Prepare your hearts, my children. For there will be darkness before there is light; suffering before salvation. As there is invariably night before the dawn. A cycle never-ending and always repeating until the end of days.
Book of Earoni 20:37
The Present
Two days of hard riding had given Cassandra a chance to get into the proper mindset for battle. By the time she reached the village of Tuske late yesterday with reinforcements, her blood was already pumping with anticipation of confronting the rebels held up there.
Although it tore at her to leave Gurra, and also Deran, she couldn't bring herself to sit around a moment longer doing nothing more than supervising the construction of the Dragon Ships. They had made so much progress that she believed her administration of the project was no longer required. Both Deran's modifications and Cabbat's design and addition of the steam-driven paddle wheels were well ahead of schedule.
Her nights with Deran made what she would have otherwise seen as a mind-numbing waste of time worth it. His kiss and his touch granted her such relief from so many troubles that regularly kept her mind racing. Still, she felt that she needed a break from such things, no matter how pleasant and soothing. While she enjoyed the distraction, Cassandra also sensed she was losing a part of herself because of it. A part she desperately didn't want to give up.
A sense of duty and mission hardened her resolve to at least take a respite from their time together. Cassandra fervently believed she needed to reclaim that which she now considered missing from her very being. But the tug of war within her only intensified after returning to Roatsburg. She missed Deran more than her desire to continue on with what she had decided was her obligation to the eradication of the Hitithe Rebels. So, when the word came that insurgent forces were holding off Imperial troops in this small hamlet, and doing so successfully for the past week, Cassandra leapt at the opportunity to lead the reinforcements herself and engage in a distraction to her internal conflict.
She'd barely slept a wink since she had torn out of the garrison to head north with her men, renewed intent and purpose filling her. Once she had arrived with the additional soldiers just before nightfall and assumed command, the isolated conglomeration of scarcely three dozen buildings had fallen within hours.
Now, as the summer sun rose on the conquered village, Cassandra knew that the day would get hot because of how warm the air already was at this early hour. Her troops darted from building to building and retrieved anyone inside. Then they ransacked the structures for signs of their opponents while she reigned her mount in tight circles in the town square and observed the aftermath of their victory. Those that were being gathered for questioning were entirely old, sickly, women, and children. It was painfully obvious to her these were not the trained fighters that had been holding off her forces.
There had been a few bodies of slain dissidents recovered after they had stormed the town, recognizable by the various pieces of jewelry they wore with the cursed marking of the Greater Goddess upon them. Their corpses were stacked in a most unceremonious heap next to a growing pile of seized weapons, but there were not enough of either to account for the resistance her forces had encountered. Cassandra realized many of the rebel scum had fled like cowards during the previous night as the noose was tightening around their necks. The only remaining question was how.
Even without a rebel fighter left alive to interrogate, she figured those remaining behind had to have useful information. And that knowledge needed extracted, by any means necessary. "Lieutenant!" she called to a soldier overseeing the mass of bodies and armaments. "Any luck with the interrogations?"
His response was less than enthusiastic. "None yet, Sub-General."
Cassandra's mood soured at that news. "I want to learn where those cowards disappeared to!"
To interrupt her anger, another of her men approached, prodding an elderly man with a long white beard before him. He wasn't terribly beaten up, but he was definitely the worse for wear. Being shoved into the dirt at her horse's feet was only added insult to injury.
"Who's this?" Cassandra leaned forward in her saddle.
"One of the town leaders." The soldier gave him a second push for good measure. "Councilman Mahdes, I think he said his name was."
"Meydis," the man corrected, raising up to his knees from his most undignified of positions. "Councilman Meydis."
Cassandra didn't particularly care for his tone or having him correct one of her soldiers over something so trivial and irrelevant. He should, in her opinion, be grateful he wasn't dead yet. With a look from her, the soldier planted a boot on the councilman's back and pressed him into the ground, just to show him who was in charge now. "I don't care what your name is." She spat on the ground. "What I want you to tell me is where your rebel allies are. If you tell me, perhaps I'll spare your life."
The man groaned beneath the soldier's weight. "There are no rebels here. Not alive, anyway."
"Well, that's obvious." Cassandra looked skyward, pausing in an attempt to gain back the patience she felt slipping away from her. "But they were here. And you were assisting them. How long has this pathetic hole-in-the-wall been in league with those cretinous traitors?"
With the soldier applying more pressure to his back, the councilman grunted. "We are loyal to Lord Hedric and the Empire. The rebels confiscated our town for their own purposes; held us against our will. Took our food and water. If we could have assisted you in defeating them, we would have. But look at us. Do any of us appear capable of putting up a fight?"
Cassandra shook her head. "I find it hard to believe there are no men of fighting age living in this town. You'd have me accept the farce that that is the entirety of this town's residents?" She waved her hand at the small crowd of gathered prisoners.
"Many of our men were conscripted into the Imperial Army last year."
The elder's continued attempts to explain away the obvious lack of able-bodied males wasn't adding up in Cassandra's analytical mind. She just needed the final piece to prove that her suspicions were correct.
"Sub-General!" The call of her rank came as three more soldiers approached her position. Two were more or less dragging a rickety cart they had confiscated and filled with arms of various types. "Sub-General," repeated the soldier who had initially spoke. "We found a cache of arms and armor underneath the blacksmith's. Many were crated up and appear intended for shipment to other rebel camps based on correspondence we discovered. There were several unfinished weapons left still in the ovens and abandoned in haste, it seems. Also, a tunnel built years ago from the age of the support timbers and that has recently been used by a great number of men."
"How recently?" Cassandra was now painting in her mind the full picture of the treachery she was in the midst of.
"Within the last few hours. Lots of fresh footprints." The soldier handed Cassandra a dagger he carried.
The engraved eagle at the base of the blade drew her immediate attention, and she cocked her head at the pathetic man who had tried to lie to her. "Where does the tunnel lead?" she asked the soldier who had presented the last bit of required evidence to her.
"North." He pointed. "We've got a few men working their way up it now to determine where it ends. But we've already encountered booby-traps and are proceeding with an abundance of caution."
Cassandra swung herself out of the saddle and motioned to the elderly man still on the ground. "Get this pathetic worm on his feet."
The soldier holding the Councilman underfoot complied with the order and the once talkative man said nothing more, his excuses having run out. His tongue no longer held any swagger and his lies ended with obvious evidence that not only had the rebels been here, but that the town had been harboring them for a long time. As Cassandra stood before him and stared him down, he only struggled lightly.
"See," she scolded the man now covered in filth. "This is why you shouldn't lie to me. The truth always comes out." Grabbing him by the back of his head, Cassandra brought him forward on to one of the very blades the people of this podunk backwater had been supplying to the rebels. The few remaining years of his life flashed out through his eyes in that instant and when his stare faded to lifelessness, she dropped him like trash, content to let him lay there in the grime with a gleam of pleasure on her face as he took his last breath.
Returning to the saddle of her horse, Cassandra shifted her attention to the prisoners. They were a sorry-looking lot. Several of them replied to her scrutiny with hacking, sickly coughs. She pondered exactly how to get what information she desired from them.
"Okay!" Her decided course of action to end their lingering silence was made. "Here's the deal. See Councilman What's-his-name there? Everyone here is going to meet the same fate. Except for the one person who tells me where that tunnel comes out and where the rebels fled to." Silence met her offer. "Oh, come now." She attempted to entice the forcibly assembled gathering by reminding them of their situation. "Surely one of you wants to live?"
"I'll tell you." A woman with a mess of brown hair and raveled clothes spoke up to break the muteness of the crowd.
As she spoke, a boy not much older than ten tugged at her arm, trying to stop her. "Mama, no."
The boy's mother sighed. "Your papa's dead." She pointed to the pile of corpses, but which body she referred to exactly in the jumble of lifeless flesh was uncertain. Then she added to the Sub-General, "But on one condition. You'll spare my son as well."
Cassandra drew in a deep breath, wanting the information. She grinned at the woman's courage. "I'm not usually the bargaining type. But today? I'm in a generous mood and will make an exception."
The woman nodded, her son still on her arm but now silent. "The Myson Farm," the woman said. "They're at the Myson Farm. An hour's ride due north. House and two barns on top a thirty-foot rise. Five oaks stand to the left of the house."
Nodding, Cassandra whirled about and barked orders to her men without hesitation. "Kill the rest." That finally drew gasps and other reactions from the villagers. Perhaps they thought she hadn't meant her threat. They were wrong. She added, "Take these two into custody. If what she said is true, they're free to go." Then she glanced back to the woman with a warning. "But if not? Kill her and the boy."
With a tight grip on the reins, Cassandra weaved her mount through overturned barrels and makeshift barricades on the road. As she had expected, the day had grown hot and an oppressive humidity was weighing on her mood. It felt as if rain was inevitable. Not a pleasant, light misting drizzle either. No, if there was to be a storm, it would be a full-on summer thunderstorm with torrents of water that would drench anyone caught in it to the bone.
The advanced contingent she had ordered to go on ahead of her had already begun setting up a small encampment in a clearing just to the south of their intended target. Two men were being escorted into a white medical tent with arrow wounds, which prompted her to question the first ranking officer she noticed.
"What's going on here, Captain?" She tossed her reigns to another soldier with no distinguishing rank on his uniform. The soldier fumbled with them, shocked at being handed control of her mount as she swung herself to the ground.
The Captain cleared his throat and then gave her a report. "Major Houland, tried to storm the farmhouse with a force of men. Thought it was better to hit them fast and not give them a chance to realize what they were up against. But they've got people up there who are superb with a bow. We didn't even get close."
"Damn it." The curse she uttered couldn't do her frustration justice. "There will be no more assaults without my approval and sign off on the planning. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.
"Make sure the Major knows that. Thinks he's going to grab himself some glory, but just winds up looking like a fool and wasting our resources." Cassandra strode to the edge of the clearing and the burgeoning camp where there was an unobstructed view of the farmhouse and barns atop of the rise, just as described. Standing there, she considered the battlefield. "We're positive those are the rebels?"
Another wounded soldier was hobbling in with the help of two others, one under each of his shoulders and an arrow sticking out of his lower back. The Captain whistled and signaled the men over before they headed off to the medic. They responded as requested, but not without some hesitation at the delay they were being asked to engage in at the expense of their injured colleague.
As they stood there before the Sub-General, the Captain had to break them out of their inaction. "Show her the arrow," he instructed.
They turned the maimed soldier so that Cassandra could witness the symbol of the eagle on the wood just before the fletching. Without a care for the man's discomfort, she grabbed hold of the wood with both her hands and snapped it, causing the arrow's shaft to jar in the soldier's wound and him to cry out in agony. She fumed at the emblem she now held in her shaking fists. While she was busy with her own thoughts, Cassandra only vaguely heard the Captain dismiss the men.
"Get him some attention," he said.
"How heavily fortified do you guess they are up there?" She hurled the useless piece of wood aside. "Any idea on their remaining numbers?"
"We've got estimates between twenty and forty men," the Captain replied. "Also, we estimate there are around half a dozen children and maybe some women. The children belong to the Myson Family according to a man we interrogated on the road here. We had several soldiers involved in the assault mentioned seeing a woman in the loft atop the western barn." He guided his commanding officer's attention to the building he spoke of with a point from his finger. "Whoever's up there is a crack shot and did a lot of the damage."
"And our numbers?"
"We had about a hundred men." The Captain's head sagged a little. "But they injured ten in the attempt orchestrated by the Major. And killed eight. So we stand at around eighty."
Cassandra balked at the thought of a head on confrontation, a ripple of unease riding up her spine as she contemplated the situation. "I don't want to make this more difficult than it already is. I'm in no mood for a prolonged standoff. And I don't enjoy the prospect of waiting another day or two for reinforcements. Eighty against possibly forty where the enemy has the high ground and has the advantage of buildings for cover? I don't like those odds." She studied the battlefield for a moment, coming up with an obvious, simple, and elegant solution. It was one she rarely liked to employ because it likely meant no survivors to question afterward. "Burn it down. Burn them all."
"Ma'am?"
"Wasn't I clear?" She frowned at being questioned. "Contact General Marshall and have him dispatch two dragons from the pens at Kivandar. There's a set of scrying stones in my saddlebag. Use them. The dragons should be able to be here by nightfall if they leave immediately. I want none of those scum left alive."
After a tepid pause, the Captain continued to ask questions. "Even the women and children?"
Cassandra considered his objection. "You can leave one alive. But only if by some miracle they happen to escape. But no more. And none of the men." With that, and before she could receive any more questions, the Sub-General turned and stormed back towards the rest of the encampment. She had a bone to pick with Major Houland and a warning to deliver to him personally about how she would not tolerate his foolishness.