“There,”EwanMcGovernsaid,leaning over the map stretched out on the table before Ieduin. He pointed with a thick finger at a small section of land tucked between two large hills. “Dagh Cairn. That’s where they’re holed up. It’s a burial ground for the honored dead. Old kings, lords, their relatives. They’re squatting on our dead, taunting us. About forty of the fuckers down there. They fortified the only way in, so taking it’s going to be a right pain.” He pushed up from the table, looking tired in the flickering candlelight.
It was late, and Ieduin knew he should probably let Ewan go get some sleep. He should be asleep too, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to crawl into bed with Rixxis. He couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, even as he went over plans with Ewan. It’d just been a peck on the cheek, nothing more, yet he’d fixated on it. Why had she done that? What did it mean? They were still friends, right? Or did that mean they’d crossed into unfamiliar territory somewhere along the way?
Ieduin shoved the thought down and tried to bury it deep where it belonged.
“What about the high ground here?” Ieduin pointed to the area around Dagh Cairn.
Ewan bobbed his head. “Aye, there’s high ground there, but they’ve got the chambers to retreat to. Dagh Cairn’s a chambered burial ground. Got tunnels that stretch for half a mile in three directions. Chasing them into narrow tunnels is suicide.”
“I assume those chambers are where you lay your dead?” Ieduin looked up from the map.
“Aye. Why’d you ask?”
“Remember that we’re hunting a necromancer. This looks like an ideal place for one to hide,” Ieduin said. “I propose we send Tofi in. Let him use the very thing that they’re counting on against them. The risen dead will chase them out of the tunnels. I’ll put archers here on the high ground and a company of swords and spears at the mouth of the pass. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
Ewan’s brow furrowed. “Lad… It’s one thing for them to defile our dead, but for us to disturb their rest with necromancy of our own?”
“Would you rather they do it to us first?” Ieduin sighed. “I know a lot of humans get hung up on the idea of mobilizing dead bodies, but they’re just empty bodies, Ewan.”
“Maybe to you, but you elves cut the heads off your dead.”
“The soul resides in the head. The body is just an empty vessel,” Ieduin explained. “I think it’s weird you bury your dead under rocks.”
“Maybe,” Ewan acknowledged with a nod, “but how would you like it if those buried heads suddenly chewed their way out of the ground where you buried them and started moaning?”
Ieduin shuddered and turned away. “I get it. It’s creepy and uncomfortable to consider. But consider this. Trinta is undoubtedly backing these bandits, and the pirates stopping shipments from coming into Brucia. It may not look like it, but they’re effectively running a siege against Greymark by stopping up these supply lines. Maybe the undead are uncomfortable, but I promise you starvation is a lot worse.”
Ewan sighed and considered the map again. “I imagine you’ve seen it quite a lot in your travels.”
“I’ve lived it.” Ieduin tugged the map away from Ewan and began rolling it up. “I was nine when my parents died with eight sisters to feed. They had the unfortunate luck of dying in the late autumn when the weather was so bad no one came to check on us for almost three months, and we lived in a very rural area. It was four miles to the nearest house, which might as well have been a hundred in a Yeutland winter. Once we ate everything in the stores, we ate the dog. Then we ate the rats. You know what it’s like to split one rat between nine hungry kids?”
Ewan shook his head. “Maiden’s tits, that’s awful. I don’t want to think about it.”
“Well, unless you want to see that here, we need those supply lines restored sooner rather than later, and this is how we do it. Your king brought me here to help defend his land. I can’t do that if my men are hungry, and you can’t fight if yours are. We’re using Tofi, and we’re clearing out Dagh Cairn as soon as possible.”
The human sighed. “You know, I heard rumors about you before you got here. There was concern you’d just fuck around, that you might not be up to the task.”
The words stung. Ieduin had known some people thought he might not be up to leading the Crows, but Ruith had faith in him. For whatever reason, the Crow had chosen him to do it, and he was going to do the best damn job he could. Still, it was one thing for some of the Crows to be hesitant, and another entirely for outsiders like the people of Greymark to think that of him.
“And now?” Ieduin pressed. “You still think I can’t do my fucking job?”
“I think you’ve got a lot to prove,” Ewan said carefully. “But you’ve got it in you to prove it. You’re a lot more convincing than I expected you’d be. I sure as nine hells didn’t expect to be having midnight strategy meetings with you. I’m too fucking old for this hour, Commander.”
Ieduin snorted. “Now who’s the lazy one?”
Ewan put his hands on his lower back. “You get to be my age, elf, and you see just how tired your bones can get. Me and me men, we aren’t soldiers. We’re farmers. Half the men I’ve mustered have never seen a war. The only veterans are my age or older. I don’t pretend to understand war and tactics, so do as you like. Me and mine will follow your lead.”
“I’ll only take volunteers from your roster for this mission,” Ieduin said. “I don’t want to cause a rift or discontent in the ranks. This is likely to be a long, drawn-out engagement. Best we get along if we’re going to be snowed in through the winter.”
“Aye, wise words.” Ewan bobbed his head and slapped the tabletop. “Well, if ya want me to have the men mustered for inspection tomorrow mornin’, I’d best be turnin’ in for the night.”
Ieduin nodded and walked him to the door. “Thanks for meeting with me. I know it was short notice.”
“No such thing as long notice in war, I fear.”
Once Ewan was gone, Ieduin returned to the table and sat with another pile of papers containing Greymark’s total inventory. Eight hundred sheep, two hundred goats, half as many head of cattle, just over four hundred chickens, thirty barrels of salt, eighteen hundred pounds combined of barley and wheat, a few hundred bushels of apples… It seemed like a lot on paper, but compared to Greymark’s population, plus the Crows they were hosting, and adjusting for the continued influx of mage refugees, it was far from sufficient. He did the math twice before making a note to check in with Rowan concerning any further harvest he could expect to account for.
The numbers I have are likely off, too, he thought with a sigh. The paperwork assumed all the farms would bring their goods, and some of them had already been burned to the ground by the other bandits marauding in the west. There was a distinct shortage of staple items that would store well, like rice, beans, and oats, too.