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“We’ll get there quicker if we cut across the countryside,” Yudit told him. “I thought we were in a hurry.”
“Maybe you two dipshits could settle this without involving me,” Sunbeam said, pinning his ears back.
“I was just trying to—”
“One more word, and I swear I will buck you off,” he interrupted me. “You’re being a bigger pain in the ass than my hemorrhoids right now.”
Stinky, of course, didn’t weigh in, but she snorted and shook her mane in a way that seemed to convey disdain for human foibles. Or she just wanted the map off her neck. Yudit folded it back up. A few moments later, my sister raised herself up a little so she could massage her backside. We were both starting to get saddle sore.
Eventually, by unspoken agreement, we decided to go cross-country to the pass rather than find the road. My sister was probably right that it was quicker that way.
The people who settled here in the distant days of history were those who had been driven out of every other country by conflict or natural catastrophe. They fled until they found themselves in the one place no one would bother to invade, with a climate that no disaster could make worse. And having been attacked and bullied until they had no other options, they took as truth the lesson all too many bullied people learn. Bullies win. The biggest asshole gets the biggest share of the goodies.
Ultimately, they turned to the two arts that would make them famous throughout the known world—wizardry and warfare. Over the centuries, they developed their tactical skills in constant raids on nearby countries, until their army was the finest ever to empty a grain silo while setting fire to the farm. Their wizards, meanwhile, spent their time endlessly seeking new and innovative ways to wrest sustenance from the bare stone. The result was a college of magic so resourceful and adaptable that when it switched its emphasis from sustainable agriculture to mass slaughter, all it took was adjusting a few class names. Advanced Reaping didn’t even need to change the title of the textbook.
After the series of wars that created the Red Empire, the sole seaport in the region and only town of note became one of the most important cities on the continent. The Crimson City was a hub of commerce, especially since it acquired most of its food supplies by trade and tribute now. The one convenient mountain pass leading there was a busy travel route.
Even so, I didn’t expect it to be quite so packed when we arrived. A slow-moving line of travelers stretched as far as we could see, obscuring the eastern road’s famous purple-brick median beneath thousands of trudging feet. They were all going in the same direction. Everyone was headed into the pass and toward the city. Some were merchants, their horses hauling wagonloads of goods, but many more were soldiers. Dusty troops of infantry marching in formation, spear tips held high and glinting in the light. Cavalry bands plodding up the switchback turns on the slope. Bowmen and halberdiers, lancers and dragoons, dressed in the uniforms of a dozen different subject nations of the Red Empire.
Yudit steered Stinky next to a cloth merchant’s wagon. “What’s all this?” she asked the driver. She used the slightly deeper tone we always adopted when disguised as men. We would never be baritones, but we could pull off a decent tenor.
“What’s all what?” The driver eyed Yudit askance. “Is that crocodaemon blood on your clothes?”
“Yes. We’ve had a difficult trip. There was a rabbit that was worse, though. Nasty thing.”
“Thought it was crocodaemon blood. Nothing else is quite that shade of puce. You’re lucky. Most people don’t survive meeting a crocodaemon.”
“That’s what I said when it jumped us,” I told him. “ ‘We’re so lucky.’ Anyway, who are all these people?”
The driver frowned. “They’ve come at the Red Emperor’s summons.” His eyes flicked from my cuirass to my spear. “Haven’t you?”
“I suppose I have,” I said slowly. That was one new piece of information learned—the Levy in Ecossia hadn’t been the only call for troops. Far from it. “That doesn’t mean I’ve been told what it’s for.”
“Ah, well.” He shrugged. “You know as much as anyone else, then. Many were called, but no one has the faintest idea why.”
“We have to defend the Crimson City against an enormous sea creature!” called a nearby myrmidon who’d overheard.
“No, against the Sea People,” the cataphract beside him said. “I distinctly heard we were going to fight off an invasion of the Sea People.”
Half a dozen people all weighed in at once. “We go to do battle with the sea itself—”
“—nothing to do with the sea, it’s a ravening horde of devil goats—”
“—invade Ecossia and take it at last—”
“—there are Ecossics in the army, you nitwit—”
“—clear out the Swamp of Monsters, and good riddance—”
“—the horrid voles will fall before the might of the empire!”
“The voles?” I asked.
The legionary who’d shouted it out turned red. “Well, I hope so,” he mumbled. “They keep eating my cucumbers.”
“See?” the driver on the cloth cart said. “No one has a clue.”
We joined the long procession and made our sluggish way up to the pass and through. The lethargic pace meant more time wasted, but there wasn’t anything we could do about that. Even if there’d been space to elbow our way through a tightly packed mass of armed men, it probably would have been a bad idea.
