troops. They had given her three branches of soldiers, not enough, and of the commanders she knew only Vir. She was glad to have him with her, he was a soldier’s soldier, living for each day, never wondering about the future or the past.
The other two were new to her, younger. A woman named Tirin Har-Barich who wore clan marks so long they almost covered the entire side of her face, and she wore her long hair wrapped up in a bun. She was quiet and her branch seemed to respect her. They did what she asked at least. The other was a man named Cavan Har-Gollust who was the type of commander she disliked, considered himself above his troops and got his way by shouting or having his second lay about them with the whip. She did not get the feeling he liked her much, but a few dark looks from her subordinates were simply something a commander had to get used to. Besides, he did not matter, not really. She had already won over their troops.
Every night she had done the same thing. Gone around the fires, sat with the people she would fight with. Talked with them, asked about them. Reminisced about actions past with old hands, reassured those who were new. Drank too much and regretted it the next morning. Shared commiserating looks with those also hungover.
Another thing she did was let the entire column march past her, waiting until the parade of floating rafts caught up. Talking to passing soldiers, commenting on their kit, sometimes a compliment, sometimes picking them up on failings. Enough for them to know she was there for them and that she was in charge. Then she would talk to the rafters and camp followers, listen to their worries and their woes because they were the true barometer of an army’s feelings. That done, she would jog back to the front. Careful to make sure everyone saw her, their trunk commander, in full armour, running the whole column.
They might complain about the heat and the time she was forcing them to make, but they could never complain that she was unwilling to put herself through the same rigours. She had known Rai and Trunks who had themselves carried, or rode on carts, and she knew exactly what the common soldier thought of them for it.
First lesson of command, be part of the army, not above it.
She heard shouting from the rear, Cavan Har-Gollust berating his troops again.
“You’ll have to do something about that.” She turned to find Vir approaching. He was a thick, heavyset man, wearing only a tunic and skirts, his armour on a raft at the rear. By him was Tryu, one of his “sticks” as he called them. Rai armies had few ranks. Branch, Trunk and then Rai. Below that everything was more informal and Vir had a few that served as his seconds. The others were back with his troops. Dassit was reasonably sure Tryu had taken her place in Vir’s bed, though no one was indelicate enough to mention it. She hoped they were happy.
“I thought, if I led by example he would start to follow. Instead his resentment only grows,” she said and Vir nodded.
“Him and the other.” She felt the day get a little more chill at his words. She had thought she got along fine with Tirin Har-Barich.
“Don’t look like a whipped garaur, Trunk,” he said. “She is all smiles and readiness to your face but I’ve seen the ways she looks at you when you’re not looking at her. She hides her resentment behind that smile the way a spearmaw hides in a canopy.”
“Well, that has brought the clouds to my light,” she said.
“How far are we from Fin-Larger?”
“If I have read the maps correctly, it should be on the horizon today.” Vir wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm, using the action not to meet her gaze. “Out with it, Vir; even if what you have to say is unpleasant, better I hear it.”
“Not unpleasant, Trunk,” he said. “Just that I think you should make Tryu here branch of your personal troops.” She almost tripped. It was not usual for a trunk commander to directly command their troops, she knew that. Hers had been with her for a long time; she had offered Vir command but he had his own people. Vir marched a little closer. “I know why you have not done this before, Dass,” he said – no one else ever called her that but him, “so listen. Those other two, if they gang up together can stalemate any decisions made. Make Tryu a branch, she gets a say and she is as loyal to you as I am.” The Light Above burned down on her armour and she wished she could take it off like Vir did. The helmet felt heavy, the wood felt like it sapped the strength from her bones. Command, it slowly took everything from you.
“You are right,” she said. “Tryu has more than earned it.” Vir nodded at her, wiped sweat from his face then beckoned Tryu forward.
“Tryu,” he said, “the trunk commander wishes you to be the branch of her personal troops.” From the look on Tryu’s face Vir had not discussed it with her.
“You will answer directly to me, Tryu,” she said. “Vir can give you some paint for your armour, some red stripes will look good on it. If you want your own sticks, Bakal and Marif are dependable soldiers, if not imaginative.”
“Thank you, Trunk Commander,” she saluted, hand across her chest, “I will not let you down.”
“I know that,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to my guard when we camp.” Vir smiled at her, then nodded Tryu back towards his troops and she left. He watched her go, almost tripping over something hidden in the grass as a result.
“Osere take trapvines,” he spat. “Nearly broke my ankle.”
“It’d get you out of the fight,” said Dassit. He looked at her, a twisted smile on his face.
“I don’t like any of this.” He scratched his head. “I don’t like where we’re being sent or what we are meant to do. I don’t like all these fields either, nowhere to hide.”
“Have you ever been anywhere you did like, Vir?”
“Tiltspire was all right,” he said, “what it was under the Red.”
“Only all right?”
“Too many Rai; you never knew if someone was going to burn you up for kicks.” He looked up at the light, as if he could wish it less hot. “Anyway, now the Blue have got it they’ll have turned it into an open sewer. You know what they’re like. Filth.”
“No, Vir,” she said. “They’re just like us.” Vir laughed.
“I doubt it. And don’t let Tirin or Cavan hear you saying that, they’ll have you reported as treasonous.”
“I am very careful about who I trust,” she said.
“That you are,” he looked forward. “I think I see our destination on the horizon, like you promised. Maybe we’ll get there by lightfall.”
The town of Fin-Larger was further away than they thought, some trick of the endless fields of Seerstem, and they slept that night with the walls of the town a squatting gap-toothed shadow before them.
In the morning, as the light rose, Dassit left her troops and took Vir into the town with her. She had left notice that the column could spend the morning relaxing, they had marched hard to get here and some rest would do them good. Besides, she wanted to speak freely with Vir as she surveyed the town.
There was no embassy to greet them, which she thought strange. It was usual for the Leorics of towns like this to come out and meet an approaching army, especially when they had been sent to defend them. She saw a few figures as she approached – fleeting shapes vanishing between houses in the early morning mist – but she was less concerned with the figures as to the fact she could see them through the walls.
“It’s a ruin,” said Vir, staring up at the wall. It had been huge once, thick dirt walls twice as high as a person and topped by a wooden palisade. Time and lack of care had worn them away. Where the palisade still stood the wood was rotten and the dirt walls had begun to crumble, ravaged by plants that had grown in and loosened the hard packing of the steep ramps. In places the town had outgrown the walls and they had been removed, replaced with a flimsy wooden barrier barely higher than Vir’s head.
“Osere,” spat Vir. “Should burn it down, give all those in it over as traitors like we did at that last place. There’s a war on and they let it get like this?”
“It could definitely do with a little work,” said Dassit. She tried to ignore Vir’s enthusiasm for punishment.
“More chance going up against the Osere with shovels than defending this place from a determined army.” Dassit smiled to herself. “I’m glad someone’s amused,” he said.
“It won’t be easy, you’re right, Vir, but I begin to wonder if our enemy actually are that determined.”
“What’s that mean?” Vir kicked a stone across the parched and cracked mud in front of the town.
“I have a theory,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure the Blue want to win.” Vir laughed.
“All these years of being a soldier, Dass, and somehow you missed that the whole point of war.” He looked up at the broken walls and let out a sigh. “I may have to rethink my high opinion of you.”
“Yes,” she said. Beyond the wall she could see the gables of houses, built tall and sharp. “It is just that the Blue have made so many poor decisions, and I’m struggling to think of it is accidental. They should have rolled over us a long time ago.”
“That ain’t true,” said Vir. “We’re in the right. Besides, they’re scared of our Cowl-Rai.” Those last words died away, stolen by the circle winds. They had both fought a long retreat across Crua, and both at times cried out for their Cowl-Rai, the living embodiment of Chyi to come to their aid. They never had.
So many had died.
“Maybe they are scared,” said Dassit; she found her own rock, rolled it under the sole of her boot rather than argue with Vir. “They have split their army this year, sent half to secure Treefall in the Northern Wyrdwood.”
“Treefall’s valuable,” said Vir. “Makes sense.”
“Yes, but it’s not going anywhere.” She kicked the stone across the ground. “Let’s go in, see who is home to greet us.”
“We should kill a few,” said Vir, hand on his blade, “teach them a bit of respect.”
“No one gets killed today.” Vir shrugged. She wondered if he had always been so hard, she didn’t remember him being that way.
They walked around Fin-Larger until they came to the gates, large, with a walkway above. The gates were wide open, the same grasses that were growing out in the fields tall around them.
“These haven’t been shut in years,” said Vir and spat. “I hate civilians.”
“You used to be one.” Vir shook his head.
“Don’t think so. I was born with a spear in my hand.”
They walked through the gates unopposed, Dassit uncomfortably aware of the sweat trickling down her back. She hated fighting in the southlands, the heat was worse than the cold of the north. She hated the cold too, but at least when you were fighting you warmed up, or you could have a fire if you needed it. There was no escape from the heat. If Fin-Larger had a chimney house she would claim it for her officers. That at least would be cool as its shape convected the heat up and out, making a welcome breeze run through it.
The town felt deserted as they walked through it, the main street was wide, the houses large and well kept. Red flags gently fluttered everywhere in a breeze she barely felt.
“Do you think this is a trap?” said Vir. She stopped, looked around. Imagined for a moment soldiers appearing in the houses around her, spears being thrown. Rai burning the air.
“No,” she said. “Makes no sense, you couldn’t hide enough people in here to fight our army, or defend this place from us. And you couldn’t hide an army out on the plains.” She looked around, wondering if she was right. The grass was tall, could you lay a whole army down? Sneak it close in the night?
Why would they?
This place couldn’t be defended as it was. A trap felt like a lot of effort for little gain and she knew the Rai were rarely given to effort, or smarts. Their way was to throw lives at a problem.
“People,” Vir pointed down the street towards what looked like the town square. A gallows stood in the middle of it, and below the gallows stood four people dressed in fine garments. Vir started towards them.
“Stop,” said Dassit. “Let them come to us, I want no doubt about who is in charge.” Vir stopped and they waited, dripping with sweat as they watched the four fail to approach. It did not appear to be a powerplay, but only because they were involved in some sort of argument.
“Osere’s feet, I’m going to melt if we stand here, Dassit,” said Vir. She waited a little longer then shook her head and strode forward into the square. It was like many town squares, a number of wooden market stalls had been set up, though all were empty. Opposite the gallows stood a shrine to Chyi, a garlanded taffistone, though the statues of the god that should be there, head bowed and hands held before his eyes, appeared to have been removed. A star of Iftal had been raised behind it. The four nobles of the town still didn’t notice them, their argument was all-consuming.
“You!” she shouted. “I am Dassit Gan-Brinor of the Red. My army has come to your town on the word of the Cowl-Rai and in service to great Chyi. Who is in charge here?” The four turned to her, expressions of surprise on their faces. Each wore ribbon gowns, deep reds and purple strips of wool that ran over their bodies, exposing as much flesh as they covered and good for the hot weather. The skin beneath was tanned and leathery with exposure to the light. The oldest of them stared at her, then raised himself up. His crested hat, lined with gasmaw pearls that gleamed in the early morning light, made him look far taller than he really was.
“I am Leoric Ghorle,” he said, his voice wavering. “And I welcome you to—”
“Have you come to evacuate us?” said the woman stood by him.
“No,” said Dassit. The woman appeared to deflate. “I am here—”
“I told you,” said the third of the finely dressed nobles, “this Rai has come for the prisoner. We were right to keep them.” The bickering broke out again.
“Quiet!” She used the same shout she used to cut through the sound of battle and it shut them up. “I am no Rai, but I am sent by them to defend this town. To rebuild your walls, to make Fin-Larger a fortress against the foul lies of the traitors from the north.” The words came easily, though she knew they were a lie. She had been sent here to die.
“Not to take us away?” said the man who had hoped they were to be evacuated. She shook her head.
“But what about the prisoner?” said the woman, tiny and older than Dassit believed anyone had a right to be in Crua. “Surely they will interest you, Rai?”
“What prisoner?” She did not bother to correct the woman again.
“A spy, they appeared here one morning, in the square, and we caught them.” She smiled at her. “Jurant wanted to hang her but I said no, save her for the Rai, to question and feed from.”
“A spy? That interests me, take me to them. And you,” she pointed at the Leoric, “Vir here is my second. Take him to a chimney house so we can set up a command base.” The four nobles gave small bows and Vir leaned in so he could whisper to her.
“We’re dead if the enemy come here, whether they want to lose or not, aren’t we?”
“Where there’s life, there’s hope, Branch Commander,” she said.