Bog's World

Altogether elsewhere

A year in Immorean. But earlier... - Tud

Tûd sank into his seat and closed his eyes. Rail travel was one of the marvels of the Iron Kingdoms. It cost an awful lot of money but meant that he could sleep as tens, perhaps hundreds of miles slipped by to the syncopated rhythm of the wheels on the iron trackway.

Cygnar is the largest and most powerful of the Iron Kingdoms. Its capital is Caspia, located at the southern end of the Black River. It is also the home to Corvis, City of Ghosts, birthplace of the Corvis Treaties, and a critical trade nexus for the realm. Other major cities include Ceryl – second only to Caspia in size and influence, Mercir, and Fharin. Cygnar is a lawful land, led by the good King Leto Raelthorne. It is a wealthy kingdom with a strong military, and it is home to skilled wizards and engineers. Cygnar has a sophisticated government and culture, and is known to all as the jewel of the Iron Kingdoms. Of course, the King's men can't be everywhere, and there is still plenty of lawlessness and adventure in the wild lands that lie outside Cygnar's modern cities and roads. But train travel, with its strong military presence, due to its strategic importance, was in Tud’s opinion, the best thing about Cygnar.

King Leto “the Younger”, as he is known, dethroned his elder brother Vinter Raelthorne IV, who was a savage and merciless man, as was his father before him. The coup was bloody but quick, and when it was over the land rejoiced and welcomed the new King with open arms. “Raelthorne the Elder” was unfortunately able to evade his execution and escape from his prison cell in Caspia, but he has not been seen for several years. Most believed him to be dead.

Leto’s fiancée, Danae Cresswell, was kidnapped by fugitive inquisitors shortly after Vinter was deposed, and held for ransom. The price was Vinter's release. Though he was released, Lady Cresswell was never freed; and Leto never married. Knowing the Inquisitors she was likely killed. And probably not cleanly.

He came awake as the train halted. Just short of Fharin, this was not a regular stop, but a platform that looked as if field engineers had put up overnight. In terms of deceiving the enemy, it was pure ilin, the movement of armed might and supporting resources from peacetime bases to hitherto secret wartime locales. Doubtless there were Khadorian and Menite spies watching the permanent bases. The prompt for this thought was the fact that a significant part of the Cygnarian army appeared to be trying to board.

There were a handful of gun-mages in their tricorn hats standing around as stevedores and military logisticians tried to marshal warjacks and their supplies onto the train in the gathering dusk. A few long gunners and sword knights were also boarding. Tûd’s instant reaction was that he didn’t want to be going anywhere that the army might be sending that little parcel of happiness. He was on a train, he could get off. But then he’d never get to Corvis.

Surprising swiftly, the train began to move again, leaving a lot of men and a few ‘jacks behind. Perhaps a fifth of the force was now on the train. In line with his expectations, the door of his private luxury cabin slid open to admit his inevitable new, unpaying, unasked for travelling companion.

She was an attractive blonde, blue eyed woman in her either her late teens or early twenties. And, judging by the insignia on her uniform, a lieutenant in the Royal Cygnarian Army. And a warcaster.

She looked tired. Weighed down with schedules, manuals, rosters, scripts and other parafinelia. Tûd closed his eyes again, put his feet back up on the velvet upholstery and went back to sleep. When he awoke, the young lieutenant was still working through her papers. Some of it was simple feeding rosters. Very soon, her pen stopped moving and she was nodding. Tûd broke the silence, startling her. Assuring her that he was no spy, but apprenticed to member of the FOW, he offered to complete the vicutalling schedules and look at the guard rosters for the small force that had boarded the train. She acquiesced and wearily left the carriage.

She returned and slumped down again, followed a few minutes later by an orderly with two hot meals and a bottle of thin wine. She introduced herself as Lt Victoria Haley and apologised for gatecrashing his compartment – her brother officers had taken the other available space and left her out, her prize for her new commission.

Tûd indicated that the meal made up for it. They talked then for some time, mostly about food. A lot of the other paperwork was to do with warjack logistics, which Tud could not help with. But Victoria, (“Please, call me Vicky.”) was happy to talk about it as she worked. “The Talon is a very typical mercenary warjack. Most mercs can't afford a newer 'jack or a heavy 'jack, so the Talon proves very popular. Its fuel load provides 7 hours of general (non-combat) usage.

If you're moving a body of men overland, given that you have to stop for food, to rest and so on, you'll probably want to get in a good few hours of march. For ease, let's say 10 hours. So, for a day's marching, your Talon is going to need about 220lbs of high-grade coal. Pretty heavy, the sheer volume of the stuff is a problem.”

Her eyes lit up as she talked about warjacks, he could she that she enthused about them in the same way that he enthused about rocca. And now about spell casting as well. She continued. “So, if you're setting out for somewhere that's even a mere ten days march away, you're going to need over 2000lbs of coal. And then, there's the water. Unless you're following a river, you're going to have to carry enough water to keep the 'jack going (in addition to whatever you need to keep your troopers alive). Water's heavy, it's bulky and it doesn't transport all that well. 'Jacks go through water at a rate of at least 4:1. Given just the fuel factor, it's totally impractical to march a 'jack of any kind anywhere. If there's a rail, use that, if there's a river, get a boat. If you're going by road, buy a cart and a couple of horses.”

“So you don’t just let them walk ?” he asked. She grinned.

“A heavy labour'jack can drag about five tons. Put that cargo on wheels, and you can probably drag that much without burning the fuel at a normal non-combat rate. So it takes either one labourjack or a bunch of horses to move each steamjack. To get your 'jacks from point A to point B, assuming you have no water or rail connection, you have three choices:

1. Use a number of horses and/or mules, probably at least ten per jack.
2. Walk your 'jacks, necessitating the attendant supply train as well as potential wear and tear
3. Use LabourJacks to draw 'jack wagons, doubling your logistical worries but limiting your wear and tear to the tug 'jacks.

Tud considered for a moment. “It seems to me to be generally inefficient to move warjacks by ‘jack power (only by a generous stretch of the imagination could a heavy labourjack tug more than 1 heavy laborjack or warjack without an exorbitant fuel expenditure). Also, that many pack animals may be impractical to move a single 'jack. Perhaps walking your jacks overland is actually the best option, only because the others are worse.”

Vicky yawned before replying “Mules, whilst hardy (hardier than horses) are not infallible. So erring on the side of caution - a 'jack cart is constructed around some sort of stillage, bespoke to the 'jack's chassis, to prevent damage in transit. This is going to have to be very robust and therefore quite heavy. So twenty mules to pull each 'jack. A mule train travelling any distance is going to want perhaps as many as another fifty percent to account for attrition/resting the lame ones etc.

And then there's the aforementioned other resources, coal and water as well as ammunition. Some 'jack's need much more coal than the [75kg] required by the Talon. So for each ten ton load there's another twenty mules. Lets have a mule-pulled bowser for water as well, perhaps four for each 'jack. (Any model of ‘jack uses water to coal at a ratio of at least 4:1). Warjack weapons are ridiculously resource intensive, whether melee or ranged. So there's another couple of mule wagons for those. Add another mule train with horse feed on it (for the mules) for each five mule trains so far. Add a team of two handlers for each mule team. Add another cart for their provisions. Add another cart for the warcaster's detritus (sorry, warcaster armour and other fancy gear).”

“Why mules and not horses ?” Tud asked. “Surely there are enough horses in Cygnar ? And are there other options ?”

“The problem with draught horses verses mules is essentially one of reliability and economy. Mules are cheap, horses are dear. Specially bred horses are more difficult to produce and hence, attract a hefty premium. The horse needs higher quality fodder and much, much more water than a mule. Mules last longer, are cheaper in the first place and easier to replace in the field. Draught horses will offer more in terms of 'performance' but remember this is a government procurement programme.” She drew breath, stifled a yawn and then carried on “Labour 'jacks are cute, but they will suffer attrition at a faster rate than the warjacks and are actually using some of the warjacks resources in order to make progress. Put yourself in the warcaster's position. He wants his arcane and mundane mechs to look after the warjacks. He wants the expensive fuel and water (and water is, if you have to haul it) for the warjacks. He's not going to be happy splitting these resources with his logistic tail. Warcasters like their 'jacks pulled by muscle power, those prime movers to be serviced by vets and wranglers and therefore all the resources carried at such great trouble to the Warjacks.”

“Ah”. Tud leant forward slightly. “This ties in with what I saw Orven; ‘Jack production is geared towards the war effort. Labourjacks are going to be under government control very soon, doing jobs that support the war effort. When they konk out, they are likely to be replaced by cranes and 'proper' steam engines. So anyone using any of these labourjacks for something where there is an obvious, cheaper (and better) alternative is not going to last five minutes.”

“Yes,” she replied. “This is why armies are run by engineers and logisticians, not Warcasters.” She yawned again. He thought she looked beautiful in the failing light.

“It's going to take, with a viable logistical tail, thousands of men and mules to put a 'jack based battle group of any size into the field.” He observed. Vicky nodded, at last putting up her quill. “I prefer to think of the hypothetical example of a warcaster's dilemma in this way: If the draft 'animals' and my warjacks share the same requirements; it's not a drain on my warjacks. No, instead it's streamlining my supply requirements. Resources for one are compatible for the other. And also, if things are desperate enough, labourjacks can be cannibalised for repairs for your damaged warjacks. Can't do that with real animals.” She paused for a moment, cogitating. “Yeah, it's this kind of logistical problem that can and will win or lose a war for someone. For Cygnar, as the defender (albeit on multiple fronts), the supply lines are short, the logistics relatively simple. For Khador, it's a serious issue, and if it's not properly addressed, it's a potentially fatal issue.”

Tud thought of the ilin way of doing things, where each ilin fed himself and his rocca and remounts grazed off whatever pasture was available. But he kept his peace, this was her arena, not his. He restricted himself to quiet admiration. She continued. “Many times, combat decisions will be determined by logistical and supply concerns as opposed to tactical ones. If the supply train is broken, most especially in a mechanised fighting force, the army is well and thoroughly hosed. Modern forces are not good at foraging for food or other supplies, and without fuel the machines of war blunt combat effectiveness drastically. A competent commander will never over-extend his supply lines unless absolutely necessary and they will be coming up quickly behind... emphasis on quickly.”

Lt Haley, Vicky, then slept for the first time. Tûd took a blanket from the overhead locker and draped it over her sleeping form. He completed as much of her paperwork as he could and then sat, watching the unmarked features of her face in mono-colour as moon(s) light streamed though the window. And all the while the train crept on through the night, clickity clack, clickity clack.

Victoria Haley awoke to find the blanket tucked up around her. The stranger was singing softly, some sort of gentle lilting ballad. Apparently it was a part of an epic tale called The Lay of Yuggat Isenwarian. It was soothing and the stranger had a nice voice and a pleasant manner. When complimented on his performance he’d blushed and told her of someone (some girl) whose name she didn’t catch who was much better, tone perfect and with the correct register for the lay. A sweetheart ? she’d asked, an old flame ? No, he answered. She was elf, as if that explained it. Victoria was about to enquire as to the significance of this when she detected a change in his mood. Loss, she recognised when she saw it. The elf maiden, he told her, had been some sort of noble, someone to whom he, in some convoluted manner, owed some form of allegiance. Also a dear friend and comrade in arms, judged Victoria. But she had been killed by an Eldrich. Victoria then spoke of her sister Gloria and their mutually destructive paths. It helped.

When her detachment left the train, he found that she’d left him the Cygnarian Army’s Warcaster manual, along with an admonishment to destroy it if it wasn’t of use to him. She was trying to pair down her affairs to a more manageable level.

Tûd also got off the train at Fharin. It was being requisitioned en toto for another part of the Royal Cygnarian Army. Enquiring at the busy ticket office, he was given a voucher that would be valid aboard certain vessels going up and down the Black River. Which itself was much closer to Fort Falk than it was to Flavin.

He took a room in Fharin, finding a news sheet to browse whilst he ate. The date confused him a bit. He asked the question – No, the waiter laughed, no army of undead had assaulted Corvis, although it was rumoured that Khador was about to invade Lleal.

A kingdom with little natural resources, magical or technical skill, Llael manages to eke out an existence by exploiting its proximity to the Black River trade route, serving as an intermediary between Rhul and Cygnar. The realm has but one true blessing – ample deposits of coal, without which its economy would be truly crippled. The largest coal town in the realm is Leryn, scarcely a league from where the Black River crosses over into Rhul. Due to the importance of trade with the dwarves, Cygnar has officially allied with Llael and prevented this small kingdom from being gobbled up in border wars with Khador.

Despite being overshadowed by its neighbours, Llael is a proud kingdom with a rich history, including its crucial role in the rebellion against the Orgoth. Wizards and alchemists of Llael worked together with those of Cygnar to invent the first firearms and blasting powder. Pistols and rifles remain very popular in Llael today, many of which are treasured heirlooms passed from father to son and lovingly maintained. Duelling with pistols is a popular means to resolve disputes in Llael, and rumoured to be a leading cause of death among the nobles.

So despite congenital incompetence and systemic corruption, Llael was still free. For the time being. Tud looked at the last of the leaves lying in sodden dejection on the roadside. He glanced up at the grey wintery sky. He rushed out to find a factor. Hastily, he wrote his instructions, paid the fee for the courier firm and bought the powder and shot, throwing two loaded pistols into a sack and into the barrels as an afterthought. He was now practically broke. Reading further, he discovered that as things stood, he was likely to get drafted. Being of no fixed abode, no regular employment or provable association, he was a likely candidate. It seemed likely that war with either Khador or the Protectorate was coming. And he knew damn well that Khador would march into Llael when the snows came.

Hit by a flash of inspiration he wandered out into the night and found a pawn shop. He got 20 crowns for his taiken. He made it entirely clear to the pawnbroker that he would be back at some point in the future to collect it. He then went in search of a bookmakers (10 crowns on Khador being in Merywyn before spring at 200:1) and then the futures markets, where another 5 crowns went on coal. Then he visited two more bookmakers, where he got 1000:1 on an army of undead invading Cygnar and also 400:1 on Corvis being invaded by someone other than Khador during the next eighteen months. The remaining money went on posting these betting slips (and the debt note) to Juliana Sunbright in Orven. She might not be in love with him any more, but she was the trustworthiest person he could think of (his mentor being too absent-minded) who wasn’t likely to be in mortal danger anytime soon (just a hunch).

With lightened mood and Victora Haley’s warcaster manuals tucked under his arm, he arrived at the designated dock and presented his travel voucher. He argued his case for almost two hours but the closest he got to boarding was a grudging admission that it was worth half fare. Which was still more than he had. The matter was taken out of their hands by the Army’s impromptu requisition of the river boat to transport half a regiment of trenchers back down river to Caspia.

Staying near the docks was eating though his silver and everything that turned up was promptly sequestered. He got a job in a bookshop. It wasn’t that taxing and the owner, after two months, disappeared. He received a communiqué from the owner’s factor engaging him to run the shop until the owner returned. He opened the shop for half of the day, practising both his spell casting and his pistol shooting in the shop’s yard in the afternoon. He was soon dissuaded to cease this practice and to move his drills somewhere more discrete. He spent a lot of time pondering things. He didn’t leave the shop as the owner had been well disposed to his pleas of poverty, so he stayed out of his ilin’s sense of duty. He was worried about Forgileill, but by the time he’d found out what the date was, she’d already been taken by the Eldrich and he knew that future already, he wasn’t going to jeopardise it by turning up in stereo.

He worried about sending all that wealth to a woman who had been throwing things at him (including spells) when they parted company. But of all his conquests in Orven, she was the one who’d said that she loved him. And he almost constantly wandered about the captivating Lt Haley. He made up his mind to take the boat to Corvis to coincide with time he and the others left Corvis. He took his leave of the factor and left “Fharin’s Elucidating Publications (est 574)” and boarded the boat the same day he finished the warcaster’s manual.

He got off the boat and started at the gaps left by the missing buildings after the Longest Night. Although the events of the Longest Night had happened literally only a day or two before, for Tud it was roughly two years ago. How swiftly the memory dimmed, he mused. The place was a mess. He checked the date. He reset his pocket watch. Very soon, a boy found him and handed him a package. It was a vellum sheet, fastened by an ivory toggle. On it, in Flanne were instructions to find a sacred grove to the south of the city.