Chapter 10 – Vault of Heaven
The following morning dawned cold, windy, wet, and gray. Flik felt sure that it was cold enough for the overcast sky to call down snow, but it did not. Instead, the rain slackened down to a dreary drizzle, which did not help much as everyone was already soaked. The forests were left in their wake, and the refugees trailed out into the plains in a long line of people and carts.
As Flik was regarding this long line, a woman came jogging up to him. She had been in Toto when Luca Blight attacked and, as well as being one of Riou's recruits, she had also become the de facto representative of the refugees from that poor village. Like everyone else, her brown shoulder length hair was wet and plastered down. Unlike everyone else, though, she hailed from the far north, from the Nameless Lands. Like all the denizens of that land, she was tall, taller even than Flik, and powerfully muscled. He was sure that she knew how to use the sword at her side and the buckler on her left arm.
"Hanna," he said, by way of greeting, when she stopped by his horse. He had to wonder though, even given the northerners' vaunted reputation for toughness, surely she must be feeling a little cold? Her toned skin glistened around a leather chest guard and her long legs were covered only by some sort of animal pelt hastily worked into a skirt and boots made of the same hide.
"Sir Flik," she responded, tersely. "There are more refugees joining us. We do not have enough carts to accommodate the wounded, nor enough food to feed them all."
Flik bit back a harsh reply, wanting desperately to tell her to let Apple, or Viktor decide, or even to tell her to decide for herself. Hanna frowned, intense eyes focused squarely on him. Flik turned away, looking back out in the direction they were going.
"The soldiers," he began, "will give up their spots on the carts for the wounded refugees. If there is still not enough room, then women and children will be given priority." Flik gritted his teeth. "That's the order. Tarrance!" The senior sergeant in question snapped up out of a half doze. "Detail some men to go with Hanna and make sure my orders are carried out."
He didn't wait to see what Hanna would make of that, but instead Flik spurred his horse and rode up to the scouts at the very front of the line. With a group of five, he began a long patrol out towards the east, to see what he might of the Highland's moves. The fields were empty, the steads that dotted the land reduced to burnt out husks. After some hours on patrol, he finally did run into a group of Highland soldiers, cresting a ridge in the distance just as he crested the one he was riding up. The two groups of cavalry stared at each other for a long moment; Flik's five men brandishing Fire Spears that no one was sure worked waiting out the twenty-five or so Highland cavalry on the opposite slope.
Then, without preamble, the Highlanders simply turned and rode back the way they came. Flik remained on that hill for some time after they left, staring out into space. The drizzle stopped, but the wind remained brisk and strong, shepherding the clouds off to the east. The brilliant blue vault of heaven opened up over Flik's head. He had been taught, back in his youth in the Warrior's Village, that the spirits of the great heroes resided up there, looking down on the world. To those who followed the Way of the Warrior, they were said to offer victory. To those who deviated from the Way…surely they hadn't sent this defeat to him to remind him that he had strayed? Surely they wouldn't countenance a monster like Luca Blight victorious?
Odessa, are you up there somewhere?
From behind, Flik heard one of the soldiers cough. He shook his head, he still had duties to attend to. Duty, another facet of the Way, finally led him off the hill and back towards the line of refugees.
They turned north, making what little time they could. Apple, wrapped in blankets, was wracked with coughs and fevers as she lay in one of the carts, with Millie and Leona in attendance. Barbara, along with ten of the more trustworthy mercenaries, guarded the strongbox. Rikimaru sat directly on top of it, brandishing his huge cleaver, Onimaru, at any person who looked a little too desperately towards it. Tsai, with a third cart, tended to the remaining Fire Spears, though no one could be sure if they still worked, at this point. Even Gengen, the Kobold warrior, plowed stoically along, little legs working to keep up.
Others, though, couldn't or wouldn't. Some of the mercenaries slinked away, deciding that their chances were better away from the slow moving refugees. Some of the wounded fell further and further behind. Whole families would stop, waiting for one member to start moving again. Chester, his face gashed open by two horrible sword cuts, eventually lay back against a rock, motionless as the train passed him by. It was the last Flik ever saw of him.
Finally night came and the refugees had to stop. The wind howled out of the blackness, off of Lake Dunan, terribly cold and unrelenting. There was little wood, and little enough to get it burning. Food was passed out in pitiful amounts, and Flik had none, letting his growling stomach serve as penance for the defeat. People huddled together to sleep, seeking warmth as they were able. Flik, for his part, collapsed into a dreamless sleep with his back to the spokes of the cart that Apple, still in the throws of her sickness, was resting on.
Something was tickling his nose, and he was unable to ignore it and keep sleeping. Cautiously, Flik opened his eyes. It was still night, and he was still back first to the spokes of the cart, wedged into position by mercenaries on either side. He looked down to find Millie's floppy white beret on his lap. Slowly, Flik squirmed to work his way free from the side of the cart. Each movement brought with it a particular sort of pain. His back twinged from resting on the spokes, his arms and legs were dully sore from their exertions over the past two days, his face was raw and chapped from the cold wind, and his empty stomach threatened to double him over in weakness and pain.
Finally, he managed to disengage himself from the tangle and stood up, holding Millie's beret in his hands. Looking at the cart, he could see her brown hair trailing over the side, directly above where he had been sleeping. Peering in, he saw her amidst the other women of the mercenary company. Her strange little pet, Bonaparte, was fast asleep, curled in her arms and Leona's mantle had been placed over her legs. Gently, Flik put the beret back on her head.
The sound of a series of weak coughs drew Flik's attention. Apple, still wrapped in blankets, was regarding him through heavily lidded eyes. Her face was pale and drawn, seemingly aged thirty or forty years by sickness, dirt, and the moonlight, which glared off her glasses.
"Water…please?" she croaked, trembling hands extending a battered tin cup.
"Yes, of course," Flik answered, accepting the cup. She didn't give any sign of hearing the response, so he walked away, heading for a nearby stream.
The night was clear and cold, but calm, the brutal winds finally having died down. There was light enough to find the way, with thousands of brilliant stars, and the two moons -the Blue high and nearly half full and the Red trailing slightly in both position and phase- adorning the night sky like glittering jewels. The Dawn Star was also up, foreshadowing the coming of the day.
He worked his way slowly around carts and groups of huddled refugees and past the hastily constructed tether lines for the horses. On the far end of the rudimentary encampment was a shallow stream, one of hundreds of little brooks that fed into the eastern side of Lake Dunan. Flik worked his way upstream, seeking cleaner water away from the camp. Finding a likely spot, he stooped down, checking the water to see that it was clear, not murky, or choked with algae. Satisfied that the water was reasonably safe, he dipped the cup into the flow, pulling it out when it was almost full. Briefly, he looked at the dim reflection in the water. The face that looked back was tired, covered with bruises and dirt, and had two days worth of stubble on its cheeks. Curiously, Flik felt at his jaw line; his shaving blade was probably a twisted chunk of metal back in the ruins of the fort. He sighed and walked back towards the camp.
Getting to the stream and back had taken all of about twenty minutes, but when he returned, Apple seemed to be asleep. Flik shook her shoulder gently, until her eyes opened slightly.
"I've returned with the water," he said, offering the cup.
"Mathiu?" she croaked, causing Flik to hesitate. "Please, don't go, Mathiu."
"I-" He was not sure how to proceed.
She reached out trembling arms towards him. "Let me comfort you, Master. You always seem so sad when you think about your sister. Let me take that away from you."
Sadness shot through Flik anew at the mention of Odessa. He had never stopped to think about how her death might have hurt her brother, Mathiu Silverberg. "It's all right," Flik finally answered. "We," he tried to hold his voice steady, "we completed her dream for a new nation. We won." He pressed the cup into Apple's hands and she reflexively closed them over it. He then guided her hands and the cup back towards her mouth. "You need to drink this. You'll feel better afterwards. Slowly, now." Unquestioningly, she followed his commands, dribbling a little of the water down her cheek. Flik reached out and wiped it away, feeling the heat of her fever even through his gloves.
After seeing Apple back to sleep, he tried to go back as well, but found he couldn't. Instead, he sat there, back to the spokes again, thinking about things as the first hints of dawn crept into the distant eastern horizon. He had never really thought about how Odessa's death had hurt others. And how that hurt had radiated out through so many people. He laughed, once, ruefully, a burst of warm mist into the cold night air. Was he really so selfish that he'd thought only he could have a complete claim on her love?
The mercenaries and refugees woke with the sun not because they had been ordered to, but because it was their routine, and they tenaciously clung to their habitual duties, for that was all that was left. There was no food and many of the wounded were worse for wear from the night. Mechanically, camp was struck and the procession moved on towards the north and west for a second day.
This day was better, the bright spring sun and a gentle southwest wind dispersing the chill in the air. The Highlanders remained a menace felt but not seen, and Flik was too tired to send out any patrols to go looking for trouble. As they moved north, the ground became more difficult; gentle, rolling hills giving way to sharper, tree-covered bluffs with little rivulets and ponds filled with glittering water meandering through folds in the land. Mostly they stayed away from the hills, but occasionally Flik would ride up one. In the distance to the north and west he could see the land sloping down into a vast marsh, the Bitterfens, and a small lake, Horsetail Lake, and finally the much greater waters of Lake Dunan. They were approaching the ruins of Toto.
As the afternoon shadows wore on the acute pain in Flik's stomach began to occupy most of his attention. The landscape -rivers, bluffs, and trees- turned into a dreamy blur in his eyes, and he rode on, drifting in and out of full consciousness.
"Halt! You there, stop!"
Flik's hand jerked reflexively towards his sword, head coming up suddenly to scan the horizon. The mercenaries were passing next to a trickling, rocky streambed that was flanked by steep slopes on either side. Cavalry, with horsebows drawn, were posted along the length of both slopes. A contingent of horsemen also barred the path forward. Flik cursed, he'd led them all, refugees and his men, directly into an ambush. Wearily, he tried to think of some way out of this. Attacking, given the state of his men, would be suicide. Worse, it would be in vain, for the refugees were in no position to escape, even if he spent the lives of his men. All that was left was mercy.
His men were looking towards him, waiting for him to give the command. "Stand down," he ordered, loudly enough for the men up the stream to hear him. "I'll ride ahead, and…we'll see." He did ride forward, arms extended out to the side, well away from his sword and shield. Now that he was fully awake again, Flik scrutinized the men he was approaching. They were not dressed in the typical blue and white of Highland cavalry, but rather in simple tan and green leathers. It was no wonder he'd blundered into this; even if he'd been fully prepared, they'd have been difficult to track.
"That's far enough," one of the men spoke with an air of authority. The speaker guided his horse a few steps forward, and Flik saw that he was a man of medium build, dressed like the others, save for a thin silver band that he wore under his brown hair. "State your name, unit, and business," he ordered, brusquely. His hazel eyes were scanning Flik's men, his face framed by a full brown beard with just the barest sprinkling of white in it.
"I'm Flik, co-commander of the Mercenary Army of Jowston. We have refugees from Ryube and Toto with us. They need food and shelter, quickly."
"Flik, you say?" He scratched thoughtfully at his beard. "Not the famous Flik of the Blue Lightning?"
Flik clenched his hands, eyes studying the rocks at his horse's feet. "Yes, that Flik. Take my head if you must, but spare the people behind me. They've suffered enough." Suddenly, the cavalry commander started laughing. Flik's head swung back up in time to see him sheathe his sword, a jovial smile breaking out on his face. For the first time, Flik noted the livery of the buckler that hung on the commander's left arm. It was a white quill on a red field.
"I am so very sorry," he said, extending his hands in a gesture of friendliness. "This has almost been a tragic misunderstanding. You are not among enemies but have found friends. I am Captain Holm of the Greenhill Rangers, attached to General Hauser's army. We were sent to find you." With a waved command, the men on the hilltops stood down, unstringing their bows and carefully working their way down the slope. He rode forward, offering a pair of biscuits and a lump of cheese in his hands.
As Holm drew close, Flik lunged, snatching the food right out of his hands, stuffing the hard bread into his mouth with huge bites that threatened to choke him.
"Easy there," Holm said, offering his canteen.
More carefully, Flik gulped down a swig of water to clear his mouth. The food had only served to redouble the pain in Flik's stomach, as if it were only now realizing how empty it had been. Clenching, he got out, "There's so many more back behind me. Hundreds…maybe thousands."
Holm took back the canteen. "I understand. You're almost to Toto. I'll send a messenger back to tell the general to prepare all the food we can spare. My men and I can guide you the rest of the way."
And so they did, though it was well past midnight when Viktor, leading the exhausted rearguard, finally brought the last of the men into the remains of the town. The Highland Army had pillaged and burned the town, leaving only a few husks of dressed stone to mark where the more affluent had lived. Even all of this, though, couldn't dampen the mood. There was food, and the army from Muse was not stingy with it. Flik, after eating what he thought was excessive, watched people literally stuff themselves until they were sick. Afterwards, he found a secluded spot in the ruins of a house, curled up around his cape, and went to sleep.
In Solis 460, Earthsdei, the 18th of Avrai:
Dear Diary,
They used to say, back at home, that in times of distress, a warrior should find victory in little things, like surviving another day, or in my case, finding a working pen. Still, this doesn't feel much like anything except defeat. Worse yet, I don't think there was anything we could've done to avoid it. Should we have fought at all? I can only hope that by fighting, we did manage to save more lives than we lost.
Viktor is putting on a brave front, but I think this defeat hurts much more for him. Even if it's not his hometown, a part of his home country is now occupied by an enemy. A particularly brutal and merciless enemy. I remember how I felt when Warrior's Village was threatened two years ago. Apple is feeling a little better today, well enough that she wished to listen to the results of our inspection.
Those results were not encouraging. Of the eleven hundred men that were on the rolls three days ago, only four hundred and ten answered at our informal muster today. I don't know how many of our men died in the fight, but I sincerely hope that most of the missing have simply deserted. Tsai is busy counting up the remaining Fire Spears, and it's been decided that my unit, once reconstituted, will take the remainder of the spears.
There is still no sign of Riou, Jowy, Nanami, or the others that Apple sent out with them. I can only hope that they are safe and making their way towards Muse. Or, if not Muse, then somewhere far, far away from this war.
Flik looked up as a shadow fell across his writing. He was still in the ruins of the house, back propped against a wall, his legs supporting his diary. The morning sunlight fell blotchy on the floor through holes in the roof and the now door-less entrance. A soldier, one of the Greenhill Rangers, stood in the doorway.
"Sir, General Hauser requests your presence, if you would."
Flik closed the diary, placing it with the others in his bookstrap. He knew an order, even a politely phrased one, when he heard it.
He followed the ranger out and across the remains of Toto. The town was emptier than it had been last night, many of the refugees having already moved on across the River Dorthai. Most of the remaining people were those mercenaries, and, in some cases, their families, who had decided to remain with Viktor and Flik. Viktor was waiting for Flik at the bridge over the river and greeted him with a nod as he joined them.
Hauser's encampment was on the other side of the river, rows of tents bustling with activity and yet extremely orderly. His soldiers were hard at work preparing fortifications, obviously not intending to proceed into East Muse and challenge Luca Blight. His tent, more like a large pavilion, stood in the very center of the camp with roads radiating out from it. With a salute, the ranger turned Flik and Viktor over to the care of an aide standing just outside.
"This way," the aide gestured, with just the slightest hint of nervousness in his voice. The inside of the tent was sectioned off by dividers, but every room that Flik could see was filled with men working at desks, feverishly writing off reports and taking care of the thankless paperwork that keeps an army running. The aide led them to a small room in the back of the tent and pulled up the flap, saying, "They're here, sir."
"Send them in." The voice that gave that command was deep but mellow, and almost gentle. Ducking inside, Flik's eyes were drawn immediately to General Hauser. There was an intensity about this man. His gray eyes blazed like beacons out of a face that was dark brown. Everything, from his close cropped black hair and perfectly ordered mustache, to his spotless blue and brown tunic and pants, bespoke of an almost desperate professionalism and drive. Apple had told them that at least one of his parents was from somewhere far to the south of the Queendom of Falena, and that he had risen through the ranks of the Muse military on determination and exceptional ability.
He was standing at a small, square table, looking at a map and two letters that had been tossed down on top of it. His bed was on the back cloth of the tent, his sword and a silver chest protector carefully arranged on it. He nodded as they entered, gesturing to two chairs at the closer end of the table. He sat down into his own chair. The aide hovered nearby as they sat down.
Hauser turned his head, looking at the aide. "I shall have coffee, as usual." He looked back at Viktor and Flik. "May I offer you gentlemen something as well?"
Viktor considered. "I'll take the coffee, but can you kick it up with something, like brandy?"
"That can be arranged," Hauser answered, and then looked at Flik. "And you?"
Flik, not wanting to be rude, answered, "I'll take the coffee, too." Then, remembering how bitter that drink was, added, "With cream and sugar." The aide scurried away to get the drinks.
Hauser continued. "I am sorry to hear of the loss of our positions in East Muse but very gratified that you two have survived safe and sound. Mayor Anabelle insisted most emphatically that securing you two was my highest priority." He smiled, just a little, and looked directly at Viktor. "Especially you."
Viktor rubbed at the base of his neck, as if working out a kink, and said, "Yeah, she can be a little scary when she 'insists' on things."
"Unfortunately," Hauser gestured at the letters on the table, "several influential senators sent me letters suggesting very strongly that I not send my army one step into East Muse. For the safety of the capital and reasons like that. It's a good thing for you that Captain Holm and his men agreed to come with me. That's the only way I could help you."
Flik frowned thoughtfully. Mayor Anabelle was technically the commander-in-chief of the Muse forces, but the elected Senate had complete control over both the money and the promotions. And, ever since the disastrous wars of her father, the Mayor Darrel, the Senate had been very active in upholding its prerogatives. Any general who ignored a "suggestion" from a powerful senator would often find that his army would suddenly end up critically short of money or that his next promotion had been delayed indefinitely.
The aide returned at that moment, bearing three cups of coffee. He carefully set down coasters on top of the map and then placed the cups down. He bowed and, at another gesture from Hauser, vanished from the room. Flik took a small sip from his and found it hot enough almost to scald his lips.
Hauser, meanwhile, said, "I was hoping that you might have some information on Luca Blight's army: where they are and what units constitute it."
Viktor, having drunk his coffee in one tremendous gulp, answered, "We haven't had any contact with their army in two days. Obviously, we weren't going out of our way to look for them. We all had other things on our minds." He set his cup down on his coaster.
"Your men haven't had contact, either?" Flik asked, setting his coffee down to cool.
Hauser shook his head. "I've sent Holm out looking, but he can't go too far in. Still, we haven't seen any traces of his men, not even scouts or skirmishers. I judge that unusual, perhaps ominously so." He set down his empty coffee cup. "What about the units? Are the commanders competent? Especially this Luca Blight, I'd like to know everything you can tell me about him."
Flik nodded. "The forces we saw were Solon Jhee's Second Army, Kiba Windamier's Third, and the White Wolves of Luca Blight. They appear to be well led, able to maneuver as full formations and individual units. Their sub-unit commanders are extremely competent, and aggressive. As for Luca Blight-" Flik paused, looking at Viktor, and tried to find the right words.
"He's a slave driver," Viktor offered. "He marched that whole army from Toto to my fort in two days and then fought a battle. He's more aggressive than anything you might imagine. If he sees an opening or a weakness, he'll go for it."
"It's more than that," Flik appended. "We didn't give his tactical imagination enough credit. He didn't just use his superior numbers to bludgeon us into defeat, but instead he held our attention with one force and then took the fort in a pincer move. He's definitely more than just a sword-swinging maniac."
Now Hauser frowned. "That's…distressing but good to know. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Any predictions on his next move?"
Viktor replied, "He'll probably do what we all least expect. I don't know, maybe lead his army through Radat towards South Window?"
Flik added, "I don't know about that, but he won't wait too long to make his next move. I wouldn't get too comfortable in your camp, general. You'll probably be marching somewhere else soon enough."