Read Online The Second Empire by Paul Kearney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Kearney
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Fournier said drily. “Aras, you have met with him more often than any of us. What do you make of him?”
The young colonel hesitated. “He’s—he’s strange. Not like most career soldiers. A bitter man, hard as marble. And yet the troops love him. They say he is John Mogen come again. There is even a rumour that he is Mogen’s bastard son. It started when they saw him wielding Mogen’s sword on the battlefield.”
“Mogen,” Rusio grunted. “Another upstart bedmate of the Queen’s.”
“That’s enough, Colonel,” Fournier snapped. “General Menin, may God be good to his soul, obviously saw something in Cear-Inaf, else he would not have posthumously promoted him.”
“Martin Menin knew his death was near. It clouded his thinking,” Rusio said heavily.
“Perhaps. We will never know. Do we have any inkling of our current commander-in-chief’s plans for the future?”
“It will take time to reorganise and refit the army after the beating it took. The Merduks have withdrawn halfway to the Searil for the moment, so we have a breathing space. There is no word from Berza and the fleet, though. If they succeed in destroying the Merduk supply dumps on the Kardian, we may be left alone until the spring.”
“We have some time to work in then. That’s good. Gentlemen, unless anyone has a further point to raise, I think this meeting is over. Venuzzi, I take it your people are all in place?”
The steward nodded. “You shall know what he has for breakfast before he has it himself.”
“Excellent.” Fournier rose. “Gentlemen, good night. I suggest we do not all depart at once. Such things get noticed.”
In ones and twos they took their leave, until only Aras and Willem were left. The older officer rose and set a hand on Aras’s shoulder. “You have your doubts about our little conspiracy, do you not, Aras?”
“Perhaps. Is it wrong to wish for victory, no matter who leads us to it?”
“No. Not at all. But we are the leaders of our country. We must think beyond the present crisis, look to the future.”
“Then we are becoming politicians rather than soldiers.”
“For the moment. Don’t be too hard on yourself. And do not forget whose side you are on. This Corfe is a shooting star, blazing bright today, forgotten tomorrow. We will be here long after his glory-hunting has taken him to his grave.” Willem slapped the younger man’s shoulder, and left.
Aras remained alone in the empty room, listening to the late-night revellers below, the clatter of carts and waggons in the cobbled streets beyond. He was remembering. Remembering the sight of the Merduk heavy cavalry charging uphill into the maw of cannon, the Fimbrian pikes skewering screaming horses, men shrieking and snarling in a storm of slaughter. That was how the great issues of this world were ultimately decided: in a welter of killing. The man who could impose his own will upon the fuming chaos of battle would ultimately prevail. Before the King’s Battle Aras had thought himself ambitious, a leader of men. He was no longer so sure. The responsibilities of command were too awesome.
“What will it be?” he said aloud to the firelight, the glowing candles.
Either way, he would end up betraying something.
FIVE
H IS wooden heels clicked on the floor like the castanets entertainers danced to. She had tried to make him don shoes, but he seemed fascinated by the sight of his timbre toes tapping on marble. Many times he sagged or slipped and she had to steady him. When she did, the pain speared into her ribs, making her breath come short. He had struck her there with his new knee as she held him down in the midst of Golophin’s magicking. But there was no time for trivialities like that. Hebrion had a king again. With her help he was stalking and staggering up and down the Royal chambers like an unsteady lion pacing its cage.
And I have a husband, the thought came to her unbidden. Or will have. A man half human, and the other
The young colonel hesitated. “He’s—he’s strange. Not like most career soldiers. A bitter man, hard as marble. And yet the troops love him. They say he is John Mogen come again. There is even a rumour that he is Mogen’s bastard son. It started when they saw him wielding Mogen’s sword on the battlefield.”
“Mogen,” Rusio grunted. “Another upstart bedmate of the Queen’s.”
“That’s enough, Colonel,” Fournier snapped. “General Menin, may God be good to his soul, obviously saw something in Cear-Inaf, else he would not have posthumously promoted him.”
“Martin Menin knew his death was near. It clouded his thinking,” Rusio said heavily.
“Perhaps. We will never know. Do we have any inkling of our current commander-in-chief’s plans for the future?”
“It will take time to reorganise and refit the army after the beating it took. The Merduks have withdrawn halfway to the Searil for the moment, so we have a breathing space. There is no word from Berza and the fleet, though. If they succeed in destroying the Merduk supply dumps on the Kardian, we may be left alone until the spring.”
“We have some time to work in then. That’s good. Gentlemen, unless anyone has a further point to raise, I think this meeting is over. Venuzzi, I take it your people are all in place?”
The steward nodded. “You shall know what he has for breakfast before he has it himself.”
“Excellent.” Fournier rose. “Gentlemen, good night. I suggest we do not all depart at once. Such things get noticed.”
In ones and twos they took their leave, until only Aras and Willem were left. The older officer rose and set a hand on Aras’s shoulder. “You have your doubts about our little conspiracy, do you not, Aras?”
“Perhaps. Is it wrong to wish for victory, no matter who leads us to it?”
“No. Not at all. But we are the leaders of our country. We must think beyond the present crisis, look to the future.”
“Then we are becoming politicians rather than soldiers.”
“For the moment. Don’t be too hard on yourself. And do not forget whose side you are on. This Corfe is a shooting star, blazing bright today, forgotten tomorrow. We will be here long after his glory-hunting has taken him to his grave.” Willem slapped the younger man’s shoulder, and left.
Aras remained alone in the empty room, listening to the late-night revellers below, the clatter of carts and waggons in the cobbled streets beyond. He was remembering. Remembering the sight of the Merduk heavy cavalry charging uphill into the maw of cannon, the Fimbrian pikes skewering screaming horses, men shrieking and snarling in a storm of slaughter. That was how the great issues of this world were ultimately decided: in a welter of killing. The man who could impose his own will upon the fuming chaos of battle would ultimately prevail. Before the King’s Battle Aras had thought himself ambitious, a leader of men. He was no longer so sure. The responsibilities of command were too awesome.
“What will it be?” he said aloud to the firelight, the glowing candles.
Either way, he would end up betraying something.
FIVE
H IS wooden heels clicked on the floor like the castanets entertainers danced to. She had tried to make him don shoes, but he seemed fascinated by the sight of his timbre toes tapping on marble. Many times he sagged or slipped and she had to steady him. When she did, the pain speared into her ribs, making her breath come short. He had struck her there with his new knee as she held him down in the midst of Golophin’s magicking. But there was no time for trivialities like that. Hebrion had a king again. With her help he was stalking and staggering up and down the Royal chambers like an unsteady lion pacing its cage.
And I have a husband, the thought came to her unbidden. Or will have. A man half human, and the other
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