Chapter Seven

  The Dark Dreams of Soldiers

  The column of exhausted soldiers that included Will, Ben, Tom, and Johnny filed into the fort occupied by the 13th just as the sun began falling below the horizon. They had marched all day, and the day before, and the day before that. Thirty miles each day in full gear. They had spent the days before that practising shooting and riding, but most of all, they had spent the last weeks digging holes. Long, deep trenches, shallow foxholes, pits for burning garbage, latrines, and more. The sergeants were not creative with the hardships they forced upon the recruits. They had a steady rotation of arduous and filthy tasks for the men. They pushed the recruits just to the point of breaking over and over again. At the word of Sergeant Major Flint, they collapsed in exhaustion in small clusters of men. Somehow, the sergeants who had been driving them on their march didn’t look particularly tired, only a little sweaty.

  “I thought we was supposed to be cavalry,” Tommy said once the sergeants were out of earshot.

  “We is cavalry.” Replied Ben.

  “It don’t seem like it.” Tommy shot back, “If we was cavalry, we’d be riding, not marching til our feet bleed.”

  “They’re just trying to toughen us up,” Johnny interjected.

  “Quit pilin’ up the agony.” Another recruit, a young man named Barnaby, chimed in further down the line, “They hear you bleating, they’ll ‘ave us diggin’ latrines again.”

  “They’ll give us more latrines to dig whether we complain or not,” Tommy responded. That was true, and they all knew it. But that didn’t mean you needed to give them an excuse.

  “You lads found any gold yet?” Will chimed in, trying to ease the tension.

  “What?” Barnaby replied in confusion.

  “Because we been diggin’ for the Raj’s gold for weeks, boys, and I ain’t found naught but shit.” Will grinned as he said it.

  The men around them laughed as much as their exhaustion would allow for.

  “Oi, pipe down!” Sergeant Steele was another veteran of the 13th. He had marched with them the whole day. He was a lean man with a chiselled face and eyes the colour of slate. Except for the yellow dust of Ayodh on his boots and trousers, he didn’t look like he’d done more than go for a stroll in the garden. “The commander has some words for ye lot, so form up.”

  The men began to pull themselves to their feet, but not as quickly as Sergeant Steele wanted, “I said, form up, you sloppy bastards! Move!” He screamed at them, “In the yard, on the double!”

  The men formed up on instinct, all in the proper place and order. They marched to the central yard of the fort, where all hundred-some-odd recruits formed neat rows and awaited their commander. A few moments later, Major Pugh walked out from the commander’s offices, followed by Major Dryden and then finally by Lieutenant Colonel Havor, the commander of the 13th. The recruits waited in silence for the officers to speak. The colonel had a pale face and dark hair. He had a rakish look, with a five o’clock shadow and an unbuttoned top collar. Dryden was the opposite, he looked striking and clean-cut, with light hair and eyes.

  Havor’s voice rang out over the assembled men, “There are three items of interest. By now, you’ve all heard, I’m sure. Rumours travel faster than truth. Here is what is true. A beast attacked the king’s hunt. Lord Blakely and many more are dead. General Hood of the V.A.C. has been appointed the new governor-general. No more need be said on it. It does not concern you lot. The king is safe and unharmed, thanks in no small part to our own Captain Khathan, who is recuperating. Long live the king!”

  The rest of the men repeated his words, “Long live the king!” They cried together.

  "As of today, you are no longer recruits. You will receive your squadron assignments in the morning. You are cavalrymen now. Don’t think the sergeants will go easy on you. They’ll push you twice as hard because they know what you can endure, and endure we must."

  "That brings me to my third item. Rhakan has crossed The Padesh River,” Colonel Havor said. The words and the place didn’t mean much to Will or any other recruit.

  Dryden leaned in and whispered something to Havor.

  Havor frowned and spoke again, “They have invaded the border kingdoms. Soon, they’ll come across the Brurapura and be in Ayodh.”

  That brought a murmur from the men.

  “Ahh, you take my meaning. Yes, we are at war, gentlemen. Soon, we leave for Bogat.”

  “Where’s that, sir?” Someone piped up out of turn.

  “Quiet you!” Sergeant Steele started stomping down the line with a riding crop to discipline the man.

  “That’s enough, Sergeant.” Havor’s voice interrupted, “It is a fair question. Bogat is a city on the Brurapura. It holds the best crossing south of Dhek. It will be where Rhakan sends the bulk of its forces. It is where we must go to check the advance. Sleep well, men. Soon, we go to war. Dismissed!”

  There was nothing else to say. The good news of their advancement was dampened by the news that they would immediately see combat. They ate a brief supper in the mess and then went to their bunks. The sun set fast down in the colonies. There was no long twilight as in Vastrum. Few of the boys spoke as they went to their bunks in the barracks. On a typical night, they might have played cards or dice, drank warm beer, and laughed late into the evening. Tonight, thoughts of war hung heavy on them all. Will thought back to the day in Marrowick when he enlisted. Dryden had stood before a crowd of young men, giving his recruitment pitch in the Southwick Social Club. He had spoken of honour and duty and glory. He had not spoken of digging latrines or marching for days on end.

  Will frowned as he lay in his cot. “What in the bloody hell were we thinking, signing up for this shite?” He muttered softly, half to himself.

  “You was thinking how good you’d look to all the lovely lassies in your cavalryman’s uniform.” Tommy hissed back.

  It was true. That was precisely what he had been thinking. “What a cunt I was, thinking there’d be any pretty lassies about to see me in it before I die, eh?”

  “What do you mean was?” Tommy shot back.

  Johnny snorted with laughter from the next bunk over.

  Will couldn’t help but laugh, too, “That’s fair. I’m in good company, then.” More laughter followed.

  “You know what, I don’t mind it, all the digging.” Tommy said, “But could they have just one bloody good pub in all of Kanmak? I’m not askin’ for much here, lads.”

  “What, you don’t like the stale piss they serve down at the commissary?”

  “Oi, mum your dubbers, and caulk off!” A sergeant shouted into the barrack.

  The men quieted down. Eventually Will was able to find some sleep, though it was fitful. His dreams were filled with nightmares of a great pit yawning wide below him and of falling forever into it. Something awful and unknowable waited for him in the midnight depths.

  Dryden and the other senior officers of the Bloody 13th were meeting in Havor’s office. Most of them had arrived. They were only waiting for a few stragglers to appear. Colonel Havor was seated at his desk with his feet up, a gin and tonic in his hand. Mar was sitting to his left, reclining comfortably, his one eye closed. The wizard almost seemed asleep, except he was slowly tapping his glass of sherry with a finger and softly humming a tune. Major Pugh was next to Mar, staring intently at the wall, his jaw working silently. Captains Adams and Benton sat near the door. The two young officers could not have looked more different. Adams was tall and handsome, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and an easygoing manner. He reminded Dryden of himself before Blackwater’s massacre. Benton was dark-haired, gangly, and homely, with a silent intensity. The door opened, and the newly promoted Captain Brine entered the room.

  Brine was a young officer, barely a man at all. At only eighteen, he was the youngest Captain ever commissioned in the 13th Dragoons. It seemed only yesterday that he had arrived a pasty-faced adolescent with his first assignment, a freshly commissioned junior lieutenant. He had comported himself with distinction during Blackwater’s disaster. He had been among the captured. He was a competent officer, especially for one so young, but his promotion had less to do with his skill and more with the lack of other living officers in the 13th. So many had died in the disaster. A few more had died during The Reprisal-- that was what they were calling the destruction of Vurun in the papers. He had bright red hair that stuck out unruly from under his shako. He still looked a boy to Dryden’s eye, though his face had a hardness to it after the privations the prisoners had endured. The young captain found an empty chair and sat.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Well, now that we’re all here.” Havor started. He put his feet down and leaned forward.

  The door opened again. Captain Khathan entered. His shoulder was bandaged, and he looked pale. The Guludan Captain had been badly wounded and lost a great deal of blood. The last Dryden had seen him, he was laid up in a hospital bed resting.

  “Well, now, I thought you were supposed to be recuperating, Captain,” Havor said, a look of mild worry on his face. The man had been seriously wounded and nearly died. He had been so covered in the blood of the yali that no one had noticed the severity of his wounds until it was nearly too late. Only the timely intervention of the King’s personal surgeon had saved him.

  Khathan smiled, found the last chair in the room, and sat. “I am recovered," he said, smiling, “But I thank you for your concern.”

  “To the Captain’s miraculous recovery,” Mar said, grinning at the Khathan. He raised a glass.

  Those who held glasses raised them and drank.

  “Thank you. I understand we are going to war. I would not be laid in a bed while others do the fighting.” Khathan said.

  Havor nodded, “Light duty only, Captain. We will have need of you. We all know the news, by now, yes? Rhakan is coming. They have killed the ambassador Nigel Thorpe. He was a personal friend of the King’s. They have crossed into the border kingdoms. The why doesn’t concern us, however. We are soldiers, not politicians. It is only relevant that they have done so.” He pulled a letter from his jacket, “Orders from Haddock. We’re to muster at Bogat. We’ve two steamships that will take us down the river to Benna, and then we go overland the rest of the way. General Haddock wants us there first to secure the bridge. Rhakan will want it too, it’s the only bridge over the Brurapura below the city of Dhek. If we can hold them there, the infantry will arrive before long, and we’ll have checked Rhakan’s opening move.”

  Pugh spoke next, “If we hold them at Bogat, we win the war. If we fail, the odds are even that we lose the whole thing. All of it, and not just Ayodh. Dravan, too. From there, it’s a runaway cart full of rebellion and lost wars.”

  There was silence in the room, “How do you figure that?” Adams asked.

  “There’s nothing to stop them from Bogat to Bankut. They’ll roll up our whole supply line. If they take Bankut, they’ll own the mouth of the Yuna. There are guns in Bankut that cover the river’s mouth. Bankut is everything. If they control the guns, then we can’t send supplies upriver, and Kanmak is cut off. Benna is cut off. Kathalamanyr is cut off. They take Ayodh, Dravan is at risk. One by one, the colonies will fall, either to Rhakan or rebellion. Bogat is everything.”

  “That’s a bleak outlook,” Adams replied.

  “It’s the view Haddock is taking,” Havor interjected, “It’s only the worst case. Perhaps it won’t come to all that, but we must be prepared for it.”

  The room was silent as the officers pondered what it meant.

  Benton broke the silence, “They could already be at Bogat. They crossed the Padesh days ago, aye?”

  “Weeks ago,” Havor confirmed.

  “It’ll take us weeks to get there ourselves.”

  “It will.”

  “What’s stopping them from getting there well ahead of us? It won’t take them a month to march from Sava to Bogat.”

  “The land between the rivers is swampy, bad ground. The border rajas aren’t taking kindly to the incursion. They’ve already asked for aid and seem to be putting up a good show of force. The V.A.C. already has men and agents in position to assist them.”

  “How is The Company already there? That’s neutral ground, isn’t it?” Benton interjected.

  “The Company is everywhere.” Adams shot back, “Or have you not been paying attention.”

  “They follow money, do they not? They’re not finding gold in the swamps of Bogat, are they?” Benton asked.

  “I believe I can answer that.” Mar tossed a small vial onto the desk, “They’re smuggling that over the border from Ssam.”

  Havor picked up the glass vial and held it to the lantern on his desk. He shook it. It shone a deep indigo in the light—aethium. Yet it was not the aethium they knew from Vurun. It was darker somehow and shifted strangely in the lamp light. There was silence in the room as they looked on.

  “I got this from a merchant in the market in Kanmak. I paid him to tell me where they got it. He told me Ssam. The V.A.C. is smuggling it out. Sarawa Maw refused to trade with The Company. Khaung, his brother, is holed up in the north, in the jungles and hills, where this stuff is coming from. Apparently, Khaung is more amenable to trade with Vastrum.”

  “This is all very interesting, but we have more pressing concerns.” Dryden interjected, “We’re still short a full squadron, never mind the officers we’ve lost.”

  The faces of dead men raced through Dryden’s mind. Lieutenant Wolcott, the first to die, a sniper’s musket ball took him in the first volley. He had been a Marrowick boy like Dryden himself. They had been reminiscing one moment, and then he was gone. Captain Wilson had been badly wounded and left behind at Golconda. Captain Baker and Lieutenants Camford and Palfrey lost to the tide of undead during the ambush that killed so many men. Colonel Gorst, dying in the stand of boulders above Settru Pass. He heard Harper's anguished cry as his horse buckled beneath him. Sergeant Locke falling beneath the talwar of an enemy warrior at the end. Locke had nearly made it, as trusty a sergeant as had ever been, now gone forever. Havelock had died taking Vurun. Lamb, dead to a jezzail at the northern passes. Winthrop, who died a coward’s death. He could scarcely remember them all. Thousands slaughtered. Who would be next? How many of these officers sitting in the room now would still be here after this next war? Would any of them be left at all?

  His attention snapped back as Havor spoke, “Good news on that front. The king was amenable to the idea of a native squadron commanded by Khathan. You made quite the impression on him, what with saving his life from a rampaging monster. Prince Azadra and Raja Pentayy were impressed as well. They have both volunteered men for the squadron. The men are from their personal guards. They will be ready when we leave in a week, as I understand it.”

  “So that’s it, then? We go riding into Bogat to hold the line. We win, the empire is saved. We lose, the empire is lost? What of the rest of the bloody army? What of the Royal Navy? What of the V.A.C. mercenaries? What of our allies in the colonies?”

  “Pugh paints a bleak picture, and I’ll admit there is some validity to it, but there is some hope here, too. The Navy is assembling at Port Victor. I understand they intend to land three thousand marines at Dagon, sail up the Ravati River and besiege the Rhakanese capital at Angmaw. Belfair’s 6th Infantry is being deployed north towards Dhek in the borderlands. Haddock will come up and support us shortly. We need only hold out a few days, weeks at most. We’ve permission to blow the bridge if necessary.”

  “How hard can it be?” Adams asked, flashing his easy, disarming smile, “They’re a bunch of savages. They’ve bow and arrows and spears, eh?”

  Pugh cleared his throat, “They’ve proper infantry of the line. Conscripted, yes, but still, they’re armed with a mix of Gantish and Fyrin muskets. Styranian mercenaries hired from among merchant sailors man their artillery, again, with cannon purchased from Gant. The Rhakanese cavalry and their elephant riders are not to be underestimated either. They’ve a ready supply of that aethium Mar showed us, too, and I imagine, the wizards to use it. The real core of their army, though, is the bloodguard of their emperor. They are his elite shock troops. I also understand there are reports that they have tamed dragons, though how much stock you put into those rumours is up to you. What is true is they’ve fought a bloody civil war over the last six months. They took Tangong two years before that. Hard wars, those. Most of these men will be veterans. Furthermore, we’ll be fighting in jungle and swamp. This is their terrain. So, no, Captain Adams, it will not be a lark.”

  The room was silent. The young captain had gone pale. Dryden knew their enemy would be nothing like any they had encountered. Rhakan and the V.A.C. had skirmished in their grandfather’s time, but the two empires had never warred. They all knew that Pugh had the right of it, even if he lacked a gentle touch. This would not be easy.

  “Never fear, Adams.” Havor said, “Our foe may be fierce, they may have sorcerers and guns, but we’ve our muskets as well and a damned good wizard of our own.”

  Mar looked around the room, “Where?” He asked, grinning.

  The officers all laughed at the jest. Soon, the other officers turned to drinking rather than talking of war. Dryden stood and excused himself, then went to walk back towards his cottage in the cantonment.

  Guards on duty saluted him as he left the fort. Outside were rows and rows of barracks housing the infantry, most of them sepoys, the native infantry soldiers that made up the bulk of the army. The men here were from colonies all over. Men sat outside around campfires in small groups. Most of them would be leaving for war under Marshall Haddock. Most of the men were drinking and laughing and speaking in languages that Dryden barely recognised. He saw one group of soldiers from Huz laughing around a fire, another group of Dravani soldiers playing a kind of dice game, and another small cadre of red-skinned soldiers from Jirimanji sitting around a campfire singing softly. The army of Vastrum was not really of Vastrum. Dozens of colonies sent regiments to serve. From Durzan in the south to Kathalamanyr in the north, and Ayodh and Vastrum herself, all sent soldiers to serve the crown. They sent soldiers, signed favourable trade contracts with the V.A.C., and offered a nominal obeisance to the Vastrum crown. Otherwise, the colonies were left alone to rule themselves as semi-independent kingdoms. All these men would soon follow Vastrum to war. How many would be left at the end of it all? Few enough, he knew. He had seen war and had no desire to see it again, but it was not his decision. It was the king’s. He had deserted his honour in Vurun. Duty was all he had left.

  He found himself stopped in front of his cottage in the cantonment, standing outside, staring at the door. He had been lost in thought all the way back to the cottage and barely knew how he had got there. He had promised Julia that he would come back from Rhakan. The shame of the lie fell heavy on him. His feet felt leaden. He knew he would die in this war. Knew it. He had lived through so much, had been the “sole survivor” of Blackwater’s disaster. But still, he had made the promise to his wife. He took a step towards the door. Maybe he could find a way to live, or not. Perhaps a stray bullet would take him, or the pox. A hundred possible deaths awaited him in Bogat, Rhakan, and whatever nightmare the king sent them towards. He held no hope. Even if he lived through this war, there would be another and another. Death’s inexorable hand would find him eventually. A hundred promises to Julia wouldn’t turn aside the steel of an enemy’s blade or a lead musket ball. He breathed deeply and took another step. He gripped the door handle and turned it. All he could do was fight. It was all he could ever do.