Ships from the West

from Aras?'

The young officer seemed to gulp for a second, then jerkily proffered a dispatch case. 'Sir—'

'Read it out, if you please. All present needs must hear it.'

Ensign Roche flipped off the lid of the leather tube and unrolled the paper within. He cleared his throat. 'It is dated six days ago, sir.

' 'Corfe, I write in haste and without ceremony. The bearer of this dispatch will give you a fuller picture of conditions up here than my penmanship ever can. He has experienced them first-hand. But you must know this - we have been swept out of the plains entirely by a large-scale advance of the enemy. Not one patrol can be sent out without encountering huge numbers of the foe, and in the past week we have lost heavily in men and horses. I have been tempted to essay a large-scale sally myself, but prefer to wait for your approval before attempting so major an operation. The Finnmarkans and Tarberans are still not yet up, thanks to our bridge-burning, but the Himerians have numbers enough without them it seems. I would hazard that they have already stripped Charibon of much of its garrison. They mean to take Gaderion, that much is plain.

'There is more. We are encountering something new, something which the bearer will be able to inform you of more fully. These Hounds, as they are called - they are beasts of some kind, or men that can become beasts at will. The rumours have been flying about the continent for years, as we all know, but I have had patrols, demi-tercios of good men, slaughtered like rabbits by these things, always in the night, half-glimpsed. Our intelligence-gathering is non­existent now. I believe that soon we will be under siege.

'Man for man, we are better soldiers than the foe, but this new thing we do not know how to fight, and there are no Dweomer-folk about to advise us. I need reinforcements, but also I need a way to fight back. I need to know how to kill these things.

'Officer Commanding Gaderion, Nade Aras.''

There was a concussive silence, as though the wind had been taken out of all their mouths. Corfe spoke first. 'Ensign Roche, you have encountered these things General Aras speaks of?' ‘I have, sir.'

Corfe flapped a hand impatiently. 'Tell us.'

Briefly, tonelessly, Roche recounted the fate which had befallen his patrol two sennights before. The attack of the fearsome, half-seen beasts, the death of his sergeant.

'We found the bodies in the wood after it had gone, sir.

They had been torn into pieces, twelve men. We had only heard that one shout. We saddled what horses remained, doubled up in the saddles and made our way back into Gaderion that same night.'

'You left the bodies unburied?' Comillan snapped.

Roche ducked his head. I am afraid so, sir. The men were panicked, and I—'

'It's all right, Ensign,' Corfe said. He turned to the old mage who stood at his side listening intently. 'Golophin, can you enlighten us?'

The wizard sighed heavily and stared into his empty glass. 'Aruan and his cohorts have been experimenting for years, perhaps centuries. They have taken normal men and made them into shifters. They have taken shifters and twisted them into new forms. They have bred unnatural beasts for the sole purpose of waging war, and these are now being unleashed upon the world. They destroyed the allied fleet, and now they will take part in the assault upon Torunna.'

'I ask you Aras's question: how do we kill these things?'

'It's quite simple. Iron or silver. One nick from a point or a blade made of either and the Dweomer which flows through the veins of these creatures has its current disrupted, and they die instantly.'

Corfe seemed slightly incredulous. 'That's it?'

'That's it, sire.'

'Then they are not so fearsome after all. You hearten me, Golophin.'

'The swords and pike-points of the army are made of tempered steel,' Formio said wryly. 'They will not bite, it seems. Nor will the lead of our bullets.' He looked quizzically at the old wizard.

'Correct, General.'

'We must get the smithies busy, then,' Corfe broke in. 'Iron blades and pike-points. And I'm thinking maybe some kind of iron barbs which can be fitted on to armour. We'll make of every man a deadly pincushion, so that if these things so much as lay a paw on him, they'll send themselves off to hell.'

The mood in the Bladehall lightened somewhat, and there were even some chuckles. The news from the west was bad, yes, but Hebrion and Astarac were not Torunna, and Abeleyn was no Corfe. The very sea itself might be subjugated to the will of Aruan and his cohorts, but there was no force on earth that would stop the Torunnan army once it had begun to march.

'Gentlemen,' Corfe said then, 'I believe you all know your duties for now, and Lord knows there's enough to be getting on with. You are dismissed. Ensign Baraz - you will stay behind.'

'Corfe,' Formio said in a low voice, 'have you thought any more on our discussion?'

‘I have, Formio,' the King replied evenly, 'and while you make very valid points, I believe that the possible gains outweigh the risks.'

'If you are wrong—'

'There is always that chance.' Corfe smiled, and gripped Formio by the shoulder. 'We are soldiers, not seers.'

'You are a king, not some junior commander who can be spared to hare off on a whim.'

'It's no whim, believe me. If it succeeds, it will bring down the Second Empire. That makes the gamble worthwhile.'

'Then at least let me come with you.'

'No. I need to leave behind someone I trust - someone who could be regent if the worst occurs.' 'A Fimbrian?'

'A Fimbrian who is my closest friend, and most trusted commander. It must be you, Formio.' 'The nobility will never wear it'

'The Torunnan nobility is not the fractious beast it once was. I have seen to that. No, you would have the backing of the army, and that is all that matters. Now let us hear no more of this. Continue the preparations, but discreetly.'

'Will you let him into our little secret?' Formio asked, nod­ding at Golophin, who was conversing with Ensign Baraz on the other side of the hall. Nearly all the other officers had left by now and the fire cracked and spat loudly in the sudden quiet. Felorin stood watchful as always in the shadows.

'I believe I will. He may be able to make some suggestion. There is always that bird of his anyway, a hell of a useful thing to have around.'

Formio nodded. 'There is something though, Corfe - some­thing about Golophin which does not feel right.'

'Explain.'

'Nothing, perhaps. It is just that sometimes I feel he should hate more. He has seen his king slain, his country enslaved, and yet I sense no hatred, hardly any anger in him.'

'What are you now, some kind of mind-reader?' Corfe grinned.

‘I find myself not wholly trusting him, is all.'

Corfe clapped him on the back. 'Formio, you are getting old and cantankerous. I'll see you later down at Menin Field. We'll go over those new formations again. But talk to the Quartermaster-General for me. Let's see how much scrap iron we can come up with.'

Formio saluted, spun on his heel, and left as crisply as a young officer fresh off the drill square.

'A good man, I think,' Golophin said, walking over from the fire. 'You are lucky in your friends, sire.'

'I have been lucky, yes,' Corfe said. Formio's words had unsettled him. He stared at the old wizard closely. 'Golophin, you said you had a reliable source in the Himerian camp. Would it be out of place for me to ask who it might be?'

'I would rather that his identity remained secret for now. He is an ambivalent sort, sire, a man unsure as to where his loyalties lie. They are sorry creatures, these fellows who can­not make up their minds what is black and what is white. Do you not think?' The mage's smile was disconcertingly shrewd.

'Indeed.' There was a brief moment where their eyes locked, and something akin to a struggle of wills took