6 A New Commission
In the days following the breach of Meridian's keep, Agrippa sets about the task of strengthening the city's defences. Extra men now patrol the city walls and reinforcements are to be sent to all the forts that guard the surrounding areas.
Talia's squad has a new posting too; they are to be stationed at the fortress on the Great Highway to the northwest of the city, along with their new captain, Lucius.
Agrippa has taken a lot of care in choosing the soldiers who are to serve under his son. He is counting on Ward's old troop being experienced enough to cover any minor blunders the lad might make, and much as he hates to admit it, for he knows it reflects badly upon him, Agrippa is expecting Lucius to make mistakes.
The location where Lucius will be serving has also been given careful consideration. It is not in a particularly safe position, being close to the lands claimed by Kain's first Lieutenant, Raziel, but it is fairly remote. That should preclude the boy from getting into any more trouble with women or running up unmanageable debts, two things he would be almost certain to do, if he stayed in Meridian, and if he should also chance to see a little action, while he is stationed there, it will undoubtedly be of great benefit to him. Somehow, Lucius managed to miss every major battle while he was stationed in Willendorf, and his father feels sure this unhappy circumstance is the main reason for the boy's rather unsoldierly demeanour. That Lucius' failure to see action, might not have been entirely a matter of chance, does not occur to him.
As Agrippa contemplates the plans he has made for Lucius, he thinks he has covered every possible angle. He has even drafted a letter to the fort commander, priming him to keep Lucius away from the city and to hold him in check. Unfortunately, there are two things he has overlooked, despite his careful planning, things, which could very easily bring all his schemes to ruin; he has grossly underestimated both his son's stupidity and his arrogance.
Lucius has been given a short reprieve from being posted to the fort; he is to spend an extra day with his father, in Meridian. However, he does not appreciate this gesture at all, when he learns how Agrippa intends him to use the time. His father has made appointments with all his major creditors and now, he forces Lucius to watch, while he arbitrarily distributes his son's meagre savings and places his finances into some semblance of order. Needless to say, Agrippa does not forgo the opportunity of giving Lucius yet another, lengthly lecture on his profligate habits.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rather than have them wait for their new captain, Agrippa orders Talia's troop directly to the fort. He has received intelligence that an attack may be imminent, and he wishes to take no chances.
They set off just after noon, three heavily laden wagons accompanying them on their journey, they are carrying a few general supplies, but mainly, they are laden with barrels of naphtha, a tarry substance commonly used by the Sarafan to defend fortified positions against assault. The horses make slow progress, for the road has been poorly maintained in recent years deteriorating into little more than a mud track in places where the heavy wagons sink in the soft ground and get stuck in the ruts.
All afternoon, a dense bank of grey cloud advances steadily towards them. Talia shudders as she looks up at it; there is something almost threatening in the way its hard edge challenges the brightness of the day. It is as though some giant hand were slowly drawing a cover across the wintry sky. As the little party trudges wearily up the winding path to the fort, the sky is almost completely obscured. The merciless clouds racing now, to smother the last remnants of the dying sun, and bringing darkness to the land, well in advance of its appointed hour. It is colder too; the rain, which has been stinging their faces for the last half hour, turning to sleet, as they wait to be granted admittance to the fort.
At last, the guard who had taken their papers away for verification returns. The barrels have been the cause of much of the delay, for Naphtha is not generally kept within the fort, and the arrival of such a large amount was thought, almost certainly, to have been a mistake, for nature has provided a much better substance to be used in this place's defence, water. The fort is positioned on a rocky outcrop at the foot of the mountains that rise along the eastern side of the road. Nestled between these peaks, is a deep lake. For centuries, this water has been piped directly to the fort, hundreds of gallons being kept in permanent storage in reservoirs and tanks. If the fort should ever be attacked by vampires, the defenders have enough water to burn every demon in Nosgoth.
However, the papers are in order, and no mistake appears to have been made, so eventually, the portcullis is raised and the troop is allowed to enter the tiny courtyard in front of the keep. Here, they are kept waiting again, growing ever colder and more impatient, while the barrels are unloaded and stowed safely away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When they are finally ushered inside, Geddes, the sergeant temporarily in command of the company, requests an immediate meeting with the fort commander. The rest of the troop, make their way to the mess-hall. They are tired, caked in mud and, now they can smell food, suddenly very hungry.
The servants are just clearing the tables after the evening meal. Dorton looks wistfully at the empty plates being carried into the kitchens.
"Bread and cheese in the pantry." One of the stewards tells her, as he pushes past. Dorton pulls a face.
"Nothing hot?" She asks.
"Fraid not."
"Damn!" Dorton mutters.
"Damn indeed!" Talia agrees. It is not much of a welcome.
She pushes open one of the heavy doors and walks into the hall. It is practically full, the occupants are mostly male but there are a few women too. Everyone is relaxing after their meal, most with mugs of ale in front of them. A few look up as she enters.
"Can anyone point me in the direction of the wash-rooms?" Talia asks, "I need to get some clean clothes."
One of the men stands up. He is an enormous man with a bull neck, his hair so closely cropped that is little more than silvery stubble, sprinkled over his scalp. He lets out a laugh at her question, a ribald cackle of amusement, before he turns to face the company.
"D'ye hear that lads?" He yells. "This one 'as to wash 'er clothes. I bet she 'asn't changed her knickers for a week!"
Everybody sitting at the table bursts out laughing and Talia scowls at his back, but when he turns around and she sees who it is, she lets out a delighted yelp, and instead of giving him the box on the ears which she was intending, in spite of his rather daunting size, she flings her arms around his neck.
"Buller!" She cries, rubbing his scalp with almost aggressive affection. "What are you doing here? I thought you were stationed in Stahlberg."
"Same as you I guess. Fightin' vampires. That is why you're 'ere ain't it Locke? Or did you find a new job, as a laundry-maid?"
Talia cuffs his ear affectionately in reply.
"They won't 'ave 'im anywhere else." The soldier sitting beside him interjects. "'es 'ad our company thrown out of every other fort in Nosgoth! If 'e misbehaves 'ere, Gawd only knows where we'll end up! Probably end up dismissed from the Sarafan and haf to switch sides."
Another soldier leans across the table.
"You want to watch wot yer sayin'." He growls.
The soldier raises his hands defensively.
"It was a joke," he says. "A joke!"
"Well, it weren't funny! This is no time to be talkin' like that!" A few of the others mutter assent, shaking their heads in disapproval of such careless talk. The subject of Sarafan turning traitor is not one they wish to have broached, even in jest.
Just then, the door bangs open again. A few seconds later, Dorton staggers into the room, she is struggling with both her bags and Talia's. She dumps them on the ground with a look of disgust.
"That's right!" she says to Talia. "Leave me to carry the bags why don't you? While you go off fraternizing with the locals!"
Buller looks at her, his brows raised. "Fraternizing!" He says, with an impudent grin. "Did you know you was fraternizing, Locke?"
Talia laughs.
"Did you know you were a local?" She asks, "I could swear you'd be more at home in the Smuggler's Den."
Buller looks over to Dorton. "That's a very big word for a little gal like you to be using." He says.
Talia pokes him sharply in the ribs.
"This is Dorton," she says, pulling her forwards into the light from the lamps. "And as you can see, she's a very sophisticated lady and highly educated." She gives Buller an exaggerated wink. "Out of your league, in other words!"
Buller turns to Dorton and takes her hand, very delicately.
"Charmed to meet yer, M'Lady," he says, planting a wet, slobbery kiss on the back of her hand. Dorton looks down at him, grimacing in amused disgust while the hall erupts into cat-calls and sniggers. "H'ignore them!" Buller says, trying unsuccessfully to slip an arm around her waist.
"Careful, Buller." Talia warns. "This one's more dangerous than she looks! She'll drink you under the table, no bother!"
Buller begins to look at Dorton with something approaching respect.
"Like you did last time?" He asks Talia, sarcastically.
Talia chuckles. "No, properly. This woman has an iron constitution."
"Really, Locke? We'll have to test that out. If the lady is willing, that is." Dorton nods assent with a smile, she could do with a drink and she enjoys a challenge, too.
Buller looks at Talia. "Care for a re-match?" He asks. "Yer never know, luck might be wiv yer."
Talia shakes her head, her expression suddenly grave.
"Oh no, Buller," she says, placing a hand over her stomach, "I couldn't. Not after last time. I did myself some real damage, you know. I was sick for weeks after. Doctor's told me not to drink anymore. Just one beer might be enough to kill me."
Buller stares at her, his eyes round with astonishment.
"Wot? Seriously?" he asks.
Talia breaks into a grin, delighted at having caught him out. "No, not seriously!" She laughs. "Are you pouring that?" She adds, with a pointed look at the jug of ale in front of him.
"Thought you had some washin' to do?"
"Ah! It can wait." She winks at him again. "One more day won't make any difference! Give us a minute to dump these bags and we'll be down."
"'ang on!" Buller says. He takes her arm and points towards the door where Jay is now standing, her face tense and her pack held defensively against her chest.
"Oo's yer po-faced friend?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One of the women volunteers to show them to their quarters. The women's dormitory is right at the top of the building, and it makes the accommodation in Meridian look positively luxurious. The room is bare and freezing, despite a small fire which burns in the grate at the far end. There are four unoccupied bunks, their heads pressed close against walls, which are glazed with condensation. Strong draughts blow through the many cracks and holes in the ancient stonework and frost is already forming on the inside of the windowpanes. As a consolation, each bed is piled high with thick, woollen blankets.
"Gets really cold up here, I'm afraid." The woman says. "If you haven't got chilblains now, I guarantee you'll have 'em by the end of the week. I'm Doyle." She adds, holding out a hand. Talia takes it.
"Locke." She says. "And this is Dorton." She turns away, struggling to stifle a yawn. "And Jay should be here, in about two or three minutes. She tends to lag behind a bit."
Jay enters the room, right on cue, looking a bit confused at the amusement her arrival seems to have caused. Talia sits down on her bunk and starts cleaning the mud from the bottom of her boots.
"Are they new?" Doyle asks her. "They're nice."
"I wish they felt nice!" Talia replies, pulling one off. "My feet are killing me! Damn!" She mutters. "I've burst a blister."
She prods gingerly at the patch of raw skin on her heel and then pulls off the other boot and swings her legs on to the bunk; wearily, she lets her head sink down onto her knees. "I'm worn out." She says. "What time are we due to go out, tomorrow? Early or late?"
"Late, I think."
"Thank God for that!" She rolls over on the bunk and closes her eyes.
"Thought you were coming down for a drink." Dorton says.
Talia opens one eye. "Bring one up to me?"
"You lazy cow! You're not the only one with sore feet. Get it yourself, or you get nothing."
Talia sits up wearily, grimacing, as she slips her boots on again.
"All right!" she says, yawing. "It was worth a try. You coming Jay?"
Jay smiles, the first smile Talia has seen since their arrival.
"I don't think so." She says. "I think I'll just stay here."
Talia takes her arm. "You will not!" She says. "It's cold, and it's miserable. What are you going to do up here, on your own?"
Jay hesitates and starts to make another excuse. Of course, Talia realizes, the girl is terribly shy. She takes hold of her arm and fixes her with a determined stare. "Now look," she says, "the men might seem a bit rough, but they're harmless, really. I know it's a bit awkward, coming into a new place, full of people you don't know, but if you stay up here, it'll just look like you think you're too good to keep company with them, and you don't want that, do you?" Jay shakes her head slowly, but she still looks doubtful. "Then it's settled." Talia says. "You're coming with us."
Reluctantly, Jay allows herself to be led downstairs. She trails behind them on the stairs, her face still far from happy, muttering something about how she doesn't really approve of drinking, not unless it's a special occasion of some sort. The two girls ignore her. As she starts to lag behind again, Dorton turns to Talia.
"You know something," she whispers, "that girl is turning into a real wet blanket."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fortress is much older than the keep at Meridian. The stairs are steep and narrow and the stonework is rough. The walls are formed from flints, fist-sized stones, packed close together to a thickness of several feet thick. Their once pristine outers are stained and grimy, from the constant passage of people inside the fort, and from the relentless pounding of the weather, outside. When the fortress was newly built, it was known as the White Tower and it really was white, but for as long as anyone can remember now, the stonework has been a sallow, dirty grey. Originally, in the very distant past, this building had been occupied almost exclusively by female Sarafan, the sorceresses who had fought the vampires, hundreds of years before Talia was born.
She looks curiously at the murals painted on the walls, faded by time, and patchy where damp has rotted the plaster. Men and women fighting side by side, just as they do now, but they wear armour made from leather, and they hold archaic weapons in their hands. Dogs, in armoured collars, run at their sides, while the women hold balls of flame in their hands, which they are hurling at their foes. The women fascinate her; they look strange with their shaven heads and old-fashioned dress. The vampires in the murals, look strange as well, almost ordinary, compared to the ones they fight now. There seem to be almost as many females as males and most of them have no armour at all, instead they wear clothes almost identical to those worn by the common folk of their time.
Talia ponders the question of why there are no sorceresses in Nosgoth, now. Were the Sarafan really able to do magic, all those years ago, or do these paintings merely portray a comforting myth? And if people did have such abilities in the past, how is it, she wonders, that they seem to have completely lost them?
As the doors to the mess-hall swing open, she forgets the murals and sets her mind to more serious subjects, like finding a seat close to the fire and drinking enough beer to anaesthetize herself, before she has to limp back up the three flights of stairs, which stand between her and her bed.
