The air was no warmer inside the city, but the buildings took some of the edge off the breeze. The lack of itch between my shoulderblades waiting for a Torrean bullet wasn’t bad either, although it didn’t help my fingers. I huffed on my hands, trying to warm them a bit. Munter huffed back at me, and I suppressed a chuckle.
The weather wasn’t the only thing on my mind, though, and this walk offered an opportunity to ask some questions that had been bothering me.
“Captain?” I asked.
“Yes, gefreiter?” He answered, sounding a little nervous. I supposed it was a confusing situation for him, since he clearly outranked me by a huge margin… but I was under the direct command of His Highness, whose will was second only to Her Majesty’s. The lines became unpleasantly blurry when the chain of command was shortened like this.
“May I ask how long the Torreans have been besieging the city, sir? And how they got here?”
The captain sighed heavily. In the light of the streetlamps I could see him wince, too.
“It’s been a little over two weeks, gefreiter. It was some kind of magical devilry -- a giant red line down from the sky, splitting open to disgorge regiments of soldiers and writhing masses of-- of other things.” He shuddered. “They tried to storm the walls, initially, but the Oberst had the presence of mind to have a battery trained on the… the opening. It took close on an hour of the guns pounding at it, but all of a sudden it collapsed. With the flow of creatures cut off, the Torreans fell back to the partial investment you see now. It was bloody work, gefreiter, but we repelled the assaults, too.”
That’s the same time as Nachberg, I thought. I wonder how many cities they struck? And which? And why?
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “May I ask how the outlook is, sir?”
The captain clearly turned the question over in his head for a while, and ultimately shrugged.
“It should be quite good, I believe,” He said. “With their access route closed off, they’re deep in enemy territory without a supply line. I don’t believe they can hold this siege up for long, and they’ll have a torrid time of trying the walls.”
I nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
We walked in silence for a while while I turned the puzzle over in my head. It seemed bizarre for the Torreans to have committed the same major blunder in multiple places. Surely there must be some reason for it, I thought. Even if it is a blunder, there must be some impetus. But more likely it’s somehow not a blunder.
His Highness was apparently thinking similarly to me. “What do you think their plan is, Captain?” He asked. I was pleased to hear the shivering gone from his voice, although I wished I had thought to give him the blanket sooner.
“I’m afraid we don’t know, your Highness,” He admitted. “Their attack seems downright peculiar, since it was obvious they would be stranded without support. What I fear is that if they have also struck Nachberg they will no doubt have struck elsewhere as well, and expect to win there and thus supply themselves with the plunder. Bellum se ipsum alet, the war feeds itself.”
The prince sighed, but made a noise of assent. “I can’t fault that analysis, Captain. But I do hope you are wrong.”
The captain shook his head. “I do too, your Highness, I do too.”
We lapsed into silence again as we walked. I had too many things turning about in my head to be able to make sense of any of them. Some I was glad to dislodge -- the way the hilt jolted in my hands and the sucking pressure as I--no, but some I wished I could hold onto for a bit longer -- maybe I could make more sense of the Torrean war effort if I could just put the pieces together, but no matter how I tried to turn them they didn’t fit. Eventually I gave up and just returned to putting one foot in front of the other, blowing on my hands and rubbing them together occasionally to try to work some blood through my fingers, and waiting to arrive.
His Highness was apparently content with it as well, and so was the captain. Or perhaps he just didn’t want to breach etiquette by addressing the prince first, or by addressing someone other than the prince? I couldn’t tell, but either way he remained silent.
The first part of the town had been quite level, the new-growth outskirts that had been girdled by the new wall. Although not in perfect repair, the streets had been flat and the walking easy, mainly past densely-packed wood-framed houses pocked at intervals with open squares, fountains, and wells. As we moved further towards the Count’s estate the ground slowly began to rise, as the quality of the paving improved and the size of many of the houses increased. Streetlights became brighter and more frequent, too, making it easier to see the increased luxury, though at this hour no-one was out.
Eventually, we were decidedly climbing a hill -- likely the ancient bailey from when Kurnich was just a local lord’s holdfast atop a hill overlooking logging and subsistence farming in the clearing around. The wall encircling the estate lent extra credence to my theory, although it was low and wouldn’t offer much in the way of defence against a modern assault. Indeed, it wasn’t manned at all, and the captain just pushed the gate open for us to walk inside.
If the inner city had been twice as elegant as the outer city, the estate was three times nicer than the inner city. We walked along a flawlessly paved avenue underneath perfectly pruned trees, although telling their species was beyond me even by the light of the lampposts that stood every few metres along the road. What struck me the most, though, was the wind. I was for the most part a simple man, and though the gardens were beautiful they offered little shelter, up on this hilltop, and I was rapidly being chilled again. The avenue felt interminable.
I had to suppress a sigh of relief when the manor itself came into view. The captain knocked at the door, which despite the hour was opened promptly by a footman, to my slight surprise. After a brief hushed conversation -- which had the footman develop a look a little like a stunned fish at points -- the door opened all the way, a row of kneeling servants lining the entrance hall.
His Highness repeated his trick of appearing regal while wearing a blanket while I waited outside, nervous of whether there would be a groom available to look after Munter at this time. While I didn’t mind doing it, I was still loathe to be separated from His Highness if I could avoid it. Thankfully, when the servants rose one of them hurried out to take the lead rope from me.
“Hold on a moment, please,” I instructed him while I went to unbuckle the saddlebags. “I’ll need to keep these.”
The bags slung over my arm, I followed the prince and the captain inside, quietly enjoying the fact that I hadn’t needed to bring the dragonets with in case of fighting inside the building, and I wouldn’t even need to sleep with my scimitar either. The sudden disappearance of the wind as I stepped over the threshold was more than welcome as well.
A helpful servant took my hat and coat, though I had to suppress a grimace when I realised by the bright lamplight inside that my hand and the arm of my coat were fairly spattered with blood. --pulled the blade free and raised it to--no! I shook my head vigorously, attracting an odd look from the servant, which I ignored. I buckled my sword belt loosely about my waist again, having had to take it off to free my coat.
The next half hour slipped into a haze again as the Count emerged to greet His Highness personally and etiquette demanded that certain pleasantries be exchanged, although I was quite certain His Highness would most like to have a hot bath, a mug of hot milk, and a warm bed.
Although it did occur to me, as I stood at parade rest behind the prince’s chair, that perhaps this provided a convenient opportunity for the Count -- whose name had been mentioned but which I had already quite forgotten -- to have his servants hurry to make things ready. That was all but confirmed when a footman slipped in and whispered something to the Count and he immediately rose to his feet.
“Your Highness, rooms have been prepared for you and a hot bath has been drawn. There is a room for your retainer in the suite as well, of course. I would be honoured to do anything in my power to help you.” He bowed deeply.
“Thank you, Count von Erewald,” His Highness said. I desperately tried to hold onto the name, although by this point it felt as though I was seeing the world through a thick soup. “I am grateful for your hospitality.”
“It is quite simply nothing, your Highness,” the count said dismissively.
“Nonetheless,” The prince repeated. “Gefreiter, let us not keep our host waiting.”
Rather than trying to navigate the appropriate styles and forms in my current state -- should I address him as “your Honour”? I believe a count is “the High-born”, but he couldn’t be “his Highbornness”, and he couldn’t be “his Highness” either… -- I opted to offer him a bow that I hoped was the right depth and joined the prince in following the footman out.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
***
The sound of the chapel bell ringing out five woke me in the morning, and it took me a moment to realise I was not in the barracks of the 2nd Company in Nachberg. I wasn’t fully rested, but I was warm, dry, and comfortable: a combination that maybe meant I should be happy with what I had, but really meant I wanted nothing more than to turn over and go back to sleep.
Rising in the plush annexe to the Count’s guest chambers where His Highness was quartered was far easier than in the icy cabin, though, and it did not take me long to drag myself out of bed. The bed itself was more of a cot, which I suspected had been moved into the room in a hurry when the Count’s staff had learned that a common soldier needed to be kept in close proximity with the prince. The rest of the furnishings suggested that the room was meant to be used as a meeting room of some kind, perhaps, or an office, with a bureau pushed against the wall to make way for the cot and a coffee table with some armchairs occupying the other half of the room.
A pile of neatly folded clothes roughly matching my uniform had been left on the coffee table. I dressed quickly, feeling naked without my coat. White shirt and grey breeches were easily had, but the long black coat with grey trim and facings and long split for riding was not an ordinary item of clothing, nor did it have anything in common with the uniform of the local regiment. My clothes were all being laundered after a maid had gently but firmly insisted on taking them when I bathed last night, saying they were an affront to decency and she would have them cleaned immediately. My boots at least I had retained, although they would benefit from a brush down and a spot of polish themselves.
In what felt to me like a rare luxury, a silver mirror and basin of water had been left with the clothes as well. I splashed my face, the chilly water shocking me fully into wakefulness, and set to shaving while idly staring at my reflection. Fatigue had sunk my eyes into their sockets some, and combined with the early morning and my heavy black brows I thought I looked quite gloomy. The effect was oddly put off-balance by the unfortunately bulbous nose I’d inherited from my father, seizing any hopes of looking handsomely brooding and replacing them with a vaguely lugubrious look.
Fortunately, that’s not what I’m worried about, I thought as I wiped my razor dry and flicked it shut. Leaving aside the worries of my usual daily life, and the unusual worries of getting His Highness safely to Szekerya, today presented the question of recruiting Kaczmarek, acquiring supplies for the trip through the Ostwald, and finally and most troublingly getting out again past the Torrean army.
With the hindsight of a clearer mind not addled by (as much) exhaustion and pain (although my shoulders still ached where I’d hit the ground), piercing the investment last night had been risky to the point of recklessness. Skipping stopping at Kurnich was probably impossible and trying it may well have been worse than running the blockade, but I could have taken a slower, more measured approach. The past is past, though, I thought as I collected my hat, scimitar, and cartridge pouch and slipped out of the annexe to the guest suite’s entry hall and headed out. I peeked in on His Highness on my way, glad to see him still asleep -- the sun wasn’t yet up.
I had to stop to ask servants for directions several times, but a stop in at the stable yielded the dragonets -- and a surprisingly cheerful greeting from Munter -- a stop at the kitchen yielded a kettle full of water, and sitting in the scullery yard with the water, the weapons, and a scrubbing brush yielded a great deal of frustration and almost as much filthy water. The sun was rising and I’d had to refill the kettle more than once by the time I’d dissolved all the fouling out of the barrels of the three guns and scrubbed out the horrid mess of tree sap and traces of blood from my scabbard.
I’d not really been in a position to inspect my… handiwork, the times I’d used my scimitar, and my mind had conjured up images of the sword drenched in blood like something out of a gory fireside tale, so I was grateful to find the scabbard not filled like some kind of gruesome steel vial. The events of last night, I had to admit, had coloured my dreams a great deal.
With that long-delayed chore taken care of, I judged that the sun was high enough that the local soldiery should be up and about. I scavenged a hunk of bread and cheese from the kitchens -- since I was in the area anyway, it seemed expedient -- informed an officious-looking footman of my plans so His Highness could be informed if he asked, and set to reversing our course of last night. I realised I probably cut quite a coarse figure, walking through the high town in my shirtsleeves eating bread and cheese, but I was not given overmuch to caring right then.
Once I reached the low town I had to stop to ask directions of a woman hanging out laundry, but had little trouble finding the barracks. I was curious to see how the captain’s attitude that the Torrean army had little chance of breaching the walls had spread to the populace -- despite the presumable bloodshed of just a fortnight ago, the town was still alive with activity. I had to dodge apprentices running about errands, merchants leading laden mules and donkeys, and even a few of the gentry on horseback as I made my way. The spirit of spring seemed entirely undampened here.
The military, of course, had no such lackadaisical attitude. When I arrived at the compound I found it near barren, with only a handful of men around taking care of menial tasks.
“Pardon, gefreiter,” I addressed one of them, “Could you tell me where to look for the oberst?”
“Couldn’t say, brother,” He answered. “Have t’ ask Leutnant Hoffman that one.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating an officer passing by.
I resisted the urge to take off my hat and run my hand over my hair. “Thanks, brother.” I copied his address, and resigned myself to bouncing from officer to officer all the way up the chain of command.
I took off at a jog to catch up to the leutnant. “Excuse me, sir,” I tried. “Could you direct me to the oberst, sir? Business from the 1st Regiment, sir.” I saluted and indicated my hat, which I’d re-pinned and restored the cockade to.
“Himmel, man, where’s your coat?” The leutnant challenged. “You can’t speak to an officer like that.”
“Being laundered, sir, since I’m afraid I got it covered in wyvern and Torrean blood, sir,” I said smoothly. Quite certain this conversation was promising to be just as constructive as my chat with the guard last night -- were all Kurnichers cut from the same stock? -- I produced the letter from my cartridge pouch and freed it of the rag that was keeping the powder off it, revealing the royal seal holding it closed.
“Crown business, sir,” I followed up, presenting the letter. “I really am sorry about the coat, sir, I feel quite naked without it, sir.”
The officer reached out to take it, and I pulled it back and winced. “I’m afraid it’s sealed for the oberst only, sir. You can inspect the seal, sir, but please don’t open it, sir.”
He sighed and made a beckoning motion with his hand. Conceding, I handed him the letter, which he held up to his face and turned this way and that. He sighed again and gave it back. “I can’t interrupt the oberst on this myself, gefreiter. You’ll have to ask the Captain of the Watch.”
It took all I had not to pinch the bridge of my nose. It was shaping up precisely the way I hadn’t wanted it to. The leutnant gave me directions to the guardhouse where the Captain of the Watch would be, and I restricted myself to thanking him politely and striding off with more speed than might have been strictly necessary.
The weather at least was relatively fine, only a light misting of rain dampening my shirt. The route from the barracks to the guardhouse was along the perimeter of the town, a paved loop running between the outermost houses and the inside of the wall, and it was much quieter than the streets of the low town I’d crossed to get here. It felt oddly deserted as I walked through the rain alone, and I realised I’d become used to the company of His Highness in the last few days. Even if we didn’t speak, being tired or absorbed in thought or simply having nothing to talk about, there was at least a presence, and most of the time he had one question or another or on odd occasions a story of his own -- and sometimes complaints about tutors I privately resolved not to ever bring up with anyone else, for the sake of staying out of various black books.
The distance passed quickly despite my odd feeling of solitude, and I soon found myself standing outside a familiar building. Rather, the guardhouse itself was completely different from the palace guardhouse in Nachberg, but the bustle of activity about it was quite the same. Patrols came in at regular intervals; messengers jogged in and out or rode by on horseback; soldaten and gefreiters loitered around, slacking off while trying to look like they were busy.
I fell in before the building at attention and called out, “Query for the Captain of the Guard!”
There were a few long seconds where nothing happened, then someone answered. “Just go in, man,” and I felt rather foolish. I supposed the captain might be quite busy, with the hostile army and all, or perhaps protocol was just different here from in the 1st Regiment. Either way, it was with a light flush that I doffed my hat and entered the guardhouse, looking about for my target. I spotted him in animated conversation with another officer, hands gesticulating broadly, and opted to stop a respectful distance away and wait for the argument to finish.
It took some time, and as is often the case with arguments neither party seemed happy at the conclusion. The captain was still scowling when he addressed me, “What is it, gefreiter?”
I composed my best disarming politeness, withdrawing the letter. “Crown business, sir. I need to deliver this letter to the oberst, sir.”
“Well, leave it on the desk then and I’ll see he gets it,” The captain all but snapped. I suppressed a wince.
“I’m afraid I need to deliver it personally, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Let me see that.” The captain snatched the letter from my hand, and I hastened to caution him.
“Please don’t open it, sir. It’s sealed for the oberst only, I’m afraid.” I ducked my head as the captain glared at me, but thankfully he quickly returned his attention to the envelope and the seal, staring at it the same way as the leutnant had. I was really starting to think that people from Kurnich were naturally suspicious and unhelpful, uncharitable as the thought was.
With a grimace, the officer shoved the letter back at me. “Very well. Oberst von Siebert is in the office at the back, but you’ll have to wait. He’s in a meeting.” He spun on his heel and strode off on some other business, leaving me feeling rather summarily dismissed. At least I skipped the Major link of the chain, I thought wryly.
It took the better part of an hour before the oberst’s meeting finished, a pair of well-dressed men leaving the office looking harried. Merchants related to the siege in some way, I guessed, either supplies for the army or affected by the blockade. Not the problem at hand for me either way.
Squaring up my shoulders and breathing in deeply to calm myself in case the oberst was also in a bad mood, I rapped sharply on the door.