For a long moment he felt the urge to just sit on the ground and cry. He had never felt this tired or hopeless before in his life. His body seemed to fight him as much as the elements, and the thought of the ride before him was almost more than he could bear.
There was an apothecary in the Earl’s camp who had a potion he brewed, herbs and roots, which would hasten recovery from coughs and chest congestion, even things far nastier. By his original plan, he should be back there this afternoon and he could chase down the apothecary and take care of this, but as fate would have it, he had to return the way he came, and there was certainly an army of Tsurani between Moncrief’s and Gruder’s camps, which would mean another day and night on the trail.
Terrance conceded, he’d be flirting with pneumonia by the time he reached the Earl’s camp if his luck didn’t hold. He almost gave in to despair, but realized he had no choice. He just set his mind to doing each thing needed as it came, and not to dwell on how much more effort lay beyond the task at hand.
He wandered through the turmoil of boys readying the final meal in this camp and those already intent upon packing up the last of the stores so the Commissary and luggage could follow quickly behind the advancing army. Terrance saw order emerge from the apparent confusion and admired the way in which each boy appeared to know what was expected of him. There was a fair amount of jostling and bumping involved, but they were boys and they didn’t let it distract them from the tasks at hand.
Camp boys had a hard lot, Terrance judged, but no worse than the homeless urchins in the cities. At least here they had a meal or two a day and a place to sleep where they would be untroubled. Boys might be abused by drunken soldiers in other armies, but since before Terrance was born, battery or rape were hanging offenses in the King’s army.
Some grew up to be soldiers, while others found positions as cooks’ helpers, teamsters, or luggage supervisors. Terrance saw a pair of luggage supervisors, boys almost to manhood, perhaps only two or three years younger than himself, who quickly moved through the crowds imparting instructions and helping along some boys with a smack to the back of the head or a cuff to the ear.
At the cooking tent he saw that the kitchen was already being disassembled. While the brick hearths would be left to await the army’s return in the spring, the metal cooking stoves were being taken apart and readied for transport.
Food was resting on wooden tables across the compound, and Terrance hurried over to grab something to eat before the trumpets blew the soldiers to assembly. He saw a few soldiers, those coming off guard duty, already lined up to eat. He fell in behind a rangy infantryman wearing the tabard of Questor’s View and moved along. As he reached the end of the first table, the trumpets sounded, and he could hear fatigued men cursing as the soldiers in nearby tents responded to the call.
Terrance grabbed up some fresh bread, a pear that didn’t look too damaged, and a slice of hard cheese. He stuffed the pear in his pocket to eat on the road. He looked in vain for a water skin, and hoped the one that had rested on his saddle horn was still there when he retrieved his horse from the remounts.
He didn’t bother to sit with the soldiers and eat. He chewed his food while he went to the horses. He found cavalrymen inspecting their mounts before going to eat, for they knew their lives depended on the horses being sound. The grooms were too busy to help him, so he stuffed what was left of his food inside his unbuttoned tunic and found his horse. The animal had been poorly cared for. He took a few minutes to pick out the hooves and find his saddle. As he feared, the water skin was nowhere in sight.
He went to the stores and found a nose bag and a near-empty bag of oats, but enough for his mount. He filled the nose bag and returned to his horse and fitted it over the animal’s nose. He would let the horse eat while he went in search of a water skin.
It took him almost a quarter hour to find a skin and fill it, and when Terrance returned to the remounts, he found a stocky groomsman removing the nose bag from the horse’s snout.
“Here! What are you doing?” Terrance asked.
The groom, a large-shouldered young man with a nose flattened in many brawls, turned and said, “I’m takin’ this here bag off. No one told me to feed this horse, an’ this part o’ the line is mine, see?”
“That’s my horse and I need him fed.”
“So does them what’s going to fight, fancy pants, so you can wait until they’s done, got it?”
Terrance knew a bully when he saw one and realized this idiot was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t hesitate. He took one step forward and kicked the groom as hard as he could in the groin. With a grunt of pain, the man fell to his knees, clutching himself as his eyes widened and he fought to catch his breath.
Terrance was forced to admit he was a tough one, for he shook off the blow in a fraction of the time most men would have been rendered unable to move. But as the groom regained his wits he realized Terrance had his saber out and had the point leveled at his throat.
“Now, you buffoon. You’ll leave that nose bag alone until my horse is done. You’ll go over there and retrieve that scout saddle and bridle from the rack and tack up the horse. If you think you’ve got a problem now, see what kind of trouble you’ll see if the Baron finds out you’re interfering with his orders. I’m supposed to be riding outnow ! So, what are you going to do?”
“Tack up the horse . . . sir.”
Terrance put away his sword. The groom struggled to his feet, still obviously tender, and hobbled over to get the saddle.
Terrance turned to find a cavalryman watching him. The tall soldier said, “So what would you have done without a saber?”
Terrance said, “Wasted a lot of time finding an officer to bully him into obeying me. I certainly am not going to scare him.”
The man studied Terrance a moment then smiled. “A man who knows his limits. I like that.”
Terrance started to cough, and the cavalryman said, “Are you ill?”
“Nothing to speak of,” said Terrance, gasping for a moment, then regaining his composure.
The soldier shrugged. “Ride well,” he offered. He didn’t wait for a response, but finished inspecting his own horse, then left to get his morning meal.
The groom tacked up the horse under Terrance’s watchful eye. There would be no loosely fastened girths or uncomfortable bits on this horse. Terrance finished eating and hung his water skin on the horse’s saddle, then mounted and rode off.
His chest was getting tighter by the moment. He felt achy all over, and he had to ride a good pace to carry word to Baron Moncrief from Baron Summerville. Even the little bit of exertion needed to cower the groom had caused him to break out in drenching perspiration.
Then it started to snow.
“Gods,” said Terrance under his breath, “this is turning into a lousy morning.” For a brief moment he considered returning to the Baron’s tent. He would report to the infirmary and rest for a day or two, then travel by wagon behind the army. He was obviously ill and Summerville was a kinsman, even if a distant one. He would let the family know that Terrance had given it his very best. Then he wondered, But would it be my best?
For a long minute he sat motionless, considering his choices. Then he admitted he had none and kicked the horse into motion.
It was near noon when Terrance came into view of the Baron’s camp. The guards were on alert, for there was only a small squad left behind to guard the tents, equipment, and animals. They waved him through, and he rode to the command tent. The guard shouted as he rode near, “The Baron’s up at the barricade, leading the defense himself.”
“How goes it?”
“Close,” is all the man said.
Terrance rode on, wishing he could spare the time to rest the horse. He had become fond of the tough little gelding. He wasn’t as sturdy an animal as Bella, but he was willing and obedient.
Terrance himself was miserable. Every step the horse took caused his aching body to protest, and he knew he was in the gri
ps of a high fever, for despite the freezing air, he was perspiring under his heavy cloak and alternately felt flushed with heat, then chills, which caused him to shudder. He paused to refill his water skin, then moved on and relieved himself. He knew that his only choice was to drink as much water as possible, until he returned to the Earl’s camp and found the apothecary.
The four miles to the battlefront were marked by a few signs of battle, a dead horse and rider off to one side of the road, a pair of wounded men walking arms around one another, slowly making their way to the infirmary back at the main camp. Within a mile of the barricade, he could hear the sounds of battle.
When he came into view of the barricade, he saw hundreds of men apparently milling about behind the wall, until he got close enough to see the ordering of the men. Companies stood ready to rush forward and man the barricade, while engineers were frantically loading up trebuchets and letting fly their deadly cargo of rocks on the attackers. The sounds of battle echoed off the rock face. It was a deafening cacophony that made hearing anyone more than a few yards away impossible.
Other men were spreading out, obviously protecting the flanks of the army from any elements of the Tsurani forces that might have wended their way through the rocks above, in an attempt to flank the Kingdom defenders. And everywhere he looked, he saw men too wounded to move, and the dead.
On one side of the road, the men had been laid out in a row, three dozen or more, while on the other side, the boys from the luggage and the infirmary were carrying bodies away from the battlefront.
Terrance reached the rear of the barricade and shouted to a sergeant upon the wall, “Where is the Baron?” The effort brought on a coughing fit.
The sergeant looked down and said, “With the dead. What news?”
Terrance swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe as deeply as he could. “Baron Summerville comes in haste.” His voice came out thin and strangled, but he was heard.
“How long?”
“No more than an hour, two at the most.”
“We can hold,” shouted the sergeant, “if but barely.”
“Do you need me to carry word back?”
“Only if there’s need to tell the Baron to hasten faster.”
“There is no need. He comes as swiftly as conditions allow.”
“Then I have nothing for you, messenger, save carry news to the Earl that Baron Moncrief died bravely, repulsing the invaders at a breach. He gave his life for King and country.”
“I will do that, Sergeant. May the gods save you.”
“May the gods save us all,” said the sergeant, returning his attention to commanding the defense of the barricade.
Terrance turned his horse around and moved back down the road. He called up from memory the map of the area, and realized he would have to ride miles to the east to find a small trail through the mountains, one that rose up more than a thousand feet higher than the summit of this road, before he could loop around the invaders and return to the Earl’s camp.
The snow continued to fall, and Terrance hoped the pass wasn’t snowed in completely by the time he reached there. He patted his horse on the neck and said, “No rest for either of us until we get safely back to the Earl, I’m afraid.” The thought of the next few hours of riding almost caused him to break down, and tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them back.
Shivering now from the cold and his fever, Terrance tried to huddle down deeper in his coat as he turned his animal and rode east. His head pounded and his throat was sore beyond anything he had experienced as a boy. He couldn’t breathe through his nose and the cold air savaged his throat each time he inhaled. He realized he had no choice; behind him a battle raged and there was no place for him to rest. If he must strive, then let him do so attempting to finish his mission. He rode on.
The horse labored up the pass, slipping on the icy rocks from time to time. Terrance fought to keep his mind focused, which was becoming more and more difficult as he felt his fever turn worse. He knew that any mishap here would mean his death, for he could not possibly walk out from these icy heights. Yet while such thoughts caused him great fear only hours before, now he felt a fey detachment, as if whatever the outcome might be, it really didn’t matter. He had no other option but to press on.
The pass where Moncrief’s and Summerville’s forces were locked in combat with the Tsurani was a bit more than three thousand feet in elevation but this pass was nearly five, and the snow had been falling steadily up here for days. It hadn’t begun to drift yet, so he felt confident he would breast the summit soon, yet there was always the chance of accident.
If the wind below had been knives cutting into his face, razors were now being administered to every inch that was exposed. Not for the first time did he wish for more gear, a heavy pair of trousers, a heavy wool muffler, heavier gloves, but now he wished more fervently than before. He understood the need to keep as much weight off the horse as possible, but right now he would have given up two hours’ travel time for a pair of fur-lined gloves.
Cresting the summit brought a sudden sense of relief, even though the wind now raked him like the claws of a predator. He urged the horse on as it half walked, half staggered down the icy trail, thinking that every second moving was a second closer to safety.
An hour later he found a cut through the rocks that was relatively sheltered from the wind and there paused to let the horse rest. He dismounted and moved between the horse’s neck and the rocks, letting the animal’s body heat give him a slight respite from the brutal cold. He patted his pockets and found the pear, which he gave to the horse. It wasn’t much, but the little bit of food seemed to revive the animal slightly and Terrance felt better for it.
After a half hour in the lee of the rocks, Terrance judged the animal was now taking more punishment from the cold than from moving, so he mounted up and they again descended the mountain.
It was almost night when he reached the foothills and the lightly forested path that would take him back around to the main road to the Earl’s camp. He would have to either keep moving throughout the night, or make a camp and light a fire.
It was a difficult choice, for to keep moving meant dangerous footing and the chance for the horse to be injured. A fire was equally dangerous, for the Tsurani might have flanking units out looking for passes like the one he had just used.
He decided to press on and stop only if he found a clearly safe campsite. He was moving through a lightly wooded area when he noticed a small trail leaving the one on which he rode. It might be a game trail, but it also might be a forester’s track, leading him to a shelter. He decided he was at no more risk for investigating and moved the horse slowly along the new trail.
A half mile along he saw a low shape in the gloom, for almost no light was coming from the cloud-shrouded moons. Only the presence in the sky of both large moon and middle moon gave him any illumination.
He identified the mound as being a low hut, built into the side of a hillock. Either a charcoal burner’s or a forester’s hut, he judged.
He dismounted and investigated. The hut was abandoned, but it had a stone hearth and he quickly set about to build a fire. If the Tsurani blundered this far off the main trail it meant only the gods had fated his death and he had best resign himself to that.
He took flint and steel from his belt pouch and found some very dry wood near the hearth that sprang easily to flame. He then went outside and found some damp logs that he carefully fed to the fire, watching clouds of steam and smoke rise as the damp wood resisted the flames.
When he was satisfied the fire would not go out, he went back outside and tended the horse. He tried to rub it down with a handful of stale straw he had pulled off the floor of the hut, and then poured water into his hand and let the animal drink. He would look around in the morning to see if there was any fodder, but suspected he and the animal would both arrive in the Earl’s camp starving.
Once he had finished caring for the horse, he went back
inside and fell on the hard stones before the fire. The warmth felt wonderful on his face, and he found a ragged blanket tossed into the corner, which he rolled up for a pillow, letting his coat serve as his blanket.
His breath came raggedly, he could not breathe deeply without coughing, and his body ached from hair to toes. But he was tired to the point of numbness and quickly fell into a troubled fever sleep.
Terrance could hardly move when he awoke. The fire had died down to glowing embers, and what little warmth it generated was offset by the painful cold he felt on the side of his body turned away from the fire. He rolled over with effort and felt his freezing side drink in the heat.
His head swam as he tried to stand. His legs shook and he felt his head pounding. His stomach tied in knots and he felt himself start to heave; he swallowed hard and fought down the feeling he was about to be sick. He reached out and held the doorjamb, his head down a moment, eyes closed, and let his aching body reach a point of balance. He took a long slow breath, and opened his eyes.
Looking out through the partially open door, he judged the morning half over. He knew he was dangerously sick, and his only hope was in getting to the Earl’s camp before he lost all ability to ride.
He staggered outside and found his horse standing patiently where Terrance had tied him, in the lee of the hut. Terrance had to concentrate to the point of perspiration breaking out on his forehead to tack up the animal.
He judged that enough water was left in the skin so he didn’t have to go looking for any. He also knew he’d cross a stream halfway between here and the Earl’s camp, so he’d refill the skin there if needed.
Terrance almost lost consciousness when he mounted, his head swimming for nearly a minute from the exertion. He didn’t need a healing-priest or chirurgeon to tell him he was burning up from a raging fever, and his lungs gurgled when he breathed deeply. He had pneumonia and wouldn’t last another day without attention.
Legends II (Shadows, Gods, and Demons) Page 59