“Partnership.” Ethilda’s mouth twitched a little in suppressed amusement. “What quaint notions you have, miss.” Her lips broadened into a smile as she extended the contract and pen to Tekela. “Come, my dear. Your very dainty hand is needed.”
CHAPTER 14
Sirus
“Varestia,” Morradin said, a sneer curling his broad lips as his gaze tracked over the pencil-line Sirus had sketched on the map. The marshal’s thoughts went on to form the old Eutherian term for the region, one born of the many wars the Empire had fought there: the Sewer of Malcontents.
“A formidable target then?” Catheline asked, her red-and-black eyes shifting between Sirus and Morradin. The principal captains of the White’s army were clustered around the navigation table on the bridge of a large freighter recently renamed the Malign Influence, the new flagship of their fleet. Following behind were over sixty ships of varying sizes, together with numerous towed barges laden with Spoiled. In all the army now totalled some sixty thousand formerly human souls but, from the grudging concern leaking from Morradin’s thoughts, it might well prove insufficient for the task ahead.
“The Corvantine Empire was never able to fully control the region,” Sirus said. “Even after it had been officially conquered. Rebellions were frequent and the attrition of Imperial forces constant. When the previous revolution broke out, the Empire was obliged to withdraw its forces to reinforce the northern provinces. Following the revolution repeated attempts to reconquer Varestia met with disaster.” Sirus’s gaze flicked to Morradin. “Including one led by you, I believe, Marshal.”
“Fuck you, boy!” Morradin spat. Sirus didn’t bother to conceal his satisfaction at the marshal’s blossoming rage. “And fuck your mother,” Morradin went on. “I was second in command of that expedition, as you well know. And we’d have won if that fool admiral had listened to me . . .”
Be quiet.
Morradin’s teeth clacked as his mouth slammed shut in response to Catheline’s thought-command. He stood with nostrils flaring and eyes blazing as Catheline turned back to Sirus. “You were saying, General?”
“The Varestians’ success in defeating the Empire was largely due to their command of the sea,” Sirus went on. “And a willingness to put aside long-standing clan rivalries to pursue a common aim. Their society is famed for its supposed brutality but is in fact remarkably stable and cohesive, due in part to a strictly observed code of ethics and the practice of resolving irreconcilable disputes through duels rather than large-scale conflict. The geography of the region also presents numerous challenges. So many islands offer numerous refuges for enemy vessels and many opportunities for ambush. Then there is the question of numbers.” Sirus fell silent, turning to Veilmist in expectation.
“The Ironship records seized at Feros,” the Islander began in her unhesitant, precise Mandinorian, “contain a demographic analysis of the Varestian region. It was compiled five years ago when the Syndicate was considering seeking a formal arrangement with the Varestian Ruling Council regarding trading concessions. It concluded the region is home to approximately thirty million people. This is based on the availability of arable land and consumption of imported food-stuffs, a more reliable method than the Corvantine census, which is notoriously inaccurate. This means that in the event of a large-scale conflict the region could muster close to four million recruits of military age, including both men and women.”
Catheline arched an elegant eyebrow at Veilmist. “Four million? That does seem rather a lot.”
“This is the figure they could amass under ideal conditions,” Veilmist replied. “The true figure, given the challenges of local terrain, factional conflicts and logistical difficulties, will be much lower. Perhaps as low as one million, and even then that would require several months of organisation.”
“Let’s say we give them”—Catheline pursed her lips in consideration—“just one month. How many are we likely to face then?”
“Given the armed citizenry already on hand, local militias and likely rate of recruitment, between two hundred to two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Forest Spear spoke up, which was a rarity in these meetings as he tended to make any contributions mentally. However, since Catheline’s ascension Sirus had noticed an increased tendency amongst the Spoiled to communicate verbally. He assumed she just liked it that way. “We faced more in the islands,” Forest Spear said in his guttural but still-comprehensible Varsal. For some as yet unexplained reason the tribals seemed to prefer the Corvantine common tongue when speaking aloud, not that it mattered. All languages were equally understood in this army. “Warriors born and bred for battle,” Forest Spear added. “And still they fell before us.”
“But they didn’t all possess fire-arms,” Sirus pointed out. “Neither did they possess a large fleet of armed ships crewed by the best sailors in the world.” He turned to Catheline, compelled by her desire for unalloyed truth. “We don’t have the numbers for a successful conquest. Or the ships.”
Morradin gave a pained grunt, drawing Catheline’s gaze. She smiled and unlocked his mouth. “Something to add, Marshal?”
“The southern coastal ports of the Empire,” he said, stubby finger jabbing at a series of successive points on the map. “Each one separated by at least fifty miles, unable to come to the other’s aid should they be attacked.”
“Population?” Catheline asked, turning to Veilmist.
“Five million all told,” she said after a pause of only a few seconds. “But dispersed. Melkorin, the most westerly port has a population of only eighty-five thousand. Even allowing for the vagaries of the Corvantine census, it would seem a manageable objective. I estimate the recruitment yield to be close to twenty thousand Spoiled, allowing for a three to four percent casualty rate amongst our own forces.”
“And when we’re done there,” Catheline said, a note of approval in her voice as she traced her crimson finger-nail along the coast, “we’ll have yet more fruit to pluck. Excellent reasoning, my dear. You are as clever as you are beautiful.”
Sirus managed to summon enough fear to mask his disgust at the warm gratification these words provoked in Veilmist’s mind. Even the Spoiled, it seemed, were not immune to the flattery of a beautiful madwoman.
“Any additional concerns, General?” she asked, her gaze swivelling to Sirus as she sensed his fear.
He shook his head. “Only an observation that battle is always uncertain,” he said.
She laughed, moving closer to pat his arm, her hand lingering to caress taut muscle beneath his sleeve. “But that’s what makes it so stimulating.”
Catheline stepped back, closing her eyes momentarily as she communed with the White, which had chosen to perch itself on the wide aft deck of the Malign Influence, along with its clutch of juveniles. After a moment she opened her eyes and favoured them all with one of her brightest smiles. “Consent is given. Please plot a course to Melkorin.”
“Are you angry with me?” Catheline asked as they dined together. The Malign Influence lay at anchor a mile south of Melkorin and Sirus could see the flames rising above the harbour wall. “For keeping you from all the fun,” she added, sipping her wine.
They had dined on sea-trout, expertly poached by a former head chef from one of Morsvale’s more exclusive restaurants. Upon finding the fellow amongst the ranks of Spoiled Catheline had immediately appointed him as her personal cook and dined every day on lavish meals of the highest quality. She always ate dinner on the observation deck to the rear of the bridge, seated at a table complete with an ornate silver candelabra, plates of antique Dalcian porcelain and silver cutlery.