a complicated courtship is live

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a fun adventure associated with the Brandon Scandals

Destiny's queen 2

 

Chapter 2

 

Dron was a strong trógling who was an expert miner, and good at mining cantrips. He had gone on the run when he irritated the darkling overseer by complaining that the said overseer, his half brother, as it happened, took the credit for saving a vein of copper, and incidentally, a dozen trógling which had been Dron’s initiative.

The darkling had placed Dron in the food pens, along with those he rescued, in case any of them talked, for causing the collapse which Dron had saved them from. Dron had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the caves, and with his dozen colleagues had tunnelled directly down a level to the mine galleries, taking any of the other food trógling who dared come, and snuck out of the caves, killing three darklings, and collecting another half dozen trógling on the way.  They had survived purely because some of Vulk’s wolfingas and wolves, who had had their chaos removed, had standing orders to seek and rescue tróglings. The weakest and wounded were carried on wolves, and the wolfingas stood by the stronger tróglings to fight off pursuit.

Dron could have made trouble, if he had challenged Kaz’s position, but he was shrewd enough to realise there was more going on than met the eye; and settled for being chief of the mining trógling, invited to some war councils, and learned to appreciate that here, he was given credit for his work.

And then, he had been caught in a freak accident, a tunnel collapse when undermining the enemy camp; and he had prayed to the new mother of trógling, and she turned up. And it was Kaz.  And she had rescued him at some risk to herself.  Dron was one of Kaz’s most fervent worshipers, and was well on his way to being her first Glyph Lord. To be chosen to be one of the two picked to work with her, the other being her long-time friend, Rynn, was an honour to him.

“What if this Thea Drex tries to kill us for not realising we’re saving her arse?” he asked.

“Use an aggressive blast of darksense right in her face, which will make her giddy,” said Kaz. “Or hit her on the head. Use your initiative.  She’s been turned into a rabid Selenite; we have to turn her back. She was taken as a slave at eight years old; you know how many trógling half worship their darkling or high toróg mothers if convinced to do so from an early age.”

Dron grunted.

“We called it ‘Value disease,’” he said. “Those designated as ‘values’ could be stupidly loyal.”

“And we can break it; because her brother is my sword-brother and a dear comrade,” said Kaz.

“You’re pregnant,” said Dron. “And it’s growing too fast.”

“It’s a side-effect of divinity,” said Kaz.  “I have to eat almost constantly, but at least I won’t be heavy during the hot months.”

Dron grunted.

He was not sure he approved of gods and mortals mixing together; but then, anything that would free trógling from the curse, so there were no more born to be abused, tortured, eaten, and enslaved, was a good thing. He was a good soldier; he asked enough questions to understand what was going on, and then obeyed.

 

The tunnel to Thea Drex’s tent came off a storm drain. One of the ones barred by the Selenites, as it happened; but no longer guarded, since in the confusion of the exchange of garrisons, mentioning guarding the river end of the tunnels had been forgotten. The trógling had used ore-moving cantrips on the metal stakes at the end of the tunnels, driven in to contain them, turning the bronze into tin and copper ore until they were weak enough to be broken.  The ore, after all, could be re-used. Kaz had also been experimenting with creating spells to turn darksense into a weapon, refining the echo-location of the sound emitted from the slight muzzle that gave trógling what some described as a kittenish face, to concentrate it to cause enough vibration to cause humans acute headaches, and to weaken metal by flexing it. It took a number of trógling concentrated on a particular piece of metal at the moment, but it was a start. It was built on those mining cantrips unique to the toróg and their weaker, cursed kin, which loosened sand and rock and ores. Cantrips could be used by most trógling, but many had too weak a kormajaia to cast more complex spells without exhaustion. Increasing the amount of magic put into cantrips could, with some, significantly increase the effects. Dron had been a great help in trying out some of Kaz’s ideas, and adding his own thoughts. He, Rynn, and Kaz worked well together in digging through and shoring up a way into the Selenite camp. Kaz’s friend, Protasion, glyph lord and priest of Alethos, and military engineer of the group, had taken sightings to make a precise measurement of reaching Thea’s tent. It was a large, officer’s tent, which gave them longer before she died of suffocation, if indeed she had made it impervious to air as well as everything else, but it was as well that Protasion had been able to work fast.

It had taken the three trógling over an hour to reach the spot at which they tunnelled upwards, most of which involved the removal of spoil. They had also had to drag along a rather unwilling spirit of air, indentured for them by Thyella, as its ability to generate air to breathe would counteract any bad air which should sink into their tunnel from the tent, and sent ahead of them would help dissipate the stale air. It grumbled constantly.

“You’ll be able to get back to the sky soon,” said Kaz. “And then you’ll get paid by Thyella with the fine perfumes you asked for.”

“Sewer sludge and bad breath, I should have asked for more,” grumbled the spirit.

“Oh, hush, now! Think of that attar of roses,” said Kaz.

“Why couldn’t I be paid up front?” asked the belligerent spirit.

“We went into that,” said Kaz. “I don’t doubt Thyella’s word that on the good stuff, you might as well be too drunk to do anything except giggle for a week.”

The spirit subsided. It did not like confined passages.

“Most people just bind spirits to do their bidding,” said Dron.

“Yes, and I call that slavery,” said Kaz. “I’d rather bargain over a temporary binding. Save with volonteers like cult spirits.”

“You have a point,” said Dron. “I make it that we’re here.”

 

They dug upwards, Kaz having cast the breathe-easy  spell on all of them, to help cope with any bad air, which lasted for an hour, and brought fresh air to the lungs directly from... somewhere. The spirit would help a lot, though, as there were limits to what the breathe-easy spell could overcome, and there did need to be some good air somewhere nearby for it to work.

And then they were through, and the stale air sinking and pouring into the passage. Kaz was glad of the aid of the spell as well as the presence of the spirit. They clambered up, and out into a fairly frugal tent, as those of Selenite officers went. There was a desk with maps, a few chairs, and a folding bed. Thea Drex lay face down on the bed. Kaz, tied to a god of death, could tell she was alive, and promptly cast the breathe-easy spell on her, turning her over.  Her lips were blue, but began to regain a better colour as the spell took hold, and the spirit displaced bad air.

Kaz gave the jewel which contained the spirit to Rynn.

“Go to the end of the tunnel and release him,” she said. Rynn nodded. Carrying Thea, or Sjurgi, was a job for two, and Rynn trusted Kaz’s reflexes if the heroine came back to her senses fighting.

Kaz shoved all the maps and documents she could find into her bag. They might as well have as much intelligence as possible.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea Drex sneezed.  And sneezed again. She was being carried... it was dark. She was still semi-conscious, trying to work out what was happening. She had stormed into her tent, and cast every spell she knew, and made up a few on the fly as well, using sheer power to meld magic to her will, and had thrown herself onto her bed to cry into her pillow over... well, she was still not sure what. That barbarian Harkon... her brother. He was her brother, she remembered him, before he had facial hair, but the way he rolled his shoulders... once he had called her Sjurgi, a name she had forgotten, a name she had not been known as for.... well, a decade and a half at least. Twice as long as she had born the name Sjurgi, she had been Thea, renamed, and beaten if she did not respond to it. A child of eight years old can only hold out so long against that. Children who were too defiant... disappeared. She remembered deciding to comply outwardly, and cling to who she was, internally. There were punishments for remembering her birth culture; rewards for behaving correctly in the new culture, memorising poems of praise to the red moon. She had always had a good memory, and repeated things glibly for treats, praise, and extra merit. And she was able to take out her anger in swordplay as she was trained for the arena. When did she stop complying as lip service and start giving real worship to Selen? When did she start believing the poems she learned so glibly? Were there compulsions.... there were patterns on the boarders of the poems. They were glyphs, runes and sigils to urge belief and acceptance. Thea had screamed in real horror, glad that the sound would not escape her tent.  Where was Sjurgi, and when had she been stolen by Selen? What became of her determination to escape? But she had become the pet of Selen as she had progressed in her studies, working under Thanus himself eventually, apostate hero of Alethos, Daulthus in their own language, lord of endings and absolutes. And how could Thanus be true to Truth if he betrayed his own lord? She had been fooled, and duped...

And it was about this point that Thea... Sjurgi... realised that she was thinking sluggishly, that breathing was getting harder, and that she had done something stupid... but it was too hard to think what it was that she had done that was stupid. And the next thing she knew was that she was sneezing in an acrid atmosphere in the dark.

 

oOoOo

 

It was not a good day for high ranking Selenites.

Clodax Dren came to in a prison cell.

Granted, as prison cells went, it was moderately comfortable, in a sparse sort of way; it had no window, but it was not damp, nor cold.  It had a stone floor, with a rug on it, he was lying on a bed which was not luxuriously soft, but nor was it unpleasantly hard, in a bed which was narrower than he was used to, but definitely not a plank, such as might be found in many prisons. There were magical lights, and a table with a chair. Behind a screen, he could see some kind of lavatory, and a faucet for water, and a basin under it. A fire danced in a grate, which had a heavy iron grill across it; either it was magical or it was tended by someone who could remove the grate.  And the answer to that became apparent, when the back of the fire moved aside, and someone added a log to it.

“Hey!” shouted Clodax.

The back of the fireplace closed off, as if he had not been heard.

 

Back in Selenopolis, the army led by Orgeron Cass decanted themselves off the barges, Orgeron having decreed that they might as well use the barges, emptied of much bad grain after the rodent infestation. Erlax Sorn made sure to get out of the barges and get to the palace as fast as possible, in order to get his retaliation in first.

And as Orgeron Cass managed to make his hungover way onto the wharf, having decided that the best way to make more room was to drink the wine supplied for the officers, he was arrested for dereliction of duty, cowardice, and incompetence.

His cell was a lot less comfortable than that of Clodax Dren, despite his exalted name. His army was the laughing stock of the plainsfolk, and it was said that the women of the plain had a new joke which ran, ‘Who was that soldier I saw you with last night? – that was no soldier, that was a member of the Selenite army.’

 

oOoOo

 

“What’s happening?” asked Thea Drex.

“Awake? Would you like a drink?” she was asked.

“Yes... please,” she said. She was tilted into a more upright position, and found a flask at her mouth, which poured slowly. Gratefully she gulped honeyed water. It was withdrawn.

“Not too much or you’ll be sick,” said the voice.  It was female. “That was remarkably silly, warding your tent against fresh air.”

“I... was not thinking straight,” said Thea.

“No, you had just had someone break through the years of lies,” said the voice. “We’ll find Sjurgi, don’t worry.”

Thea wanted to say, ‘but I was happy, I knew who I was, I had purpose.’ She was angry to have had that certainty stripped from her.

And she was angry that the certainty and purpose was built on lies and theft of her childhood. She wept again, silent sobs shaking her frame.

Kaz could see the woman’s reaction with darksense, and was pleased. It meant that a breakthrough was possible.

“Another drink?” she offered. It was accepted. This one had a sleeping draught in it; and Thea/Sjurgi drifted off to sleep before they left the tunnels.

She was left in a cell very like that of Clodax Dren. In fact it was on the other side of the service tunnel which led to the fires, whose chimneys joined above the passage. There were spyholes as well, or rather, rock which was transparent one way only. The lower levels of the temple of Alethos had a number of surprises, one of which was their use as holding cells for high ranking prisoners of war or hostages.

Thea/Sjurgi was less disquieted than Clodax.

She knew with absolute clarity, as well as she knew that she was in a temple, and out of all contact with her goddess, that she would either discover who Sjurgi was, and embrace that change, betraying all she had been for so long, or she would die for her goddess. And Thea/Sjurgi did not want to die for someone who had tricked her.

And it was not Selen who had seen her dying and saved her; it was her brother’s people. They could have left her, and let him grieve her death and move on.

It was much to ponder.

 

Destiny's Queen 1

 

Chapter 1

 

Clodax Dren smiled grimly as he watched the two drunkards stumble into the alley. He had them now; the alley was a dead-end.

One of the drunks was blond; one dark. Both wore the short, well-trimmed facial hair permitted only to the nobility, and often effected by those only nominally noble to make a point about their rank. Their hair was long, showing them to be out of the military structure, and, he sneered, they seemed to show a great deal of affection towards each other. Clodax despised such men, and was looking forward to taking down the pair who were known as Fadabius and Aquilix, and find out what they were up to.

He strode into the alleyway with his two bodyguards, looking for the drunkards; and discovered that his bodyguards had already found them, and were lying on the ground unconscious or dead, struck down from ambush by the two men, somewhat less drunk now, who had lurked in the shadows of the the archway leading into the alley.

“Hello, sweetness,” said the blond. “Fadabius and I want to talk to you.”

“Hey! You’re Fadabius this week! It’s my turn to be Aquilix,” said the dark one.

Clodax looked from one to the other, puzzled.

“You’re under arrest,” he tried.

“Listen to him, Fadabius, isn’t he just the most precious little funny?” said the blond.

“Oh, just hit him so we can take him away,” said the dark one.

Clodax never even saw it coming.

Ralthor Kron, and Harkon, who were playing the parts of the outrageous Fadabius and Aquilix, picked up Clodax, and sprang into the air with a loud crack! noise, and the smell of ozone. They needed to question Clodax about the organisation of the secret police so they could fit in, claiming to be from a different city if questioned. Kaz had devised a way to use her famous powdered mushroom with wine in precise doses to make the victim garrulous; far preferable to either torture or some brute force invasion of the mind, which could be damaged by resistance.

It was perhaps a job which could be done by lesser men than a Hero of the cult of Alethos like Harkon, and his friend, hero-questing Glyph lord and priest, apostate from Selen’s mockery of Alethos in his one-time hero, Thanos, but Ralthur had suggested it to divert Harkon’s mind from the discovery that the enemy’s Heroine was none other than his long-lost sister. Sjurgi, now known as Thea Drex, who had won herself an exalted surname by defending the empress from a traitor. Ralthur had confessed to Harkon that he had always found Thea more attractive than the political match of his one-time betrothed, Vaudia Cass.

 

On the god plane, more specifically, the sky dome of Solos, god of the sun and ruler of the heavens, two of his minor daughters were squabbling. This was a sufficiently common occurrence that nobody took any notice or listened in; which was fortunate for one of them.

“You made a real mess of that, Zeandine,” taunted Secalia. “Trying to make her lust after her own brother.”

“At that, if I’d known, it would have been an even more delicious punishment for Harkon, for making me look silly,” sulked Zeandine. “Now she’s sulking in her tent, and he’s lost to women by turning to Ralthur Kron for his gratification.”

“For a goddess of lust, you’re particularly dim,” said Secalia. “Now, I may only be a grain goddess, but I do understand seed, and they don’t exchange it.”

Zeandine flounced.

“Well, what can I do to him?” she demanded.

“If you’ll take my advice, you’ll let it go and live it down, as I have been,” said Secalia. “Harkon is as beloved of our father, the sun, as any who is not one of his, for restoring Mycota to his court.”

Zeandine stamped a foot.

“And with a trog lover!” she said, outraged.

“And Zog, lord of rock and sand, asked to be of the shadows, not of dark, as dominion over rock and sand is in daylight as well as below ground,” said Secalia. “And then there is all the business of the Daykaz, which I do not perfectly understand, who is Death’s beloved, and really, do you want to be on the wrong side of Alethos? And by the way, Harkon is a favourite of his, too.”

“He is sexy, though,” said Zeandine. “I’m prettier than any damned trogling.”

“She insists it’s ‘trógling,’” said Secalia. “And you know fine well, Alethos’s sisters are Latrika, goddess of healing, and Phrodine, goddess of love. And lust never trumps true love.”

Zeandine hunched her shoulders and scowled. She knew Secalia was right, and the humiliation still stung, having been told off by someone then still a mortal when she, Secalia, and Thyella, goddess of lightning, had been duped into competing for a golden egg. And it was a further humiliation that it actually held a god of discord, wrought by The Trickster, brother to Selen, the blood moon.

“Thyella’s looking sleek these days too,” complained Zeandine. “I heard she’s caring for her brother’s child.”

“Taken from Selen, who was hurting the child to force out her powers for her own ends,” said Secalia. “Be careful, Zeandine, that you do not become like Selen, power-hungry and filled only with hatred. If the real powers obliterate you, any number of us could assume your role.”

Zeandine  shuddered in real fear; it was true enough. Her true remit as goddess of spring and lust was to make sure the animals were ready to mate, though she did interfere occasionally in the lives of mortals, which was an encroachment on Phrodine. And Phrodine’s stern brother might be attractive, but he also frightened Zeandine.

Even Solos jumped if Alethos got demanding.

Even gods could die and be subject to the god of death.

 

 

Erlax Sorn hated Orgeron Cass.

The feeling was mutual; he had no illusions regarding that.  But Orgeron was in nominal command now Thea Drex had left, because he was Erlax’s social superior. Because that was the way it worked.

And the overdressed ninny had no clue how to cope with rats in the grain barges that toiled upriver whilst the army marched. Nor the lack of grain to be requisitioned from the plainsmen, who shrugged and spoke of bad storms. They displayed empty granaries, but managed to look sleek enough that Erlax just knew they were lying. But their stories could not be broken, and no amount of searching could uncover granaries. Erlax had suggested a few hostages might break the spirit of the plainsman; and Orgeron Cass had seized every female in a village over the age of ten and threatened to turn them over to the troops if grain was not forthcoming.  And how well that had gone. The women had been carrying knives, and killed the men they were given to, and vanished in the night; and then the damned whole horde of plainsmen had attacked, and carried off what good food they still had.  There was an old adage, that the plains bred men who were real men, and women who were real men too. Erlax was glad he had not had anything to do with that fiasco.

In fact, he was now writing reports in which he made it plain he was obeying orders and that the orders which caused the problems originated from Orgeron Cass.

The army was already weakened and depleted by sickness from eating contaminated grain. The priests had been working overtime to contain the diseases, not entirely successfully. Then the horde had attacked, appearing out of nowhere, firing arrows and throwing javelins into the straggle of men, and then wheeling and disappearing back onto the endless steppe. The light cavalry had chased them, whooping and hollering, vanished over the conveniently rolling land.... and disappeared.  Heavy cavalry were sent to look for them the next morning, but there was no sign of them. Not even blood stains.

Erlax admitted freely to himself that this spooked him more than a little.  He had no way of knowing that trógling had worked tirelessly overnight erasing all signs of the ambush and battle whilst the tribesmen removed the horses and the bodies for looting, and any live ones for ransom... later. Or as slaves, if unlikely to be ransomed. And the plainsfolk knew how to plait and knot slave bracelets in complex rope-sigils that would keep them compliant and drain their kormajaia so they could not cast spells.

There was plenty to be looted on the rich caparisons of the aristocratic young men. And traders would purchase slaves for those places which had not declared slavery outlaw. Which was everywhere but Mesolimnos and Sideropolis.

Erlax struggled on to the rim of the Great Lake, ready to requisition shipping from the numberless fishing villages and the traders of Aktekome, one of two major trading towns on the southern rim of the great lake.

There were no ships. And the town was deserted. And the marsh at the southeastern corner did not help their health.

Erlax sent out his healthiest troops, who struggled on along the side of the lake, and returned to report.

No ships. No fishing boats. The fishing villages had emptied. It was as if they knew the army was coming, and wanted nothing to do with them.

Meanwhile, the soldiery were overcome by the urges of soldiery everywhere, and started looting.

And deserting.

The army was a travesty, and even Orgeron Cass realised it. But Erlax let Orgeron give the order to return to Selenopolis.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Kaz was irritable.

She was with child, perpetually hungry, and tired. This was because she was developing very fast in her pregnancy, which, according to her sister-in-law, Latrika, goddess of healing, was quite normal for divine pregnancies.

“It’s one reason there are not many demigods running about,” said Latrika, in her no-nonsense manner. “Without realising this, many mortal mothers do not understand the need to care for themselves, and they, or the foetus, die for a lack of sustenance, and more important, the sacrifice of power to sustain their kormajaia, their magical centre.  You, my dear, are already receiving sacrifice of power from your followers, those trógling you have rescued, and Alethos and I are ready to add to what is needed. You need to eat more often because of the speed of the development, as much meat as possible. You should continue to exercise as much as possible, and it should all be fine.”

“Thank you, Latrika,” said Kaz. “Am  I allowed to be irritable?”

“As much as you like,” said Latrika. “Blame Alethos; it’s his divine little soldiers who got you into this.”

“I was an enthusiastic participant,” said Kaz, a purple flush on her blue cheeks.

“Phrodine thinks it all wildly romantic,” said Latrika. “But as something between a heroine and a demi-goddess, romantic does not hack it when you are still more corporeal than divine.”

Kaz sniggered.

“Alethos was pretty corporeal,” she said.

“Good, you haven’t lost your sense of humour,” said Latrika. “Eat meat as rare as you can bear.”

“I’m a trógling; I can eat raw meat,” said Kaz.

“Even better! You’re so tiny, I’m going to worry about you, but if you can eat raw meat, I’ll worry less. You can absorb its goodness directly.”

“I feel a need to sort things out without having the energy to do so, and that makes me both irritable and weepy,” said Kaz.

“Well, I’m going to try giving you some ambrosia,” said Latrika. “It’s a bit too much for most mortals, but a drop or two medicinally should help.”

Kaz obediently opened her mouth for three drops to be squeezed in. She made a face.

“You know, the fuss that’s made about this in legends suggests it should be delicious,” she said.

“I find it delicious; you don’t?”

“It’s sickly,” said Kaz. “But it seems to be working; I am suddenly struck with an urge to springclean the temple, and as there are more important ways to divert my energies, I shall go organise my spy tróglings.”

“Enjoy yourself, dear sister,” said Latrika. “I’ll leave you enough for a week, three drops a day.”

“Thank you,” said Kaz.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea Drex had shut herself in her tent, with layers of spells to make it into a fortress, and impenetrable. Sobus Aren, commander of the replacement garrison, and Ariella Garth, high priestess of Selen for the army had both tried.

“She’s just a stupid little girl using her noble family to call herself ‘heroine’” opined Sobus Aren.

“Be careful; you come close to heresy,” said Ariella Garth. “Our goddess herself named her ‘heroine,’ and she has achieved Glyph rank to have even been eligible to become one.”

Sobus scoffed.

“I could break her in two, in a fight,” he said. “She doesn’t even bother with proper armour.”

“Because she has spells which make it unnecessary, and I’ve heard stories. You aren’t even good enough to touch her with a sword,” said Ariella.

“Well, I suppose you women would stick together,” sneered Sobus. “It’s a mistake to bring women to war, if you ask me. War is men’s business.”

Ariella said nothing, but she reported his attitude in her prayers.

Svargia, in a slave tunic and fake magic-suppressing bracelets reported gleefully.

Kaz frowned.

“I wonder if she has accidentally made her tent impervious to air as well?” she said.

“Good riddance,” said Svargia.

“No,” said Kaz. “It’s our duty to save her, and help her understand who she really is, for Harkon’s sake. Knowing that the only Selenite hero-rank is his sister almost broke him.”

“I suppose so,” said Svargia. “He’s a good man. I suppose she was very young and they brainwashed her.”

“And much depends on whether we can unbrainwash her,” said Kaz.

“It’s been bothering me; there’s a whole bunch of us reaching for herodom,” said Svargia. “But she’s the only Selenite I’ve heard of.”

Kaz gave a wry smile.

“Selen is jealous,” she said. “She does not rejoice in those who reach for greatness, she destroys them in case they become a threat to her.”

Svargia stared.

“Alethos does not see any of us as threats,” she said.

“No, but then, he’s so secure, he does not need to even consider it,” said Kaz. “Even having had Thanos go apostate, he’d welcome him back.”

“The difference between a real god and an interloper goddess,” said Svargia.

“Yes; and I have to get moving, I’ve a heroine to rescue. And I need to brush up on that spell we used when rescuing Kurihor, the breathe-easy spell.”

“You aren’t going, are you?”

“I’m the best choice,” said Kaz.

 

death's knight 27

 

Chapter 27

 

Sobus Aren was the commandant of the garrison in Hals Ochuroma; and he had not been happy about the abrupt command from the pale-haired cult heroine to get ready to march to Mesolimnos at a moment’s notice. Now she turned up, coming out of the temple, with an abrupt order to get a place-keeping garrison ready to deploy immediately and be magically transported to Mesolimnos. The woman did understand logistics, Aren had to give her that, and realised that even the most prepared troops could not move in less than half a day; but carry heavy items like tents or take a baggage train through heroic transport, they could not. Mules or oxen drawing carts would not walk into temple walls with the faith a man might. And even so, some of the mules had better sense than some of the other ranks.

It may be said that Sobus Aren had rather set ideas about women, and their place in war; he could appreciate that a commander taking his wife to war gave the men a figurehead and a token, and, if she was kindly towards them, would even fight harder to protect her. But in Aren’s mind, women belonged first and foremost on their backs if they wanted to improve the morale of the troops. He did not dare say so, especially as ‘Drex’ was a surname which far out-trumped ‘Aren.’ In Aren’s mind ‘cult heroine’ was some trumped up title given to the spoiled pet of an exalted family. He had no belief in ‘heroic travel’ which was plainly some trick of the priests. Sobus Aren was a glyph-lord of Thanus, with no desire to be a gyph priest or have any truck with godly magic. He considered himself a man’s man, and resisted the taking of glyph spells as feeble.

“My dear little girl, you have to understand....” he began.

He was not expecting to be thrown against a wall with a very capable hand at his throat.

“Don’t call me your dear little girl,” said Thea, in a controlled voice, almost conversational. “It’s the sort of phrase which tends to get men killed, because I start misinterpreting your intentions towards me, and start thinking that you believe me to look better between sheets than in armour.”

Aren whimpered and worked on controlling his bladder.

“You were about to say that I cannot transport heavy things. Quite true. However, your priests can inscribe glyphs of movement on carts and on the hoofs of transport beasts, to make them go faster; do I have to do your job for you? Apparently. As for the advance guard, you will be sending your most able at improvisation; and they will carry axes and spades, and will build rude huts from the surrounding trees and saplings; there are plenty. They can serve as accommodation for the officers when enough canvas arrives for the camp, moreover, you can use those tents which survived the mess Thorus Mils made of things, which the current garrison will leave. I want fifty men just to get things set up, and they can carry two man tents between them as well. The latrines are set up and undisturbed, so that, at least is something which will not need doing. Now, jump to it!”

He was dropped to the floor; and went sullenly to choose men capable of building rude huts, not the easiest task since Sobus Aren did not believe in initiative in this man’s army. Aren believed in obeying the rules and going by the book; and the book might talk about undermining a besieged city but never the besieged undermining their besiegers. The damned city state was cheating, and he should not have to deal with things like that.

Thea Drex went to harry the priests into the use of the movement glyph, and wondered whether the garrison of Hals Ochuroma was the most hidebound city in the Empire or whether they were just work-shy. After all, initiates could carve the glyphs; and though any priest could only activate so many every day, needing to refresh their kormajaia, they could get an advance party started.

 

 

oOoOo

 

“They’ve set up a temple with heroic movement,” said Ralthur Kron. “I imagine Thea Drex is here. Or rather, back and forth.”

“It might be another hero,” said Harkon, scratching his beard in thought.

“No, the Blood Moon does not encourage heroes,” said Kron. “She stole heroes of various gods as her alternative pantheon, and therefore distrusts heroes as likely to disrupt the status quo, and to betray her. She has had the training of Thea Drex from an early age, to give or withhold favour, to show her who she should obey. She certainly would not encourage martial heroes; I was dissuaded from becoming priest as well as lord of Thanos; the myth is that it is unmanly.”

Harkon sniggered.

“Does that make you my boyfriend?” he said.

“Laugh; the empire encourages male lovers as secret police, because they have had to conceal it until they are powerful enough to flaunt it,” he said.

“Now that’s an idea to toy with, as spies,” said Harkon.

“Bold,” said Kron.

“Ralthur, my friend, bold plans work best,” said Harkon. “And speaking of which, if I dye my beard, when they have some of the new garrison through, and have not shifted all the old garrison, why don’t we wander forth, in Selenite armour, and disrupt plans a little bit?”

“Grand! You can be Fadabius Drex, and nobody will dare disobey you, and I shall be Aquilix Kron, because there is a familial look. If anyone asks for names, that is, and then they can look for the noble officers  Drex and Kron until they are black in the face.”

“What’s more, whilst the besieging force is depleted, we know they can’t send everyone by heroic travel, so we can send some people to Agorakome, and maybe even further east, to sabotage the supply trains overnight,” said Harkon. “It’s a valid tactic of kryptene warfare.”

“And there’s nothing to stop you, if we set out spies to heliograph us, tossing a few thunderbolts into the marshes, when they get that far, to stir up the d... marsh creepers, I mean, to attack them,” said Kron, recalling that Harkon was sensitive to marsh creepers being referred to a ‘ducks.’

 

It had stopped raining, so Harkon was able to use a temporary dye in his beard and hair, not wanting to frighten Chionea by looking different when he returned home.

Wandering around the milling troops with lists in hand, misdirecting them was child’s play.

Having the mess hall near the sewerage outfalls of the city would be less noticeable at this time of year; but in summer, would be very unpleasant indeed.

 

 

oOoOo

 

Kaz and the original band of friends happily took the hero path to the temple of Alethos in Agorakome; and then hopped on to Gefura, when it became apparent that the army was not so far advanced.  The movement glyph had speeded some as far as this city, and Kaz, who had grown yet again in understanding of how to be a goddess, had managed to produce a glyph spell of her own, bestowing darksense on others. With rings of darkseeing on Protasion and Evgon, and Kaz’s own spell on Svargia, Kuros and Lelyn, they worked happily under clouded skies when the blood moon was at her waning. Movement glyphs were of no help at all if wheels fell off.

Kaz also scattered some powder into the stores of flour.

“Dare I ask?” asked Protasion, when they got back to base.

“Certain fungi, powdered,” Kaz replied. “Should leave them with interesting dreams at worst, and a failure to realise if they are soldiers of the Selenite army or spiders with a wild desire to dance, using all eight legs, at best.”

“No, really?” giggled Lelyn.

“Well, that’s the effect it had on one trógling I knew,” said Kaz. “The contortions were hilarious. The fool ate medicine fungi, not food fungi. It’s used by darklings in controlled ways in religious ceremonies to open a better path to the blue moon, but if you go to sleep having eaten it, the nightmares are said to be terrible. And continue into waking.”

“That could lead to them fighting their friends...” said Lelyn.

“Exactly,” said Kaz. “Hey, let’s buy some expensive wine and run up to the next  Selenite waypoint; the officers will stay in the tavern. Let’s make it uncomfortable.”

“How do we do that?”

“Protasion goes into the tavern looking his expensive and haughty self, and offers them wine from his own vinyards for the liberating Selenite officers when they come,” said Kaz. “Full of fungi.”

“Might as well make use of him,” said Lelyn, giggling at her husband.

They did this, and Protasion made much of praising the Selenites to the skies as his two trógling slaves carried wine.

Then they went home.

Having the first two sets of travellers discommoded would hold up the rest and should plunge the whole supply line into chaos.

 

oOoOo

 

Kaz might have wished to have been a fly on the wall when the proud fourth heavy cavalry trotted into the waypoint. In the Selenite army, the heavy cavalry were the elite, if largely ceremonial arm of the war machine; younger sons joined the light cavalry, who were given the real jobs, and the real danger, but the heavy cavalry were impressive, on big horses said to have the blood of hell-horses in their ancestry.

The higher ranking officers – and it may be said that all the heavy cavalry were considered officers to any other unit – were appreciative of the wine.

Their horses were less appreciative of one of their number solemnly attempting to teach them to sing; and another of their number seeing not horses, but giant spiders such as the toróg bred for silk. The carnage was considerable, before the junior officers managed to rescue the remains of the horses, and heal those whose wounds were not fatal. The man seeing spiders was trampled to death, and when notified, his younger brother in the light cavalry wept for joy and went home to learn estate management.

 

It took five full days for the officers to recover; largely because they self medicated with the delicious wine. By this time, they had managed to whittle each other down to half their numbers, and a horse fed oats in wine went on the rampage, and the next tranche of the army turned up with Sobus Aren himself at its head, and extremely unamused by the antics of the overbred ninnies, as he dubbed the heavy cavalry. He had only sent them out to get out of his hair, hoping they would mount a charge on the rebel city and get themselves massacred. Massacring each other might be funny in a way, but hardly productive. Aren snarled at eight surviving hung-over, chastened ninnies who had soiled themselves from every orifice and were still only partially certain which way up was, and whether they were actually standing on solid ground. He hung two of them on general principles, and flogged the rest. It was very satisfying, but tied them up yet another day.

And the new officers were green, the flogged officers being reduced in rank to horsebrothers.

 

Catching up with the front-runners tried him still further.  They had ground to a halt trying to get by with a lack of nuts for the wheels and the effects of a movement glyph on cart which had had fine grit added to the roller bearings. They had not yet broken into the flour.

Sobus Aren divided the goods from the supply carts up amongst the heavy cavalry.

“You have heavy horses which can carry more and you might as well do something useful as sit there looking not particularly decorative,” he said.

The heavy cavalry hated him as well as despising him for not having an illustrious name.

By the time they reached the marshes, and the lightning bolts drove marsh creepers out of the swamps onto the road, morale was not good.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea Drex regarded the frontrunners of her army with dismay.

“Call yourselves soldiers?” she said. “What has happened to you?”

“It must be enemy action,” said Sobus Aren, “It’s the only reason I can see that suddenly wheels should start breaking, and sixteen men should go insane. I can’t blame the enemy for a thunderstorm in the marshes driving the ducks out, but the rest...it must be partisans.”

“You’ll be more likely to find someone in supplies is a crook and bought substandard equipment,” said Thea Drex. “It sounds like half rate excuses to me.”

“Well, we aren’t in a fit state to fight,” said Aren.

“No, I can see that, and I wonder if you ever were,” said Thea.

Aren seethed, silently. Being pushed around by this decorative piece of totty pretending to be a soldier was bad enough; it was worse when she had a point. He still thought it was enemy action.

“The only way we can get through this is to bluff,” said Aren. “Call for a parley, and tell them that as they can see that we are re-garrisoned with fresh troops and better equipment, they would do well to consider capitulation.”

“They’ll laugh in our face,” said Thea.

“We will say that we will be ready to consider breaking the siege if they hand over their leaders,” said Aren. “It will buy us time. They will go back to discuss it. And give us time to get sorted out.”

 

oOoOo

 

Two groups met at the end of the bridge.  Thea Drex, Sobus Aren, Priestess Arialla Larth, and some adjutants met with Chrysandion Lightfather, Pythas, and Harkon. Harkon had darksense cast on him, in case it was needed.

Thea stared at Harkon.

He was the one in her dreams. He was not looking in the least bit as if he desired her; in fact he was scowling. It pulled at her memory.

“You will have observed that we regarrisoned,” she began, brusquely.

“After a fashion,” said Pythas. “It gave us a good laugh, if nothing else; Thanos plainly doesn’t have the same level of discipline and self-discipline as Alethos to display such a rabble.”

“We were attacked by ducks,” said Aren, defensively.

“You look more as if you were attacked by chickens and came off worse,” said Harkon, offensively.

“Why you...” Aren clenched his fists, but was held back forcibly by Thea.

“Superficial appearance despite, the new garrison is fresh, and well supplied,” said Thea.”We wish to discuss surrender terms.”

“Willingly,” said Pythas, a glint in his eye. “But we have not the space to accommodate more than your executive levels as prisoners of war; we would have to arrange an affidavit for your men to sign pledging under the new Alethosi spell Oath-Zone that they will not wage war against us again for ten years.” Kaz had had the idea some years ago; and Pythas, his wife, Arana, and Harkon had worked with Alethos to make the glyph spell. “It sends spirits of retribution after anyone who breaks their oath in its zone.”

“I was speaking of your surrender,” said Thea. “We feel that we come to negotiation from a position of strength, and will be able to rapidly rotate troops from now on, and easily resupply ourselves; and you are left in a position of weakness. We are prepared to leave, if we can re-occupy our temples, and take captive the war criminals Pythas and Harkon.”

“I thought we were here for serious talks, not comedy,” growled Harkon.

Thea was frustrated, and smoothed back her hair in agitation. Harkon froze in sudden recognition of a gesture.

“Sjurgi!” he roared. “How you have the nerve to come here! Torval died  looking for you! Our father died of a broken heart; I had given up searching slave coffles, trawling through Selenite brothels, and killing slavers to find you, and all the time you had thrown in your lot with the enemy! You traitor! Get out! Get out and take your rabble of toy soldiers and their whatevers with you! Out, out!”

Thea... Sjurgi... stumbled back, almost falling over in terror, in a wash of memories, in a backlash of the emotion she believed she had burned out of herself. She turned and fled for the first time in her life; and the other negotiators fell back, and followed her.

And Harkon fell to the ground sobbing.

 

End of Book 2, Death’s Knight

Next book, Destiny’s Queen.

 

I haven't finished writing it. I've had a complete M.E. collapse with the heat wave on top of all that stress. I am ploughing on. What I want to know is, shall I post what I have, from tomorrow, in the knowledge that I may run out of chapters for a while, to resolve the cliffie?