What a place!
Basaltic rocks, jagged and sharp. No horses could ride here – the lava beds cut their hooves to ribbons. And men on foot had to make long, lung-bursting climbs before reaching the enemy. He glanced to his left where the hospital tents had been erected. Eighty-seven dead so far, in five miserable days.
Turning he strolled back to his own tent, where an iron brazier glowed with hot coals. Loosening his cloak he cast it over a canvas-backed chair. His manservant, Becca, bowed low.
‘Mulled wine, sir?’
‘No. Send for Powis.’ The man scurried from the tent.
Altharin had suspected this assignment would not be as easy as the Emperor believed. Surround and exterminate a few hundred Nadir, then rejoin the main army at the southern camp. Altharin shook his head. The first attack had gone well. The Green Monkeys had sat and watched as the Gothir lancers rode in, and only when the killing began did they recognise that death was upon them. But when the scouts reached the camp of the Wolves they found it deserted, the tracks leading off into these cursed mountains.
Altharin sighed. Tomorrow the Brotherhood would arrive, and his every move would be watched and reported back, his actions questioned, his strategies derided. I cannot win here, he thought.
The tent-flap opened and Powis ducked into the interior. ‘You called for me, sir?’
Altharin nodded. ‘You have gathered the reports?’
‘Not quite all of them, sir,’ answered the young man. ‘Bernas is with the surgeons. He has a nasty wound to his face and shoulder. And Gallis is still on the peak, trying to force a path through from the north.’
‘What have you learned from the others?’
‘Well, sir, we have found only three routes through to the interior. All are defended by archers and swordsmen. The first is narrow and the men can move only two abreast. This makes them easy targets, not just for arrows, but rocks hurled from above. The second is some three hundred paces north. It is fairly wide, but the Nadir have moved rocks and boulders across it, making a rough, but effective wall. We lost fourteen men there this morning. The last route is the one Gallis is trying to force. He has three hundred men with him. I don’t know yet what success he has enjoyed.’
‘Numbers?’ snapped Altharin.
‘Twenty-one killed today, slightly more than forty wounded.’
‘Enemy losses?’
‘Difficult to say, sir.’ The young man shrugged. ‘Men tend to exaggerate such matters. They claim to have killed a hundred Nadir. I would guess the figure is less than half, perhaps a quarter of that.’
The manservant, Becca, ducked inside the tent and bowed. ‘The Lord Gallis is returning, sir.’
‘Send him to me,’ ordered Altharin.
Moments later a tall, wide-shouldered man entered. He was around forty years of age, dark-eyed and black-bearded. His face was streaked with sweat and smeared with black, volcanic dust. His grey cloak was slashed and grime-covered, and there were several dents in his embossed iron breastplate.
‘Make your report, Cousin,’ said Altharin.
Gallis cleared his throat, removed his white plumed iron helm, and moved to the folding table on which sat a wine jug and several goblets of copper and silver. ‘With your permission?’ he croaked.
‘Of course.’
The officer filled a goblet and drained it at a single swallow. “The cursed dust is everywhere,’ he said. He took a deep breath. ‘We lost forty-four men. The pass is narrow at the base, flaring out above. We forced our way some two hundred paces towards their camp.’ He rubbed at his eyes, smearing black ash across his brow. ‘Resistance was strong, but I thought we would get through.’ He shook his head. Then, at the narrowest point, the renegades struck.’
‘Renegades?’ queried Altharin.
‘Aye, Cousin. Drenai or Gothir traitors. Two swordsmen, unbelievably skilful. Behind them, above and to the right, was a young woman with a bow. She was dressed in black. Every arrow found its mark. Between her and the swordsmen I lost fifteen men in that one place. And high above us, on both sides, the Nadir sent rocks and boulders down upon us. I ordered the men to pull back, to prepare for a second thrust. Then Jarvik lost his temper and ran at the swordsmen, challenging them. I tried to stop him.’ Gallis shrugged.