Duty Calls: The Reluctant War God Book 1 (13 page)

Rosten sighed. “Right.”

He stood, rolling the dagger over in his band, examining it.

“Everyone is a bit confused as to what happened yesterday,” he said. “Many of the men have recalled hearing music, and having a sudden desire to follow the herald back to his camp. Do you remember anything like that? Anything strange?”

I shook my head. “No sir, I just remember the king’s fine inspirational speech, then the herald came and said something about wanting us to give up. As he was leaving, I do seem to remember some music, but then the next thing I recall is seeing him dead on the ground and everyone being confused as to what had occurred.”

“Funny thing. There were some people watching the events from the city walls. They were out of earshot of the herald’s strange music. They say they saw someone from our battle group rush forward and stand in the way of the herald. Then they say this man threw a dagger and killed the herald.”

“That’s fine, sir. We should be proud of that guy. I’d like to buy him a drink. Course, come to think of it he was also a dagger thief so on balance I’d say we’re even. Did the person at the wall see who it was?”

Rosten shook his head. “No, unfortunately they were too far away to identify anyone.”

“That’s a pity,” I said. “We have a hero in our midst and we have no possible what of finding our who it is. A genuine shame.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” he stared at me and I met his gaze. “Is that all you have to say on the subject?” he asked.

“Yes sir, that’s my story and I am sticking to it,” I said. “With the Captain’s indulgence, of course.”

Rosten paused for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. He handed the dagger over to me. I took it and stuck it in my belt.

Rosten smiled. “I don’t know what your real story is, Carl. But I like you. I think you’re an excellent soldier, in fact better than most of my best swordsmen although you do your best to keep your talents well hidden.”

“I appreciate the compliment, sir, but I’m really not that good.”

“Oh, but you are. In fact I wish I could have you lead my swordsmen into battle, but I think you were meant for a bigger role. I’ve also heard you play. And call it talent, magic, or whatever. When you play, the men feel better, they fight better and they have hope.”

“I try. Everyone likes a good tune.”

Rosten placed the heels of his hands on the table and leaned forward, looking directly at me. Watching me carefully.

“When you play the pipes tomorrow, I think you’ll do more than any one sword arm is capable of. I know it sounds foolish. I’ve heard stories of traveling bards who do magic with music. Is that what you are, Carl?”

“I’m a musician. I have a skill that can set heels to dancing and hearts to beating faster. I suppose it is magic of a sort, if you want to call it that. The important thing is I promise you I’ll do my best to give the men whatever help I can.”

Rosten was silent. Part of me wished I could share my secret with this man, but how could he accept the truth? Better I remained a mystery. An unknown force for good, a lucky charm, because the name of Kaltron was not associated with victory, it was associated with death and destruction. It was bad luck.

“That’s good to know, Carl. It comforts me more than you know.”

He paused. He seemed on the verge of asking what he knew he should not ask. But at last he proved he was wise enough to not inquire too diligently about how his favorite sausage was made. “You’d better get some thing to eat, Carl. No traipsing either. The sun rises on an important day. You will be needed.”

“Yes sir.”

I left Rosten to his thoughts. It had been stupid of me to leave my dagger in the herald’s throat, but I was trying to get back into ranks before the glamour of his spell wore off. I was certain only Rosten knew the owner of the dagger. I didn’t think he would expose any secrets about me. He wasn’t a man who looked a gift horse in the mouth too closely.

I returned to stow away my bedroll and try to grab some food. There was work to be done soon and a battle to be fought today against Jegu, the enemy of gods and men.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The horn was blown and the men awoke to duty in the early dawn. A misty fog covered the dew wet ground. The smell of wood smoke from the cooking fires combined with the less wholesome smell of the latrines. We lined up at the company mess. A quick breakfast of hot oats and we were set to work breaking down tents and moving provisions behind city walls.

The way was cleared for the engagement to come. I judged the city to be easily defensible. The natural barriers of the steep, sloped hills protected the city on three sides. The outer city walls were high and stout all around. Towers stood ready to repel attackers on either side of the gatehouse with its steel portcullis, six other towers rose at the corners of the wall. An inner wall also protected the city in case the enemy broke through the first barrier, and the kings castle keep stood on the highest point of the hill behind another thick walled courtyard—and, of course, there was the lovely moat of shit that kept the king safe and his chamberpots empty. That was definitely a fine defensive construction.

We would first meet the army on the field of battle to the south of the castle town. If overwhelmed, we would fall back behind the safety of the city walls and the siege would begin.

We were arranged in a classic formation of three battles. To the right stood the vanguard battle, in the middle the main battle and to the left the rearguard. Each battle of men consisted of men at arms carrying swords, the newly levied farmers and laymen armed with halberds and various specialists with such things as axes and pikes. Archers were deployed on the right and left flanks and in a “V” pattern between each battle to best cover the deadly ground in between. The knights and nobles were in the rear, of course. A reserve force ready to charge forth if needed.

The field was criss-crossed with earthwork ditches, trenches and traps of sharpened stakes. Part of the field had been flooded to slow any advance and bog down any attempted cavalry charge to make them easy pickings for the archers.

It was a good defensive layout. Many of the Jegu army would die this day, perhaps so many that the siege would be ineffective until winter arrived. Then, the great advantage would be with the well-provisioned city.

But if they siege was allowed to go on too long, those in the city would starve or die of pestilence.

The way I saw it there were two ways in which we would surely lose. One, if the army was strong and determined enough to last out the winter, and two, if they were so strong that they could break down the defensive walls quickly before winter arrived.

Today’s battle could well mean the difference between the Jegu being able to successfully siege the city or not. If we could weaken them enough, we would have the upper hand from this day forth.

But what of the god and his magic? I had witnessed the strange music of the herald. If this was repeated I thought I might have a way to counteract it, but what else lay is store? And what of the god himself? He had not yet been seen. What might his powers be?

I stood near Captain Rosten who was astride a warhorse. More to be able to see rather than fight. It was important that he be able to stay abreast of the flow of the battle so that he could move his troops to better advantage.

Above all the men, nearest the entrance to the city gate stood the king and his generals. Each general had a drummer and a flagman to send commands to the troop leaders. Certain rhythms meant certain maneuvers. I too had a role. Certain songs on the pipes meant certain commands. But also I was there for inspiration. A fighting song on the pipes could fill a man’s heart with pride, and sometimes his ears with pain if the piper were inept.

Olo had come to me earlier. He was flustered, trying to get his scant leather armor tied on properly. He peered out from beneath the dented, over sized helmet they’d given him. It was lucky he’d found anything to wear at all.

“I’m still worried about, Molly” he told me.

“Don’t worry, Olo. I guarantee you that she is fine. A buddy of mine saw to her, helped her and the children relocate. Evidentially, she got into it with the tailor, must have been the close quarters and the tension of the war. He gave her some gold and sent her to stay at the inn rather than his house and now everything is fine. She’s happy and safe and so are the children. Don’t fear for them. Be strong. You’re their protector today.”

I could see some of the worry and tension leave his face. “Thank you, Carl. I just needed to know she was all right.”

“No problem.” I patted him on the back and tightened a buckle on his leather cuirass. “Now, let’s kill some Jegu so you can return to her a hero tonight.”

“Aye,” he said and lifted his halberd in salute.

“But Olo, remember to be careful. Bravery is not stupidity. Dead heroes do wives little good. Do the right thing at the right time. Sometimes it is right to withdraw so that you can fight again in strength. This is going to be a long siege and you will be needed to guard the city walls. Listen to the sergeant. Keep tight in the formations. Do not hesitate to kill. You need to come back for your wife and children. Don’t take foolish risks.”

He nodded. “I’ll remember, Carl.”

He stood now with the others, all in a line the steel points of their halberds glinting in the morning sun. Some were shaking with fear, some were dull with resignation, others were too stupid to be afraid. These, I knew, would die first.

I watched along with the others as the Jegu army approached. They had marched in block formation, also arranged in three battles each with sections devoted to pike men, archers, halberdiers, swordsmen and cavalry. As they arrived, they broke formation just beyond bow range and spread out in a line so that every man would be able to participate in the fray. They outnumbered us, but not significantly.

They were entirely silent. In fact the whole battleground was as quiet as death as the two armies faced each other.

A group of priests arrived and stationed themselves behind the line of fighting men. A procession followed carrying the holy of holies, a golden reliquary supposedly containing Jegu.

The reliquary was a pyramid shaped golden box, there were inscriptions across all four faces, but they were much too far away to be read, even by my enhanced perception. The cap of the pyramid was of golden and polished to a mirror shine. It was carried upon a platform of intricately carved dark wood. This platform was connected to two long poles bound in brass and was borne by four blind monks.

As if on cue, the priests began a low, monotonous chant that cut through us all and made the ground vibrate gently. The Jegu soldiers closed their eyes and raised their faces toward the sky. They extended their hands upward, open palmed, as if receiving some boon from the heavens.

I could see that our troops were becoming nervous.

“What, is it raining?” I yelled. It was all I could think of at the time.

There were some chuckles in our ranks. Without waiting for a prompt from Captain Rosten I began playing the pipes.

It was not a war song, strictly. Actually it was more of a lively drinking song. It countered the somber, ominous tones of the Jegu priests and created a spontaneous eruption of laughter from many of the men. It broke the tension and rallied the men’s spirits.

I glanced up from my playing to see Captain Rosten. He smiled at me and gave me a small salute.

The song of the Jegu priests ended.

“Come on then, you pansies! Let’s see how you fight!”

I looked to see who had spoken and saw it was Olo with a fierce grin clutching his halberd with white knuckles. Several of the other men also starting taunting the Jegu.

“Pig fuckers! Your god can kiss my ass!” a man said.

“Come and get a kiss from me you sorry traitors!” a swordsman called waving bare steel.

Cheers and taunts erupted all around me. They grabbed their privates and thumbed their noses and made a general disreputable show of it. I was proud of them. I knew well how they were actually each feeling the awful cold grip of fear deep in their guts. They were proud and true, these men, and I hoped that somehow, Jegu would fail. But the logical part of my mind, which had witnessed battles beyond number, knew that even though they stood an excellent chance in a fair fight, Jegu was not going to fight fair.

They began their first charge.

Our preparations proved valuable. They didn’t bother trying to send in the cavalry because the pits and barriers would be too deadly. Their horsemen had dismounted and ran toward us along with the other men at arms. A wave of screaming soldiers with the distant eyes of zealots ran toward our ranks.

The attempts at conversion were over. The preliminaries were through. This was the beginning of the fight to the death. Either the Jegu would be stopped, or they would likely swarm over this kingdom, the next and the next.

I played a war song, a tune that I had heard first over two hundred years before in the mountains far West of Guldon. It was a rousing song that filled the souls of those who were in earshot with a deep pride and a furor to fight on. As I played, I wove the fibers of magic and calmed the nerves of the men. I played to give them strength and sharp thinking. I played to help them survive. Although I refused to lie to these men and make them believe that they fought for the gods and eternal life, I’d be damned if I wouldn’t give them every edge I possibly could against the abomination of Jegu. By the time the forces clashed together, the Guldon army would be ready, eager, and dangerous.