Chapter-2-3

⁠—⁠—⁠— III ⁠—⁠—⁠—

The army of Mongaul was in mourning. The proud banners displayed at the head of the host now trailed sadly at half-mast, and the captains wore bands of black cloth bound about their arms and helmets—an unprecedented sight in the midst of such a fierce campaign. In ordinary times the stalwart warriors of Gohra would show no sign of grieving, even over close comrades, over brothers. There would be time enough for sorrow when the campaign was done. Until then the corpses could be left to rot upon the field.

But this time was different. The army which had borne the deaths of thousands grieved now for the loss of a single noble captain. Even the cruel death of Viscount Leegan had not slowed the Mongauli advance, but now the mighty invasion force had been staggered by the loss of Count Marus, leader of two thousand blue knights and lord of Tauride Castle.

On such a day of loss, the burden of command descended with fearsome weight upon Lady Amnelis, the eighteen-year-old general of the Mongauli army. The certain knowledge that every soldier had pledged total loyalty to her—that these thousands of trained warriors functioned as an extension of her will and would unquestioningly lay down life and limb to carry out her commands—brought little comfort from the onus of her duty. The commanders of the army waited in uncertainty for Amnelis to decide on their next course of action. Even the faithful Astrias, whose admiration for the young general reached far beyond the bounds of mere loyalty, would have hesitated to say that the icy noblewoman was thoughtful or prudent. Amnelis was ice, but she was hot and passionate ice. When she was angry, her anger was fierce and direct—sometimes impetuous. The elder Marus, experienced and famous, had served to counterbalance the general’s fierce intensity. Marus had followed Amnelis like her own shadow, his steady presence inspiring the soldiers to greater effort, reassuring their belief in their eventual victory. When the young lady made her decisions too quickly, the elder noble had restrained her, and when her wrath had fallen too severely upon her subordinates he had comforted the disheartened.

But now Count Marus was gone, and the Mongauli army wore its unheard-of symbols of mourning. A wordless quiet had settled on the army. The lady and her staff were the most silent of all: ever since Amnelis had received the sad news of Marus' death she had been inconsolable, weeping for the death of her “uncle” who had cared for her when she was a child. She seemed to have lost her fiery vitality; trusted officers who had once been close to her could no longer find ways to comfort her, and a pall of worry had settled over the army’s high command. The leading knights could only observe now from a distance. They moved warily about Amnelis' tent, careful to make no sound.

Only Feldrik, Gajus, and some guards and servants had been allowed into Amnelis' pavilion, where the broad flaps of the entryway had remained firmly fastened since the tragedy. The sense of desperate uncertainty was almost more than the footmen and knights could bear. The Mongauli rank and file were as shocked by the death of Count Marus as their leaders, for his death had cast a grim shadow across all their future prospects. Uneasy murmurs rippled through their numbers.

“What will become of Mongaul?”

“Can the expedition continue without Count Marus?”

“How long are we going to carry on like this? When will we be allowed to go home?”

“First we lost Leegan Corps, and now all of Marus' blue knights. How can we call ourselves conquerors when Sem ambushes are cutting us down so fast?”

The battered army had dug in to lick its wounds at its latest bleak encampment. Intermittently the captains led their men through familiar drills while the restive horses stamped at their pickets. In their free time the soldiers sat around, sneaking smokes or nibbling dispiritedly at their scant provisions, quietly passing gossip. Ordinarily such behavior would never have been tolerated, but now even the troop captains seemed to have been infected by the low spirits of the camp, here upbraiding their aides over imagined faults, there resting beside their mounts with uncharacteristic lethargy, chewing vasya fruits and brooding silently. As often as not it was the camp orderlies who added to the confusion by spreading rumors from half-heard conversations. The rumors grew quickly as the anxious Mongauli could not but whisper amongst themselves. For all the soldiers’ anxiety they had little choice but to wait—and brood—since Lady Amnelis remained secreted in her tent, not issuing orders, not even talking to her commanders. Gone was the stabilizing influence of the veteran Count Marus, who had shown equal skill at advising the lady-general and calming disturbances among the rank and file. Now the Mongauli began to feel that they had been led astray only to wind up stuck in a forsaken desert; the troops felt exposed and unprepared, surrounded by an ever-changing swarm of half-imagined perils.

In addition to the general disquiet, a certain particularly disturbing rumor, repeated uneasily by the soldiers, had begun making the rounds of the camp.

“Have you heard what they’re saying?”

“About what?”

“You haven’t heard, then? I can’t believe it. It’s about what happened to Count Marus! I got this from Yuvan, so I’m not sure if it’s true or just another of his tales, but still…”

“Sure, sure! Just tell me what you heard!”

“Well, the long and short of it is, the reason Marus Corps got wiped out completely, is…”

“Yes?”

“Everybody is saying there was a traitor in their midst!”

“A traitor? Doalspit! I don’t believe it!”

“Quiet! Not so loud!”

“But do you realize what you’re saying? That one of our own brothers betrayed us?”

“I told you, not so loud! It’s just a rumor… a rumor. Still, it makes sense. If someone in our army was trading secret messages with the Sem, he could easily have led Count Marus and his men into that hellish valley, and set ’em up for the ambush.”

“But we are the proud knights of Mongauli What kind of madman would debase himself by betraying us to those ignorant monkeys? Anyway, it’s impossible. No one can speak their language, if you call that gabble a language.”

“Like I said, it might be just a rumor.”

At that point a sly-looking knight who was passing by stopped and joined the conversation.

“No, it’s more than a rumor all right.”

“Ah! Garum, you of the sharp ears! Have you heard something new? If you have, tell us!”

Garum drew closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you something I heard in secret from a friend in Irrim Corps. As you know, he led the soldiers who went to rescue Marus.”

“Yes, yes…” The others gathered around the newcomer.

“There’s no doubt that there was a spy.”

“A spy?”

“I can’t believe it!”

“It’s true nonetheless. And by now our leaders know the name of this traitor even though they haven’t told us knights. According to my friend in Irrim Corps, by the time the footmen entered the valley, most of Count Marus' knights had succumbed to fire and to the boulders and poisoned arrows the Sem had rained down on them. But not everyone died immediateIy. Irrim’s men were moved to tears by the slaughter, but they still managed to beat down the flames. They found several survivors, terribly burned, who had kept alive by sheltering under the bodies of their comrades. These men were brought to Captain Irrim, and as they died they clutched at him with their peeling hands, and with what was left of their lips they whispered the story of their downfall—and the name of the traitor, the sole survivor, who escaped to continue his unclean alliance with the Sem.”

“Great Janos! What are we going to do?!”

The knights glanced fearfully at the sky, as if it might suddenly collapse, and then regarded each other unhappily.

“Betrayed to the Sem. I still can’t believe it!”

“Maybe my friend was just being stubborn, but that was his story; he insisted it was true.”

“But how can humans and monkeys even make an alliance?

“Those Sem are nothing but filthy monkeys!”

“Yes—but they must be clever monkeys, to fight us as they have and lay a trap that tricked Count Marus!” Garum was annoyed that the others still doubted him. “Have you forgotten that monster that leads them? He’s human, even if he wears the head of a leopard. Maybe he’s the one who made a deal with our betrayer—not that he seems to need any assistance.”

“But we didn’t even see the leopard-headed warrior at the last battle…”

“Shoo,” the others raised their voices to silence the speaker, almost panicked by the mention of Guin.

“Don’t even speak of him! That is an evil spirit hiding in the body of a man.”

“Yeah, what if we called it to us, by speaking of it?”

The knight who had been hushed blustered, “Hah! I am not afraid of the monster. I hope I get the chance to unmask its true features.”

“So you say. But I suspect those boasts would turn to screams pretty quickly.”

“What…!”

“Oh, stop it! Anyway, if our captains know the name of the traitor, they’ll deal with him sure enough.”

“I suppose.”

“They know where he came from. Marus Corps. Not many of them left to choose from, eh?”

“If they do know who it is, I wouldn’t want to be in his boots when they catch him! Can you imagine what kind of torture he’ll suffer when the Sem are defeated and we drag him in?”

“I still can’t imagine why he would have done such a thing. Selling Marus Corps to the monkeys and the leopard-monster!”

“Aye… What was he thinking?”

“What kind of reward could he hope for in return for such treachery?”

“To become King of the Monkeys and to rule the yidoh and the wastes of Nospherus? ‘Lord of All Nospherus,’ surrounded by sand leeches and vampire moss, never able to see his friends or set foot in his home town again!”

“Hardly seems worth it, eh? Why, indeed?”

As the day dragged on the conversation continued haphazardly, the knights repeating the same questions again and again but finding no answers that they could believe.

“Treachery—but why? What was the motive?”

The same doubts dripped acidly from the lips of the Mongauli leader.

Amnelis had remained secreted in her pavilion for almost half a day, lost in the sorrow of Marus' death, with Gajus and Feldrik her only companions. During that time, Irrim of Talos Keep and his lieutenant Goran had been kept waiting outside, their requests for entry rejected by Amnelis' guards and servants until the two knights were nearly frantic. Although they, too, were saddened by the death of Count Marus, they were burning with the need to tell the Lady Amnelis what they had discovered; the long delay had strained the limits of etiquette. It was only after the two anxious warriors had stood for several twists sweating in the hot desert sun that they were finally permitted to enter.

The interior of the general’s pavilion was swathed in gloom, the only illumination coming from a few oil lamps burning low along the walls. In the dimness Amnelis, wearing an informal bodice, reclined upon her divan; the shadows concealed the signs of recent grief on her face, helping to maintain the carefully cultivated image of strict composure of the Lady of Ice. But Irrim and Goran had no time for such details. As soon as they were admitted to her presence they began to spill out the alarming story of Marus' betrayal and the threat it posed to Mongauli unity.

At first Amnelis appeared to pay little heed to the dramatic tale, her face inscrutable in the shadows under the fall of her long blond hair. Gajus and Feldrik seemed to take more interest in the tale, but they held their peace while the black knights had their say. Finally, as Irrim stuttered on with excitement, his words tumbling out in disorderly bursts, Amnelis sat up on her cushions and stopped him short with her stinging voice.

“Treachery—but why? What was the motive?”

The lady-general’s self-control had cracked; she uttered the two questions scathingly, fixing the two knights with a withering stare.

“It cannot be,” she added. “What could any true Mongauli possibly want with the Sem? For what would he betray us?”

“Perhaps… Ah…” At a loss, Irrim and Goran looked at each other and shrugged uncertainly.

Turning from them, Amnelis settled back into silent introspection. Then, abruptly, she stood and began to pace violently about the tent.

“I cannot imagine how it could have been done…” the lady spoke stiffly, twisting her slender fingers in agitation. “I just cannot believe it! None of my soldiers would even have had the opportunity to contact the Sem in secret during our endless battles across Nospherus. And what could the traitor gain by doing such a thing? What could the wildlings promise him? The chance to spend the rest of his life among the Sem, in the midst of desert monsters? What could half-witted monkeys possibly offer to make a Mongauli turn traitor? No, I cannot believe it.”

“If…”

Everyone turned in surprise as Gajus broke his silence.

“If this person is indeed Mongauli.”

Amnelis spun around quickly and glared at the runecaster. “What are you implying, Gajus?”

“Perhaps, my lady, we should consider the possibility that the traitor never swore loyalty to Mongaul in the first place. Perhaps he was an agent sent by fallen Parros, or by an enemy in Gohra—Kumn or Yulania…”

“Wait.”

Amnelis ceased her pacing. She looked now as though she had recovered from her earlier shock. With a clap of her hands and a few quick gestures she summoned her servants and sent them to fetch cold drinks; then she turned again to her counselors.

“This is a serious matter, Gajus.”

“Yes…”

“You realize that if what you just said is true, then the worst has happened. Our expedition is Mongaul’s secret of secrets—if it stands revealed, we will never be able to recover. If indeed a traitor from outside Mongaul has penetrated our ranks disguised as a loyal retainer and has been privy to our plans, then the worst is true. That would mean the enemy’s hand has reached the Marches patrol—and perhaps even into the Golden Scorpion Palace itself.”

“I hesitate to ask if there is something you have, ah, overlooked…” Gajus directed Amnelis' thoughts obsequiously. “The twins of Parros, my lady. After they managed to escape from the Crystal Palace, despite all our efforts to apprehend them they managed to cross the River Kes and join the Sem in Nospherus.”

“Ah!” Amnelis let out a low exclamation. Then she cried out again, louder, and struck her hands together furiously. “I had forgotten the Pearls of Parros! Somehow they slipped from my memory. What have I done!”

The lady seized a glass of honey wine from a servant and drained it in a single gulp, as if trying to calm her excoriated nerves. Then she commenced to pace about the tent again. But there was a difference in her movements, now—a fierce purpose—and it was obvious that beneath her blond hair her mind was working furiously. The rest of the company held their silence as she paced, and Irrim and Feldrik dropped their eyes to the floor, reluctant to intrude upon her thinking.

“Parros,” Amnelis whispered, and then she raised her voice as though convinced. “Parros! That is it. I am certain of it now. Always it is Parros—every time! That old ensorcelled kingdom ever bars the way for Mongaul, vexing our ambitions! And now, unknowingly, we have let a spy of Parros among us!” The lady-general gnawed her lip in frustration, remembering the twins she had momentarily held in her grasp, and their freakish demigod-protector. Not only them—she thought, too, of the citizens of the crystal city who had desperately resisted her conquest. “Gajus!”

“Yes, my lady?”

“What is your opinion?”

“It is likely that you are correct. Our spies in Kumn and Yulania would have told us if those archduchies had discovered Mongaul’s intentions, so it seems unlikely that the traitor came from either of them. I suspect the remnants of Parros have indeed formed an alliance with the Sem, since the wildlings have given shelter to the twins.”

“If that is true, then our situation is very grave.” Amnelis' lips tightened. “Feldrik.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“As soon as possible you must provide me with a list naming every soldier in this expedition whose history and identity is unclear.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

“If only we had realized this earlier—but no! Let us not think of that. If there are still some of Parros' agents among us, we must see to it that they do us no more harm.” She paused, and the gleam in her eye grew colder before she spoke again. “Anyone of doubtful loyalty must not be left alive. Soldiers with unfamiliar accents. Those with relatives in Parros. Those with peculiar habits or questionable attitudes. Don’t overlook anybody suspicious. Find them all and put them to the question!”

“Yes, my lady, I understand.”

“Send out a command to the captains to make a note of any whom the Sem seem to have avoided shooting with their poisoned arrows or attacking during battle—and Irrim!”

“Yes, my lady?”

“The traitor’s name—you said that a blue knight spoke the name as he lay dying.”

“Yes, my lady. Only one of the blue knights remained alive when we reached the valley, but he named the traitor—a man who had earned Count Marus' trust yet betrayed his debt of gratitude, a man who lied to the blue knights and led them into a trap in the village of the Sem, then sacrificed them to our enemies! It was said that Count Marus was able to hurl his sword and wound his betrayer in the right ear before the man fled.”

“What is his name?” The Lady of Ice had regained her perfect self-control; her voice was firm and deliberate, although her knuckles whitened as she grasped a silver goblet.

Irrim lifted his bearded face and spoke clearly, his words seeming to resonate in the tent. “Eru of Argon.”

“Eru of Argon…” Twice, three times Amnelis repeated the name, as if tasting an echo. Then she said coolly, “If this man should ever be captured by the knights of Mongaul…” The lady waved her hand dismissively, as if consigning the wretch to a fate so miserable it could only be guessed at.

“Yes, my lady, I understand.”

Now Amnelis spoke slowly as though she had reached a final decision. “Feldrik, gather the captains at my pavilion. From this moment onward, we will permit no further arrogance from the Sem! Separate our scouts into small troops, and send them east, west, south, north—have them scour the desert until they discover the wildlings’ main encampment! Until then the main body of the army will assemble here and prepare for the final decisive battle. You are not to let a single Sem, warrior, woman, or child, live to see tomorrow’s sun. Is that clear?”

Feldrik bowed with deep respect. “Yes, my lady.”

Amnelis' calm, quiet words had produced a greater effect on her subordinates than any yelling or display of temper could have. Feldrik had turned to hurry from the tent when the general’s voice halted him.

“Additionally, tell the captains the name of Eru of Argon. Tell them that the one who catches him alive will receive a reward of ten thousand raan and a promotion in rank. If any should kill this Eru by mistake before he can be punished, that man will receive a hundred lashes before my eyes. I want the leopard-man, the twins of Parros, and the traitor taken alive. Don’t leave any Sem breathing. Make sure the next battle will truly be the final one! No longer will I tolerate the wildlings’ existence. If they retreat, drive them into a corner and slay them, and if they surrender, slaughter them where they stand. Is that clear? This will be Marus' funereal battle.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Now go.”

“Yes. My lady.”