Authors: Kim Hunter
Chapter Nine
What do you think youre doing? The question was asked by the raven who had just flown down to Soldiers shoulder. Im going to join the army. Slow down, slow down. Whyd you want to do that? Youre not a Carthagan. Because Im not getting anywhere like this. I need to advance my position, obtain more status in this country. No one takes me seriously. I need respect. The only way to obtain what I want is to progress upwards, through the hierarchy. Im a soldier. The best way to get on is join the army. Thats what Im doing. The raven clicked its tongue. Theyll treat you as spear fodder. They always send the raw recruits into the teeth of the enemy front line. Youll go down in the first wave of casualties. How will that advance your position? Ill survive. I intend asking to join the Forlorn Hope anyway. Thats the only way to get on quickly in the army. The Forlorn Hope was a group of volunteers who went first into the battle. They took the brunt of the first shock wave of any charge. They were suicide troops, always in the vanguard of an attack. Those who survived the battle were given an automatic promotion to the next rank, or sometimes they skipped a rank and went higher still. It was all or nothing, since a huge percentage of the Forlorn Hope always lay dead on the battlefield after any confrontation. Soldier brushed away the raven and went up to an officer who was supervising the striking of pavilions. He said, I wish to join the Carthagan army. The officer, a lieutenant who just happened to be a woman, looked him up and down. Carthagan men were short of stature, but very stocky. The women of that race however were on average a head taller than the males and of slimmer build. This lieutenant seemed wiry-strong and had sword-scars on her brow, just below the rim of her leather-and-metal helmet. Like the warriors she led, she wore an armoured breastplate and metal epaulettes to protect her shoulders, but nothing else. There were no shin guards or arm guards. On her feet were leather sandals. Youre not even a Carthagan, she sneered. And you intend to fight with those weapons? Soldier was conscious that he was carrying his wooden spear and his bow. He had left the dagger with Uthellen and the boy, in the forest, for he knew they would need some kind of tool and weapon. He wished now that he had killed the giant wild boar, Garnash, and had come to them as a hero, so that he would have some credibility as a warrior. He tried to think of what to say next. He said, dubiously, I think I could get hold of a warham-mer, if its still there. The Lord of Thieftakers has it. A spark of hope went through Soldier. Some of your warriors saw me take it from a mounted Hannack, just a few weeks ago, right here on the plain where your pavilions are pitched. Whats the Lord of Thieftakers doing with it then? It was taken from me when I was arrested. But I have been freed without charge now. I Im Princess Layanas husband. Some light came into the lieutenants eyes. Oh, youre that fellow, are you? Of course, the blue eyes. I should have remembered. Well, even so, being the husband of royalty doesnt make you a good fighter. The Hannack thing that could have been sheer luck probably was. A foot-soldier against a mounted Hannack? I would bet on the Hannack every time. Nevertheless, began Soldier, desperately, Im a battle-hardened veteran. From which battles? Miserably Soldier replied, I cant remember. The lieutenant shook her head. Look at that spear! It looks like some cave dweller made it. It doesnt even have a metal point. Whats that stuff youve tied around the haft? Once again Soldier was reminded that he had not come here as a hero, the defeater of the great Garnash. Its hair bristles from the back of a boar. What boar? Some of the troops who were busy folding the pavilion covering looked up at this point. They seemed interested in the answer. Garnash, the giant boar, said Soldier. I tried to kill him, but failed. The lieutenants eyes opened wide. You hunted Garnash and lived? Well, yes, I lived, but I failed in my attempt to kill him. A sergeant said, How did you get the hair? Wrenched it from his back, while I was riding him, replied Soldier. I was clinging on to it when it came away in my hand. You rode Garnash? cried the lieutenant. Then her expression changed. Youre lying. You must be. Soldiers eyes turned to blue steel for a moment. I do not lie about such things as exploits, he said, his tone even and dangerous. A man who has only his honour left to call his own needs to retain the truth, or he is totally impoverished. A judge can lie. He has his status to protect him. A prince can lie, he has his wealth and position. A serving soldier can lie, for he has a large family, his regiment, to support him. A traveller, a stranger with an empty purse, cannot lie, or he has nothing in the world at all. He strips himself clean, throws away the only thing he has left. He looks like a soldier, said the sergeant, but he speaks like a philosopher. I believe him. The lieutenant suddenly nodded. So do I. Listen, stranger, we do not have regiments in the Carthagan army. We have pavilions. As many soldiers as can fit into a pavilion that is the number which fights together under the same banner. This is Captain Montecutes pavilion, the Eagle Pavilion. Thats our eagle on the pennon there. When were on the move or go into battle it flies from our standard. Eagles fly, others die! chanted a grinning warrior close to his shoulder. Can I join the Eagle Pavilion? asked Soldier. I would deem it a great honour. Ill speak with the captain, said the lieutenant, but anyone who has ridden on the back of Garnash Im sure will not be turned away without good reason. Idiot! snapped the raven, before flying off. The Carthagan sergeants eyes went round. Did that bird speak? Naw, said Soldier. I think it just squawked. The captain was duly consulted and agreed that someone - even a blue-eyed stranger who had ridden Garnash like a bull or a wild horse would be an asset to his pavilion. Soldier went into the city and managed, after a great deal of trouble, to retrieve his warhammer. Then he joined his pavilion as a common foot-warrior. He helped the other warriors finish striking camp. Before the day had advanced beyond noon they were on the march, towards some mountain passes in the north-west. It was here that the Kermer Pass lay between Guthrum and Falyum, the land of the beast-people. It was through this pass that the raiders came to prey on helpless farmers in the outlying regions of Guthrum. We seem to be moving up in great numbers, said Soldier to one of his comrades, looking back at the long winding column of warriors in their cloaks of burnt-sienna-red and their pack mules carrying their red-ochre tents. Just fr raiding parties? Their raiding parties are huge, came the reply. Upwards of a thousand riders along with two or three thousand foot-soldiers. And they can fight. As well as the Hannacks? Theyre more savage than the Hannacks - much fiercer. Which told Soldier a lot about the enemy he was going to fight, even though he had met just a single Hannack in his life. The column of warriors, with foreriders and outriders to prevent any surprise attack, was like a lazy, drifting rusty snake moving over the landscape. There were few trees on the central plain of Guthrum. It was an area covered in wild-flowers and herbs. Soldier was surprised to realise he recognised some of them. There was yellow loosestrife and mugwort in profusion. Here and there grew patches of orris iris which the local farmers used to patch their wickerwork chairs and thatched roofs. Soldier also noticed lavender stick-adove and mullein, and some sweet woodruff. Where trees were seen they tended to be quinces and mulberry trees, probably planted by farmers. There were no great live oaks out here, or beeches, or green elms. On the evening of the third day they came to a volcanic mountain which rose out of the plain like a giant. It was high enough to have snow on its peak, though the pale sun was warm on the backs of the marchers. The army camped at the foot of this mountain, which was called Mount Kkamaramm, after a dragon which had once had its eyrie in the crags some way up. Eagles were seen circling the sky. When the camp-fires had been lit and the warriors were eating their evening stew, Soldier settled down to talk with a warrior named Velion, whom he had partially befriended on the march. Unlike most of the warriors in the Eagle Pavilion, she was sympathetic to his newness. Soldier always seemed to get on better with women than he did men. Soldier did not know the ways, the nuances, of the army he was in. He made mistakes, such as referring to the lieutenants sword as a sword. Shes from the Jundra region of Carthaga, that one, and Jundran officers call their swords scissors, explained Velion. You will notice that unlike other Carthagan warriors they wear two blades, one on either side? When we go into battle they draw both blades and employ a scissoring action with them, slicing at the enemy from both sides at once. The victim finds it hard to parry strokes coming from two directions. I imagine so, replied Soldier, unfolding the worn secondhand blanket someone had given him out of pity. It sounds a good tactic. Oh, we have many good tactics, said Velion, puffing out her chest. The Carthagans are great warriors. We put the fear of the gods into our enemy. A Carthagan cant leave the field of battle until the enemy has been defeated. You will hear others talk of Carthagan massacres and these are true. We have been massacred in the past because we fight until the last warrior falls. There are tactical retreats, of course - we fall back like any army when we are overwhelmed by superior numbers but we never run away. Any fall-back is always followed by a counter-attack. Our courage is second to none. It sounds as if Ive joined the right side in this war, said Soldier, smiling at her earnestness. He had already experienced two nights around the camp-fires, where the Carthagans sang songs of past victories; held forth with poems and stories of acts of valour; fought mock battles in the spaces between the fires; settled differences with single-stick in front of jeering and encouraging comrades; witnessed punishments by superiors for infringements of rules and laws and orated martial prayers to war gods before retiring for the night. Wherever they halted and camped Soldier was impressed by the vigilance of the sentries that were posted in layers around the site. He saw how carefully a site for the night was chosen by the officers responsible for fortifying the encampment, how temporary earthworks were thrown up, ditches were dug and staked and any local flora such as thorn bushes were cut and used to make protective walls. It was an impressive display of both discipline and attention to detail. No Carthagan commander was going to lose his pavilions to a savage foe through negligence or indifference, even though he would not be there to defend himself at the subsequent enquiry, since he would without question have fallen with his warriors on the field. While Soldier was speaking to Velion the other warriors of the Eagle Pavilion suddenly rose and silently gathered around his bed space, staring down at him. The light inside the pavilion was strange, since the sun had not yet gone down and shone through the walls of the tent creating a crimson interior. The skins of the warriors, most of them stripped for bed except for a loincloth, shone a dusty red in the weird light. Everyone was exhausted by the days march, but there was a lively look in the eyes of these warriors. There was a sense of expectation in the air which caused a knot in the pit of Soldiers stomach. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew it involved either him or Velion and his female warrior companion did not look overly concerned. What do you want of me? he asked, looking round for officers and finding none. Whats this? He recalled enough of his hazy soldiering past to know that this was some kind of vigilante gathering. If they had been carrying knotted clouts, or sticks, or something of that nature, he would have known he was in for a beating. If the officers were out of the way it was because the warriors were going to subject him to some kind of initiation ceremony. Running the gauntlet? A ducking in an ice-cold lake? Some humiliating sexual or functional act to perform in front of sneering comrades? None of these was out of the question. He had to prove his worth to these fighters, who wanted someone they trusted by their side when they faced death in battle. Right, what is it? he asked, standing up to face them. What do I have to do? An eagles egg, said Velion. She had of course known all the time that this moment was coming, but it would not have been right to warn him. We are camped by a mountain. This is the Eagle Pavilion. You have to climb Kkamaramm, find an eagles nest and bring us back an egg. When she named the mountain she sounded the double consonants at both ends very clearly. Soldiers eyes went from face to face. In the dark? he cried. In the dark, confirmed Velion, grimly. Thats the whole point. Anyone can do it in the daylight. Can they? thought Soldier, who had never been good with heights. Are are you sure this is the breeding season? The eagles here breed all the year round. Wonderful, murmured Soldier. So, youd better be on your way, remarked a grinning male warrior. Up and at em, so to speak. The others laughed softly. There was no spite in their demeanour. Everyone had to do this. It was best to get it done. What about the sentries? asked Soldier. Wont they think Im deserting and cut me down? Yes, if they see you going out. And theyll try to kill you coming back in again, thinking youre an assassin. Theyre pretty quick on the bowstring, our sentries. Shoot first, ask questions later. No password? asked Soldier, hopefully. No ones supposed to be out there, said the same man. What would they want a password for? Soldier acknowledged this point with a nod of his head. He saw there was nothing for it but to get going. The sooner he started his quest, the quicker it would be over. Velion, he said, unbuckling the belt bearing his precious magical scabbard, would you look after this for me while Im gone? Dont let it out of your possession. Its a family heirloom. I keep it for sentimental reasons. He handed her his bent and battered scabbard, which she took. If he were climbing crags in the dark it would only get in the way. It was best he went unencumbered by such objects. She held the broken sword sheath at arms length and said, I wont let this very valuable possession out of my sight. And Soldier? Yes? Try not to fall. She gave him a grim smile. Ill do my best. He turned to the rest of the warriors and with an attempt at humour, said wryly, I suppose I should be glad I didnt join another pavilion.