Chapter 2: Departures (Part 4)

The troop transports were preceded by almost the entire Erennin navy, two hundred triremes, sharp powerful rams at their prows and manned by marines so skilled on the water that they could throw a spear lying down on deck. Following the neat line of warships, the troop transports followed, once cargo ships with huge holds, now carrying a different cargo. Two hundred bluff-bowed ships, each nearly forty paces in length, waddled through the water, horses and men and materiel piled high. The weather was good; most of the crossings in the past two decades had been smooth and uneventful. Merchants had plied the water, their ships growing in size since they could afford to put more of their eggs in one basket than before. Pirates were not known in this ocean. Storms were nonexistent, apparently. Lounging on deck, Talamioros could almost make believe he was just on a pleasure cruise to some coastal city in Arboriel.

But the men in armour and the nervous neighing of the horses spoiled all that. The ships were crowded, and it was hot and stuffy down in the hold. The food was bad, to say the least. Salted meat and arkasiz—a kind of flatbread that insects did not want to touch and most humans as well—was hard to choke down, and for once you heard the soldiers groaning when dinner was announced. Of course, there was also the constant sound of retching. Talamioros might have thought it impossible, but some of the soldiers had still not gained their sea legs, and often heaved up the contents of their breakfast on deck or into the sea. Seasickness was a curse, and Talamioros had come very close to throwing up himself on many occasions. But that was over, now; he was used to the gentle rolling of the sea.

There was nothing to see but the clouds above and the water below. The navy’s sailors were doing all the sailing, and there were no oars so the soldiers did not have to do any rowing. There was nothing to do but engage in conversation, walk around the deck like some caged animal, or engage in some mock combat to keep in shape and practice. Often, duels, trios or even small melees could be seen on other ships, wooden swords, staves and real armour being used as groups fought it out using every fighting style they had, parting with bruises all over but in high spirits. Talamioros often watched in great amusement, but also with a mild pang of sadness as he knew no one would fight him; the last time he had fought for fun, he had faced ten Guards alone in Myrgora barracks, and they had all parted with seriously blackish bruises on areas of the body that would have been fatal wounds had real weapons been used. After meeting together in the Guard encampment outside Ylldelia, the word had spread, and now no one at all would challenge Talamioros, and it was simply not done for him, as their superior, to challenge them. Especially when he was their commander; it would merely seem like he was boasting to them, making them feel inferior. He had to make do with the salutes or even cheers that followed him wherever he went. Talamioros had to face the truth; he was seriously bored.

In Talamioros had taken to brooding day to day at the railings, occasionally poring over the map of Erennia-in-Arboriel that had been left on the ship. He had written the word Voruna on the area marked out as Erennin; Lalikai had earlier mentioned that the Arboriellin Erennin called their province by that name.

The afternoon was cool and there was an unnatural amount of clouds in the sky—it seemed that the very earth was trying to shake off the cloak of winter and put on the mantle of spring. The sun being obscured, it was quite comfortable to read on deck. Talamioros had spread out the map on the wood, and around him were a scattering of curious soldiers also come to find out more about the land they were headed for, a province of the kingdom that they had never seen. Quite often, too, these were the ones who, as quickly as they had come to squat by the map, also quickly departed to make an offering of their previous meal to the goddess of the sea.

Most of Voruna’s major cities were coastal; the conquered city of Abubey was one of the few that had been built inland. On the northwest tip of the province, jutting out into the sea, was Demula. The capital of Voruna, as Talamioros knew, it was well-garrisoned and strongly-walled, as was almost every other major city. But what was it like? Almost on cue, Lalikai descended on one knee beside Talamioros, seemingly appearing from nowhere.

“Reading the map, I see, my lord. Is there anything you would like to know about Voruna?”
“Well, you could start by telling me of the enemy. You have told me they are called the Thelomanni, and that they are like the Ismaransi of old, fighting without armour and fierce. But yet I do not see a Thelomanni realm, but several—see, there are two bordering Voruna…”

“My prince, Thelomannia is a divided realm. It is ruled by a high king from their capital of Tal’tial, but he has little power. These realms you see are actually separate Thelomanni kingdoms held together nominally by the High King. They do not act in concert, which is why our armies can concentrate against Semiduros Talos,” replied Lalikai, tapping his finger on the more northern neighbour of Voruna.

“I don’t believe I haven’t asked this before. How many men have you in your army?”

“The field army, or including garrisons?”

“Both.”

“Well, the field army alone has about twenty-five thousand men. With garrisons added, it could go up to as many as fifty thousand. But many of the garrison soldiers also work at other jobs in the city when they are off-duty, so they are not very well-trained. We lost almost four thousand of them in Abubey. When the city was taken they fled, and those who remained were allowed to leave with their lives. The garrison troops are only good behind walls.”

“How many men do you think the Semiduroin have?”

“About forty thousand, I should say. At least, that many presented themselves before Abubey. They conquered the city by sheer weight of numbers. And trickery.”

“Oh? Trickery…how?”

“Abubey had one wall facing a forest just thirty paces away from it. They attacked our exposed walls with rams and most of their men, so most of the garrison defended the attacked sectors, leaving the forest wall unguarded. We thought it would have been enough protection, the trees. Who was to know the Semiduroin used the trees as cover to come right up to our walls. One night, while most of the enemy assaulted the exposed walls, six thousand of them came right up to the wall, slaughtered what guards there were—very few, I can tell you—and went down into the city unopposed. Before we knew it the gates were opening and it was all over. Only five days from beginning to end.”

Talamioros nodded. He pointed at the capital. “My first task when I arrive in Voruna is to organise the defence of Demula in case the enemy army arrives there after the defeat of the Voruna army. In the case of a victory, which I think rather unlikely given your description of the way the Thelomanni fight, we will concentrate our forces at Demula, and strike for the Semiduroin capital, Nogalo.” He pointed at the coastal port, about sixty leagues away to the west. “In the meantime describe Demula briefly to me.”

“Demula is situated on a plateau that juts out to sea, almost an island, really. Not like Ylldelia, the whole of Demula sits on the plateau. It is only connected to the mainland by a very narrow neck of land, only some one hundred paces across. There is a citadel built on the highest part of the island, just overlooking the harbour where the plateau terminates in a cliff almost eighty paces high. Apart from the harbour and several places along the southern side of the city, Demula is completely surrounded by cliffs. A very defendable place. Its walls could rival Ylldelia’s, I think.”
A trumpet sounded from one of the distant ships, and these were echoed by others, followed by the running of a string of flags up the masts of every ship. Puzzled, Talamioros stood up and called to the sailor in the tiny crow’s nest at the top of the mast.

“You up there! The lookout! What do those flags mean? I can’t read navy signals!”

The lookout peered down, recognised Talamioros. “My prince! There’s a storm coming up, right behind us!” He pointed towards the stern, where, just visible and approaching fast, a line of angry grey clouds stretched from horizon to horizon. Even from this distance Talamioros could see the occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the underside of the clouds, and the greyish gossamer-curtain of the rain falling onto the sea. Biting off an epithet, Talamioros ordered all the men belowdecks as the sailors battened down hatches and prepared the ship for the storm’s impact. Of all the ships the storm had to visit, it had to be these, carrying the elite of Erennia’s army. When the storms had hit the unlucky ocean-crosser, invariably their ships would be badly damaged, barely limping into port. Some never made it out of the storms. Talamioros fervently wished the storm would fade quickly, but in the face of such might, there was really nothing left to do now but to sit tight, pray hard, and hope as few men would be lost as possible.

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