Firemoon (16 page)

Then the groups went their separate ways and Katja huddled behind a barrel as the patrol passed.

At last she was certain that the man was headed back to the castle, and they had arrived at the location she had been waiting for. Jormundur and his men turned right and then left up a rather long street, but Katja went straight on along an alley she had gotten to know. She ran unseen and unheard alongside them and overtook the group before they were halfway down the street.

There another alley led into it, as well as offering four other escape routes. This was the perfect spot. Katja settled in cover where she could peek out at the street without being spotted herself.

And now the moment had arrived. Now she would have to say the words out loud and not be able to take them back. The rattling approached the alley as Katja’s heart hammered away. Then she saw them.

“I need to warn you, Captain Jormundur,” she said quietly, and tried to disguise her own voice.

The men stopped and looked into the alley.

“Warn me?” Jormundur said. “And who are you, may I ask?”

“An enemy of the northern army,” she replied.

“Then step out so I might see you, friend,” the captain said. Katja couldn’t really make out his face but felt she saw wariness in his pose.

“How much do you know about the old times, before the Dissolution?” she said. “What do you know about the forces that were active in those days?”

“That is a strange question,” Jormundur replied and scratched his head rather boyishly. “Given the circumstances.”

“I ask because they have entered this conflict. It is no longer an ordinary army that heads our way to take your city, no more than it was ordinary means that allowed a small party to take the fort by the hills.”

Jormundur was silent. His men looked at their leader. They seemed to wish to enter the alley, but awaited a command.

“Just what are you talking about?” he then asked.

“Demonic sorcery,” Katja said. “A legacy of Vendyha. You must be prepared for anything, and stand as a stone wall against more terrible foes than you suspect.”

“I will need more than vague warnings from a talking alley to make changes,” he said with weary snark.

“You will have confirmation of my words soon enough,” Katja said. “And when that happens we will speak further by the statue of the Lady at sundown. But the reason I do not reveal myself is that our enemies have planned this fight well. It is true what people say. The fire was an act of arson.”

“We have a man in custody,” Jormundur said. “Though he has not confessed to anything yet.”

“But is he the only one?” Katja asked. “I must stay in the shadows for now. Our enemies are more dangerous than you believed.”

“That is all well and good,” Jormundur said casually and began a slow stroll towards the alley. “But I will need some confirmation that you are neither a spy nor a luna-”

Katja cast the Sentinel Flame out into the alley. The glowing rune hung in the air and the men shrank back. Someone gasped.

“The old conflicts never truly stopped, as people believe,” Katja said, letting the Flame go out. “The evils of the past are not a myth, but neither are those who fought them and defend the world of mankind. Be prepared for anything, Captain, and meet me by the statue.”

Katja went back with light, quick steps and then squeezed herself in-between two houses to escape the trio. She heard their footsteps echo in the alleyways as they searched for her. She risked going most of the way down the street before stepping into a doorway and wrapping the cloak around her to hide her silhouette.

Someone ran out into the street, stood there a moment, and then went back.

“What was that?” she heard one of them say, but decided to make herself scarce rather than snoop.

--------------------

“I never gave much thought to the possibility that one day I would turn into Serdra!” Katja said as soon as she finished her story, and stood up. Her blood was still flowing too fast for her to relax. “But it seems to be happening. Mystique and partial information, whispers in the dark and revelations about the truth of the world! What might the man be thinking right now?”

She laughed without knowing why, finished her circle around the table and sat back down.

“I think this was the best available option,” Linda said soothingly. “The Sentinel Flame will at the very least have served as proof that something supernatural is going on.”

“True!” Katja said with harshness that did not spring from anger. “And
if
we both survive the first assault I can hopefully meet him and tell him what to expect. And then I will hopefully have a clearer picture of how Peter Savaren means to wage this war! Then I can hopefully be of some use.”

Brjann handed her a mug filled with their stronger wine and Katja received it gratefully. She took a sip, breathed deeply and made an effort to calm her nerves.

She had begun criticizing herself almost as soon as she had left Jormundur and his men behind, and gone over how she could possibly have handled the introduction better.

But this was how things stood. Such was this difficult situation. Such was responsibility.

“I hope he listens,” she said quietly, and gazed down into the red liquid that was her second-best friend at the moment. “I hope he has some knowledge of the Jukiala-times.”

“Yes,” Linda said. “We can only hope.”

“I will join the militia tomorrow,” Katja said, looking at the bow that awaited her on the little table. “Things are about to heat up.”

--------------------

The atmosphere in the army camp was rather strange. Vajan noticed it as he followed a guide to its centre, where the officer tents stood. From a technical standpoint everything seemed to be in order. The tents stood in straight lines, men stood on guard by what lights still burned and materiel was neatly placed so the army could head out quickly in the morning.

But the
people
...

Though the night was young there was barely a sound to be heard. Rather than play games or chat as could be expected of people heading into danger together, they seemed to just wish to lie in their tents and sleep away the night. The guards had rigid stares and stiff postures, rather than looking bored or sleepy. The guide who had appeared as Vajan introduced himself and stated he had an important message for Peter Savaren was much the same. Hunched, in spite of not being elderly, weary-looking in spite of walking with brisk steps and silent as the grave ever since asking Vajan to repeat the nature of his business.

Vajan had gotten to know the Stonefoot Lands on his travels and now felt he had absolute confirmation that this wasn’t Valdimar’s army anymore. This machine of war belonged to Peter.

Men who wore no uniforms but carried weapons nonetheless stood outside the largest and fanciest tent in the entire camp.

“A guest,” was all the guide said and raised his lantern to illuminate Vajan’s face.

“I am Vajan,” he said. “And I am to bring a message from my master straight to...” He hesitated before indicating towards the tent. “Him.”

“He is expecting you,” one of the men said. Vajan felt he had seen him once or twice in Mooncape.

The men parted and Vajan approached the tent. He summoned the discipline he had taught himself, the courage necessary for a warrior, and pulled the tent flap aside.

The enormous tent was strangely empty. Inside were two chests, one bed and a single chair and desk on the other end of it, about ten meters away. By the table sat a white, gold-trimmed robe, and presumably a man inside of it as well. He had his back turned to Vajan and his hood up. He was writing something and a single, fat candle burned on the table and made the robe highly visible in the darkness.

“Leave us,” said a voice from within the robe and Vajan heard the men walk away. He was alone with the creature that gave him goosebumps merely by existing. Not that company would have made much difference.

Vajan took two short steps inside but couldn’t bring himself to take the third one. It was like walking towards a large fire. Strength fled his limbs and instinct strongly resisted getting closer.

Vajan cleared his throat to ensure control of his voice. For a moment he thought of Kolgrimur, and Arvar and the Red bitch who had killed him.

“Good evening, Peter. My master Kolgrimur sent me to bring you news, as well as serving as his representative for this undertaking.”

“Good evening, Vajan,” the hood said. The sound was similar to the voice he had gotten to know during his stay at Mooncape, but something had been added to it. “It has been a year and a half since we met.”

“Yes,” Vajan said, and had nothing to add to that. He wanted to avoid that topic, even though it hung in the air between them as clear as daylight.

“And what does your master say?” Peter asked.

“The operation in Blossoms was a success, though there were some casualties. The Shades have been driven off. We stopped by in the fort just after it fell and I can confirm that all went as planned there. All is quiet in Bag River County.”

Vajan hesitated.

“On the other hand, the Red girl is around. She was in Blossoms, presumably as a guest of the Shades, and I ran into her on my way out of the county. She made use of a riverboat and must have been making her way to the city. She will have arrived there by now.”

He cleared his throat again.

“I tried to kill her, but she dodged my javelins and vanished down the river.”

Peter was silent for a few moments and Vajan clenched his teeth. He wasn’t happy about how that incident had turned out, and waited for the man’s reaction.

“This fight was guaranteed to attract the Sentinels, Vanguards, Redcloaks or whatever name one chooses to give them,” Peter then said. “They are a certain threshold that all of our major plans must be tested against sooner or later. That she has made it to the city ahead of us ought to make a fine baptism.”

“I volunteer to tend to that baptism,” Vajan said. “As a representative of the Bag River coven.”

“Let us speak plainly,” Peter said, and a certain growl had entered his voice. “Kolgrimur sent you because he considers you expendable.”

Vajan stiffened but did not dare show anger blatantly.

“He sent me because I am a warrior and you are waging a war. He sent me because I am
useful
.”

“True,” Peter said, but Vajan still sensed danger in the word. “You are good in a fight, provided you do not flee from it.”

Vajan felt his self-control failing him. Perhaps it was the fatigue. Perhaps it was the fear.

“I abandoned the Nest because it was lost,” he said. “Me dying by your father’s side would have made no difference.”

He turned around and looked outside. There was no-one there.

“Listen!” Peter said into his ear. “In spite of all his flaws my father was a man who loved his people. He died trying to put us back on the peak we have been denied for so long. And meanwhile, you ran off with papers like a common burglar.”

The voice was more than a voice. It was power and Vajan thought he heard an underlying buzz, like the distant din of many voices. It froze his muscles and bones and he had to struggle to get an answer out.

“You say one thing and I say another,” he said in a choked voice. “But nothing changes the fact that I am useful. I am the only one in this camp who has faced a Redcloak, and multiple times at that. More often than your father.”

That last sentence sprang from his lips on its own, born of anger and fear.

“True,” Peter said.

Vajan waited for him to say or do something else, but nothing happened. He felt life in his limbs again and turned around.

Peter sat exactly where he had been.

“I have use for you, Vajan. You will have a role to play in the first assault. And perhaps others, if that one does not work. But you will not abandon this battlefield. Either you die, or the Redcloak.”

“That suits me just fine,” Vajan said with total sincerity.

11.

The death of Chancellor Hrolfur was the news of the day. The details weren’t clear yet, but it had apparently happened during the night, and though people muttered about poison and further sabotage Katja, Brjann and Linda heard no official confirmation of such.

The city was now entirely in the hands of Jormundur, until a successor could be chosen.

“I hope this doesn’t overshadow Hrolfur’s words,” Brjann said as they finished breakfast. “A good message needn’t die with the one who delivered it.”

“No,” Katja said. It was quite true, but she couldn’t help but worry about what this development would do to the city’s morale. Fear and chaos were far more dangerous than a fire and a single death.

Katja took up the bow, strapped on the quiver, nodded to the couple and walked off with the hood on her head. Fighting as an archer had the added bonus of justifying the hood. It shielded her eyes from the sun, after all.

Cities seemed to share the universal custom of neighbours meeting in the street for a morning chat. The current situation hadn’t changed that, but Katja noticed that the groups were larger and more compact than before. People also seemed to speak over one another, but perhaps that was normal behaviour in Pine City.

She caught snippets of conversations on her way to the inner gate, like a person snatching up random flowers while jogging through a field. Some talked about suspicious things they had seen, others about supplies, rumours from the castle or tales of the northerners, all of them negative. People spoke of the possible consequences of conquest, and the Red Day was brought up.

She noticed a few glances her way, but didn’t think she saw actual hostility, and chose to believe it was the bow that caught people’s attention.

The militia, common citizens not trained to be a part of the actual army, had been arranged in an area within sight of the outer gate. There an armoured officer went over the basics of ordered fighting.

Their role was mostly to support the soldiers and fill gaps as needed. There were, however, never too many arrows in a volley and so all who had a bow would stand and shoot together.

A young junior officer saw her coming and approached her.

“Good day, lady,” he said and looked at her weapons.

“Good day,” she replied. “My name is Anna and I mean to aid in the defences. Northerners drove my family from our new home and I want to drive them back in turn.”

Saying this convincingly was easy. She
wanted
to fight, as always.

The officer made some expression and Katja wondered if it had to do with her being foreign, but she just stared into his eyes and he nodded.

“There is a need for people,” he said, and pointed out a dead end where three archery targets of woven hay had been set up. “Show me what you can do.”

By the street stood a weather-beaten woman close to middle age and a broad-shouldered farm boy. Katja took her place and strung the bow.

She was no master archer. She had done some shooting through childhood and Serdra had included bows in her training, but hitting a target at a distance of twenty meters was easy and even managed to do so quickly, with no fumbling. Three arrows plunged into the hay, one after the other.

“Good,” said the young officer. “Fetch the arrows and follow me.”

He brought her to a group of archers and added her to their ranks with little ceremony. People had been showing up since the chancellor’s speech and Katja was just another face behind a weapon. It suited her purposes just fine.

Another officer began drilling them on how to work as a team. When the enemy was still some way off, or if they attacked at night, they were to loose volleys in unison, as ordered. Once the invaders got closer everyone was free to pick their targets at will. If the northerners made it up onto the wall they were expected to either switch to melee weapons or retreat down to the ground and shoot over the wall. Quick-footed boys would have the task of bringing them more arrows.

Most had probably heard this before, and no few times, but confusion in battle had to be avoided at all costs.

They practised drawing imaginary arrows and waiting for orders to loose. Then draw the next one, wait, and loose. Next, wait, loose.

Katja examined her comrades when she had the chance. They seemed to mostly be country folk with their own hunting bows. They were of all ages, from boys to leathery elders who could still wield a bow. And there were some women too, to Katja’s considerable relief. Anything that helped her blend into the crowd was a good thing.

Shortly before noon the more recent militia members were marched to the wall, and the archers were mixed in with the soldiers and arranged up on the walkway. The catapult crews would begin this battle, then it would be the archers’ turn.

The day before, Katja had imagined the northerners’ camp on the plain. Now she imagined them a few dozen meters away. She imagined screams and drums and trumpets. She had never heard a catapult or the whine of hundreds of arrows, but her mind created its own version and added to the picture.

It is almost time
, Katja thought as she stared along her arm and past the bow. Many would die, no matter how this turned out. These people all around her, who only wanted to defend their homes, would suffer. People would die. And yet she knew that the shiver within her stemmed from anticipation.

War
, she thought.
Real war. Real battle, danger and fear. A true ordeal. And if we fail, the consequences may be dire.

The reminder did not diminish the twisted excitement. For now her performance was perhaps more important than ever before. She must not fail, and so now she had to employ everything she had.

The army was coming. She felt it, now that she stood on the spot where the fighting would take place and looked over the area that would soon be a battlefield. She didn’t need to meditate to activate her precognition. She sensed the clashing of arms, screams and mass deaths. But above all, she sensed unclean sorcery. Katja stared at the horizon. Something terrible was coming. Something similar to a powerful demon, and yet different from everything she was familiar with. The Dragon. The darkest power of the underworld tethered to this world with a human body.

They were some hours off.

The archers were ordered off the wall and the moment of clarity passed. She was back to the present. But she still sensed whatever Peter Savaren had summoned and bound to himself.

Noon arrived, and everything had been covered. People began to go back into the city for lunch. Katja went with the flow and pondered. She gave little thought to her environment and let her feet lead her along familiar streets, as her mind was in the future and the road that was bringing the northern army to Pine City.

The smell of food filled the air as the entered Linda and Brjann’s home. Brjann sat in the kitchen and chatted with his wife as she finished cooking. They looked at her as she entered and leaned the bow up against a wall, and both seemed to see something in her face.

“They are coming,” Katja said quietly and sat down before looking at them. “Probably around sunset. And the Dragon is with them. I can feel it. And I sense sorcery. They will play some trick before daybreak.”

The couple looked at one another, and her, for a few moments.

“It is my understanding,” Brjann then said, clearing his throat. “That setting up a large camp takes time and that men usually choose to wage battles in the daylight. Aside from the fact that soldiers need rest like other men.”

“Yes,” Katja said. “But sorcery is most effective at night. And an instant attack backed up with sorcery will probably be the last thing the defenders are expecting.”

Linda put food on the table, looking worried.

“Do you know... anything about what they will attempt?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Katja admitted. “But they will do
something
.”

They ate in silence and Katja only looked up from her plate to ask Brjann to pass her a carafe.

The goose, potatoes and fat, along with some wine, made for a fine meal. Katja didn’t notice the flavour much, but filling her stomach greatly restored her energy.

Brjann cleared his throat.

“You could...” He cleared his throat again. “You might have to come out and warn that something will happen sooner than people expect.”

Katja closer her eyes and rested her face in her palms. She did not have enough information.

She looked up and took the first long, slow relaxation breath.

“You need to help me. Both of you. I am going to try to peer ahead in more detail.”

“And... how can we help with that?” Brjann asked, astonished.

“Do you want the house to yourself for a few hours?” Linda asked.

“No.”

Katja pulled a stool out from under the table and positioned it in front of her. She motioned for Linda to sit.

“Brjann, can you give me a beat? Just with your fingers?” She pointed at the table. “A slow, even beat.”

Brjann hesitated, but then began to alternatingly tap his index fingers on the table.

“Slower,” Katja asked him. “Yes, like that, and keep it steady.”

She held her hands out to Linda and her friend grasped them.

“Linda, can you hum for me? Like you sometimes did during song evenings in Amerstan? I need total calm. I need to put my mind on a different plane.”

Linda looked at her husband’s fingers and seemed to go over tones in her mind. Then she opened her mouth and a calm hum came out, not unlike a lullaby with no lyrics.

“Yes,” Katja said and closed her eyes. “Continue, both of you.”

The unchanging rhythm and Linda’s soft voice made the meditation easier.

Slowly Katja mostly left behind awareness, emotions and complicated thoughts and all their distractions. She opened herself and peered into what she found.

Predicting the future was probably the world’s most difficult art. The future was constantly in motion. So incredibly malleable and so many large and small things which could direct it in one direction or another. The closer an event was, the easier it was to predict. A blow that would hit her in half a moment if not stopped was as clear as daylight. More distant events were foggy and lay behind a long row of possibilities.

The army was coming. Nothing remained that could possibly slow it down. No officer would change his mind, weather would not delay them and Duke Kjalar would not attack their rear. Serdra would not sneak into the camp and slit Peter Savaren’s throat in the darkness. Whatever the significance of those facts was, this was the truth. They
would
come.

But then what?

Battles hung in the future, likely, consequential and terrible. The roars of demons sounded through the air as they tainted the world, and steel hit steel and flesh. But it wasn’t certain. This could end sooner, without such commotion.

“Not a major attack,” Katja said in a flat voice. “Not deafening noise. Just conquest and executions. Battles come later, if ever.”

The present returned and Katja had to take a moment to recall her own words.

“It will be something sneaky,” she said to the couple and to herself. “Something born of sorcery.”

“So something small?” Linda asked.

“Small and large,” Katja said without understanding quite what she was saying.

“Then you can do something,” Brjann said, seizing on this. “Perhaps you cannot stop an army by yourself but you can interfere with tricks. And
then
Jormundur will have proof of your words!”

Eyeing this possibility clearly pleased him. Katja herself was somewhat afraid of this hope. And the responsibility.

“We will see,” she said. “We will see.”

“Yes,” Linda said, took Katja’s hand and patted it. “We will do our best and what we believe right and the results will just have to come.” Linda patted her again. “And I have something for you.”

“Do you have any cinnamon beer remaining?” Katja asked and chuckled.

“I am afraid not,” Linda said, and disappeared into another room. She came back with four pieces of stiff leather with straps on them, which she placed on the table in front of Katja. They were arm-and leg guards.

“I put these together last night and this morning,” Linda said with some pride. “I would have preferred to make them prettier, but that will have to await better times.”

The guards were quite simple, true enough. But Katja tried strapping them on and they seemed perfectly functional.

“Thank you, Linda,” she said. “Thanks, both of you.”

--------------------

Bells were rung all over the city as the northern army appeared on the horizon.

Night was falling and little could be seen of it except for the occasional light, but mounted scouts had recently returned with the news.

Not that Katja herself needed to hear the testimony of the scouts. She felt Peter approach and knew when to return to the gate. Until now she had rested in the guest bed to conserve her strength for the evening.