We stood on the Dangerford-Red Cow trail looking west. The setting Sun was bathing the western sky with deep orange flame and distant Kero Fin was silhouetted in all her towering magnificence, casting her shadow far beyond us to the east. Behind us the spirits of Darkness had begun their escape from the glare of Yelm as He began his journey through the underworld, and were seeping into the blue sky of the eastern horizon like ink dropped into clear water. The summit of the Impossible Mountain was wreathed in dark clouds, and the occasional fork of lightning could be made out, striking the near-vertical and snow-covered slopes. The growl of distant thunder carried on the wind gave me a feeling not of menace, such as many Lunar soldiers felt as they marched through that shadow, but of awe and majesty. I halted my march and simply stood and listened to the Thunder God’s song. Kytaharnes eventually turned and stared at me expectantly.
“He is not dead yet.” I said. “Something will be lost if this place falls to the Empire. The tranquility within the Glowline erodes something of the world.”
“You weren’t thinking like this when you were freezing your cods off the other night,” He laughed at me.
“True,” I smiled. “You have laid my hypocrisy bare yet again.”
“We will be at Dangerford by midnight if we keep to this pace,” shouted the Karmenoi from up the trail, an implied command and not a statement.
Kytaharnes looked from me to his master and then back. I was stood looking at the stirring vista. I looked at Kytaharnes and nodded to him. He sighed, reached to his belt pouch and pulled free a small pouch which he threw in my direction. Then, with half a smile and not a word, he turned and began to trot toward the wizard, already a hundred metres away. Neither of them gave me a second look. I paused to reflect upon the view for a second more and then walked over to the pouch and retrieved it. I could feel several large coins through the leather. With a shake of my head I turned north, feeling the angry return of my hunger, kept at bay until now by the cheering presence of others.
I was not paying the attention I should have, and I heard the bells of the approaching mule train before I saw it, making me start as I realized that I had virtually stumbled into it. The caravan leader was a tall and lean man, bearded and red haired. He cut off a slice of the dried meat he had in his hand and pushed it into his mouth, slowly chewing as he regarded me. Then, he grabbed a waterskin from the mule to his rear and walked toward me with it extended. I took it and tilted my head back to drink deeply, only coming fully to my senses after the water had restored them. I passed him back the skin, and nodded. He nodded back, still regarding me in my disheveled state.
“Lunar?” he asked in Tradetalk. I nodded by way of reply. “Your people are regrouping at Herongreen. Most of the cities of Sartar have expelled their garrisons and are in revolt. You are heading in the right direction.”
“I need food and water. What supplies do you carry? I have coin.” I was becoming acutely aware of the others of this caravan, now approaching the two of us and halting to regard me. I was one and they were a few, and I was all but unarmed. One of them offered me a smirk and very self consciously hawked and spat on the floor. The leader shrugged and began issuing orders in guttural Sartarite. A couple of his men began unpacking a few objects from their mules.
“I need a new cloak. Something neutral, not red.” He had his back to me, but when he turned his head to the side to pick up my words I could see his eyebrows raise. He gave no other outward expression of surprise, however, and eventually located a long woolen cloak, dyed a nondescript tan colour. I took a waterskin and purchased some smoked meats and a large, soft cheese. I bought a new sack of thick hession to keep it all in and finally I bought a new pair of high leg sandals to replace my army issue ones. But for my scimitar, my rebirth was complete in terms of my outward appearance.
I flicked the merchant one of the large gold Carmanian coins which Kytaharnes had given to me. He looked from it to me suspiciously and was about to say something when I said to him, “Are we square?” That was enough, and he nodded and began his preparations to move on.
I passed northward, right across the plains of central Dragon Pass. When Darkness came, I could see the strangely iridescent glow of the Dragon’s Eye away to the west. It cast diaphanous lights across the lower horizon that moved through the air apparently with some mysterious draconic purpose. Reinvigorated with food and fresh water, it didn’t take me many days to get to Herongreen. The depot was alive with frantic activity. I was stopped by at least three patrols as I approached, and gave my name and intention in Tarshite. I sought to join with a mercenary company, I told them, and they took me at my word – I clearly wasn’t Sartarite, after all.
Everywhere within the environs of Herongreen there were soldiers and the sounds of soldiers. Military craftsmen plied their trade from tents, and weapons and armour of bronze were being forged night and day. I saw some fellows of the Heartland Corps and avoided them assiduously. There were Char-un and many Tarshites of the Provincial army, who it seemed were in the process of taking command. Then there were the mercenaries. I had seen their like before, and as a trained hoplite of the Beryl Phalanx, I had for my own part freely mocked them along with my peers. Now I was one of them, and many of the units were in the process of recruiting. Any unit that could boast of some kind of combat readiness by the time the Lunar Empire organized its inevitable counter-offensive would find work and wage. The recruiters were out in force trying to make up their numbers. It was an easy market to penetrate. I ambled over to a heavy infanteer in full battle dress shouting out for volunteers in Tarshite. He looked me up and down as I approached.
“Can’t use you. We’re phalanx, and we can’t kit you out.” He said, brusquely.
“I’ll equip myself, no problem. I’m heavy infantry, and there are plenty of armourers in this shithole who’ll take my money over Tarshite silver.” It was easy to slip into the soldier’s style of terse banter.
“Can’t argue with that”, he smiled. “Long spear and shield, helmet and greaves are all we ask. Rest is up to you. Handle it?”
“Reckon so. Short haul, though. I have business elsewhere after Fire Season.”
“That’s fine with me. Thoon’s my name, File Leader most of the time. You’ll meet the boss later, assuming you come back with the kit. We offer standard rates, and we’re on Lunar rations, which beats the shit out of some of the companies I’ve soldiered for. All in all it’s not too shabby.”
“What’s the score, anyhow?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “No-one to the south seems to know shit.”
“The Sartarites kicked off over some ancient piece of sacred ground. They malleted an entire column of the Heartland Corps – College of Magic too. The shit that fell from that little explosion covered just about everyone all the way up here - especially the Lunar command. Seems they happily walked right into it.”
“I can imagine. What’s happening now?”
“It’s early days yet, but we’ve heard that Wideread’s already moved his Command out of Furthest and his advance force left two days before that. They’re already at Slave Wall buying up supplies. He’s not going to do anything rash – he’ll just let the Orlanthi stew and get nervous and maybe start fighting amongst themselves for a bit. I reckon they'll all be just about shitting themselves. Reckon it was someone's daft idea that got out of hand. We’ll probably move out in early Fire Season. Might only take us along for show. We’ve heard rumours that they’re sending for the Crater Makers.”
“Yeah, if I had a Lunar for every time I've heard that…” I smiled despite myself. It felt good to be amongst my kind again; the soldiers of the phalanx, and I was blessed with a strange sense of freedom, one difficult to convey to those who have not locked shields alongside kinsmen of the spear. I trudged off through the mired footprints of other warriors into the organized mayhem that was Herongreen in the Sea Season of 1613. I was looking for a half-decent armourer who would sell me the kit I needed to join this mercenary company and return to war, this time on my own terms…