Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (122 page)

Fortress Togl was small, squat and cramped, a rambling structure of yellow sandstone lumped on top of a flat-topped hill that overlooked the battle plain of Reffering. The chancellor’s sadly reduced army from Rutherin was camped on the eastern slopes of the hill. In the distance to the south, Tali could see the dust of what she assumed to be Radl’s Pale army and, miles behind it, a far greater dust cloud approaching from Caulderon.

Tobry had been chained in a vacant outbuilding a quarter of a mile down the hill, on the opposite side to Reffering, though his howls and shrieks could still be heard from the fortress.

“The final madness has come on quickly,” said Rix that afternoon. He was as pale as chalk beneath his tan. “They say the more you try to hold it off, the faster it comes at the end. Ah, Tobry, no man ever had a better friend. He laid down his life to save my undeserving life, and I’m not ashamed to cry for him.”

“How – long?” Tali whispered.

“Not long,” said Holm.

“He has brief moments,” said Rix. “Lucid moments, I mean. Sometimes only a minute.”

“What does he say?” said Tali. “Does he remember us –
me
– at all?”

“He remembers. And – and then he begs to be put down.”

Put down
. Such a dreadful phrase. Put to death. Got rid of. Destroyed as useless, dangerous.

“It – it must be done soon,” said Rix. “It’s no kindness to prolong his torment because we can’t bear to do it… or because we hope for a miracle that’s never going to come.”

“There hasn’t been a miracle in Hightspall in a thousand years,” said Holm, harshly. “This land has been cursed ever since our
noble
ancestors abandoned their children to slavery.”

“Tali,” said Rix, reaching out to her. “You and I, we’re his dearest friends. And… I can’t bear for the chancellor’s butchers to do it, the way they’d slaughter a beast for the kitchen.”

“No, never that,” said Tali.

“We can’t wait until the war begins, in case the worst happens and we… we’re not around. It’s the one thing left we can do for our friend.”

Tali could not move. Could not speak.

“You and I,” said Rix. “We’ve got to put Tobry down. In the morning.”

Fortress Togl was small, squat and cramped, a rambling structure of yellow sandstone lumped on top of a flat-topped hill that overlooked the battle plain of Reffering. The chancellor’s sadly reduced army from Rutherin was camped on the eastern slopes of the hill. In the distance to the south, Tali could see the dust of what she assumed to be Radl’s Pale army and, miles behind it, a far greater dust cloud approaching from Caulderon.

Tobry had been chained in a vacant outbuilding a quarter of a mile down the hill, on the opposite side to Reffering, though his howls and shrieks could still be heard from the fortress.

“The final madness has come on quickly,” said Rix that afternoon. He was as pale as chalk beneath his tan. “They say the more you try to hold it off, the faster it comes at the end. Ah, Tobry, no man ever had a better friend. He laid down his life to save my undeserving life, and I’m not ashamed to cry for him.”

“How – long?” Tali whispered.

“Not long,” said Holm.

“He has brief moments,” said Rix. “Lucid moments, I mean. Sometimes only a minute.”

“What does he say?” said Tali. “Does he remember us –
me
– at all?”

“He remembers. And – and then he begs to be put down.”

Put down
. Such a dreadful phrase. Put to death. Got rid of. Destroyed as useless, dangerous.

“It – it must be done soon,” said Rix. “It’s no kindness to prolong his torment because we can’t bear to do it… or because we hope for a miracle that’s never going to come.”

“There hasn’t been a miracle in Hightspall in a thousand years,” said Holm, harshly. “This land has been cursed ever since our
noble
ancestors abandoned their children to slavery.”

“Tali,” said Rix, reaching out to her. “You and I, we’re his dearest friends. And… I can’t bear for the chancellor’s butchers to do it, the way they’d slaughter a beast for the kitchen.”

“No, never that,” said Tali.

“We can’t wait until the war begins, in case the worst happens and we… we’re not around. It’s the one thing left we can do for our friend.”

Tali could not move. Could not speak.

“You and I,” said Rix. “We’ve got to put Tobry down. In the morning.”

At dawn of the following day, the four armies – Hightspallers, Herovians, Cythonians and Pale – took up their positions on the battle plain. The chancellor called his generals, plus Rix, Glynnie, Tali and Holm, into the big war tent.

“The Herovians and Cythonians are determined to annihilate each other,” Rix said quietly to Holm and Tali. “And neither side takes prisoners. The winner takes all, the loser is extinguished.”

“What about us?” said Tali.

“They’re the sandwich, we’re the meat,” said Holm. “But at least Radl’s Pale have agreed to support us.”

“I’m not sure they’ll be much use,” said Rix. “They’re more a rabble than an army.”

“Any alliance is better than being alone.”

“Shh!” said an adjutant, primly. “The chancellor is about to address his generals.”

The ground shook, more violently than any of the previous quakes over the past days, overturning the map table. There was a brief moment of laughter and levity while everything was put back in place and the water jugs refilled.

The chancellor stood up, a little, hunchbacked man, rubbing the stump of his left arm and wincing. He poured another glass of water, sipped it, and picked up his map pointer.

The ground shook again, not so violently this time. The chancellor took another sip, then the glass slipped from his hand. He choked and doubled over, coughing blood.

“Chancellor?” someone cried.

“What’s going on?” said a voice at the back. “Has he been poisoned?”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once. With an effort of will he stood upright again. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, then looked around, smiling enigmatically.

“Order!” he said in a rasping voice. “Order.”

The assembly fell silent.

“I’m dying,” said the chancellor. “I’ve known it for days. The moment Grandys hacked into my arm with that accursed blade, he doomed me. I’d hoped to lead you into battle, to die better than I’ve lived, but my time has run out.”

“Then who’s going to lead us?” cried his pink-mouthed adjutant.

“Who indeed?” said the chancellor, eyeing his officers malevolently. “Should it be General Libbens, who led you to a crushing defeat north of Rutherin? General Grasbee, who demonstrated his incompetence with an even worse defeat in the mountains on the way here? Or Colonel Krabb, who’s such an uninspiring leader that a third of his troops deserted to Axil Grandys in only two days? Well?”

None of his officers spoke. None met his eye.

“If not them,” said the chancellor, “name your own man.”

Silence.

“You can’t,” the chancellor said quietly. “There’s not an officer among you could lead a dog to its dinner bowl, and I’ll have none of you.”

“But Chancellor,” said his adjutant, “what are we to do? We must have a commander.”

“We must. But to survive, we need an officer who’s been forged in white-hot fires and emerged the stronger.”

“Who, Lord Chancellor?”

“My chosen commander must be a hero who’s demonstrated courage and leadership in battle. A man of principle who’s prepared to lay down his life to protect the country he loves. A creative thinker who isn’t trapped in the strategies of the last war.”

The officers were staring at each other. Who was he talking about?

“A man who has fought beside Axil Grandys; who understands how Grandys fights and knows how to combat him.”

“Is he talking about Syrten?” whispered the officer in front of Rix. “Has Syrten deserted to our side?”

“Or Rufuss?” said the man next to him. “Please, let it not be Rufuss.”

The chancellor stared them to silence. “My commander will be the only man who has fought both Lyf and Grandys. The only man to have hurt both Lyf and Grandys, and survived.”

“He means you, Rix,” said Glynnie, giving him a little shove.

“No!” whispered Rix, shaking his head dazedly. “He hates my guts.”

“Rixium of Garramide,” said the chancellor. “Come forward.”

Rix lurched to his feet. His belly was throbbing, his chest so tight that he could hardly draw breath. This had to be a cruel joke at his expense.

There was a moment of uproar, quelled by a savage down-slash of the chancellor’s hand. “Silence!”

“He’s a dishonoured man,” said Libbens, forcing the words between his angled teeth.

“Not so!” said the chancellor. “Through black-hearted malice, I forced Rixium to make the impossible choice between his country and his house; I threatened to kill his closest friend if he did not make the choice I required. No man should be put to such a choice.
I
dishonoured him, yet by his actions since that day, he’s proven that his own honour stands intact. Come forward, Rixium.”

Rix wove between the officers and stepped up onto the dais. His knees were shaking. The chancellor extended his hand. Rix took it.

“Why?” he said quietly, struggling to overcome his distrust of the man who had so betrayed him. But then, Rix recalled, the chancellor was also famous for sudden reversals of policy.

The chancellor swayed on his feet. His lips were turning blue. “Imminent death makes old enmities irrelevant. I too love my country, Rixium, and I want the best man to lead it.”

“I’m not up to it, Chancellor. I’ve never led an army, I’m not good enough —”

“I never said you were. But the need is now, and you’re the best we have.”

“But —”

“Can any of this pathetic rabble lead Hightspall?”

Rix surveyed the officers, many of whom he knew by dismal reputation. “No.”

“Would you refuse your country when it needs you most?”

“Of course not.”

“Then raise your hand and take the oath, Commander.”

Rix hesitated.

“It’ll make things awkward if I die without appointing a commander,” said the chancellor wryly.

Rix raised his hand and swore to serve his country until his dying breath. This was an oath he could swear with all his heart.

The chancellor shook his hand. “Good luck, Commander,” he whispered, then his small hand relaxed in Rix’s and he fell backwards, dead.

What the hell do I do now? Rix thought. Our combined army is outnumbered by both Grandys’ army and Lyf’s. Am I doomed to fight a battle that must surely end in Hightspall’s annihilation?

At dawn of the following day, the four armies – Hightspallers, Herovians, Cythonians and Pale – took up their positions on the battle plain. The chancellor called his generals, plus Rix, Glynnie, Tali and Holm, into the big war tent.

“The Herovians and Cythonians are determined to annihilate each other,” Rix said quietly to Holm and Tali. “And neither side takes prisoners. The winner takes all, the loser is extinguished.”

“What about us?” said Tali.

“They’re the sandwich, we’re the meat,” said Holm. “But at least Radl’s Pale have agreed to support us.”

“I’m not sure they’ll be much use,” said Rix. “They’re more a rabble than an army.”

“Any alliance is better than being alone.”

“Shh!” said an adjutant, primly. “The chancellor is about to address his generals.”

The ground shook, more violently than any of the previous quakes over the past days, overturning the map table. There was a brief moment of laughter and levity while everything was put back in place and the water jugs refilled.

The chancellor stood up, a little, hunchbacked man, rubbing the stump of his left arm and wincing. He poured another glass of water, sipped it, and picked up his map pointer.

The ground shook again, not so violently this time. The chancellor took another sip, then the glass slipped from his hand. He choked and doubled over, coughing blood.

“Chancellor?” someone cried.

“What’s going on?” said a voice at the back. “Has he been poisoned?”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once. With an effort of will he stood upright again. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, then looked around, smiling enigmatically.

“Order!” he said in a rasping voice. “Order.”

The assembly fell silent.

“I’m dying,” said the chancellor. “I’ve known it for days. The moment Grandys hacked into my arm with that accursed blade, he doomed me. I’d hoped to lead you into battle, to die better than I’ve lived, but my time has run out.”

“Then who’s going to lead us?” cried his pink-mouthed adjutant.

“Who indeed?” said the chancellor, eyeing his officers malevolently. “Should it be General Libbens, who led you to a crushing defeat north of Rutherin? General Grasbee, who demonstrated his incompetence with an even worse defeat in the mountains on the way here? Or Colonel Krabb, who’s such an uninspiring leader that a third of his troops deserted to Axil Grandys in only two days? Well?”

None of his officers spoke. None met his eye.

“If not them,” said the chancellor, “name your own man.”

Silence.

“You can’t,” the chancellor said quietly. “There’s not an officer among you could lead a dog to its dinner bowl, and I’ll have none of you.”

“But Chancellor,” said his adjutant, “what are we to do? We must have a commander.”

“We must. But to survive, we need an officer who’s been forged in white-hot fires and emerged the stronger.”

“Who, Lord Chancellor?”

“My chosen commander must be a hero who’s demonstrated courage and leadership in battle. A man of principle who’s prepared to lay down his life to protect the country he loves. A creative thinker who isn’t trapped in the strategies of the last war.”

The officers were staring at each other. Who was he talking about?

“A man who has fought beside Axil Grandys; who understands how Grandys fights and knows how to combat him.”

“Is he talking about Syrten?” whispered the officer in front of Rix. “Has Syrten deserted to our side?”

“Or Rufuss?” said the man next to him. “Please, let it not be Rufuss.”

The chancellor stared them to silence. “My commander will be the only man who has fought both Lyf and Grandys. The only man to have hurt both Lyf and Grandys, and survived.”

“He means you, Rix,” said Glynnie, giving him a little shove.

“No!” whispered Rix, shaking his head dazedly. “He hates my guts.”

“Rixium of Garramide,” said the chancellor. “Come forward.”

Rix lurched to his feet. His belly was throbbing, his chest so tight that he could hardly draw breath. This had to be a cruel joke at his expense.

There was a moment of uproar, quelled by a savage down-slash of the chancellor’s hand. “Silence!”

“He’s a dishonoured man,” said Libbens, forcing the words between his angled teeth.

“Not so!” said the chancellor. “Through black-hearted malice, I forced Rixium to make the impossible choice between his country and his house; I threatened to kill his closest friend if he did not make the choice I required. No man should be put to such a choice.
I
dishonoured him, yet by his actions since that day, he’s proven that his own honour stands intact. Come forward, Rixium.”

Rix wove between the officers and stepped up onto the dais. His knees were shaking. The chancellor extended his hand. Rix took it.

“Why?” he said quietly, struggling to overcome his distrust of the man who had so betrayed him. But then, Rix recalled, the chancellor was also famous for sudden reversals of policy.

The chancellor swayed on his feet. His lips were turning blue. “Imminent death makes old enmities irrelevant. I too love my country, Rixium, and I want the best man to lead it.”

“I’m not up to it, Chancellor. I’ve never led an army, I’m not good enough —”

“I never said you were. But the need is now, and you’re the best we have.”

“But —”

“Can any of this pathetic rabble lead Hightspall?”

Rix surveyed the officers, many of whom he knew by dismal reputation. “No.”

“Would you refuse your country when it needs you most?”

“Of course not.”

“Then raise your hand and take the oath, Commander.”

Rix hesitated.

“It’ll make things awkward if I die without appointing a commander,” said the chancellor wryly.

Rix raised his hand and swore to serve his country until his dying breath. This was an oath he could swear with all his heart.

The chancellor shook his hand. “Good luck, Commander,” he whispered, then his small hand relaxed in Rix’s and he fell backwards, dead.

What the hell do I do now? Rix thought. Our combined army is outnumbered by both Grandys’ army and Lyf’s. Am I doomed to fight a battle that must surely end in Hightspall’s annihilation?