Moment of Truth (26 page)

The rogue sorcerer wanted blood. He needed a sacrifice on a scale unheard of, and duplicating this battleground was the way to do it. A meat grinder, a slaughterhouse, a mass killing ground where people died and died and died. Guns and barbed wire and mud and blood. Countrysides pounded until they were unrecognisable. Whole populations fleeing. Machines wiping whole armies away.

And for what? Manoeuvred by Dr Tremaine they might be, but whole countries had committed themselves to war because of ancient grudges, foolish ambition and simple, stupid misunderstandings. Was any of this worth the sacrifice of one life, let alone thousands?

Aubrey knew that the events leading up to the declaration of war would be pored over in the future, argued and debated. In the end, the way the war started didn't matter. It was the way the war ended that was important – and he was determined to do what he could to bring that about.

Aubrey lowered the field glasses and shook his head. This was no skirmish. The forces on either side had dug in for the long haul.

‘Which way is Stalsfrieden?' he murmured, hoping he wouldn't have to pull off his boot and consult his compass.

George pointed. ‘If we climb that ridge, we can skirt the battlelines and then we should be able to follow the river valley right up to the border.'

‘After that?'

‘Ingenuity will be required, I'd say,' Caroline said. ‘I hope you have something up your sleeve, Aubrey.'

‘Théo could have been down there,' Sophie said softly. ‘I hope he is safe where he is.'

‘I'm sorry, Sophie,' Aubrey said and he took a look back at the trenches. Pinpoints of light glinted all along the battlelines, making them look like stretches of stardust, ‘but I don't think any of us will be safe until this is all over.'

Atesting five days later – five days during which George's woodsman's skills and Aubrey's concealment magic had been much in demand thanks to Holmland patrols – Aubrey was glad night was drawing in quickly to add extra security to their hiding place. Lying on his belly, scanning the eastern outskirts of Stalsfrieden, safe in the thick canopy of one of the huge willow trees on the bank of the Salia, he was relieved to have made it this far.

Aubrey hadn't told his friends that the magical air bubble that had enclosed them in their underwater border crossing had been experimental, as he didn't want to worry them while they were under the surface. He'd been continuously monitoring its integrity as the river current swept them along, right under the border bridge, and well past the Holmland border military emplacements. They'd fetched up on the northern bank of the river and now, Stalsfrieden stood before them.

Stalsfrieden was a sizeable city, twice the size of Divodorum. From his briefing documents, Aubrey knew its importance was determined by its nearby coal and iron deposits, so no matter how much it may have wanted to grow up into an arts or religious community, it had no option but to become a sturdy contributor to Holmland's industrial might.

Yet Aubrey was puzzled by a singular lack. ‘Where do you think all the people are?' he whispered.

‘I was wondering the same thing.' Caroline had the field glasses, a smaller, more compact version suitable for travelling. She swept them over the streets and buildings. ‘All I can see are soldiers. A curfew?'

Even close to midnight as it was, a column was rumbling through the main western exit of the city, bound for the border and the Divodorum front. Aubrey was struck, and sobered by, the difference between a Gallian column and a Holmland column. The Holmland column moved briskly, whether lorries or marching troops, with an undeniable air of purpose. The artillery and the lorries themselves looked as if they'd just rolled off the assembly line. No horses or mules or camp stragglers. This was an entirely businesslike affair – and Aubrey hadn't seen a break in the column in the hour they'd been watching. He imagined such a scene repeated on the eastern front, and in the Low Countries. Holmland's military build-up had been even more thorough than the most pessimistic Albionite had thought. It pointed to a failure in intelligence-gathering.

And that's something to be looked at when this is all over,
Aubrey thought,
if we're able to.

The thought gave him pause. He had great respect for Commander Craddock, and Commander Tallis was a fine organiser, but could it be that they were both part of an old world? The world was changing drastically. Perhaps a new approach to intelligence gathering was needed, something more comprehensive and systematic.

His thoughts were interrupted by Sophie's reaching past George and tapping him on the arm. ‘I have been counting.' She pointed to the dirt in front of her. ‘Fourteen civilians is all I have seen.'

‘Fourteen?' Aubrey frowned. He could see lights about the city indicating that it wasn't deserted, but the only figures in the streets were clearly soldiers. The riverside docks were busy, but all the workers were wearing Holmland uniforms as they manhandled barrels and sacks from barges to the wharfs, watched by a solitary, unhappy civilian barge captain. Wagons and lorries were being driven by soldiers and were loaded by soldiers. Officers wandered about and directed these efforts or stood under street lamps, smoking.

Stalsfrieden was a city that had been taken over by the military. It might be different during the day, once the curfew was relaxed, but Aubrey wasn't sure. The whole city looked as if it had been handed over to the war effort.

Aubrey motioned to the others. Quietly, they withdrew and worked their way down the bank away from the city until they found a densely wooded pocket where a determined streamlet forced its way through the overgrown boulders to join the river. It was gloomy and well sheltered from the wind that came off the river.

‘And where is the baron's facility?' Caroline asked eventually. Not risking a light, they shared the cold rations they'd packed – ham, bread, cheese. If he had to survive on any cold rations, Aubrey decided as he sampled the delicious ham, he'd prefer they were Gallian cold rations.

‘Saltin said it was to the north,' George answered.

‘The other side of the town,' Sophie murmured.

Aubrey gazed into the darkness. A barge chugged past, its engines labouring against the current. A single figure stood in the wheelhouse, a light turning him into a glowing figure in the night, gliding in an illuminated world all of his own. ‘The facility is a little more northeast than north. Can we get there tonight?'

‘Look,' George said, ‘I don't know about you lot, but I'm tired. I say we rest here and skirt around the town in the morning.'

It made good sense. Aubrey had been straining not to yawn for some time, but he knew his responsibility. ‘I'll take first watch. Two hours, then I'll wake George.'

The next morning, their careful journey around the outside of Stalsfrieden meant flitting through woody outcrops, crossing a frustrating rocky spur that was surprisingly muddy, and avoiding the occasional farmhouse where dogs were only too willing to let the neighbourhood know that strangers were about. It was a mixture of countryside and more urban areas where houses had grown up around the major roads leading to and from the city. The idea of a dawn journey proved optimistic as it took them most of the morning to get to the industrial part of the city, to judge from the increasing amount of smoke. Aubrey wrinkled his nose at the telltale odours of manufacturing and engineering: tannery residue, mysterious chemicals and the stuff euphemistically labelled ‘organic waste'. As they scuttled along one of the gullies that broke up the landscape, his eyes were on the ground as much as ahead, for he had an aversion to stepping in organic waste.

Along the way, they saw more evidence of civilians, but they were still outnumbered by soldiers, who were even present on the farms, organising deliveries of foodstuffs.

The industrial area grew until the intrusions of woods and undeveloped areas were infrequent. Activity increased, with lorries and carts much more frequent – but all driven by soldiers. Smoke and steam hung over this quarter of the city. The fumes and the clattering, banging noise that came from every small workshop and factory combined with the lowering sky to emphasise that this was a great machine dedicated to pumping up the engines of war.

Night was falling by the time they found Baron von Grolman's factory. They surveyed it from a wooded rise about half a mile away, with professional curiosity – apart from Sophie, who looked at it with both longing and determination. At the front was the original building, a hulking three storeys flanked by two towers that managed to be both squat and beetling, a triumph of ham-fisted architecture. It was built of stone that may once have been light coloured, but was now so grey that it was almost black, and streaked here and there with even darker smears. Every window was bleary.

Joined to the original building were two wings which projected back into the grounds of the extensive complex, then the newer additions began. Chimneys sprouted from these, and to judge from their outpourings, Aubrey was prepared to wager that the factory was dedicated to making the most eye-watering, nose-scouring smells in the world, probably as a battlefield weapon, or as an example to schoolboys everywhere about how to make the perfect stink bomb. One chimney was a particular offender, belching greasy black smoke that seemed to have the specific job of turning the stomach.

A railway spur ran into the complex, a sidetrack from the main route, which was trending southward, to the heart of Holmland. It could only mean that heavy industry was taking place in the complex, requiring the delivery capability that only the railway could provide.

The entire complex was alive, even in the night. It was boring ahead with its noisy business, unchecked by darkness. Most of buildings were alive with electric light, and it flooded the façade and grounds in an almost arrogant display of industrial power.

‘Théo,' Sophie breathed. ‘What are you doing in such a place?'

It was a good question, but Aubrey really wanted to know what the place itself was doing. It was apparently a centre of activity and Holmland was investing substantial resources here, but what was happening?

‘Are you sure this is the right place?' George asked. The wire fence that ran around the complex was at least fifteen feet high and topped with barbed wire. Tall guard towers stood at each corner.

‘I can feel the magic from here.'

He wasn't a trained remote senser, but every magician had some degree of magical awareness, based on natural ability and honed by practice. He could feel powerful magic fairly radiating from the factory and it was actually causing perturbations in the magical firmament. It rattled his senses, a storm of confusion in touch, taste, sight, hearing and smell that he had to shake off in order to concentrate. It was a kind he couldn't pin down, but he thought it had a touch of animation magic, pattern magic, and traces of half a dozen others he knew – plus an equal number he had no idea about. He was in no doubt, however, that it had Dr Tremaine's hands all over it. Magic and heavy industry together. Who knew what sort of devilry he was planning?

‘Aubrey,' George said.

‘Mmm?'

‘We have visitors.'

Aubrey looked over his shoulder and his heart sank. A dozen black-clad figures stood about in the shadows, but with the attitude of trained combatants rather than vicars out for a late night nature ramble. Hostile, but professional, their lack of obvious weapons wasn't at all encouraging. They had the air of people who had several implements of mayhem secreted about their body, and were dying for a chance to use them.

‘You will be tied up,' one of them growled in Holmlandish that, to Aubrey's ear, was overlaid with a thick foreign accent. Were they foreigners in the Holmland army? Or did the lack of uniform indicate they had they been surprised by someone else entirely? ‘Do not make a sound, if you value your life.'

Getting to his feet, he caught and held Caroline's eye and he gave a minute shake of his head. He'd seen how the strangers were spread out, carefully not screening each other from line of sight. He'd also caught a whiff, a faint tang of disturbing magic. Caroline could take a few of them, he was sure, and George could account for more, but there were too many, too many.

At that moment, he was acutely aware of the revolver under his armpit. It almost sang to him and it was hard to resist: ‘Now! Use me now!'

He shuddered. To a man with a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. To a man with a pistol, every problem looks like a target. He understood, then, as he stood there with hostile parties descending on him, the allure of the firearm – and the way it often made things worse instead of better.

‘I'm armed,' he said, making sure his hands were up above his head. ‘Make sure you take it. Left side, under my pullover.'