Svalbard

Here is another part from the novel I am working on. I have moved it from another thread as I have posted most of the other material from this world in this forum.


CHAPTER 5 THE CONERAX

NANTER 1079 VP.

The four riders made their way through the narrow cobbled streets of Nanter’s old quarter. It was just after dawn, but the streets would remained in shadow. The buildings on either side seemed to lean over, to meet each other high above. It would be hours before the sun managed to cast some light down into the gloom of the streets.

Poor foundations and bad planning, thought Gregorious Valerian, waspishly. On this cold early morning ride, with three men he would not normally associate with, Gregorious reflected on the harsh injustices of life. The previous day he had been, if not happy, then certainly content. His position as a captain in Royal Guard earned him respect in the eyes of many. It was a respect that was hard won, through a lifetime of service to the crown, on countless battlefields from Heskaria to the City-States.

Twenty years it had taking him to win a place in the Royal Guard and another three to gain a captaincy. And now it was gone. One word from Rolf Del Chirtar and here he was, commissioned to the Conerax as adjutant to Prince Caric Gulnarson. What had that wastrel done to get sent here? Gregorious mused.

The riders approached the gates to the Conerax barracks and were brought to a halt when four guards stepped from the shadows to challenge them. The guards were in full armour, wearing blue surcoats over chain-mail hauberks. Emblazoned on the surcoats was the now infamous sign of the Conerax, a screaming eagle in full flight. Thirty years before, the first commander of the Conerax, had planted the screaming eagle banner in the virgin soil of the Far East, and exhorted his men to stand against dreaded Iron legions of the Dakar empire. On the sight of that bloody battlefield, the emerging city of Coneraxia now stood, the city of the war ground.

“State your business,” one of the guards called.

Caric leaned forward in the saddle.
“Prince Caric Gulnarson reporting to General Del Burg to take up command of the 1st Cavalry wing,” the Prince said, handing a rolled parchment down to the guard.

The guard quickly checked the seal. He could not read, but knew the seal of the King on sight. Giving his fellow sentries a bemused look he gestured for Caric to enter.
“My orders,” Caric queried, putting his hand out.
Dumbly the guard handed the note back and stepped to aside. As the riders passed one of the guards called out.

“Good race last week, your Highness, won ten silver pieces on you.”
Caric gave a snort and continued on.
“Was that Gregorious Valerian with him?” another guard said nudging his fellow.
“Looked like it,” the other said in wonder.

Passing the gates and onto the main parade ground of the Conerax barracks, Caric and his companions paused to work out their surroundings. Row upon row of squat, brown buildings stretched off into the fading night, lending the barracks a miserable sort of conformity.

“Let’s strike for the middle, surely we will find the officers’ quarters there,” Caric said, moving his mount forward.

As they neared the buildings a tall, broad shouldered man appeared at the portico of one of the larger structures. The first thing that struck Caric about the man was his baldness and the fact that he was smoking, not a pipe, but a massive cigar. The smoke wafted to them on the gentle morning breeze.

“Federate,” Gregorious said with surprise. This was an extravagance even by palace standards.

Then Caric noted the neatly trimmed pointed beard, dyed a deep dark blue colour. Well you won’t forget that face in a hurry, thought Caric, liking the man’s style.
Drawing up next to him, Caric gestured about the barracks. “Where in this place can I find General Del Burg and the officers’ mess.”

“Who is asking?” the man asked, his voice deep and rough.

Caric sat back in the saddle.
“Prince Caric Gulnarson and Captain Gregorious Valerian of 1st Conerax Cavalry wing,” Caric replied.

The man on the portico, an officer judging by the cut of his uniform, puffed on his cigar in thought, his eyes fixed firmly on the Prince.
“I am Relldmond Del Burg and this would be the officers’ quarter,” Bluebeard said, pausing as he looked Caric straight in the eye.

“You are a few hours early but no matter, we like eagerness in the Conerax. Captain Gregorious it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I look forward to having a man of your stature serving with us,” Bluebeard said.

Gregorious gave Bluebeard a dour look.“The pleasure is all yours, I’m sure, where are our quarters.”

Bluebeard’s smile remained fixed on his face. Later, he thought, leave it for later.

“There is a stable to the rear of the building and I will send an orderly to show you to your quarters. I will leave you to settle in and meet you again at breakfast,” Bluebeard said, putting the cigar back into his mouth and taking a long good pull on it.

“That was brilliant Greg, just the right kind of way to make an impression on the general,” Dagal said, as they made their way to the stables.

“If I wanted your opinion I would have asked and my name is……” Gregorious was saying when Caric snapped. “Be silent.”

From the shadows of the porch, a second man appeared.

“Not exactly the happiest of recruits,” he remarked.

“Can’t say I blame them, Risard,” Bluebeard replied. He had been surprised to see Gregorious Valerian with the Prince. Amongst the warrior elite the man was a legend and had fought in every Janterian conflict in the past twenty or so years. Most famously in the City-States when he had commanded the right flank of Alward Steward’s army at the battle of Dogemaar. The Conerax had fought that day as well but the glory had gone to Valerian and a young Prince Thrand. Damn! Thought Bluebeard, he pulled us out of the fire that day.

Risard Guistal who had also fought at Dogemaar, believed the Conerax had never received the credit they deserved for holding the line, ignoring the fact that it was crumbling when Valerian smashed the right flank of the Staters and relieved the pressure on centre.

“I will need to get clarification on his position. Technically the man out ranks us all and that could lead to problems,” Bluebeard said.

“What about the Prince?” asked Risard Guistal, rubbing a gauntleted hand against the rough stubble of his pockmarked face.

Bluebeard did not respond to the question, the wording of the King’s orders had made Caric’s position clear. He was to be subordinate to Tosaran and his regimental commanders. But he’d be damned if he turned the boy over to the tender mercies of Guistal’s command. The man, although a superb battle commander, had an unsavoury reputation if the rumours were to be believed.

‘Cutthroat Guistal’, was a name that Bluebeard heard regularly around the barracks and he had seen the man in action in the City- States. No, as far as Risard was to be concerned, Caric was to be assigned to Bluebeard’s regiment and he was sure Tosaran would second that.

Giving up waiting for a reply, Risard decided to change the subject.
“I do not know if you heard but last year, on the march east, my regiment broke your record. It only took me six days to reach the Mengar gate on the wall. Of course I recorded it with the wall’s castellan,” Risard said.

That gave Bluebeard pause. During the annual marches east the three regiments of the Conerax legion took great pride in the speed with which they marched and the time it took them to reach the great wall of Janter. For the last four years, Bluebeard’s regiment had held the honour of completing the trek to the wall in the quickest time, seven days.

Because of the nature of the Conerax’s duties the march was only done by any regiment once every two years. Coneraxia needed to be garrisoned permanently, due to its precarious position on the border of two ambitious empires. Another regiment was constantly billeted at Nanter to ease the king’s mind. This left one regiment always on transit either going to or coming from Coneraxia or on patrol duties in the wild march lands between Weshna and Carad.

This state of affairs lead to a flood of letters making their way to the palace, all of them demanding the same thing, more men. It was a constant gripe of Tosaran Stedarsson that he was over stretched and the nature of his duties seemed to indicate this.

Bluebeard gave Risard a cold smile; he really detested the man despite his fine skills of leadership.
“Then I will just have to do it in five days,” and with that Bluebeard turned his back and entered the officers barracks.