“We’ll be at Ashhur’s Bridge within the hour,” Antonil said as Tarlak stuck his tongue out at the surgeon. “Soon we’ll all get the rest we need, and even better, the food our bellies have been grumbling for. Will that make up for the wizard?”
“It’ll do.”
Antonil patted Tarlak on the leg.
“Get better,” he said. “Oh, and try not to be too annoying.”
“No promises,” came slurred speech from the wagon as Antonil hopped back down. His smile, while natural in there with Tarlak, soon became forced as he wandered through the rest of his army. Of his thirty thousand, only five remained, and very few of them walked with their heads held high. Their faces were sunken and thin, crying out for sleep and food. Antonil wished he could give it to them, and he thanked Ashhur they had finally made it to Ker.
The loss of so many made him sick to the stomach whenever he thought about it. He’d been at the front, trying to reach the catapults shattering their ranks. When they finally broke through the orc line, their commander had issued a retreat. From atop the hill, Antonil watched the orcs pull away, and he denied his men a chance to chase after. There was no point. He guessed the orcs had two thousand left, maybe three. Perhaps they would have overrun them, but he didn’t want to risk it, not with a broken army. They’d left the dead where they were upon the hillside, gathered up every shred of supplies into their few remaining wagons, and then traveled west. From then on, the orcs had left them alone, as if knowing they’d accomplished what they needed to keep their land safe.
Retaking Veldaren was now but a dream. Antonil did his best to accept it, to push that sting aside while there was nothing he could do about it. Securing aid from King Bram was all that mattered now. Whatever promises he had to make, he’d make, and whatever humiliation he must endure, he’d endure. If he had to kiss Bram’s ass cheeks he’d do it, so long as it got food in his soldiers’ bellies.
At the head of the army were their few horses, and Antonil mounted one. Despite everything, he had to appear lordly, especially before a fellow king.
“Are we ready?” he asked Sergan, who had been waiting for him.
“We’ve given out the last of our water,” he said. “Our food will last maybe three more days, but I kept it rationed. No sense being wasteful until we know how badly Bram’s going to gouge us for his aid.”
“You’re a good man, Sergan,” Antonil said. “What would I do without you?”
“Go hungry and thirsty, I’d say,” Sergan said with a tired smile. “At your word, we’ll march.”
“Consider that word given. Let’s go home.”
The army moved out, and it didn’t take long before they caught sight of civilization. The smoke of campfires drifted lazily into the air from the direction of the bridge. At first Antonil was heartened by the sight, but then, as the river neared, he felt worry growing in his empty stomach. The number of fires, the amount of smoke, was far beyond any normal garrison. They’d received no response from the messenger he’d sent out, but that wasn’t surprising. His orders had been to forgo sleep and rest as much as possible on the way to Angkar. Most likely he was recovering from the trip, hopefully in far nicer conditions than Antonil and his marching army found themselves in.
“That’s a lot of smoke,” Sergan said as he sidled alongside Antonil, showing he’d noticed the same.
“If Bram’s there, it’d make sense for him to have an escort.”
Sergan shrugged and stared at the sky.
“Big escort then.”
Despite their apprehension, there wasn’t much else for them to do but continue on. When the bridge came in sight, the army gathered there did little to improve their mood. Just as when they entered Ker through the Bloodbrick, Bram had gathered his ten thousand men and set up camp before the bridge. Antonil was too exhausted to feel anything more than mild irritation.
“Keep the men calm,” Antonil said, glancing back at the rest of his army. “I don’t want anyone trying to rush across. Bram will want some sort of payment, I’m sure of it, and I want to know what that payment is before we cross.”
“Yes, milord.”
His five thousand slowed, then came to a shuffling stop before the entrance to the bridge. Antonil rode ahead, not bothering with an escort. He saw Bram dismounting from his own horse and walking out to meet him.
“Friend!” Antonil cried, widening his smile. “It is good to see you.”
Bram stopped just outside the bridge, and he slowly shook his head.
“I dare not say the same,” he called out. “What is it you come here for?”
Antonil hid his frown as he gestured to his army.
“Did I not say as much in my letter?” he asked. “My men are hungry and thirsty. An orc army ambushed us, their numbers greater than we ever thought possible. I…we…all of us require aid as we travel toward Mordan, and I will gladly pay you back a hundred times if need be.”
Bram stared at him, and the lingering silence made Antonil unconsciously reach for his sword. What was it that the man so clearly debated?
“No,” he said, his sudden words slicing through the silence. “You will not be entering my lands.”
Antonil stood frozen, with only years of training keeping his voice calm despite his inner furor.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When you last came here, you mocked my right to enforce my borders,” he said, shaking his head. “In doing so you mocked the right of my sovereignty. You scorned the power of my crown. The nation of Ker is not your servant, nor your slave, nor your child. If you would return to your home, then go another way.”
“Another way?” Antonil said. “There is no other way. Please, Bram, let me make up for my pride, but do not punish these men.”
“This has nothing to do with your pride. Your angels flew into my lands under cover of night. They killed my guards, all so they might capture a man under my protection.”
The words hit Antonil like a sledge.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Ask them, should they come for you,” Bram said. “But I was promised freedom from your angels’ tyranny, and I was not given it. I warned you, yet you would not listen. Already your angels kill my men, and now you would have me feed an army allied with such beasts. No, Antonil, I will not let you through. If this is the only way for you to understand the dangers you court with Avlimar, then do this I must.”
Briefly Antonil pondered an attack, but he was outnumbered, and when previously crossing the bridge he’d seen firsthand the extensive defenses they’d built into it. There would be no forcing his way across, not in the state his men were in.
“Please,” he said, his voice softer. “Bram, don’t do this. Don’t punish my men like this. They’ll starve.”
Bram crossed his arms and looked away.
“I am not without mercy,” he said. “I’ll send across some wagons containing food, and there is plenty of water to boil from the river. It will tide you over for a time, perhaps long enough for you to think on your many errors. Oh, and Antonil, don’t try to have anyone swim across. I assure you, we’ll be watching.”
Bram turned, cloak flailing behind him as he crossed the bridge. Antonil heard the first of many fearful cries filter through his army, yet there was nothing he could do. He clutched his sword tighter, teeth clenched, and cursed Bram in every way possible.
“So what are our options?” Sergan asked as they settled down for the night around a small campfire. The two were separate from the rest of the army, the other generals scattered throughout to ensure order. Antonil wanted to be alone with his friend, to speak his mind without fear of panic or scorn.
“I’m not sure what other choice we have,” he said. “It seems Bram is determined to humiliate us, but I don’t think it extends beyond that.”
“You don’t know that,” Sergan said. “What was that nonsense about the angels?”
Antonil shook his head.
