Kellanved's Reach

His force charged bellowing their war-cries, converging to meet the eerily silent black-clad veterans. Orjin, however, did not advance. He watched and waited, sword ready if necessary. The Iron Legionnaires fought efficiently, silently, and they held out for far longer than he could have imagined. Yet outnumbered so vastly they eventually fell, first one by one, then more swiftly as the shieldwall crumbled, until finally the last few fought back to back to fall amid their brothers and sisters. None threw down their weapons or yielded. They perished to a man and a woman.

With victory came great whoops and cheers from Orjin’s force, and they hugged and clapped one another, but Orjin did not join in. He slammed his weapon home and headed off to a nearby cobblestone hut.

Prevost Jeral came jogging up to him, saluted. ‘Congratulations, commander.’

Orjin raised his face to the clean wind once more. ‘Think you so?’

The officer seemed to understand his tone; she lost her smile. ‘The troops needed this. They’ll pull together now.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. That is true at least.’

‘I’ll start the burial detail,’ she said, and headed off.

‘Captain!’ he called after her, and she turned. ‘Leave them be. Do not disturb them.’

‘Really, sir? But don’t you think – that is, it would be disrespectful not to give them the proper rites.’

‘I am giving them their proper rites, captain. Leave them to lie together, shoulder to shoulder. It’s what they marched out here for.’

The Nom officer tilted her head at this, a touch confused, but bowed. ‘As you order, sir.’

That evening the troops celebrated their victory over the storied Iron Legionnaires. Out came long-hidden flasks and wine skins, and campfires roared high through the night.

Orjin sat staring into his fire before the hut he’d taken as the field command. With him sat Yune and Terath. He held his tea-glass in his fingertips, idly swirling the dregs and watching the firelight glint from the glass.

Prevost Jeral approached from the darkness in the long and loose sweat-stained shirtings and leg-wraps she wore beneath her armour. A bloodied field dressing was bound about one arm. She nodded to Orjin. ‘We march for Tali, then?’ Still eyeing the dregs of his tea, he shook his head. She frowned, glanced to Yune and Terath, perhaps for guidance, but neither spoke. ‘Then what? Care to inform your staff?’

Orjin crooked a grin at her impatience with his reticence, which was well deserved. He finished his tea and sucked his teeth. ‘What do you think will happen when we show up outside Tali’s walls?’

Jeral shrugged. ‘They’ll tell us to go bugger ourselves.’

‘And if we invest the city – don’t you think there’s a chance they may not even send messengers requesting Renquill’s return?’

The Nom officer nodded at that. ‘Yes. Those old generals are proud and stubborn.’

‘And that Renquill might even refuse to abandon the siege?’

She snorted a laugh. ‘If he thinks he can win it – especially so.’

Orjin was nodding. ‘But what if we threatened Quon instead?’

Jeral crouched before the fire. She adjusted the bindings at her upper arm, wincing. Terath poured her a glass of tea, which she accepted with a nod. ‘But there’s nothing there. No armoury, no garrison. It’s not a military target.’

‘But the Quon merchants will demand Renquill’s return, won’t they?’

‘They will squeal like cornered pigs.’

‘Yes. And while Renquill can refuse his own generals without any political consequences … what of Quon?’

The prevost sipped her tea, nodding. ‘He dare not – cannot – refuse them. The alliance.’

‘The old saying,’ Terath put in: ‘Quon pays so that Tali can fight.’

Jeral looked to the old Dal Hon mage. ‘What do you think?’

Yune smoothed his wispy grey moustaches. ‘I think fate is like water – you cannot push it uphill. Therefore it behoves one to find the easiest – that is, the most likely – path downhill and hope to ride it.’

Jeral frowned at the old shaman, clearly trying to find her way through his comment. Terath threw a pebble across the fire at him. ‘And how long did you spend on that one?’

He opened his hands. ‘What? You didn’t like it?’

‘That’s one of your stupidest ever!’

Yune appealed to Orjin. ‘I thought it had a good balance.’ Orjin laughed.

Terath motioned to Jeral’s arm. ‘Let me take a look at that.’ She took Jeral into the hut.

Later, when Jeral had reappeared and bowed her departure, Orjin pushed open the door and entered. He found Terath washing blood from her hands in a ceramic basin.

He worked to keep his face straight as he asked, ‘How did it go?’

The tall Untan dried her hands and threw down the cloth. ‘All she did was ask me about you.’

They marched double-time for Quon, which occupied the shore-side slopes of the gentle hills the twin city states were founded upon: Quon, expansive and rambling, consisting of extensive family estates, large warehouse district, and several market squares; Tali, inland, confined and walled, consisting of towers and enclosed baileys and yards for layered defence.