'It's quiet out there except for the damnable weather – it's slackening a bit, but it's still no spring evening. Squads one and two, on the wall, keep a sharp watch, and keep your fool heads down. They can see you more easily silhouetted up there than you can see them; and, remember, the moredhel have better eyes in the night than we do.'
'Third squad, under Gregory, will secure the flank of the hill to our left. Gregory will detail several of you off to probe forward. Tinuva tracked the Dark Brothers. They've holed up in an abandoned mine a mile downslope but have patrols out.'
'Two hours then we shift watches again. Those of you detailed to the flank and forward patrol will get an extra hour of rest when you come back in. The Tsurani have the same routine and will cover the right flank.'
'When do we fight them?' Darvan asked from the back of the room. Several men growled in agreement, while others mumbled for him to shut the hell up.
'When I tell you and not before, you damned fool,' Dennis snapped. 'Now get the hell outside!'
Richard fell in with his unit and followed the men out into the night. The storm still raged and he gasped as the cold wind hit. Filing past, rushing to get inside, were the miserable men who had been detailed to the first watch.
'Third squad.'
Gregory stepped in front of the group and motioned for them to follow. A narrow trail fifty yards further up the pass had been found, switchbacking its way up the icy slope. The men struggled to keep a footing, hanging on as gusts of wind roared through the pass, ready to snatch them off the icy precipice. The night was pitch-black, the men cursing, even the older veterans complaining that it was madness to be out on watch on a night like this.
The group pressed on. Struggling to the top of the pass they met Tinuva and several men. Gregory and the elf conferred briefly, then the first watch headed back down to the shelter below. Gregory motioned for the men to gather round.
'We seem to be lucky for once,' Gregory announced. 'The storm's driven them all back to the old mine but that's no reason to let our guard down. It might even be a trick. Space out, a man to every thirty paces, and don't get lost. Keep a sharp watch. I'm going forward and please don't kill me when I come back in.'
The men chuckled grimly.
'Move!'
The squad started into the woods, moving just below the top of the crest. Richard made to follow, but Gregory motioned him back. 'You're going forward with me.'
'Me?'
'Yes, you. Something wrong with your hearing, boy?'
Richard swallowed hard, saying nothing.
Without another word Gregory started down the slope, drifting from tree to tree, Richard struggling to keep pace. Looking to his right he caught a glimpse of the pass below, the glow of firelight shimmering from the top of the chimney, and wished he was back inside, sitting by the roaring fire, or better yet curled up and asleep by it.
He lost sight of Gregory for a moment and felt a surge of panic when he tore his gaze away from the fire and realized he couldn't see the Natalese Ranger. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and stumbled forward, startled when the ice cracked beneath his feet. An instant later a hand snapped around his throat. He started to cry out, but then the hand released him and he found himself staring into Gregory's eyes.
'First lesson. Never lose contact with your partner when scouting at night,' Gregory whispered. His voice was calm, there was no reproach in it. It was if the two of them were simply having a pleasant chat while strolling through the woods.
'You looked at the fire glowing, you were wishing you were inside, you forgot about me.'
Richard nodded, and suddenly realized that behind the calm words he could see a dagger in Gregory's other hand.
'Yes, I could have killed you as easily as a baby asleep in a cradle. Remember that, boy, for that's what they'll do to you.'
Not sure how to react, Richard could only nod.
'Second lesson: never look at a fire when you're on night patrol. It robs you of sight in the dark. Look to one side or the other. On watch, stand with your back to the fire. Blind yourself for even just a moment, and it can cost you your life. Now get your own dagger out. This isn't a night for archery or sword-play.'
Gregory turned and continued forward and this time Richard stayed close, trying to mimic his movements, the fluid glide to his steps, noticing a certain rhythm… half a dozen quick steps, a pause, head turning, then forward, though at a slightly different angle; again, the pause. Once he stopped, pointing down and Richard looked, seeing footsteps in the frozen mud and a stain where someone had relieved himself.
'Troll,' Gregory whispered. 'You can tell by the smell.'
Richard nodded. The forest trolls of southern Yabon where he had been a boy were barely more than animals, without language and little more dangerous than a bear or lion. They were scarcely a nuisance to a party of armed men. Mountain trolls on the other hand had language and weapons and knew how to use them. And now they were in the woods around him. He gripped his dagger tightly.
'Night watchers.' Gregory whispered. 'The moredhel call them allies, but treat them like slaves; so do the human renegades who travel with this kind of group. They're all inside the mine staying warm while the trolls are out here freezing.' He was quiet for a moment, then softly he added, 'It's a stupid choice; trolls don't have the discipline needed for a night like this.'
Gregory pushed forward. They pressed down a low rise and then started to climb to the next ridge, moving parallel to the road they had run along earlier in the day. Richard even recognized the place where the group had broken off from the road, spotting the cleft boulder with a tree growing out of the middle that marked the spot.
Gregory stopped and held up his hand. He then pointed to the side of the boulder, the downwind side and held up his hand, two fingers extended.
Richard felt his heart trip over. Two forms were huddled beneath the downwind side of the boulder, hunched over a small flickering fire… two trolls.
Richard started to reach over his shoulder to pull out his bow and string it. Gregory shook his head. Motioning to the dagger in Richard's hand, he then drew a finger across his throat.
Richard felt his knees go weak. This madman was telling him they were going up to the trolls to cut their throats!
Gregory remained still for several minutes as if frozen to the earth. Richard crouched behind him, limbs trembling. To his disbelief Gregory stood up and ever so casually started forward, walking in the open. Richard didn't move. Gregory, without looking back, motioned for him to follow.
Richard, barely able to walk on shaky legs, followed. The trolls were a scant thirty paces away.
The two approached. One of the trolls finally stirred and raised its head. Richard suddenly realized that the two of them had been asleep and Gregory knew it. The first troll started to say something, Gregory responded in a guttural tongue, and then sprinted the last half dozen paces until he was on the troll, dagger flashing in the firelight.
'Come on boy!' he hissed. 'Kill the other!'
Richard remained frozen in place, watching, terrified as Gregory's dagger slashed down. The other troll started to stand up.
He was not even sure how he got there but suddenly the troll was in front of him, filling his world. Shorter than a man, the creature was wider at the shoulders by half again. Its misshapen forehead was dominated by a massive black brow, from under which tiny black eyes glinted. Its massive jaw jutted out and it displayed its teeth in a snarl, large pointed incisors extending beyond the upper and lower lips. A leather helmet was tightly pulled down, covering the large, pointed ears.
The troll slammed into Richard, pushing him up against the boulder, driving his dagger into the beast's stomach. There was a gasp of pain, fetid breath washing over him, claws tearing at his face. Richard tucked his own chin down and crouched and the lethal claws raked across the stone of the boulder behind him.
'The throat boy, the throat!'
Richard yanked his dagger fr
ee and tried for the throat, stabbing upward, but the troll, fighting in blind panic, blocked him. Instead he slashed at the beast's arms, cutting it again and again. Even as he tried to kill the troll he felt horrified, sickened, sensing the agony and terror of his victim.
'Die! Just die, damn you!' he cried, continuing to slash until the point of his dagger went in below the troll's chin and up into its brain. The beast sagged down with a groan and collapsed. Richard stepped back, sobbing, turned away, and vomited.
'Don't ever hesitate, boy.'
Richard, still bent double, looked up. Gregory was standing beside him, half-turned away, watchful gaze scanning the trail.
Richard realized that Gregory had finished his victim within seconds and rather than help had simply stood by, watching as he made his own kill. He felt a wave of anger and also of shame. He scooped up a handful of snow to wipe his mouth and hands clean. He was trembling, suddenly afraid that he might lose control completely and soil himself.
'It's all right,' Gregory whispered. 'Its one thing to kill in the heat of battle the way you did two days ago. This is different, even if it is a troll. It may be war, boy, but this is as close as a lawful man gets to black murder.' He put a reassuring hand on Richard's shoulder. 'You did just fine, son. More than one man's turned and run the other way.'
Even as he talked he continued to scan, carefully watching the trail and the surrounding forest. After a few moments of checking the signs to see if the struggle had alerted others, he said, 'Good. They're spread out too thin, hunched over fires and falling asleep from exhaustion. No one saw us. Come on.'
Gregory stepped back, picked up the feet of one of the trolls and dragged it away from the fire, hiding it on the far side of the boulder. Richard hesitated then finally reached down and dragged his own victim. The body was heavy, he could feel the warmth of it even through the foot wrappings. He laid the body down next to the other.
Gregory had rolled the troll half over and was stripping off the heavy blanket wrapped around its shoulders.
'Take his too.'
Richard tried not to look at the body but did as he was ordered, imitating Gregory as he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and over his head. They stepped around the boulder. Picking up a handful of broken branches he tossed them on the fire and sat down, pulling the troll cloak up over his head and face, motioning for Richard to do the same.
'No sense in blundering around any more. You can see the mine they're hiding in.'
He motioned across the trail and as the snow fall slackened, Richard caught a glimpse of a flickering glow, the entry way to the mine, several guards silhouetted at the opening.
'Might as well stay comfortable as we watch. The relief for those two will come up at some point and we'll deal with them the same way.'
Richard swallowed hard, nervously scanning the woods and trail. The storm continued to thunder around them, throwing down an icy mix of rain and sleet. The trees creaked and groaned under the load. Occasionally a branch snapped, the crack echoing above the roar of the storm. At times the mist closed in, the glow from the mine disappearing, then lifted, revealing the encampment where the enemy waited out the storm.
'If we didn't have the Tsurani to worry about, I'd be tempted to try and turn the tables,' Gregory whispered, breaking the silence.
'How is that?'
'Set up an ambush. Tough thing to do, though.' He glanced around, as if seeing the hills in the blackness. 'Mines in this area are all the same – lots of veins of iron, silver, some gold – there are certain to be several other entrances to cover and they must have an inner circle of guards watching. Still, it would be good not to leave this nest of murderers alive.'
Gregory reached over to the pile of firewood, and tossed another branch on which flared up.
Richard stiffened.
'Don't worry, boy. Just keep that cloak up over your head, they'll think we're with them.'
Richard nodded.
'You'll do fine.'
'I don't know,' said the young man, barely above a whisper.
'It's difficult the first time you have to get close to kill another. You see their eyes, see the light in it go out. Even a troll's eyes have that light. I'd be worried if you didn't feel something after that. I don't like hunting with a man who's a killer without that feeling.'
'They're the enemy though,' Richard offered, trying to sound harder than he actually felt.
Gregory sounded thoughtful as he asked, 'Are they?'
'Trolls and moredhel? Of course; they're the enemy.'
Gregory nodded. 'Well, they were created by the gods, the same as we; that's a fact. Maybe if one was born in our towns or villages, raised with us, maybe they'd be our friends. I don't know.' He chuckled. 'Moredhel, maybe. Seem a lot like elves, though to say that aloud to Tinuva is to invite a cold reply. Trolls, though, I don't know. Can't imagine one taking the cows to market, if you see what I mean.' He poked at the fire with a stick. 'Some folks say their hate for us is in their hearts from birth. Either way, learned hate or instinct to hate, we sure have to fight them often enough. But never become like them, Richard. Never think taking a life is easy. Do that and in a way they win.'
Richard was startled. In his brief time with the company he had thought of Gregory as nothing more than a man of the woods, a scout who was respected for his skills and his seemingly inexhaustible strength; but a philosopher?
'You sound like my old mentor.'
'Brother Vasily?'
'You know him?'
Gregory chuckled.
'Remember lad, I know your family. Fought beside your father when the Emperor of Queg tried to capture Port Natal. Vasily and I raised many a glass together. Ah, now there was a rare fine thinker.'
Richard said nothing. His father. Gregory knew the Squire. And what would he say?
'Lad, if you don't mind me saying it, your father is one fine soldier, but I wouldn't want him as my sire. He's a hard man.'
Richard lowered his head. The beatings. That seemed to be the only way the old man knew how to treat his sons. If they did well, there was, at best, silence; but fail in anything and there would be a beating. As the eldest surviving son, he felt that the old man would never be satisfied. Too often there was mention of Quentin, twenty years older, from the Squire's first marriage, killed in the last war.
Always the Squire spoke of him as the worthy son who should have inherited all, and that Richard was the weak second choice.
'Quentin was a good man,' Gregory said.
Again there was the disturbing sense that the Natalese scout somehow had the 'sense', the ability to read the thoughts of others. 'I see the same in you.'
Richard poked at the fire, saying nothing. 'I don't think our captain sees it that way,' he finally ventured.
Gregory chuckled. 'Dennis is a hard man on the surface, just like your father. He has to be out here not just to survive but to preserve those who serve with him. But underneath, he's very different. If he has a fault it's that he loves his men too much. Every death burns his soul. Jurgen was like his elder brother, the closest friend he has ever known. You just happened to be in the way.'
'I caused his death.'
'Don't ever say that again. Don't think it. War is cruel. Men die. Jurgen did what any man would do: he went to save a comrade.'
'I wish I had died instead.'
'Why?'
Richard looked over at him. 'Because,' he lowered his head, 'my life for his. Who was more worthy to live? Who did the company need more? I know the Captain wishes it had been the other way around.'
'Jurgen lived his life well. He had fifty years or more, you but eighteen. I think that's a fair trade. He gave you back years you never would have had. Just remember that and don't feel guilty. He didn't do it because you were the son of a squire. Remember that as well. He'd have done it for the son of a peasant or thief. So live every day after this as if it was a gift from him, and when the time comes some day, pay it back the same way he did.'
Richard looked over at Gregory, unable to speak. He realized now why the scout had wanted him out here on patrol, so that he could share these words with him.
He didn't know what to say in response.
Gregory stiffened and at nearly the same instant Richard noticed it as well, a sound, slush crunching, something moving on the trail.
'Lower your head,' Gregory whispered, 'then move when I do, and do what I do.'
Richard did as ordered, the troll's cloak pulled up over his head, his shoulders hunched forward, watching out of the corner of his eye. There were three of them, two trolls… and a moredhel.
Should we run? Richard wondered, but Gregory did nothing.
The three drew closer, slowed. The moredhel held out his hand, motioning for the trolls to stop. They stood less than ten feet away.
He barked out a command.
Gregory grunted, head swaying as if coming awake. He growled a comment, and one of the trolls snorted as if in amusement.
A gust of wind swept the group, sparks flaring up from the fire. The moredhel took another step closer, snarling angrily, and then, to Richard's eyes, everything seemed to shift, as if time was slowing. The moredhel's movement changed, as if he had suddenly realized that something was wrong, that he was not dealing with two trolls who had fallen asleep on watch.
Gregory started to stand, the cloak falling back, and at the same instant his hand snapped out, and his dagger was twirling over the firelight. A second later, the moredhel was dying, the dagger having slashed open his throat. Gregory was up, cloak flung back his sword drawn.
Richard stood, dagger in hand and leapt forward, following the scout. It was over in seconds, so complete was the surprise. Gregory split the skull of one of the trolls who stood gape-mouthed, staring down at the moredhel who was clasping at his throat, staggering backwards, trying to hold his lifeblood in as it sprayed out between his fingers.
Richard leapt for the second troll and this time he almost did it right, driving his dagger straight in, cutting the troll's throat, losing the blade when the troll jerked backwards, the dagger jammed into his lower jaw.
Honoured Enemy Page 9