Kings of Morning (15 page)

Rictus helped him unfasten the wings of the cuirass and raise them, and then undid the black arrow-shaped clasp under the left arm. The cuirass came open and he lifted it, then set it upon its stand at the back of the tent.

Corvus stretched, and looked his Marshals up and down again. He seemed weary, and his strange eyes were sunk in orbits of purple flesh. But his high voice filled the tent.

‘Well, don’t tell me you’ve drunk all the wine, you dogs – Ardashir, go get the pages to bring in some more, for the love of God. And food, too – we’re all famished.’ Then he called after the tall Kufr. ‘No; water and towels. We’ll wash first. We’re not barbarians – not all of us, at any rate. Seat yourselves, brothers. It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet, but we’ve seen off the worst of it.’

T
HE TENT CAME
to life. More lamps were lit, the pages ran hither and thither, braziers were kindled and sticks of meat set to grill upon them. The Marshals washed and were brought clean linen and oil. Then the table was laid. Cups of glass appeared, platters of bread and fruit and a wheel of hard army cheese. More wine, the fresh green drink of the outer empire.

Corvus sat at the head of the table and it seemed that his presence among them had lifted some constraint. The tent filled with talk, and toasts were proposed, to the men, to the horses, to the wine itself. They did not speak of killing or burning or the sack of cities, but revelled in the fact that they were alive another day, with all their limbs and senses, and Antimone’s wings were beating elsewhere.

How many years since Machran – six, seven? Rictus and Fornyx had been new to this table then, feeling their way through a certain amount of hostility and resentment, slightly bewildered by the strange-eyed boy at the head of it and his vast dreams. Now Rictus knew the men around the table as well as he had known anyone in his life. There was still friction there, even conflict from time to time, but they were all harnessed to the one chariot, and the charioteer handled them with consummate skill.

Fornyx was telling one of his inexhaustible filthy stories. Most they had all heard before, but every time there was a fresh embellishment which would set the company in a roar. Rictus peered up and down the table, studying his fellow marshals; and caught Corvus doing the same.

The King never truly rested. Even now, he was looking them over as a rider will examine his horse after a race. He was distracted only once, when a page came over and whispered in his ear. He smiled, said something inaudible back to the page, and touched him on the arm. The boy left the tent, aglow with the King’s momentary attention.

Rictus had led men most of his life. He knew he was a fine commander, a born leader. But Corvus possessed a quality that soared above such prosaic gifts. He could inspire. He made men want to please him, to be like him. It was a marvel to watch, and even now Rictus felt privileged to be able to see it close-to.

Corvus caught his eye and smiled crookedly. After ostentatiously downing his first glass of wine at a gulp, he had shifted to water as was his wont, and he barely picked at his food. But he joined in the belly laughter as Fornyx came to the scabrous climax of his story, and thumped the table with as much vigour as the rest.

A
T LAST, THE
tide went out, the meal was done and the table cleared. Back came the maps and the pointers and the inkwells, and the sound sank again. They could hear the shimmer of the cicadas outside, and the night-time noises of the camp around them. Thousands of men were bedding down in the dark about hundreds of campfires, and the hulk of Ashdod was sunk now to a sullen red glow in the distance. But despite the food and the fine wine and the new linen and the laughter, many in Corvus’s tent could still taste smoke in their mouths.

The King rose, picked up an ivory pointer and let it range over a map of the country on both sides of the Korash Mountains. The men at the table became silent, watching.

The pointer traced the route from Sinon, where the army had crossed from the Harukush, to the Haneikos River, where they had destroyed the army of the satrap Darios, east across Gansakr to Ashdod, which now lay in ruin behind them, and so to the foothills of the mountains, and the pass of Irunshahr, where once the Ten Thousand had walked.

‘Brothers,’ Corvus said quietly, ‘Here we stand. Two day’s march from the high country, some two hundred pasangs from Irunshahr on the far side of the mountains. We have crossed the sea, established our base of operations at Sinon, and beaten back the first riposte from the enemy.’ He paused.

‘I do not expect any more organised resistance on the part of the empire for some time. We will be in the Land of the Rivers before the Great King can gather his forces.’ He tapped the tip of the pointer lightly upon the inked vellum. ‘That is where the decisive battle will take place – if we are fortunate.

‘Common rumour has it that Ashurnan has already begun marching west to meet us, with the Honai and the imperial troops. This is the main effort of the enemy. What has gone before has been mere skirmishing.’

There were some murmurs at this, and Corvus smiled.

‘We faced some fifty thousand men at the Haneikos River, the greatest army all of us save Rictus has ever seen. But I tell you, brothers, that when the Great King himself takes to the field, we will be fighting many times that. This Kufr has fought the Macht before – he saw what they could do, at Kunaksa, and again at Irunshahr. There are some things even old men do not forget.’

A rustle of amusement as Fornyx patted Rictus on the back solicitously.

‘The battle of the Haneikos, and the sack of Ashdod, have shown him that we are not mere raiders, nor are we here to annex a few outlying provinces of his empire. He knows, now, that we mean to take all of it from him.’

‘Are you so sure of that?’ Fornyx asked.

‘I have made sure of it. I sent him a letter.’

Exclamations up and down the table. Druze laughed aloud, incredulous.

‘I have captured Darios, satrap of this province, alive. He survived both the Haneikos and the taking of Ashdod. I would hazard he is a resourceful man. So I have sent him east bearing a message for his master.’

Corvus tossed the ivory pointer onto the map with a flourish.

‘I told Ashurnan that I have come for his crown, his cities, his palaces and all he possesses, and I will be satisfied with nothing less than all of it.’

‘Phobos!’ Fornyx cried. ‘You don’t do things by half, do you?’

‘He will take us seriously now,’ Corvus said, an odd gaiety creeping into his face.

‘But it will slow him down, too,’ Rictus mused. He stared closely at Corvus. ‘You’re betting he’ll take longer now to complete his levies, to gather as many troops as he can; and that we’ll be well beyond the mountains before he can intercept us.’

Corvus nodded. ‘I do not mean to be hemmed in by rocks and stones when the thing happens. I want open country for the cavalry.’

‘They say the Great King has cavalry too,’ Ardashir said, with a raised eyebrow. ‘The Arakosans are not to be taken lightly.’

‘They damn near destroyed the Ten Thousand at Irunshahr,’ Rictus said quietly.

‘They are no match for the Companions. And besides, brothers, we will not be alone in this thing.’

At this, Corvus held up one long finger, then turned without explanation and left the tent.

The Marshals looked at one another. The silence was such that they could hear the spent charcoal shifting in the braziers.

‘Can this be done?’ Teresian asked at last.

‘The whole empire – he wants the whole thing,’ Fornyx said, shaking his head.

‘It’s what he has always wanted,’ Ardashir told them. ‘We knew it from the beginning, or should have.’

‘It can be done,’ bald Parmenios spoke up for the first time. ‘He has me on it, evening up the odds.’

‘Can you invent us fifty thousand new spearmen?’ Demetrius growled. ‘Because that’s what it’ll take. We don’t have the force to do this, not here, not even with the reinforcements coming in. And that’s to say nothing of the garrisons we’ll have to leave behind on the way. The boy’s a genius, but he’s lifting his throat to the knife with this.’

‘It can’t be done,’ Fornyx agreed. ‘Rictus; you have his ear more than any of us. You must speak to him.’

Rictus’s face did not change. He stared at the map on the tabletop, at the names thereon, where a generation before he had bled and killed and watched his friends die. At last he said, ‘Let’s hear him out.’

Corvus chose that moment to re-enter the tent. He was not alone. Beside him walked a strange, squat figure with oddly dark skin whose eyes had the same yellow gleam as a wolf’s.

‘Brothers,’ he said. ‘Let me introduce someone. This is Marcan, and he has come a long way to see us.’ He raised a hand and a page came forward with a glass and jug. The boy spilled the wine as he poured it, and retreated again in some confusion. The newcomer flicked the liquid from his fingers, raised the glass to the astonished marshals and drained it, but tipped the last few drops out onto the floor of the tent.

‘For Mot, lest he thirst,’ he said in a deep, hard voice like the creak of timbers in a tunnel.

‘He is Juthan,’ Ardashir said, wide-eyed.

‘I am Marcan of Junnan, of the free kingdom of Jutha,’ the stranger declared. ‘I give you greetings.’

The Juthan’s skin was a deep grey, and he came up only to Corvus’s shoulder, but was broad as the barrel of a horse. His hands were massive, shovel-like, and he had large, flat features. But there was humour in the yellow eyes, as he stood there and took in their open-mouthed stares.

‘Marcan is an emissary of King Proxanon of Jutha,’ Corvus said breezily. ‘The Juthans have been at war with the empire since the time of the Ten Thousand. Now it has occurred to both Proxanon and myself that we could be of use to each other. Brothers, shift up and let us find a seat for our new ally.’

Seated, the Juthan was as tall as any one of them, so massive was his torso. It was as though some crag from the mountainside had been chiselled off and set in their midst.

‘What does this mean?’ Demetrius asked, his one eye blinking. He was kneading the half-healed wound in his thigh without realising it, bringing fresh blood to the dressing. Druze tapped his arm and he stopped.

‘It means that we are not alone in opposing the Great King,’ Corvus said. He set a hand on the Juthan’s shoulder. It looked as small as a child’s resting there.

‘Proxanon offers us five full legions in support of our endeavours. That is fifty thousand spears, Demetrius, and the Juthan are hardy fighters, by every account I’ve ever heard.’

‘They’re not Macht,’ Demetrius muttered.

The Juthan turned his head and looked at the one-eyed veteran. ‘No, we are not Macht. But the Great King has been trying to destroy us for thirty years, and has failed. We must be doing something right.’

His Machtic was heavily accented, but almost perfect. Rictus found himself wondering where he had learned it.

Teresian spoke up. ‘Corvus, my king, I am with you in this thing, to the death. But if we are to do it, then let us do it alone. War without allies is a simpler thing. And if these Juthan once betrayed the Great King, who is to say that they will not one day do the same to us?’

Marcan’s yellow eyes flashed. He made as if to get up, but Corvus pressed on the Juthan’s shoulder. He remained in his seat.

‘The Juthan fight for their freedom,’ he said plainly. ‘And that is something the Great King has never been willing to give them – not after three decades of rebellion. What would they have to gain?’

‘Times change,’ Fornyx spoke up. ‘No offence to our grey-skinned friend here, but what if Ashurnan changes his mind and decides to recognise his people’s kingdom in return for their fucking us up the ass?’

‘I wouldn’t fuck you if yours was the last ass in the world,’ the Juthan growled, and the table lit up with laughter. Druze thumped the wood.

‘Well said! But Fornyx makes a good point. Do we have any guarantees beyond the word of this fellow’s king, whom none of us have ever met?’

‘We have conditions,’ the Juthan said. He looked up at Corvus and the King nodded.

‘We will fight only in the Land of the Rivers. We cannot leave our own borders undefended by following you clear over the Magron. And we claim the city of Tal Byrna, which currently belongs to the Tanis satrapy. It guards the approaches over the Abekai River, the underbelly of Jutha. With it in our possession, our country would be made secure.’

‘We would do well to remember,’ Corvus said, ‘that while the Great King has not been able to subdue the Juthan, neither have they been able to win the war for their freedom. Our coming into the empire is their best bet to finish it, and obtain their independence once and for all.’

‘And we also have something to take on trust,’ the Juthan added. ‘Who is to say that, the army of the Great King defeated, you will not take it into your heads to add Jutha to your possessions? It was once one of the richest and most productive satrapies of the empire.

‘Your king has given his word that will not happen, and I believe him. You must believe our king’s word also. The Juthan will fight by your side in the Middle Empire until the Great King is driven out. After that, you are on your own again.’