The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (41 page)

‘Can I help you?’ It was less a question than a challenge. Soren recognised the lieutenant who stood up from where he had been sitting in the corner as having been an adeptus at the Academy when he was in his first year.

‘I have orders and am reporting for duty, Lieutenant,’ Soren answered, holding out the papers Colonel dal Vecho had given him. The lieutenant’s eyes widened a little when he saw the crossed swords on Soren’s collar and realised that the scruffy man standing before him was a superior officer.

‘Yes, of course, thank you, Captain.’ He took the papers and scanned them quickly. ‘The General has retired for the night, but I can direct you to your unit. These orders make you senior officer of the Legion, so you will be required to attend the staff briefing tomorrow morning at bugle call. I shall send an orderly with you to take you to your men.’

Soren was surprised that the rank of captain would put him in command of the Legion. The losses taken while he had been back in the city must have been very heavy. It took a moment for the orderly to appear and then he briskly led Soren through the camp. It was the first time Soren had seen a full army on campaign, but it was much like a smaller patrol camp, with each unit building a cooking fire and erecting its tents around it. Hundreds of units had set up their small communes all across the plain, their fires twinkling in the darkening evening.

‘That’s the Legion’s bivouac just there,’ said the orderly, pointing and clearly eager to return to his own fire as quickly as possible.

Soren thanked him and walked up to the fire. There weren’t many of them there. From the time that he had left the frontier, the Legion had been under constant attack by the barbarians. It had taken its toll, but hearing the reports in the city and seeing the effect were very different things. There had been over five hundred men in the regiment when he had joined them almost a year before, now there were less than half that, and he was the senior officer. He looked around but did not see many faces that he recognised. Seemingly most of the men that he had known had been killed or invalided, but he should still have known a few. He was about to give up the search and read his orders to the assembled men when he spotted Sergeant Smit.

‘Smit!’ Soren shouted. The recognition made him feel at ease. Smit glanced up, a puzzled look on his face for a moment before it broke into an approximation of a smile.

‘Captain! Good to see you.’ He stood and gestured for Soren to sit by the fire. There was none of the formality that would be expected in any of the other regiments. Soren sat and looked around. He didn’t recognise the other men.

‘How many are there in the regiment now?’

‘A little more than two hundred. We were having a hard time of it out here before the army arrived,’ said Smit. ‘Not long after you left, there was another surge of activity and it cost us dear every time we drove the war parties back. Of the few of us that survived Faraway, I’m the only one left, and you now too.’

‘I’m sorry it’s been so hard,’ said Soren, trying to be considerate.

‘Well, with luck this army will put an end to it. The barbarian army is camped over yonder.’ He gestured out into the darkness. ‘We came upon them the day before yesterday and have been sat here ever since.’

‘A full army?’ said Soren. The barbarians never formed war parties larger than a few hundred men, and even parties that large were a thing of recent times. ‘How many?’

‘Don’t know, sir, but it’s a full army all right. Some of our lads have been scouting. They said it was more barbarians than they had ever seen before, ten times over. None of them seem to be able to come up with an exact number though. Every time they come back from a mission, they seem to be a bit confused. It’s odd; they’re good, steady lads. Makes me think back to that strange wind that blew up before Faraway and that bloody shaman.

‘It has the officers in a right state though. They won’t order an attack until they’ve a better idea of what we’re dealing with. Don’t know how much longer the lads will be able to stick just sitting here waiting though.

‘At any rate, you’ve had a long journey. I ‘spect you’ve a mind to get your head down. I’ll show you where you can bed down for the night,’ said Smit.

The journey had been fuelled by his excitement at getting back to the front, but now that he had reached his destination the energy had fizzled out quickly and he could think of nothing more attractive than a warm blanket.

He woke with a start. Pulled from a deep sleep it took him some time to remember where he was, and a few moments more to take in his surroundings. His brain still echoed with the dream he had been dragged from. He had dreamt of Alessandra, in a world where everything had gone right for them. It was the type of dream he did not want to wake from and he was left with a profound sense of loss and disappointment as reality replaced imagination. He found it difficult to think of his last conversation with her, but he found there was often little else on his mind, other than perhaps Amero. Those thoughts brought the intense anger he felt over the way Amero had used him and Alessandra both, to suit himself with no consideration for them.

A voice had woken him, distant but still loud. He had to concentrate to make out what was being said, but he quickly realised that the shouting was in the barbarian language. He dressed quickly and left the tent. Smit and a few others were sitting around a recently re-lit fire, drinking from steaming mugs and chatting in muted tones.

‘Good morning, sir!’ said Smit. ‘Care for some coffee?’

‘What’s all that racket?’ asked Soren, ignoring the offer of coffee.

‘That’s the giant. He’s been doing that every morning since we arrived. He walks over, just beyond arrow shot, and shouts abuse at us like that. He keeps it up for an hour or two and then heads home. A few of us thought about going over to shut him up, but he’s bloody massive and the order was given that no one’s to go near him.’

‘Oh. I might go and have a look then,’ Soren said absently. He walked through the camp at a relaxed pace, his mind already set on a course of action. All around him he could see the effect that the barbarian’s taunts had on morale. Men visibly cringed with each new outburst, a mixture of shame at their inaction and fear. There could be no doubt that they believed that when the battle was finally underway, many of them would meet their end on the enormous barbarian’s axe. By the time he reached the camp’s pickets, the guards were engrossed in a completely irrelevant argument, grabbing onto anything to take their minds from the gigantic barbarian. He was several paces past them before they even noticed that he had gone by. One of them called out to him, but Soren dismissed him with a wave. He couldn’t explain why he was doing what he was doing, other than it was something to occupy his mind for a little while, to distract him from his thoughts of Alessandra.

He had covered about half the distance between the camp and the barbarian before the barbarian noticed him. He continued shouting, but now instead of addressing the camp generally, his insults were hurled directly at Soren. Soren continued to walk toward him at a casual stroll, until he was almost within range of the gobs of spit flying from the barbarian’s mouth. All the while he could feel an ever increasing tingling energy dancing across the surface of his skin.

The barbarian was truly huge. Soren was tall, but the barbarian was taller than him by more than a head. His blonde hair was long, dirty and matted, but his armour was clean and well maintained. So was the edge on the massive axe that he rested his hand on.

The content of the barbarian’s ranting must have changed, as a large number of barbarians began to gather at the crest of the hill to watch. The giant turned to face his compatriots and shouted to them, gesturing to Soren. Whatever he said caused them to laugh, which rankled with Soren. He felt a flash of anger.

‘Get on with it you stinking sack of shit. You know what I’m here for!’ he said.

The barbarian turned back to look at him, and screamed something at Soren. His eyes bulged with manic fury and a deluge of spit flew from his mouth. In one quick movement he lifted his axe and swung it in a great arc at Soren. With his massive shoulders he hefted the axe as though it was weightless. Soren ducked and drew his sword. The barbarian swung the axe back with barely a pause, twisting the head so the blade was facing the direction of travel, which drew a great cheer from the barbarian onlookers. His bulk hid Soren’s movement from the crowd. As he ducked and twisted out of the way of the axe, he whipped his sword across the giant’s belly. The razor sharp blade parted the toughened leather armour as easily as it opened the guts underneath. The barbarian groaned in pain as his abdomen twisted with the momentum of the axe and opened the wound even farther. Soren stepped back and watched with grim satisfaction as the barbarian dropped to his knees and let go of his axe to try and hold his guts in his belly.

Soren braced himself for the wave of exhaustion that would follow. He had known from the tingling feeling on his skin that whatever forces affected his gift were strong.

The barbarian crowd had gone deadly silent, unsure of what had happened. Soren took the man’s head from his shoulders with a quick stroke of his sword to clear up their confusion. Before it hit the ground he turned to walk back toward his own lines, hopeful that he would reach them before the Gift faded and the fatigue arrived.

What he saw when he had turned surprised him. The entire army had gathered at the pickets to watch the fight, but had remained silent the whole time as they were certain Soren would be killed. Now they were jubilant. The barbarian champion was dead and their morale spilled over. As a single body they spontaneously began to charge toward him, and toward the barbarians.

The barbarians, who were silenced by the death of their champion, began to murmur. Soren looked at them as their shock turned to confusion. Some of them were armed, while others were not. Some had not even bothered to don their armour to watch their champion kill a Duchy man. Now they were faced with the entire Duchy army charging across the field at them. Soren stood still as the body of men reached him and passed by, all eager for their own share of the glory that morning. Realising that they were in full attack, the barbarians began to turn and run back to their camp. Some were too stunned to move, and they were cut down where they stood. Soren watched as the Duchy troops disappeared over the hill and down into the barbarian camp.

A slaughter sounds very differently to a battle, and it was most definitely a slaughter that Soren could hear. Spirals of dark smoke started to rise up into the air. A group of finely uniformed horsemen galloped up to Soren. A portly man with grey hair in a doublet liberally embroidered with gold thread pushed to the front.

‘What is going on here, Captain?’ he said.

‘I believe the barbarian army is being routed, my Lord Colonel,’ said Soren.

The colonel of cavalry looked at the large headless corpse on the ground behind Soren.

‘Fine work,’ he said, before spurring his horse to a gallop toward the barbarian camp with his aides and adjutants following hotly after him.

C h a p t e r   4 1

AN UNWANTED HERO

I
t was late in the evening before the Duchy army was brought back to any semblance of order. Soren had spent the afternoon half-heartedly looking around the remains of the barbarian camp for any booty that was worth having. A few coins and rings were all he had found, but they would fetch a few florins that just about made the effort worthwhile. There were too many greedy hands to make a fortune on the battlefield though. He had returned to his tent as the afternoon dimmed into evening to see how many of the old frontier regiment had survived the carnage. They straggled in over the course of the early evening. Most made it back. It seemed that Duchy casualties had been remarkably light. An adjutant arrived shortly after with a summons to see the General.