Flight of the Wounded Falcon

by Trish Mercer

Sitting on the rock outcropping near the spring, Thorne analyzed the soldier crumpled in the ash. He was weeping uncontrollably as Captain Nelt cradled him.

  “And then . . . and then . . . he was gone, sir. Just gone. If he doesn’t come back, I don’t know if I’ll make it home!”

  “It’s all right, Corporal, it’s all right,” Nelt said comfortingly, rocking him. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. I don’t need food,” he whimpered. “Not until every last man reaches the fort and eats first. I won’t drink either. Not until every man has had his fill. That’s my duty. I know it is. What if the water here runs out? I won’t be the one who wasted it. He said I need to make sure every man is ready. He wants Idumea back, for his grandson.” He sobbed into the captain’s shoulder.

  Thorne stared without blinking.

  “That’s what we’re going to do, Corporal,” Nelt said, patting his head. “We’re doing it right now. And his grandson wants you to drink. You have to, or you won’t make it to the fort. Do you understand? You can drink! His grandson wants you to.”

  Rigidly, Thorne continued to stare at the soldier who trembled and waved away the boot of water offered to him. Several other officers stood nearby, watching the drama of the young man.

  “Tragic, just tragic,” one of them mumbled. “He seemed so strong, too. Let’s force the water down him, Nelt.”

  Nelt held up a hand. “He’ll gag on it. Just let him calm down some more. He’s doing much better than he was when I found him fifteen minutes ago. I think he’ll be fully out of it soon.”

  Another officer bobbed his head. “Usually the re-fogs wear off in about half an hour. But I’ve never seen one where the soldier was half starved and dehydrated. That might be making it worse. Such vivid hallucinations.”

  “Yes,” General Thorne finally spoke, and his voice was remarkably steady. “Very vivid. Soldier,” he said in a calming tone, “where have you been serving?”

  The corporal didn’t look up but kept his head buried in Nelt’s shoulder. “Only Province 8, sir. Only place I ever want to serve. To bring glory to General Thorne.”

  Thorne nodded slowly as the other officers exchanged glances. “I understand. Soldier, did he ever tell you his name?”

  “No, sir. Just wore a dark blue jacket, with golden buttons.”

  One of the officers looked at Thorne. “Golden buttons?”

  For the first time, Thorne showed some emotion, and it was to pale slightly. “The uniforms in my grandfather’s time had brass buttons. Only for those ranked colonel or higher. They would appear golden.” His voice quavered ever so slightly.

  Several of the officers looked at each other in alarm.

  Nelt breathed into Shin’s ear, “Nice touch. You’ve got him.”

  Shin gasped and shuddered. “I hope he’s not displeased with me. I’ve done all I can.”

  Nelt glanced at Thorne for his answer.

  Taken aback, the general only shook his head.

  “He’s not displeased. You’ve done very well, Corporal Shin,” Nelt told him, as if talking to a small child. “Excellent work. You’ve rescued dozens of men, saved hundreds more, found us the horses, the water, and now the injured are on their way to the fort. You did well to listen to the big general. His grandson is pleased with you. You know what would make him even happier? If you drank some water. Come on, right here. Drink. And then we’ll get you some sleep, all right? Do you want him to be pleased? Drink. That’s right—good job, Corporal,” he soothed as water dribbled down Shin’s chin. “Now come on, stand up. Up, up,” Nelt said, getting to his feet and pulling up the weakened corporal.

  A few officers rushed over to help, but the corporal got up on his own. In his hunched and cowering condition, he didn’t look as large as Thorne or the other officers remembered him.

  Nelt put his arm around him. “Over here, Shin. We’ve got a couple of blankets you can lay down on. Get some rest.”

  Colonel Ferrim stepped over to support Shin on the other side, and the two men led the weak and heavy corporal several paces out of the way.

  Soldiers, now hundreds of them, were waiting in line to drink and help fill the wagons. Up until that point, every man was intent on finding water, food, and horses to survive. But now all of them were far more preoccupied with wondering just who the corporal was, what he saw, and what Thorne was going to do about, with, or to him.

  Thorne didn’t notice the soldiers now gossiping like grandmothers, but remained on his rock, watching hawkishly as they laid the large young man down.

  The other officers remained quiet and motionless, not yet daring to share their theories with each other until they knew what Thorne’s official story might be.

  Colonel Ferrim returned, but Nelt stayed by the corporal’s side, sitting on the ground next to him. Ferrim exhaled as he reached the cluster of officers. “Don’t know when I’ve seen such a bad case. Of course, he’s had quite a few shocks in the past two days.”

  A lieutenant colonel nodded. “Two of my men had an incident last night. They tried to eat their packs thinking they were pork chops. I’m a bit surprised we haven’t had more problems.”

  “Nelt said Shin’s been serving only three seasons,” Ferrim said. “He sneaked into the troops coming from Province 8, wanting to follow the general.”

  The lieutenant colonel winced. “Three seasons? That explains it. The fogged ones need at least one year of being clean to avoid these problems in combat. Didn’t he know that? My two soldiers last night barely completed their first year of service.”

  Uncharacteristically, Thorne remained silent on his rock, staring as Nelt patted the corporal who laid on his side.

  Every soldier in the vicinity watched either the resting corporal or the staring general, their eyes darting between the two, waiting for something to happen.

  “Well,” Thorne finally broke his silence, his tone strained yet cautiously optimistic. “it seems all our problems I outlined this morning have been solved.”

  There was no official story. Not yet, at least. Even Thorne had been astonished enough to not know what to think next.

  “Gentlemen,” he continued, suddenly very easy, “I’ll be taking one of the horses down to Province 2, and see to it myself that the wagons are loaded with enough food for those who are remaining here tonight. Colonel Ferrim, I want you to be in charge here until I return. Have Captain Nelt stay with the corporal. He seems to have bonded with the captain. We don’t need to cause him any more trauma, now, do we?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the colonel, startled that the general showed concern for the corporal. The other officers glanced at each other, expressing the same thought.

  Thorne stood, still eyeing Nelt and Shin.

  Nelt glanced up and indicated that Shin was asleep.

  Thorne nodded back once, then, without another word, started back to camp.

  There are times I’m grateful for my form, Young Pere, because if things were otherwise, I’d be sick to my stomach right now. I’ve never seen a performance so convincing or so nauseating. You should be at the amphitheater.

  ---

  “The last of the soldiers are heading back to the camp, Shin,” Nelt mumbled in undertones to the still body lying next to him.

  “Good,” Shin whispered back. “Did Thorne leave?”

  “A while ago. I heard someone say he was going down to the fort to make sure the wagons were loaded properly for the return trip. He needs to show some authority right now, and I suspect we’ll be getting the best meal possible, as proof of his leadership. It should be safe for us to return to the camp now. Remember what you’re going to do next?”

  “Be as quiet and timid and humble as possible.”

  “That’s right, Shin. A tall order for such a big man, but I’m sure you can pull it off.”

  “I’ve had some practice with my family over the years. Do you think Thorne will come back tonight?”

  “If
he does,” Nelt said, “you will grovel at his feet.”

  Shin sighed. “Never done that before. I can hardly wait. Let’s get going.”

  ---

  It was just after dark when the thirty wagons were first spotted returning to the camp. A frail cheer rose up from the almost five hundred weak men still resting around fires.

  A horse and rider in the lead raised his left arm to accept the gratitude. Thorne smiled broadly as he called, “I’m here for you men! You’ll be as strong as oxen by morning, I promise!”

  From his prone position by one of the smaller fires, Shin smiled faintly at the spectacle riding in to camp.

  “I figured he’d be back. He needs to be seen as the hero right now, correct?” Captain Nelt said, pointing a warning finger at Shin.

  “Don’t worry,” Shin assured him. “Whoever is the hero at the end, is the hero of the whole day. Thorne wins today.”

  “You just remember that, along with everything else.”

  “You’ll be impressed, Nelt—I promise.”

  “Enough with the impressing, Shin,” Nelt grumbled. “That’s how we got into this mess in the first place.”

  A little while later the drivers of the wagon teams brought baskets and bags of food to groups of soldiers: breads, dried meats, dried fruits, and even small sweet cakes. When the basket was brought to Shin and Nelt, the soldier paused as he read Nelt’s label.

  “Sir, you and the corporal are to come with me. General Thorne wants to check on the corporal’s recovery himself.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Nelt smiled stiffly, and made a show of helping Shin get up. The corporal didn’t need any aid, but leaned on the captain for good measure.

  The three men made their way over to the largest fire where General Thorne stood waiting with a small smile on his face.

  Nelt pinched Shin lightly where he supported him, and Shin grunted quietly back. He was ready to perform.

  As they neared Thorne, Corporal Shin began to quake. “Sir! I knew you’d come back to us!” he cried, stumbling to the ground and landing on all fours. “The others said you’d sleep in the fort tonight, but I said, ‘Not General Thorne! He’ll be back to tough it out with his men tonight!’ And you came back! Thank you, sir!”

  Nelt bit his tongue to control his facial twitching. Verses began to form in his mind, using the words ‘adulation,’ ‘manipulation’ and ‘constipation.’ There had to be over three hundred words that rhymed with Shin.

  Thorne crouched in front of the exhausted soldier and offered a rare smile. “I wouldn’t want to miss spending a single minute with you, Corporal Shin. There’s much I hope to learn from you, soldier. The first is, which do you prefer: steak or pork chops?”

  In the end Corporal Shin had both, wolfing down the food as Thorne sat back on a log and watched him intently.

  “I’m surprised at the fresh meat, General,” Nelt said as he bit into his steak.

  “Several animals had to be slaughtered,” Thorne said, not eating but keeping his focus on the corporal. “There’s not enough feed available for them.”

  Shin glanced up. “Will there be enough for the horses, sir?” He made sure his tone was sufficiently meek.

  Thorne nodded. “There’s a barn of hay that survived. We need to keep the horses strong for the offensive on Idumea.”

  Shin looked worriedly over at Nelt. That wasn’t what he told the Stable at Pools. He’d only said they needed the horses to get to the fort. Nelt raised his eyebrows in warning but, never one to take warnings to heart, Shin said, “General, sir? I thought the horses would be left at the fort for the owners to retrieve.”

  “Is that what you told them?” Thorne seemed amused. “And tell me, my dear corporal, how are they going to bring back all those horses and wagons? I heard there were only the three of them at the house.”

  “I . . . I hadn’t considered that, sir,” Shin confessed.

  “That’s why I’m the general,” Thorne said, leaning back against his log in a gesture of smugness. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll send a messenger to the stables explaining the situation, and we’ll do our best to return the animals when the offensive is over.” Seeing the corporal’s relief, Thorne’s gaze and tone sharpened slightly. “But we’ll be giving those animals a much better life than abandoning them to fend for themselves. Trust me—there are no grasses anywhere, from here to the border before Idumea. No crops, no fruit, nothing. People and animals will be dying everywhere, but these beautiful horses will be taken care of by the army.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that, sir,” Shin swallowed, now worried about how bleak the situation seemed to be. No grasses or crops anywhere? But Thorne didn’t seem overly concerned, likely because he was prepared for such a disaster. “Of course you’d take care of the horses, sir,” Shin said, realizing it was time to do a little groveling. “I heard you were a great horseman.”

  Thorne smiled genuinely, thoughtfully. “I had a beautiful gray named Streak when I first went to Province 8. Amazing horse. He was a gift from my father for my twenty-third birthday. Tell me, Corporal Shin—how old are you?”

  “Nearly nineteen, sir.”

  Thorne raised his eyebrows. “Nineteen? Really? You seem much older than that.”

  “It’s just because I’m big, sir. Always have been.”

  Thorne narrowed his eyes. “Larger than your father?”

  Shin frowned at the strangely specific question. “Yes, sir. I surpassed him when I was twelve. My father was just average.”

  Thorne leaned forward earnestly, as if studying an interesting dog he’d been told could do tricks. “I understand you spent some time in the fog. A grassena boy?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sorry to admit that I was.”

  Thorne tried to smile kindly. “That’s all right, Corporal. You seem to be doing much better now. It’s been my experience that men in the fog forget large chunks of their lives. Some are there for years and think it was only weeks. Perhaps you only think you’re almost nineteen. Perhaps you’re really . . . twenty-six?”

  Nelt coughed.

  Shin didn’t blink, wondering where Thorne had pulled that also oddly specific number from. Not sure what Thorne was playing at, he came up with the vague, “There’s much I don’t remember sir.”

  Thorne seemed satisfied by that response. “Tell me more about your father. Now, honestly, your name isn’t Shin, is it?”

  The corporal shook his head, staring at the general.

  Thorne nodded slowly. “I’ve been told it’s actually Briter. Is that correct?”

  Shin nodded, growing nervous about the direction of the dinner conversation. He still wondered why he didn’t say his real name was Trovato. That would have simplified everything. Then again, probably not.

  “Your father . . . what does he do?”

  “I’m not sure right now. I haven’t been in touch with him for quite some time,” Shin answered honestly. “He was . . . always doing something different.” He took another bite, unsure of what else to say to not compromise himself or Nelt.

  “Understood,” Thorne said, with a faint smile on his face. “Not very reliable, it sounds. I imagine you might’ve been disappointed in a man like that. Someone like you deserves a much stronger father figure. Tell me then about your mother. I believe her name was Jaytsy?”

  Shin couldn’t help but choke on the piece of pork chop he was chewing. Only after Nelt leaped to his feet and beat him on his back did Shin cough down the meat and come up with an answer.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he gasped for air, his mind reeling, inventing wildly. “You shouldn’t tell jokes when someone is eating. What kind of name is Jacksy for a woman?”

  Thorne remained unmoved. “I didn’t say ‘Jacksy.’ I said ‘Jaytsy’.” He watched closely for a response.

  Shin met his steady gaze. Honesty seemed like the best strategy again. “General, I assure you my mother’s name is not Jaytsy.”

  Thorne sat back and tipped his
head. “I see that my informant was incorrect. Tell me, then—what’s your mother’s name?”

  “Lilla, sir.” It came out automatically, and Shin hoped there’d be no complications with that.

  “I see,” the general said as he watched the corporal drink. “And your father’s name?”

  “Atlee, sir.” Shin knew that was definitely a worldly name. It was the name of Uncle Deck’s cousin. Deck’s uncle’s name had been Holling, and his wife was . . .

  Uh-oh.

  The reason Deck hadn’t named any of his daughters after his aunt Lilla was because there already was a Lilla in the Shin-Briter family. And Deck’s aunt was married to Holling, not Atlee. Shin felt his mind buckling and tripping at his mistake. Mrs. Yordin had coached him to use familiar names so he wouldn’t stumble on them, but maybe he chose too familiar of names . . .

  He barely registered that Thorne was speaking to him.

  “Atlee Briter? Hmm,” the general said with an odd smile.

  But it shouldn’t be a problem, Shin thought frantically. All of the Briters had died some years back, he recalled with grim relief. Deck’s uncle Holling because of an accident, his aunt Lilla after a long illness, and his cousin Atlee was kicked by a wild horse. The scouts Guide Gleace and Shem had sent to bring Deck’s family to Salem never had any luck speaking with them, then found their headstones probably more than ten years ago, now. There was no one left to verify or refute Shin’s story, and he smiled in miserable relief . . .

  Unless Thorne’s men find the headstones themselves, and realized that the numbers and names he supplied didn’t add up . . .

  He was still fogging. That was the excuse he could use, later, should he need one . . .

  Shin noticed that Thorne had been analyzing him all that time with a probing gaze, and he was aware, too late, that the relief and worry and relief again that he’d been experiencing were likely manifested on his face. In his genuine exhaustion, he’d forgotten to keep his guard up.

  But Thorne merely said, “Well, Corporal Shin Briter, who also took the name Sword Master Thorne, what do we call you now?”

  Instinctively, Shin looked down at his label.

  Captain Nelt cleared his throat. “General, I find it’s best to let the formerly fogged men keep the name that’s on their jackets to reduce their confusion. It’s only a name, after all—a random designation that means nothing when you really think about it. Besides, I can think of a lot more verses to rhyme with ‘Shin’ than I can with ‘Briter’.”

  Thorne offered Nelt a half smile. He was very generous that night. “You have a point. Our young man here can do well under any name. Shin. Briter, Thorne. Anything he chooses to take. Right, Corporal?”

  “Whatever you wish for me to do, sir. All I want to do is please you.”

  Thorne leaned forward earnestly again. “Then you can please me by telling me one more thing. The spirit that’s been guiding you, as you say. Can you see him now? Where is he?”

  Corporal Shin shook his head. “I usually felt him more than anything. Only saw him occasionally. But, sir, since I found the water and had time to rest, I haven’t felt him. He seems to have left. Perhaps . . . perhaps there’s nothing more he can do to help us. His work may be finished.”

  Thorne’s gaze remained fixed, and Shin felt as if the general could see right through him. “I’d imagine being harassed by something like that would be distressing. But you seem almost sad about his leaving.”

  Corporal Shin looked down at his food and pushed it around aimlessly. He hadn’t heard a word from Puggah.

  “Just a little surprised, I suppose,” he said. “I was under the impression he was never going to leave my side.”

  “Not to worry, son,” General Thorne said kindly. “You don’t need him anymore. Now you’ve got me by your side.”

  ---

  Now what, Hogal?

  If he chooses not to listen to that quiet voice in his ear, well, that’s his choice, my boy. He’s moving himself away from you.

  But he was so close! Hogal, we were so close!

  Not as close as you hoped, my dear boy. What he wants got in the way of what he knows. There’s nothing more he’ll let us do for now.

  ---

  Late that night General Thorne watched the corporal sleeping by the fire and examined his face from across the flames.

  Colonel Ferrim noticed and came down to sit by the general. “So, Lemuel,” he whispered. “Is there anything?”

  “I’m only telling you this, Yurgis,” Thorne whispered back, “because you’ll be my number two man when we take over Idumea, and should be aware. Earlier today at the spring, I wasn’t so sure. But tonight, he was better, and as I talked to him I watched him. Yurgis, I think I know who he is.”

  Ferrim shifted nervously. “And?”

  Thorne rubbed his jaw. “The day after the Shins and Briters were killed, Deckett Briter’s uncle, aunt, and cousin arrived at his house, just as the soldiers were searching it,” he said in a low voice. “Apparently they’d come to help with the baby they assumed would be born soon. The Briter family didn’t take the news of the loss very well. Briter’s uncle, a man named Holling if I remember correctly, headed straight for the forest to look for himself, while his aunt and cousin were seen at the edge of the trees later that day, trying to find him. A few times Genev sent soldiers to question them—I’m not sure what he was thinking he’d get from them, but then suddenly they were gone, back to Mountseen.”

  “Probably had enough of Genev tailing them,” Ferrim said. “I remember he was quite persistent.”

  “Or maybe they found what they were looking for.”

  “What would that be?”

  “The baby.”

  “What?!” Ferrim exclaimed in a shocked whisper.

  “Jaytsy was due to deliver at any time,” Thorne told him. “She nearly had the baby two days earlier. I’d sent a midwife to help her, but she sent her away. Yurgis, what if she delivered in the forest?”

  Ferrim let out a low whistle. “What did she look like when she was taken by the Guarders?”

  “I was already injured at that time, and didn’t catch more than glimpses of her in the dark,” he related easily. “But what if she delivered and hid the baby? Or someone took it from her?”

  Ferrim stared at the sleeping corporal. “You think that could be him?”

  “How old does he look to you, Yurgis?”

  The colonel shrugged. “Maybe mid-twenties.”

  “He thinks he’s only nineteen.”

  Ferrim twisted to give Thorne an incredulous look.

  Thorne scoffed in agreement. “He told me he reached that height when he was twelve, and said he’s always been big. You have a boy, right? Do they grow that big that young?”

  “At twelve? Not my twelve-year-old!”

  “That’s what I thought. Maybe they told him he was younger than he is to hide him. Perhaps the uncle and aunt hid him for a time before giving him to their own son to raise. I know for a fact that son’s name was Atlee Briter—I remember because we had the Briters watched for a while after we lost the Shins—and that’s what the corporal told me his father’s name is. Sergeant Onus questioned the boy a season or two ago for me. He said that his grandmother told him he was distantly related to the Briters in Edge. That ‘grandmother’ would have been Deckett Briter’s aunt. Her name was Lilla, but he seems to believe that’s his mother’s name too.” Thorne scoffed. “As he was telling me his background, I could see the confusion in his eyes. He was pulling familiar names out of the air and slapping them anywhere, frowning and smiling at the same time. He’s definitely had a close relationship with the vials, and likely for a very long time. Combine that with the lies the Briters told him, and it’s no surprise that he doesn’t know what is real.”

  “So you think he doesn’t know his real age or parentage?”

  Thorne continued to stare at Shin. “He looked me directly in the eyes and said his mother’s name was not Ja
ytsy. Yurgis, I’ve seen enough men lie to me before to know when they’re concealing something. He was completely truthful, as far as he knows. He really believes his mother’s name is Lilla.”

  The two officers watched the corporal for another moment.

  “Yurgis,” Thorne finally whispered, “I want someone to go to Province 4 and find those Briters. Have them questioned using one of our more skilled interrogators. You don’t need to tell me we’re short on men; this is important. We should find out what’s happening north of us anyway. Now that we have horses we can get someone there faster. We need to make sure the supply lines stay open all the way through to Idumea.”

  Colonel Ferrim nodded. “Agreed.” He regarded the corporal thoughtfully. “That would be amazing, Lemuel, if he’s who you believe he is. I saw the colonel only once when he came by the university looking for you, that time they were in Idumea for The Dinner. Now I wish I’d looked at him more closely.”

  Thorne tipped his head at the corporal. “Trust me, you’re looking at him now. There’s something else—another reason I was so anxious for Jaytsy to deliver safely.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Ferrim.

  The colonel rocked back in astonishment. “Really?! Are you sure?”

  Thorne shrugged, but his leer was growing. “Perhaps, perhaps. Time will show. It’d only make sense, you know.” He leaned back again and grew thoughtful. “I don’t put much belief in The Writings or stories of the dead soldiers. But maybe, if they exist, my grandfather Cush is finally trying to do something right. What better cover for the offensive could we have wanted than this explosion? Why suddenly are we given so much help in the form of this untrained, ignorant but unbelievably lucky boy, practically dropped on my doorstep?”

  He nodded at the corporal.

  “My grandfather Cush is trying to give me back what a simpleton farmer named Briter stole. At least this way I don’t have to bother with raising him. Well, better now than never was, as they say.”

  Thorne smiled at the sleeping young man.

  “Yurgis, I’ve finally found my son.”