“He killed 60 in the village beside the Church!” Father Kent shouted.
Harin bit back a retort. Reports from Landor, another dispatch had explained that Dragh had killed a group of soldiers, a local garrison around the church. His grandfather had taught him, all men that stepped onto the field of battle were on it. No matter if you were man or woman. The end of the line was death.
“He must be reined in!” Kent said.
Harin sat in a leather camp chair, his back sore from a long day of preparation in the camps of Landor. He’d overseen the packing of supplies, the purchase of new ones, signing bill after bill to seducer enough food and supplies for the campaign ahead. He’d yet to tell his men where they were going, that would come when the Legion’s assembled.
“You people haunt me,” Harin muttered.
A bead of sweat at his brow beaded and fell from his face to the ground he leaned over.
“What was that?” Kent snapped.
Harin ran a hand through his hair, then looked at Kent. “You have naught but accusations, I will see to the truth of them, as is my right as a King,”
Kent shook his head. “This is a church matter, you must act with speed my liege,”
“This is a matter between a general and the king. You would be wise to know your place, Father,” Harin sat straight up, looking down at the shorter man.
“It is a matter for a son, and might I remind you that we have financed this campaign?”
Harin stood, pointing at the churchman as he did. “If you speak that was again, I will have my Praetorians physically remove you from my camp, understand?”
Father Kent gulped.
“Good,” Harin turned and walked to the small table in the center of his command tent. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped at it.
Father Kent licked hip lips watching Harin.
Harin finished the glass of water, putting it back down beside the clay water jug.
“I will deal with my general, with the accusations in my own time Father Kent,”
Kent fidgeted with his hands in front of himself, his neck reddening.
“If that is all, you can leave Father Kent,” Harin pointed to the tent flap.
Beyond the tent, Harin could see the outline of his Praetorian at the tent flap, dark shapes against the white tents fabric. The sun still beat down on the earth. Harin was thankful for the shade.
Kent continued to turn red, the rouge moving up his neck and into his face.
“My Liege?” Brago asked from beyond the tent flap.
“Aye, Brago?” Harin called.
Harin moved to the tent flap and held it open for the churchman, allowing for Brago to enter the tent.
Kent eyed the Praetorian suspiciously, looking back and forth between the two men before exiting the tent.
Harin sighed when the man left his tent.
“My liege.”
Harin held up a finger to his mouth, silencing the Praetorian. He walked over to the jug of water and poured two cups in silence, offering one to Brago.
Brago nodded his thanks, downing the glass. His face was covered in sweat, a hard days labour in the sun.
“Dragh has burned a church. The bloody Council wants his head,” Harin slumped into a chair and motioned for Brago to do the same.
The Praetorian looked uncomfortable, but sat across from Harin.
Harin sipped on his water, savoring the cool drink. The day had been hot, even for him as he planned out their campaign.
“What will you do?” Brago asked, fidgeting with his cup.
Harin shook his head. “I do not yet know, I need to speak with Anastasia. I need to see what her people know. My father does not do anything without purpose. He is a General, and a Sunborn. He may not have wanted the crown, but he was destined for greatness. I need to understand why he did what he did,”
Brago glanced at Harin, and then back to his cup. He drank from it, clearing his throat.
Harin raised and eyebrow, waiting for Brago to look back up. “Speak, praetorian. I need not a log to sit there and keep me company,”
Brago turned red, his face flushing. “I - I do not know him well, but your father would only do such a thing if the church was involved, or he thought them an enemy of the Sunborn or Landor,”
Harin smiled. “Find my sister, I need to know what she knows. Where my father marches to next, who he attacks, everything,”
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Brago stood. “Your sister? The princess? Why me?”
Harin stood, taking a step forward and putting his hand on Brago’s shoulder. “Take your time, Brago, I will be fine here, find her, tell her what I need,”
Brago turned a fiercer shade of red, nodding to Harin before backing up to exit the tent. He bowed, his mouth fumbling for words.
Harin chucked to himself, knowing what the clumsy Praetorian was stumbling over. He’d suspected, now he knew. His sister deserved to be happy, he was a good man.
Chapter 17
“We march to the West, men of Landor.” Dragh shouted out at the assembled Legions.
The Dragon Legion and the Third Legion were both at the parade grounds between the two camps they’d erected after the death of Fabien and Lucille Sunborn. The two camps were set apart from the city limits of Galeth in the southern nations.
The dawn sun was struggling over the top of the horizon, a blaze of pink and red and orange lit the sky ahead of the sun. Days like today made Dragh believe in the gods. Beauty such as this could not be some random thing.
“The Dragon has been raised, and we have raised our enemies in the south!”
A cry rose up from the Legions. “Aroo!”
Dragh had marched them south, under protest of the Council and his own son, the King. He had raised the Dragon, decreeing death for the men that opposed him and his family. Little did he know that it was the Council itself and the church.
The letters from Father Kent had damned the Council and the church. The news from Harin that he’d marched west in his place had delt a blow he wasn’t prepared for. He knew that someone would take his place, Marius of the Fourth or Westline of the Tenth Legions. But his own son? He’d never dreamed of it.
He could sense the Council’s hand at play here.
“Now we march to defend our nation! Our King!” Dragh shouted.
“Aroo! Aroo!” the men of the legions answered.
“We march North! To victory against our enemies!”
The men shouted out again, their formation perfect in the morning sun as the light glinted off the raised spears and steel helms of the martial men. Dragh could feed the pride in his breast. He’d worked hard these many years to build up The Dragon Legion, to build up Landor’s armies into a weapon that the other nations would fear.
Dragh had to march north, he had to get to Harin. His son must know that he was at risk, that his enemies were all about him. They’d set the match, Dragh and Harin were simply playing their game. He needed to know, now more than ever, why? What was the hate between the Council and the Sunborn that was so deep that they wanted to destroy them?
Dragh watched the Legions file out, men marched in their squads, fifty men each. Eight or more squads in a Legion. His was full to the brim, with over twelve squads, The Dragon Legion had well over five thousand men.
Dragh breathed deeply, closing his eyes. He could smell the ocean, salt on the air. They were still inland from the water, but this close, the breeze would bring it’s smell to your nose. He knew it would be a long time before he might smell it again. A long time before he would see it. It was weeks of marching for the men, weeks to get to the Car Lauch where they could cross.
His Legate and General Quintus had gathered, waiting for him to address them.
“I need to go, I will meet you in at the base of Cornforth’s Pass, just south of Skellen Pass where the mountains thin,” Dragh said to his Legates and General Quintus.”
“What?”
“Cinforths Pass? Why can’t we go through the Skellen Pass?”
The outrage was immediate and loud in the small group of gathered men. Cinforths Pass was the main route through the Car Lauch Mountains before the Skellen Pass was built. Many moons ago it had been used by all who chose to move from west to east and east to west over the Car Lauch. But only in the summer months.
It was fall now.
To go through Cinforths Pass meant death for many. It was cold and inhospitable. The Skellen Pass was the only safe way to cross the mountains, to ensure that
Dragh needed men and information. More than he had now. He needed to understand why the Council was out to kill his line. To end the Sunborns. His father had always told him that information was real power. Not just the blade that he held.
“I will collect the Sixth and the Eighth Legions, we need their numbers if we are to stand any chance at defending ourselves in the coming war,” Dragh said to them.
“Why can’t we go through the Pass? Why must we cross the mountains? It can’t be done Dragh,” Quintus asked.
Dragh felt his face tighten. He must be honest with his men. Now was the time that he needed them most. If he was to face the Council and the Horde, he must have his men with him. Without doubt between them.
“It can be done. We are the Dragon Legion, we train in the Car Lauch, the cold done not frighten us. We will do it men,”
“It hasn’t been done in a generation, for good reason!” A young Legate spoke up in the small group assembled.
Dragh glared at the young man who shrunk back. “The Council has called for our death, men. They use assassins, the Alamata. Hire through the Church, through their intermediaries, they killed my son and wife. And they plan to cut us off at the head by killing my son.”
“But he marches west with them, how do they plan to kill him?” Pello asked.
Dragh nodded. “Indeed. And when they least expect it, they will be betrayed. By the other nations, the Council or some other agent.”
“Why do you need to leave?” Quintus asked again.
Dragh looked up at the sun, letting the heat hit his face for a moment before looking back at his men. “I need information. I need to know why the Council wants us dead. I sent a spy into their ranks, and Hemmelle to the north to find out what they could. I believe that there is something larger at play here, something that we know not of. A game is being played behind the scenes and we need to know the rules,”
“General, if you don’t make it to Cinforths Pass, we could be stuck as winter hits the Car Lauch,” Pello said.
“Aye, and if I don’t collect two more legions, we will not be able to defend ourselves if we are attacked,” Dragh explained.
“That means Eris and Marius will have to be in the same province as one another. We shall see how that goes,” Quintus said.
Dragh grimaced. “If they cannot put aside their differences they could be the fall of Landor,”
The men around him were quiet. Their eyes all on Dragh.
“Move 0ut men of Landor.”
“Hic Sunt Dracones.” The men saluted.
“Hic Sunt Dracones!” Dragh returned their war cry.
—--
Dragh let the Legions pass him, working his way back from his men. He walked his horse, leading it by the reins. Men saluted him as he passed, calling out to him. He answered most by name. Knowing his men was his first priority. Knowing a man in a legion, where he was supposed to be faceless was worth it’s weigh in gold.
His horse, Norm had been with him for ten years, long enough to have collected many scars on his body. He was a chestnut mountain horse with four white socks and blaze on his forehead, bred to be large and angry with all but Dragh.
The Legions had passed after a time, the sun now high in the sky.
The smoke of the burning camps wafted towards them. They left no camps behind them for their enemies to occupy when they marched. Sometimes they burned them to urge the men onward, to force their hands.
The baggage train was passing by him now. Carriages and beasts of burden moving slower than the marching men. All Generals knew that an army marched as far as their stomachs would allow. If you did not feed them, they would not fight.
“General,” A hand went up from the other side of a squat heavy cart pulled by two oxen.
“Ahh, Ludden, how are you?” Dragh waved back.
The burly blacksmith moved around the cart to walk beside Dragh.
Dragh nodded, turning his horse to walk with the big man.
Dragh was not used to being dwarfed by man men, but Ludden was a man made at the anvil of the gods themselves. He’d been with the Dragon Legion since he was a boy. Dragh had found him at the gates of the camp one day. All he’d had was a leather roll of tools and his hammer. Soot had stained his clothes, ash smudged his skinny cheeks. He’d been the Legion’s Master Blacksmith since. No smith in Landor could craft the blades, spears and weapons of war like this man. He had an army of junior smiths working for him now.
But, he also had another job.
“I need a message passed on to Anastasia,” Dragh said, looking ahead.
Ludden sighed, rubbing at his forehead.
Dragh noticed that he’d begun to lose hair in the last year, but said nothing.
“And you cannot send it yourself General?”
“It cannot be trusted to the messengers. We are beset by our enemies Ludden. It needs to be secret, safe,” Dragh said.
Ludden scrunched his nose.
“What is it Ludden?”
Ludden looked to Dragh and then back at his oxen, swishing the small whip he had at it’s rump. A light touch. “She’s not in Landor, General.”
Dragh stopped in his tracks. “What!”
Ludden put his hand on Dragh’s shoulder, pulling him forward. “Easy General,”
Dragh tried to relax, but he felt anger bubble in his gut. His shoulders were rigid, his neck strained. “Where the pit is she?”
Ludden passed Dragh a small square of paper, folded over many times.
Dragh looked at the paper before unfolding it. “Bennje,”
“Aye,”
Harin and Anastasia move with the Praetorian and Fourth, west with the Church to Skellen.
“Gods. Both of them, Dragh murmured.
‘Sorry General, I would have come to you this morning, but I could not risk it,”
Dragh nodded. “You did your job Ludden, do not fret,”
Dragh knew that the job of a spy was not easy. Ludden had the perfect cover. A Master Blacksmith would never be suspected of being a spy, yet he could talk with Dragh without the army suspecting anything.
“I need to get a message to Anastasia, through the Pass.” Dragh said.
“I can send a bird, they will be faster,” Ludden said.
“I thought they’d been killed off in the wars in the south,” Dragh said, surprised.
“Your daughter has been raising them in the northern quarter of Landor and a couple of other spots that Bennje has been able to find.” Ludden chuckled. “She and her people guard them like a secret of the state, she gave mw two before we marched. Surprised the pit out of me General,”
Dragh considered this new information. It meant he could tell her anything.
“Tell her that the Council and the Church hired the Alamata to kill Fabien and Lucille. Tell her that they are going to come for all of us. Tell her to convince her brother not to march out of Skellen. It’s a trap,”
Ludden scribbled on a small piece of paper that he’d pulled from his vest. He snaked the charcoal back into his vest and folded the message up into a small square like the one he’d given to Dragh. “It will be done tonight, under the cover of darkness,”
Dragh thanked the blacksmith, pulling away and letting the rest of the Legion’s baggage train pass him by.
He had much to think on. But next, he had to face his fears, face the nightmares of his youth. He had to return to Landor. Return to the agony of his younger years.