“Stand down. Let us hear him out.”
A clear voice cut through the tension like a knife. The ranks of the southern soldiers fell aside, and a woman strode through them with her head held high. Kiork’s eyes widened. He had seen her before.
“Lady von Loeing...”
She stopped before him with a soft smile. “A pleasure to see you again, Margrave.”
She was the granddaughter of High General Trye Hlín von Loeing. Her grandfather’s rebellion had brought House Loeing to the brink of collapse, and they had only survived by disavowing him at the first opportunity. Kiork had been monitoring them under the pretext of taking them under his wing, but they had shown no sign of discontent. Indeed, they had sent their only daughter to the central territories to serve as a civil tribune, effectively volunteering her as a hostage. She was perhaps the last person he had expected to see here now.
As Kiork stood in shock, Lady von Loeing turned around to cast her eyes over the southern troops. “I know you grieve for Lord von Muzuk,” she said, “but you cannot let anger cloud your eyes.”
She was too new to her post to have made a name of her own, but none could fail to recognize a high general’s granddaughter, and the rank of Shield of the South still carried weight. The soldiers would listen to her more readily than a margrave they considered a lapdog of the east. Indeed, their tempers had cooled, and they seemed prepared to hear her out. Many of them no doubt still felt indebted to her grandfather.
“An army of monsters is marching on the capital as we speak,” she said, “and they would like nothing better than for us to keep quarreling between ourselves. If we can’t put aside our differences and stand together, there won’t be an empire for us to defend.”
The southern soldiers did not seem appeased, but they could not deny the truth in what she said. No one moved to object.
“Words, not blades, will get us out of this. Let us hear what Margrave von Gurinda has to say.” She lowered her head. “For the sake of the empire’s future, I beg you to set your outrage aside.”
Kiork joined her in a bow. “As do I. All I ask is your ear. If that is not enough, you may have my head.”
The offer was a sincere one. If he could not convince them to stand down, he would not be able to look his niece in the eye. Dying seemed preferable to living with the shame of failure.
“Please, give me the chance to change your minds. That is all I ask.”
He sensed their hostility cooling. Perhaps there was still a chance. He was tempted to feel a sliver of hope, and he had to caution himself not to let his guard down. The empire’s troubles were many. The battle in the central territories was the most prominent, but the fall of Friedhof was a close second. So long as the wall lay open, monsters would pour through, and if Beto’s correspondences were to be believed, High General Hermes had perished in the fighting. Kiork’s heart tightened in his chest. His worries were far from over.
＊＊＊＊＊
“It’s snowing...”
Herma raised a hand and watched a snowflake settle in his palm. It melted, and the water trickled away between his fingers. He looked up at the gathering clouds. They were dark and heavy, affording no sight of clear sky beyond—much like the empire’s future, he thought wryly.
“It’s time,” Phroditus said behind him.
Herma turned to look at his sister. She had always followed him without complaint, and he loved her for that, but he knew it had robbed her of the chance to find a good marriage. She did not seem to mind, but he privately hoped that she would retire to a quieter life once the war was over. The only question was whom she would wed. The only northern house prestigious enough for House Heimdall was House Brommel, and Phroditus would not want to marry into a family of traitors, but she would have no interest in looking south either—a quandary no less daunting than the recapture of Friedhof. It would have to wait, however. There were more pressing matters at hand.
“Very well.” Herma set off after his sister, letting her lead the way to the strategy meeting. “Where is House Brommel?”
“Already here. With their soldiers, we’ll have seventy thousand.”
The siblings had made camp near what remained of Malaren in advance of their ploy to retake the Spirit Wall. With the supplies and troops volunteered by the local nobles, their forces were steadily swelling, but they still did not have the numbers they needed. In Herma’s estimation, purging Friedhof of the occupying monsters and stemming the flow from the Sanctuarium would take the entire combined forces of the north, and even then, it would not be a sure thing.
“Lord von Heimdall!” a soldier called. “I bring word for Lord von Heimdall!”
Herma set his thoughts aside and raised a hand. The soldier sprinted up to him and dropped to one knee.
“My lord, an emissary has arrived from King Surtr of Baum!”
“From Surtr?”
“Yes, my lord. Do you wish to see him?”
“At once. Phroditus, go on ahead. Tell the others I’ll be late.”
“Of course.” Phroditus nodded and left.
Herma turned back to the man. “Show me to this emissary.”
“At once, my lord. Please, this way.”
He followed the man through the camp to a large pile of wooden crates near the entrance. At first, he took them for supplies, but then he noticed the soldier kneeling before it in a formal bow. By the man’s black garb, Herma surmised he was a member of Surtr’s renowned Crow Legion.
“Forgive me, my lord,” the soldier said. “This delivery was meant for High General Hermes, but the monsters barred the way.”
“Let me warn you, if you’ve brought provisions, we already have our fill.”
“These are spirit weapons, my lord.”
Herma’s eyes widened. “Every crate?”
His surprise was understandable. The pile was not small. If each crate contained spirit weapons, Surtr had sent a great number indeed. Herma knew nobles who had bankrupted themselves for a single such blade. Even in the relatively wealthy empire, only the likes of great houses could afford them. A mound of such weapons was almost impossible to imagine.
“Do you speak truly?” he asked finally.
“By all means, see for yourself.”
Herma approached the pile and opened one of the crates. A stash of spirit weapons, each wrought with masterful skill, stared back at him.
He closed the lid again firmly. “My thanks to King Surtr.”
A shiver ran through his body, but he managed not to let it show. He turned back to the soldier who had guided him there. “Send word to my honor guard. They are to guard these with their lives.”
The soldier bowed his head. “At once, my lord.”
“And as for you,” he said, turning back to the Crow Legionnaire, “I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll see you furnished with dinner and drink. As you can see, we’re strapped for resources, but you’ll have the best we can offer.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the man said.
“No. Thank you.”
Herma realized he was smiling and slapped his cheek, reminding himself to focus. The spirit weapons were a great boon, but they would be worthless unless placed in the hands of people who could use them. A single one was too valuable to waste. He would have to think long and hard about whom to choose. Still, there was no denying they represented a light in the darkness.
“Would you look at that?” he murmured. “The gods might just be on our side after all.”
He glanced up. The snow had lifted, and a single shaft of sunlight shone down through the clouds.
＊＊＊＊＊
The sky had grown dark, and the moon emerged from behind the clouds to shower down its light. Dusk was drawing in. On the western horizon, the sun still struggled against the onset of night, dyeing the land red. The imperial and monstrous armies drew apart in the fading twilight. Bodies littered the ground between them, death in such quantities it left nowhere to stand. Broken swords, shattered spears, and all manner of battlefield debris littered the plain, ready to foil the footing of any who ventured in. The survivors forged through regardless, treading the corpses underfoot as they fell back.
Liz watched in silence from afar, holding her hair down against the wind. She narrowed her eyes at the monsters’ lines.
“All this fighting and they’re still itching for more.”
Monsters were too dim-witted to have morale in the sense that human armies did. They fought more by impulse—they would quail and flee if the tide turned against them, and they would plunge fearlessly into the fray if they saw an opening or were sufficiently provoked. One thing this battle had revealed, however, was that with only a handful of exceptions, they were herd animals. Therein, Liz suspected, lay their weakness—once their cohesion was broken, the human forces would have the upper hand. That was something to discuss further once Aura arrived. She would no doubt be able to turn Liz’s observation into a winning battle plan.