121 Gremurr Mines

The Gremurr mines had fallen, the battle won by the grace of Aiden. The mammoths continued their wholesale rampage through the camp's remaining structures, but the enemy had already been defeated.

Without sympathy, Broeck bellowed for his soldiers to round up the Uraban survivors who had surrendered before the shaggy beasts. “Put them all in chains. Who better to work in these dirty mines?”

“This time, they'll be making swords and armor for the Tierran army, in order to shed Uraban blood.” Jenirod was exultant now. “Aiden has smiled upon us this day. Queen Anjine will be proud of what we have done, Mateo. Truly proud, this time.”

“She'll also be glad that we rescued so many kidnapped Tierrans, these poor prisoners of war.” Tomas would never come home, but Mateo hoped that bringing these freed people back to their families would ease her bone-deep pain and grief.

Even though the Urabans had all surrendered, the Iborian destrar was not yet satisfied. Broeck rode his bull mammoth back and forth, looking for something else to trample, but finally slid down from the beast's back. He stepped in front of Mateo and glanced at the rocky cliffs and stony beach of Gremurr's natural harbor. “Very little food here for the mammoths. Iaros will have to lead them back up over the mountain passes. He knows how to handle the beasts by now.”

“You're staying here, then?” Mateo asked.

“Did you see those armored warships in the harbor?” Broeck turned to regard the open waters of the Middlesea. “The fight's not over yet. The Curlies will try to take this place back once they know we've captured it. We should interrogate the guard captains, then put them to the sword.”

“We'll need men to work the mines. Haven't we slain enough?”

“Those who fell today died honorably in battle, but others should face execution for their crimes. Remember what they did to Tomas!”

Yes, Mateo remembered… but how many more executions would it take to fill that empty well of vengeance? “You are in command, Destrar… but I urge you to execute only the worst ones.”

The big Iborian let out a humorless laugh. “That's like asking me to choose the darkest shade of black. We'll learn what we can from them, and I'll decide which ones need to die.”

The freed Aidenist slaves had extinguished the fires and worked to salvage supplies from the damaged tents. There would be a great feast, where the rescued Tierrans could eat as much as they wanted; the Uraban captives, on the other hand, could go without food.

Mateo established a main command tent using canvas from some of the intact barracks. Tearing down any sign of the unfurling fern, soldiers proudly mounted fishhook banners on either side of the opening flap.

For hours, Mateo sat with Destrar Broeck and Jenirod at a field table inside the command tent, discussing how to consolidate the mines. Interrupting them, guards ushered in a Uraban prisoner. He was a stocky middle-aged man with soft skin and a proud bearing that almost managed to mask his apprehension.

“We felt you should speak to this person, sirs. His name is Tukar, the administrator of Gremurr. Apparently, he is also the brother of Soldan-Shah Omra.” The guard was accompanied by a scarecrow-thin former prisoner, who would act as interpreter. Among the freed slaves, they had found many grateful men who could speak fluent Uraban after all their years here.

Broeck rocked back in his field chair, bushy eyebrows lifted with great interest. “Well… a fine hostage.”

Mateo rested his forearms on the table. “Tukar… sir.” He didn't know how to address the Uraban, who was obviously a man of some importance—a defeated man. “Gremurr is an illegal settlement, above the Edict Line. You know you're operating in Tierran territory?”

A translator repeated the words. Tukar nodded, then replied. “I deny nothing. I am proud to have served the soldan-shah and the will of Urec.”

“He'll be a good bargaining chip,” Mateo said, leaning toward Broeck. “As a hostage, he could help protect the mines against a retaliatory attack.”

Waving Mateo aside, the Iborian destrar rose to his feet, his face red with building anger. His decision was already made. He fixed his gaze on Tukar's face but spoke to the translator. “Tell him this and say the words carefully: You Urabans made my grandson, Prince Tomas, pay the price for what others did. As the brother of the soldan-shah, you will understand that you must be held accountable for crimes committed by the followers of Urec.” He paused, and his voice came out trembling, raspy. “Soldan-Shah Omra needs to feel the pain that his people inflicted upon all of us—upon me.”

When the translator finished, Tukar's face turned gray, and he swallowed hard.

Down in the harbor, the Tierran army had seized the seven nearly completed ironclad warships. Studying them, Mateo could only imagine how much destruction those vessels could bring to unprotected Tierran coastal towns. By capturing the Gremurr mines, the Aidenist army had also confiscated the most powerful navy in the Middlesea. Since no Aidenist warship had ever sailed these waters, he doubted that the Uraban cities had any defenses from the sea. Mateo and his men could attack whenever and wherever they pleased.

“It still makes no sense,” Jenirod mused. “Why would they build warships here? How does the soldan-shah intend to get them to the Oceansea? Or is there some other enemy he's worried about?”

“We're the only ones the Curlies need to fear,” Broeck said, a deep growl in his throat.

“Maybe he meant to have Tierran slaves carry them on their backs across the isthmus and toss them into the Oceansea.” Mateo's sour comment drew a laugh from both men.

Later, they learned from the Tierran captives, and confirmed the information through harsh interrogation of Urecari prisoners, about Soldan-Shah Omra's astounding scheme to dig a canal across the strip of land below Ishalem. A route for ships to sail from the Middlesea to the Oceansea. The idea seemed both ridiculous and impossible.

Mateo didn't doubt it for an instant.

Several ore barges had also tied up to the docks, and Mateo guessed that other ships would soon arrive at Gremurr. The Urabans would learn about the loss of the mines soon enough, and Destrar Broeck intended to deliver the news in his own particular manner—a personal message aimed directly at the soldan-shah. Layer upon layer of revenge, however, had not satisfied the Iborian leader.

A terrified Uraban sea captain had been found hiding in the hold of a dirty ore barge, and Mateo decided to use the man as his messenger. The fearful captain spoke no Tierran, but he groveled and apologized, insisting, through a translator, that he was just a sailor with no involvement in politics and no interest in other religions. The barge captain and a skeleton crew shuffled aboard, looking haunted and beaten; the rest of the sailors would remain in the slave camp and be put to work in the mines.

Broeck faced the captain and spoke in a rush so that the translator could barely keep up. “You, man. Sail to Olabar and tell the soldan-shah that the Gremurr mines belong to us. Say that Queen Anjine will no longer tolerate this intrusion on Tierran soil.”

Broeck called his own soldiers forward, and one of them carried the sack with its grisly burden. Standing on the dock, Mateo squinted into the bright sunshine that glared off the water and steeled himself. “I'll do it.”

“No.” There was no flexibility in Broeck's tone. “Tomas was my grandson.” He took the object from the soldier and marched to the prow of the ore barge, where he thrust Tukar's head onto a spike they had mounted there.

The poor man had not struggled, had not wailed; he had died bravely. Now Tukar's lifeless eyes stared across the water, and before long they would gaze upon Olabar again.

The captain and his barge crew couldn't sail away from Gremurr swiftly enough. Mateo watched the dirty ship sail south across the Middlesea.

“We need to make war plans,” Jenirod said. “After we finish armoring those seven ships, we can raid the coast of the Middlesea. If we capture Sioara and establish our own outpost there, the Tierran army will have an easier way to cross into Uraba.”

“I'd prefer that we strike Olabar directly,” Broeck said.

“We have plenty of options,” Mateo said. “When we strike, we won't do it merely to inflict pain or exact vengeance, but to win this war. Victory is ours.”

The men walked back to the command tent. After all the destruction, death, and conquest here at Gremurr, Mateo didn't feel very triumphant, but he was coldly satisfied.