Chapter Thirteen
Sardec sat in his chamber in the Inn, wrestling with his dissatisfaction. He was tired from a long day of supervising his troops. The Foragers were an unruly bunch at the best of times and keeping them hard at their practise manoeuvres had been difficult. Plus his wounds still ached despite all the spells of the regimental wizards and all the alchemy of the regimental healers. He knew he was not at his full strength. At least he was in better condition than poor Master Severin.
He was not entirely happy with the Colonel's practise of continuing the training exercises through the period of Mourning. It seemed to him almost blasphemous although he could understand the reasoning behind it. With war coming they needed to be ready.
Servants had already cleaned his room. All his gear was in place. He had checked, because you could never be sure with humans. The only thing missing was his sword, which was still being purified by the priests. He found that he missed it badly. It was a link with his House and family and their glorious heritage, a reminder of all the things he had to live up to, and which he feared he could not. A prayer crystal on a black ribbon dangled above the window, part of someone’s attempt at Mourning Time decoration.
Sardec had brought a small platter of bread and cheese and a jug of water with him. He took the Mourning seriously, and felt disgusted that some of his brother officer’s did not. It was a link with the Old World of Al’Terra and the high history of the Terrarchs. Briefly he took time to consider what it represented, the death of a world and of an angel and the casting out of the last remains of a mighty people, into exile on a strange world of demon — worshipping barbarians.
Mourning Time taught an important lesson to his people. It showed that though the Terrarchs had been beaten they had risen again triumphant. The royal island of Talassa might have disappeared below the sea, carrying all its shining towers with it, and the Princes of Shadow and the corrupt hordes that followed them might have driven the Terrarchs from their lands and destroyed their whole civilisation, but his folk had passed through the ancient portals that linked the worlds, and found a new home here on Gaeia. A mere ten thousand of them had conquered the short-lived humans and taught them the ways of true civilisation. They had built a new nation under strange skies, the mightiest empire this world had seen since the time of the Elder Races.
He thought about Lord Azaar. There was someone who truly understood what it meant. The Lord of Battles had walked the glades of Al’ Terra and fought beside the Three Hundred before the Fall. He had fought his long private war against the assassin cult of the Shadowblood who killed his family. He had seen the blessed light of the Eternal Realm and spoken to the Dragon Angel Adaana herself. He had planned the conquest of the ancient barbaric human empires, and he had led the armies of the Scarlet Queen during the Great Schism that had brought down the First Empire. When the Dark Empire had risen in the East following that hell-bitch Arachne, he had fought its armies to a standstill. His was a name that still struck fear into the hearts of Talorea’s enemies.
The General’s dispatch to this small army was not too surprising. Even if it was war, this force was not going to be the main spearhead. This was not a glorious post at all, as Sardec was in a position to know. Sending the General who had planned and executed the Conquest here could be construed as something of an insult but everyone knew Azaar was out of favour at the court. The young Queen was no longer so young, and she no longer needed her old guardian, tutor and protector. Perhaps it was as his mother claimed and Arielle was asserting her independence by casting Azaar and Asea and others among the First from the light of her favour. That was natural Sardec thought. He could understand why she would want to sweep away the Old Guard and replace them with more modern advisors.
There was a knock on the door.
“Enter,” he said. One of the serving wenches came in. She was a pretty girl as human’s went, plump and cheerful. Tonight she wore only a thin shift and he was uncomfortably aware that the curves of her body were very visible below it. Suddenly the room felt strangely warm and his mouth felt strangely dry. He strove to remember her name and found that he could not.
“What is it?” he asked. She made a small curtsey and looked up into his eyes. Her lips parted invitingly. Was she coming on to him? Her eyes went down and a faint flush came to her cheeks. He found his own eyes drawn downwards to her decolletage. He wrenched them away, feeling a little embarrassed and oddly, guiltily aroused himself.
“What is it, girl?” She held out a silver plate to him and he noticed there were letters on it.
“Came in with the courier, sir. They are for you.” Her voice was low and husky and he thought he heard a note of invitation in it. He knew that Jazeray and the others often had their way with these wenches, but such pleasures were beneath him. Still…
“Leave it on the table then,” he said, his voice gruffer than he intended. She walked slowly and sensuously across to the table, put the plate down, and then turned to look at him. Again there was that frank, measuring, inviting look.
“Will that be all, sir?” she asked. He found his eyes flickering momentarily towards the bed. She noticed his look and made a small involuntary movement in that direction. Not wanting to be misinterpreted, he said, too hastily.
“That will be all, girl. You may go.” She looked at him oddly.
“Are you sure, sir?” A small flash of anger passed through him, as well as an odd reluctance. Who was she to question her betters?
“Of course, I am sure, girl.” Slowly and almost reluctantly she went. And almost as reluctantly he let her go. Once she was gone, he loosened his tunic and slumped down in his chair. He felt ashamed and embarrassed. For a brief moment there, he had felt the urge to throw her on the bed and bury himself in her, to rut like a beast with one of the lower orders.
That was not seemly, he thought, though it had been happening to him more and more of late. Such feelings were common to Terrarch males of his age, the thirties were famously a dangerous time, but he found the whole concept disgusting. He pushed the thought from his mind. He got up stalked about the room and then eventually picked up the letters.
He allowed himself to sit down on the bed, and begin to work through the mail. He crossed his legs neatly as he lounged back in his armchair. His thoughts drifted back to their new commander. Perhaps Azaar really had lost his gifts as some claimed. Certainly his long slide from the Queen’s favour showed that he had lost his grasp of the basics of Terrarch politics. He had fallen a long way from the pinnacle of prestige he had once occupied.
Sardec shook his head. As his father always said, gossip was the curse of the Terrarchs. We are a race with too much time on our hands and too much malice in our hearts. It was an old joke. Put three Terrarchs together and you will get five conspiracies. His experience in the army had allowed him to see the truth in that.
There were several letters. He put the one from his sister aside for later reading, and opened the one from his father at once. It began with the customary formalities, his father was a stickler for them, and then got to the meat of the matter;
My son, good news indeed. My old friend, the Lord Azaar, has been appointed commander of your Regiment and its associates in the new army of the South Eastern Provinces. I had word from Count Urazel at court this morning, and it appears our beloved Queen, may she reign ten thousand years, placed her signature on the document this morning. I have written to my old comrade and requested a place for you on his staff. I feel sure that this will be granted.
I cannot stress enough how you must do your utmost to serve your new commanding officer, and not alone because that is every officer’s duty. He is worthy of every respect, and of your emulation. I will be most happy if you take him as your model in all things. Pay particular attention to his thoughts on matters military, my son, for Azaar is the finest General the Exalted ever fielded, and there is much to be learned from a commander who has never lost a battle. You may find some of his thinking perhaps a little unfashionable, but Azaar has always been a committed Scarlet, and I feel it is speaks well of him that he remains so even when it is no longer the orthodoxy of
