The Cordral Extent, 106 years after the Fall
CTENKA listened to Laigon’s story like it was a tale from before the Fall. Part of him still couldn’t believe how easily the Shengen had fallen foul of a single warlord from the mountains, and in such a short space of time. Perhaps Laigon’s suspicion that there was something more to this Iron Tusk was right. Or perhaps his tale had become more fanciful in the telling. Either way, if there was even the slightest chance his words were true – if the Shengen Empire had crushed its enemies in the east and was now turning its eye to the Cordral – they had to act.
‘This Iron Tusk,’ said Marshal Ziyadin. ‘What is he? The way you describe him, he can be no mere man.’ The way his voice wavered it was clear Ziyadin was fearful of the tale. He was on the frontier after all, and would be the first to face the Shengen army if it truly was on its way along the Skull Road.
‘He is just a man,’ Laigon replied. ‘One who inspires loyalty like no one I have ever seen. He is as divine to his followers as any god.’
‘Gods,’ said Ermund. ‘Fanciful tales of legend. This Iron Tusk is a man like any other. And can be killed like any other. But with the might of the Shengen Empire behind him it will take more than a poorly garrisoned fort to hold him back.’
‘How far away are your countrymen?’ Ziyadin asked, the fear in his voice now palpable.
Laigon shrugged. ‘With the Mercenary Barons defeated it will not take long to muster the rest of the Standings. A few weeks at most.’
‘Very well,’ Ziyadin said. ‘Ermund, when you reach Kantor you will need to explain the gravity of this situation. We need reinforcements. This place must be fully garrisoned before the Shengen arrive. Ctenka, you know the Cordral as well as anyone. It will be your responsibility to ensure he gets there in one piece.’
Ctenka doubted Ermund needed any help getting anywhere, but he knew he couldn’t argue with the marshal. Besides, if Laigon was right, and the Shengen army were only going to take weeks, it might be better if he was far away when they arrived. Better he return to this place behind an army than be standing at the wall with a few old men and green recruits when the Iron Tusk turned up.
‘Then we need to rest,’ said Ermund, rising to his feet. ‘It’s a long road to Kantor. And thank you, Centurion. We appreciate your bravery and the sacrifice you have made in coming here.’
Laigon nodded his appreciation, but said nothing. As they left, Ctenka couldn’t help but feel for Laigon. The centurion had fled his homeland in disgrace, with no idea what might become of his family, all so that foreigners might better defend themselves from an army he had recently been a part of. Ctenka could never imagine being so courageous.
That night he hardly slept. All he could do was stare at the ceiling of the barracks, half excited, half terrified at what was to come. His memories of Kantor had faded over the months and all he remembered was the hard training he had suffered. Perhaps this time he might get to appreciate the majestic spires and lush gardens, but how could he appreciate the prospect when such a threat hung over the Cordral Extent? The weight of his responsibility kept him awake for most of the night until, bleary eyed, he was forced to drag himself from his bed.
Ermund had already risen and was checking their horses as Ctenka left his room and headed to the stables.
‘Good to see you are at least taking this task seriously,’ said the southerner, without looking up.
‘I know my responsibilities, Ermund,’ Ctenka replied.
‘Do you?’ Ermund looked his usual grave and serious self. ‘We cannot fail in this. We have to secure reinforcements, perhaps the entire Kantor Militia, if we are to hold back the Shengen.’
‘I’m not an idiot.’ Not everyone could be so dedicated to their position as Ermund, but Ctenka knew the importance of their mission, and the constant suggestion that he was some kind of slovenly ingrate was growing tiresome.
‘No,’ Ermund replied. ‘You’re not. So time to stop acting it.’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Yes.’ Ermund turned to face him, looking the young recruit up and down. ‘Uniform still in a state. And have you even drawn that weapon since you brought it from Kantor?’
Ctenka looked down at the sheathed blade. He couldn’t remember if he had.
Before he could make up some excuse, Ctenka saw Ziyadin crossing the courtyard, his eyes bloodshot from the previous night’s wine. At his side was Laigon, still bearing that solemn nobility, despite the fact he had been stripped of his armour.
‘It’s good to see you are keen to be off,’ said Ziyadin.
‘Almost ready, Marshal,’ Ermund replied.
‘Good. I’m sure I don’t have to explain the magnitude of your task.’
‘No, Marshal,’ Ctenka said quickly. Ermund had already more than covered it.
They mounted their horses. Ctenka hadn’t even bothered to inspect the saddlebags at his mount’s flanks, trusting Ermund had already taken care of it. Silently he made a note that in the future he would check his own supplies. Better that than give the southerner yet more reasons to admonish him.
As they rode out of the gate of Dunrun, with the sun rising ahead of them, Ctenka took a glance back. Ziyadin and Laigon were both watching in silence. Despite the marshal being his superior officer, it was the centurion that Ctenka suddenly felt responsible to. He didn’t want to let the man down. A man who had already sacrificed so much for a people he barely knew. Even when he had harboured an idealistic view of his future in the militia, Ctenka had never felt such a sense of responsibility as he did now.
* * *
The road west was barren for the miles that they plodded along it. Where once might have stood field upon field of verdant crops was now nothing but dried scrub. The occasional derelict outbuilding or abandoned irrigation machine stood like broken statues in the sun. Testament to how far his country had sunk in the hundred years since the Fall. Beneath the oppressive Cordral sun, Ctenka felt exposed. Without the walls of Dunrun to protect him he felt vulnerable, despite this being the country of his birth. As much as he was supposed to be the guide on this journey, he suddenly felt glad he had Ermund to protect him.
Glancing over at the tall southerner, Ctenka realised there was no other man in the world he would have rather been on this journey with, despite the lack of conversation. There had always been something about Ermund that commanded respect. A confidence about him that was undeniable. It made Ctenka wonder about that mysterious past and what might make such a man leave his former life to pursue a lowly position in a foreign land.
‘Have you spent long on the open road, Ermund?’ he asked, fishing for anything from the implacable veteran.
‘I’ve had more than my share of years in the saddle, if that’s what you mean,’ he replied, scratching his grey beard.
Ctenka could hold back no more. ‘So a sellsword in the southern companies, then? No… a captain. You commanded your own band of mercenaries?’
Ermund shook his head. ‘Why the sudden interest, Ctenka? You want to know the quality of the man you travel with? Or is there a bet among the militia recruits?’
‘Pah. If I had to bet I’d say you were some kind of bandit chief. Cast out by a treacherous second-in-command.’
‘That’s something of a stretch, Ctenka. Perhaps you fancy yourself as a fireside storyteller?’
Ctenka laughed at that. As usual it didn’t even raise a smile from Ermund.
‘Well, it’s clear there’s more to you than meets the eye. All anyone knows is your first name. If that’s even the one your mother gave you.’
‘There’s not much in a name,’ Ermund replied. ‘You should not put so much store by them.’
‘Really? That strikes me as words from a man who once held a great name. A feared and respected name.’ As he spoke, Ctenka realised his inquisitive line of thought may have run away with itself. For his part, Ermund said nothing, merely creasing his troubled brow yet further. Perhaps Ctenka had struck upon the truth after all. A truth Ermund would rather have stayed buried. Still, it did not stop him, and against his better judgement he pressed further.
‘Were you always so bloody dour? At least tell me there was once some joy in the life of Ermund of the Suderfeld, before he lost everything.’
Ctenka was surprised when Ermund replied, ‘A man who has felt no joy cannot call himself a man.’
‘And now he speaks philosophy like a sage.’ Ctenka laughed. It felt dry in his parched throat.
‘Not philosophy. Just sense.’ Ermund looked at him with those deep blue eyes, shining in the sunlight. ‘But if you must know, yes. I have lost much over the years.’
Ctenka had so many more questions, but he satisfied himself with that for now. He had already learned more about Ermund in one brief conversation than in the past six months of living with the man. And it was a long road ahead. No need to rush.
As the evening wore on into night, Ctenka couldn’t help but feel relieved to be out of the sun. It was clear his horse felt much the same as they plodded along the arid roadway, but his sudden good humour faded fast when Ermund spied a campfire up ahead.
‘What do you think?’ Ctenka asked.
‘I think bandits wouldn’t make such a large fire in the middle of the night,’ Ermund replied.
‘Maybe it’s a trap?’
Ermund kicked his mount towards the fire. ‘It’s good that you have your wits about you, young Ctenka. So let’s introduce ourselves. If they rob and murder us you can be satisfied that you were right.’
Ctenka hung back, surprised at Ermund’s uncustomary disregard for caution. As they drew closer he relaxed a little as the sound of music and laughter greeted them. Closer still and Ctenka heard voices he recognised.
‘Merchants,’ Ctenka said. ‘How could you know that?’
‘Because they are due to arrive at Dunrun tomorrow,’ Ermund said matter-of-factly. ‘If you ever checked the fort’s supply ledger you’d know that.’
Yet more veiled admonishment. Ctenka wondered how much more he could take on one journey.
Both men dismounted, walking their steeds into the camp. Immediately Ctenka recognised Mohanan, the bearded tinker whose smile was almost as big as the belly that protruded over his thick sash.
‘My boys,’ Mohanan said over the sound of lilting tamburs and the singing of his fellow merchants. If any of them were surprised at the arrival of two militiamen in the night they didn’t show it.
Ermund and Ctenka were greeted like old friends, and it was a relief to know they didn’t have to build a fire or even prepare their own food on the first night of travel.
Ctenka was buoyed by the subsequent music and conversation, until Ermund asked the merchant about the current mood in Kantor. A sudden shadow fell over Mohanan’s usually jovial countenance.
‘Kantor prepares for war,’ he said, pulling at that long beard. ‘The queen is eager for the Cordral to retain its neutrality. After the death of the king she is desperate to raise the prince to be a strong ruler, but the White Widow in the north presses for an alliance. She has already united most of the Ramadi cults and turns her eye to the Cordral. I see a darkness descending.’
‘And to the south?’ asked Ermund.
‘Not much better, my friend. The War of Crowns is all but over. The three kings of Suderfeld are now united.’
‘By what?’ Ermund sounded surprised by the fact. Ctenka found it curious that Ermund appeared troubled by news that the war in his homeland was now over.
‘No one knows. But now war in their own lands has passed, it appears the three kingdoms have come together, and they too look north towards conquest.’
‘And Kantor is stuck in the middle,’ said Ctenka. It seemed the importance of their mission had now grown.
The two men remained silent then, as the merchants played on into the night.
With the threats from north and south, Ctenka could only hope the queen would take seriously the grave news they were bringing from the east. As he lay down beside the fire, the sound of music still ringing in his ears, Ctenka wished he had not been so eager to be the bearer of such dark tidings. For the second night in a row sleep evaded him.