The Cordral Extent, 106 years after the Fall
EYMAN sat opposite Laigon at the small table, mulling over his next move on the board. Their game of khetzak had gone on for two days now and Laigon had to admit he was growing bored. Before he came to Dunrun he had never played, but there were other games of strategy he was familiar with. Khetzak was much the same, only more rudimentary. It hadn’t taken Laigon long to master the tactics and his early losses to Eyman soon became fake losses. It was best if he let the young militiaman think he had the more cunning mind. At least for now.
Eyman placed his hand on a thick piece carved in black onyx – the Shieldman, used to block sections of the board – but he let go without moving it.
‘You’re getting better at this,’ he said, running fingers across his wispy excuse for a beard.
Laigon wanted to tell Eyman he could have ended the game six moves ago, but he held his tongue. Beating the militiaman at khetzak would be a hollow victory. Better he win the man’s trust. Laigon was confident he was almost there.
‘So tell me of the women in Shengen,’ Eyman said, placing the Shieldman down in a predictable position.
Laigon suppressed a smile at the question. He could understand Eyman’s frustration, stuck in a compound miles from any civilised company, with no one but other men for company.
‘Strong,’ he replied. There was no use coating it in honey. ‘Disciplined. Honourable.’
It clearly wasn’t the answer Eyman had been hoping for. ‘Beautiful?’ he asked.
‘In their way,’ said Laigon, suddenly thinking of Verrana and how much he missed her smile. It was a thought he put out of his head as soon as it arrived.
‘The women of the Cordral are the most beautiful in all the world. Well, most of them anyway. My sister is the exception, but then her brother got all the looks.’
Eyman smiled as though he were only half joking.
‘I’m sure,’ Laigon replied, feeling guilty that he was here, playing games and chatting idly, while the rest of his men were locked away in chains. But it was necessary. If he could gain the trust of the Cordral militia he might ensure those chains did not stay on for much longer.
He turned his attention back to the board, considering his next move, when the door to the chamber opened. Marshal Ziyadin entered, looking more hot and flustered than usual. Slick rivulets of sweat ran from his dark greasy hair and he licked his lips nervously.
‘Centurion Valdyr,’ he said. ‘I require your attendance.’
Laigon rose dutifully, and followed the marshal out into the warm morning air. Ziyadin walked brusquely. Laigon had never known the man move so fast and he could only imagine what had spurred him into such exertions.
They made their way through the gates of Dunrun. As he had done the first time he walked through each of them, Laigon noted how strong they were. How in the past, any army would have struggled to overcome such defences. As they neared the final gate, Laigon began to realise what had caused the marshal such concern.
Militiamen ran around in a panic. Someone shouted for a bow and was told in no uncertain terms where to go. As Laigon neared the foot of the final gate he saw a young boy weeping.
‘They are here,’ he said to Ziyadin.
The marshal glanced at the boy, then back to the wall ahead, walking with as much determination as he could muster. Laigon wasn’t fooled. He could sense the marshal’s fear. He could spot a coward from a mile away. It wasn’t for nothing that Ziyadin had been given this commission in the back end of nowhere. Clearly his shortcomings as an officer had caught up with him.
Laigon took the stairs with vigour. As he made it to the top of the gate he was greeted by a familiar sight. Ranks of armoured legionaries lined the Skull Road for as far as he could see. They stood to attention, shields raised. It was a pose struck to intimidate – a wall of steel that had seen the enemies of the Shengen surrender at the very sight of it. Laigon knew it well, but had never faced it from this side before. Now he understood.
Ziyadin finally came to stand beside him at the parapet, breathing heavily from the exertion. Laigon could see the marshal was terrified but what could he expect; it was rare that any man in the west had seen the might of the Shengen army arrayed before him.
‘What do we do?’ Ziyadin asked.
Laigon looked down at the rows of shields. He knew the only sane option was to surrender. No matter how high these walls, they would not hold back the might of the Standings. Surrender was no option though. They had to fight.
Before he could answer, a gap appeared in the wall of shields and a single warrior strode out, carrying his helm in the crook of his arm. By his armour, Laigon could see he was a praetorian, but from this distance he couldn’t tell which one.
‘They’re coming,’ said Ziyadin, white-knuckled hands gripping the parapet. ‘Should we let them in? Should I have my archers fire on him?’
‘Wait,’ Laigon replied. ‘It would be foolish to kill the messenger before hearing what he has to say.’
The warrior came to stand within the shadow of the gate, looking up at the militiamen.
‘Citizens of the Cordral,’ he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the silent valley. ‘I am Praetorian Kyon of the Shengen Imperial Guard. The Iron Tusk sends his greetings and requests that you allow us to pass peacefully.’
Kyon. It wasn’t a name Laigon recognised, but if he was anything like Manse then he would be as ruthless and uncompromising as any of the Iron Tusk’s followers.
Ziyadin looked to Laigon for any notion of what to do. He was desperate, that much was clear.
‘If you open the gate we’re all dead,’ Laigon said to him. ‘They are not here to parlay. They are here to destroy and conquer.’
Ziyadin nodded, and Laigon was surprised when the man took a breath, puffing himself up into some semblance of the military man he professed to be.
‘I am Ziyadin of the Great Eastern Militia. Marshal of the fortress of Dunrun. Loyal to Queen Suraan of Kantor and protector of the Cordral Extent. We are…’ He faltered, running out of bluster once the honorifics were done with.
‘Marshal Ziyadin,’ said Kyon. ‘As you can see, the Shengen army has come to your door. I suggest you open the gate and allow us to pass.’
Ziyadin looked out onto the ranks of men, on the pennants of the five Standings flying proudly among the glinting armour, at the impenetrable wall of shields. Then he looked at Laigon. He was a man dragged beneath the waves by the weight of his responsibilities, but without the ability to swim. Laigon had seen enough.
‘Praetorian Kyon,’ Laigon announced, standing as tall as he could so that all the armies of his homeland could see him. ‘The answer is no. The gateway to the Cordral is closed to you. Take your army and return home.’
Kyon raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘Is that Laigon Valdyr?’ he said.
‘I am Centurion Laigon Valdyr of the Fourth Standing.’
Kyon shook his head. ‘You are Laigon Valdyr, nothing more than a deserter. Marshal Ziyadin, I suggest you throw this traitor from your walls and open the gate. It would be a shame if we had to knock them down.’
Laigon said nothing as Ziyadin stared down at the praetorian. He could only hope the marshal wasn’t quite the coward he appeared.
‘On behalf of Queen Suraan, I respectfully decline your request,’ said Ziyadin.
Kyon shook his head. ‘I will grant you time to reconsider, Marshal. But do it quickly. The Iron Tusk is not a patient man.’
With that he turned and strolled back towards the implacable shield wall.
‘You’ve made the right decision,’ said Laigon.
‘Have I?’ Ziyadin replied. ‘I have barely fifty men manning this garrison. They have an army of thousands. If reinforcements don’t arrive soon we’re all dead.’
‘I can give you reinforcements, Marshal. All you need do is release them.’
‘You have forty-one men. What can I do with forty-one men?’
Laigon leaned in close. ‘It’s not what you can do, Marshal. It’s what I can do.’
Ziyadin shook his head. ‘I don’t know if I can even trust you.’
‘If I’d wanted to open the way for the armies of the Shengen Empire I would have already persuaded you, Marshal. You must bar the way. And I will pledge my life, and the lives of my men, to ensure that happens.’
‘Doesn’t look like I have much choice then, does it?’
Marshal Ziyadin made his way down from the top of the gate and Laigon followed him, at any moment expecting him to fall and break something. Once Ziyadin had struggled to the bottom he started barking orders. Perhaps he had misjudged the man after all.
The last order was for Laigon’s legionaries to be freed.
‘You have my thanks,’ said Laigon, quietly.
Ziyadin offered a cursory nod. His only choice was to trust Laigon. Open the gate to the Shengen and they would most likely be slaughtered. Defend it alone and the odds weren’t much better. At least with trained men at his side, Ziyadin could make a show of defending the Cordral from the entire Shengen Empire.
As Laigon waited for his men to be freed, he noticed a half-painted wall within the confines of the first courtyard. A thought came to him as he regarded the forgotten scaffold and the discarded buckets of red limewash. Picking up two of the buckets he went to meet his legionaries.
Vallion was the first to appear, squinting in the light as the militiamen held open the doors to his makeshift cell.
‘Centurion,’ he said with a nod of greeting.
‘Have the men form rank,’ Laigon replied, placing the buckets down.
Vallion obeyed, and in no time Laigon’s forty-one legionaries had ordered themselves into four rows.
‘You have all endured much,’ Laigon began. ‘You have followed me along the Skull Road, turning your backs on your homeland. Your brothers. Your families. Well, I would ask more of you, if you are willing to give it. Every Standing in the Shengen now waits beyond the gates of this fortress. They wish to rape this land at the behest of a tyrant. I would ask any of you still loyal to Emperor Demetrii to stand beside me. To stop them. Any man who wishes to leave may do so without reproach.’
He waited. Not a single man moved or made a sound.
‘We are legionaries of the Shengen no longer,’ Laigon continued. ‘Our homeland is lost. We are the red hand of Demetrii’s vengeance.’ He picked up a brush from the bucket of red limewash. ‘And we will show our colours to prove who we are. Who is with me? Who will join me in the Red Standing?’
Forty-one voices yelled as one, shouting, ‘The Red Standing!’ as every man raised his fist in unison.