The Miscreant

by Brock Deskins

  Dominic looked down on the sleeping forms but could only see the other boy. A blanket covered his target’s head, and he would need to draw it back without waking him to employ his garrote. He gently lifted the covering with one hand while keeping the other free to smother any sounds should the boy awaken.

  The convicted murderer looked down at the roll of clothing and branches. “What…?”

  Garran sneaked up behind Dominic and smashed a tree limb into his right knee. Dominic’s leg collapsed, no longer able to support his weight. He let out a strangled cry just before Garran silenced him by clubbing the back of his broad head several times. Once Dominic stopped moving, Garran worked his shins and ribs just for good measure.

  Colin crawled out of the tent, sweating, and looked down at the battered, unconscious man. “Is he dead?”

  “No, but it will be a couple of weeks before he recovers the strength to threaten us again.”

  “Us? You mean you. He wasn’t mad at me.”

  “He’ll hate you by association.”

  “This happens a lot with you, doesn’t it?”

  “It is not a unique phenomenon.”

  Garran hefted Dominic’s legs up by his ankles and began dragging him back toward the center of camp. The inner perimeter guards were not exceptionally vigilant, and it was a simple task to discard Dominic’s unconscious body between two tents and return to his own to grab the remaining few hours of sleep available to him.

  ***

  The bedlam of clanging metal and shouting woke Garran and Colin. Colin rubbed the sleep from his eyes and peered out of their small tent. The waxing sunrise cut through the frigid morning fog and cast a gray pall over the camp. Soldiers went about kicking at tents and shouting to awaken the occupants. One of the guards stepped up to the side of their shelter and struck the top with his spear haft despite seeing Colin already up.

  Colin nudged Garran’s backside with his booted foot. “Come on, you don’t want to be late for breakfast.”

  Garran grabbed his boots, crawled from the tent, and began putting them on. “You were a farmer, weren’t you?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “Aside from the slow-eyed, dim look on your face, no one else is so damned chipper at this ungodly hour.”

  “Ungodly? I’ve been awake for nearly an hour. Hey, what do you mean by slow-eyed and dim?”

  “Exactly my point.”

  Garran and Colin barged through the slowly rousing camp and made straight for the chow wagons. As with dinner, the women served breakfast from iron pots suspended over cookfires. Once the bitterness of his early rise wore off, Garran winced in sympathy at the hour at which the women must have waked to begin cooking their morning meal. Garran purposely chose the line with the same young woman who had served him dinner. She smiled at him when he reached her and held out his bowl.

  “I’m so sorry for the trouble I caused last night,” she said as she dropped a ladle full of cooked oats into his bowl.

  “That’s all right. It wasn’t your fault.”

  A guard stepped up and nudged Garran in the shoulder. “Keep it moving!”

  “My name is Rose,” the girl called out as Garran walked away.

  “Garran,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  Garran and Colin found a place to sit and eat.

  “I don’t see that Dominic guy around,” Colin said as he scanned the camp.

  “I imagine he’s in whatever passes for an infirmary in this place.”

  “How’d you know he was going to come last night?”

  “I didn’t, not that night anyway, but I knew he would come soon. I’m used to people wanting to exact some sort of retribution on me.”

  “Why, what do you do?”

  Garran shrugged. “I don’t know. I just be me, and I guess some people don’t like it.”

  “That girl seems to like you,” Colin said with a grin.

  “Yes, she does. I might have to make a late-night call.”

  “Be careful, they’re really strict about keeping the men from cavorting with the women.”

  “How long have you been with the work camp?”

  “Almost a week, but it’s been almost all traveling. They came to my town in Silverton Valley and scooped me up on their way toward the mountain passes.”

  “A week? No way am I going to stick around that long.”

  “You’re really going to try and run?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Colin shook his head. “I’ve seen three men try, and none ever got far. One managed to evade the soldiers and their dogs for almost a day, but they brought him back in come morning. I doubt he’ll try again.”

  “That’s because most of these people are city folk. I’m mountain born and raised. This is my land, and I can disappear like a ghost if I want to.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Would you rather get cut down by raiders? It sounds to me like it’s a real possibility.”

  Colin studied his feet. “Yeah, the commander warned of it, and some of the other workers talk about it a lot.”

  “It seems stupid to me not to try.”

  “I guess.”

  Another group arrived as the main camp packed up their tents and meager belongings. The new arrivals numbered seven men, two wagons, and five guards counting the drivers. Soldiers went about camp and ordered everyone to load up into the wagons and move out. By midmorning, the caravan was plodding down the narrow dirt road toward the Midland Pass.

  The wagon column took a short rest just after noon, but they did not set up the chow lines. Soldiers escorted the women to each of the wagons to pass out hard rolls and cheese. Garran and Rose were able to exchange a quick pleasantry before her escort ordered her to the next wagon.

  The soldiers gave the work crew enough time to eat their simple lunch and stretch their legs before ordering them back into the wagons and the caravan got underway once again. Halfway through their next leg of travel, Cyril guided his mount next to Garran’s wagon.

  “Mr. Holt, how fares you this day?”

  Garran did his best to mask his surprise at the commander’s inquiry and familiarity. “I am doing as well as can be expected, sir.”

  “That’s good to hear. It seems Mr. Mercier went to relieve himself last night and took several nasty falls. It will likely be two or three weeks before he fully recovers. That puts me a man down before we even start working.”

  “A person should be careful where they dangle their worm when they go fishing.”

  Cyril nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Some fish have a bigger bite than others, but few fish can avoid being caught if the fisherman is persistent enough, Mr. Holt.”

  “Commander, do you know the names of all the men here?”

  Cyril guided his mount away from the wagon and said, “Only the ones I expect to give me trouble—Mr. Holt.

  ***

  The wagon train navigated the rough, winding road deeper into the remote, forested mountain passes separating Anatolia and Osage. Rockslides and fallen trees often blocked the path, and the work crews had to spend hours and sometimes days clearing away the obstacles. Once, heavy rains had washed out a section of the road and created a channel so deep that they spent a week filling it with rock and soil.

  Garran spotted Dominic hobbling around camp performing mundane tasks. Commander Godfrey was insistent that everyone did some kind of work no matter his or her infirmities. Dominic cast baleful glares at Garran, but he never sought him out for confrontation, and Garran made sure to avoid him as much as possible.

  “You see now why King Remiel is desperate to build his trade road,” Commander Godfrey announced when they finished spanning a large gully. “This pass is the shortest route between Anatolia and Osage, but it’s too treacherous for anyone but black marketers to use. The Guild’s trade route requires another two weeks of travel to circumvent the pass.”

  “Fat lot of good it will do if The Guild and their payrolled legislators keep call
ing us smugglers and siccing their goons on us,” Frank said.

  Garran spent much of his time studying how the camp moved and operated, particularly the soldiers. He watched how they set up their inner and outer perimeters and conducted their roving patrols. Most importantly, he learned how they handled and fed the dogs.

  “Garran, we are getting farther and farther away from any form of civilization,” Colin said. “Even if we do escape now, it will take a week of walking where we will likely starve to death, if the elements or some wild animal doesn’t kill us first.”

  “Spoken like a true farmer. I told you, this is my kind of country, and I know how to survive in it. I’ve been watching the soldiers. We’ll make our move at the next hazard. With everyone working, we’ll be able to attempt our escape with the fewest number of guards to see us.”

  “How do you know there will be another blockage? What about the dogs?”

  “We had some terrible winds tear through the pass this winter. That means a lot of downed trees, especially higher up where the soil is thinner and there’s less for the roots to find purchase.” Garran pointed to the giant cleft below them. “All the water from the mountain springs and snow melt runs right through there. Once you reach the water, you can use it to hide your scent from the dogs.”

  “How will I even reach it? I can’t outrun a dog.”

  “I’ll distract the dogs so you can make it.”

  “What about you?”

  Garran smiled. “I’ve had fathers sic their dogs on me before. I know how to deal with them.”

  “If we fail…”

  “If we fail, we’ll get in trouble. The worst thing they’ll do is stick us with extra chores and give us a lash or two. It’s not as though we’re rapists and murderers. We’re a couple of kids conscripted into quasi-slavery. The commander seems like a reasonable guy. He’ll have to punish us, but he’ll understand.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Garran clapped Colin on the shoulder. “Trust me, I’m always right.”

  Garran’s presumptions held true. Less than two days after constructing their makeshift bridge, a copse of massive fir trees crisscrossed the road and hillside, creating a tangled mess. Cyril ordered the crews to draw tools from the equipment wagons. Workers were not allowed to maintain the tools on their person as many could be formidable weapons if put to violent use.

  Colin and Garran picked up their work implements from the wagon and clambered over the fallen trees to the far end of the tangled mass. Garran used his reaping blade to shear off the boughs so Colin could use his axe to hack off the thick limbs. A saw crew would then section the massive trunks into manageable pieces and roll them off the road.

  “This is our moment,” Garran said as he cut at the needle-bristling boughs.

  “What do we do?”

  “You see that deer trail just up the path? That runs down to the stream I told you about. Once you reach the stream, keep running, but stay in the shallow water so the dogs can’t get your scent. It’s just a matter of staying in the water until we find a good place to start cutting through the forest.”

  Colin took a sidelong glance at the two guards standing idle nearby. “That trail looks like it’s a mile away. They’ll catch me before I reach it.”

  “No they won’t. The horses can’t get past these trees before we’re halfway to the stream, and they can’t run down a steep hill. The two slack-jawed guards aren’t even paying attention to us. With the armor and weapons they’re carrying, we’ll be halfway to the trail before they know we’ve made a break for it and can’t possibly catch us.”

  “I wish I had your confidence. I’m scared shitless right now.”

  “It’s a perfectly natural feeling. Use that fear. It will help you run faster.”

  “I don’t think this is going to work.”

  “Don’t try to think. It’s not amongst your stronger talents. Leave the thinking to those better suited to the task.”

  Colin frowned. “You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”

  Garran nodded. “I know, but I’m also right.”

  Sweat poured down Colin’s face, and his heart was already beating so fast that he was certain any further exertion would cause it to explode. “I sure hope so.”

  Garran watched the two overseers out of the corner of his eye. “Get ready to go. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I’ve distracted them long enough for you to reach the trail. Ready…go!”

  Colin dropped his axe and ran for all he was worth. His arms and legs pumped in perfect rhythm to propel him down the grassy lane as fast as they would go. He heard the guards shout and hoped Garran was going to be able to buy him the time he needed as well as get away himself.

  Garran watched the soldiers’ reaction as Colin sprinted for the trail and found it rather impressive. The two guards standing near them raised a horn to their lips and blew a long, single note. Three mounted men back at the wagons guarding the larger work crew spurred their mounts into motion.

  Had the horses been the massive, powerful destriers favored by armored cavalry, Colin might well have made good on his escape, at least until the dogs sniffed him out. Garran felt a little bad about lying to his new friend regarding the protection the water afforded him. It was a simple matter for the dogs and their handlers to follow the stream until they recovered the scent the moment the escapee stepped onto the shore. However, if he had told Colin the truth, he never would have made the attempt and given Garran the chance to see how the soldiers reacted to an actual escape.

  The horses were the short but stout hill ponies favored by the highland folks for their surefootedness and unflagging stamina. Although their legs were short in comparison to cavalry horses, they were very strong and agile creatures and more like goats than horses when it came to maneuvering in rough terrain.

  The stocky creatures leapt the fallen timbers, able to find purchase for their landing and make another jump in the smallest of openings. Their riders showed equal proficiency in maintaining their saddle throughout the jarring, bounding, and weaving pursuit.

  Colin was halfway to the deer trail before the riders cleared the obstacle. Had it been a simple race, he might well have made it, but the soldiers were not without other means of stopping runaways. Two of the riders leveled brainers, weapons looking like crossbows with a wider, deeper flight groove, which launched a clay sphere filled with lead balls instead of a quarrel.

  Garran could not possibly hear Colin’s shout or even read his lips at this distance, but the expression on his face made his inaudible words quite clear.

  Colin turned his head toward the sound of the approaching horses and saw Garran idly observing the commotion. “Mother fu—!” Colin shouted before the orb struck him on the forehead and exploded in a spray of shattered clay, dust, and lead balls.

  Colin’s body went limp, and he tumbled like a thrown rag doll onto the road, rolling to a stop at the head of the deer trail. One rider reined in near Garran while the other two cantered up to Colin’s limp body and slung him over one of the horses’ broad rumps.

  Colin lifted his head slightly as he passed Garran, his eyes crossed and out of focus, a thin rivulet of blood tracking down his face from a cut on his forehead. “Sonofabitch…kill you…bastard…”

  CHAPTER 7

  The morning breakfast bell and rousing shouts broke the camp’s tranquility. Garran reluctantly crawled out of his sleeping roll, made extra comfortable by having the entire tent to himself, stretched, and melted the light dusting of snow at the base of a nearby tree as he relieved himself.

  “Garran Holt!”

  Startled, Garran spun around and faced two soldiers. “What?”

  “Come with us,” the one to his left ordered.

  “Can I finish this piss first? It was too cold to get up last night, and I’ve dammed up quite the lake in my bladder.”

  Both men looked down and jumped back with a curse to avoid the stream that had already wetted their boots. They qui
ckly sidestepped, grabbed the youth by his upper arms, and propelled him toward the center of camp.

  “Hey,” Garran complained, “let a guy get a proper shake. Look, now I’ve spotted my trousers.”

  “You’re gonna have a lot worse than spotted trousers in a minute.”

  “Why, what did I do?”

  Neither soldier answered as they grimly shoved Garran onward. The entire camp was gathered around one of the wagons with Colin and Cyril standing in the bed. Garran’s stomach twisted as he knew this did not bode well for him.

  Cyril extended a hand and pulled Garran into the wagon. “Mr. Holt, I’m glad you could join us.”

  “What’s this about? I didn’t run.”

  “No, but you provided the motivation for Mr. Atterly’s attempted escape.”

  Garran glared at Colin. “You snitched on me? That’s pretty low.”

  “Lower than throwing me to the wolves?” Colin demanded, his own look of outrage mixed with incredulous disbelief.

  “Yes. Ask any of the convicts down there, and they will tell you there is nothing worse than a snitch.”

  “Calm yourself, Mr. Holt,” Cyril said. “Mr. Atterly refused to say a word against you.”

  “Then how do you know I had anything to do with it?”

  “Do you think me a stupid man, Mr. Holt?”

  Garran sighed. “No, in fact I find you cleverer than most people I’ve known. It is perhaps your most annoying trait.”

  “My wife would debate that with you for hours. Since you did not actually try to escape, I can’t rightly punish you for it. However, your corrosive influence on the naïve Mr. Atterly has caused some disruption to my camp and a challenge to my authority.” Cyril turned and faced the assembled workers. “I laid down the few simple rules I enforce and the punishment for breaking them. Young Mr. Atterly, through the coercive influence of Mr. Holt, chose to break them. Therefore, he shall receive two lashes, serve on kitchen detail, and forgo his breakfast and lunch today.”

  The commander turned his eyes to Garran. “Mr. Holt will share the detail with Mr. Atterly, forfeit the first two meals of the day, and, since he enjoys being the conductor of nefarious schemes, shall be the one to administer Mr. Atterly’s whipping.”