Stars and Graves

by Roberto Calas

  “Do I?” Grae asked.

  “Sir, you took me out of a dungeon. I owe you a debt. Ain’t no way I’d break rank.”

  “And you, Trudge Graen?”

  Rundle shook his head slowly. “Ain’t no way I’d break rank.”

  “Get on your knees,” Grae said.

  Shanks and Rundle glanced at one another.

  “Sir?” Shanks said.

  “Get on your knees!” Grae hissed.

  Shanks shook his head slowly. “Why do... why do you want us to do that?”

  “It weren’t a request, Shanks!” Hammer roared.

  Shanks stared silently for a long moment, his jaw flexing. When he knelt, it was with a snarl. Rundle dropped to a knee, his gaze smoldering.

  “Give me your shields,” said Grae.

  Shanks’s shoulders rose and fell with each breath. Rundle made a low growl in his throat.

  “If I have to ask again, you will both be tried for treachery and cowardice when we get back.”

  “Grae...” Hammer whispered.

  Shanks’s fists clenched and unclenched. He shook his head again and again, but reached back and unfastened the shield from its strap. He swung the heater around, gave it a long look, then threw it with a clatter at Grae’s feet.

  Rundle folded his arms. “Have me tried. I ain’t dropping my shield.”

  Shanks spat to one side. “You want the C-mark, you tewel?”

  It took a long time for Rundle to finally reach back and unfasten his shield. “I ain’t never heard of any commander doing this,” he snarled. “This is wrong. You’re wronging us, and Lojen will judge you for it, brig, sir.” He stood and hurled the shield at Grae’s feet.

  “This is wrong?” The crack widened. “Two of my soldiers have stood on the threshold of treachery and cowardice, and I’ll be judged? Me? I could put the C-mark on you myself, right here and now! I have that right!”

  Hammer touched his shoulder. “Grae...”

  Grae shook off his hand. “The two of you! The biggest men in the squad! Crying about the mission! Do you see anyone else complaining? Do you see anyone else doubting that we can do it?” Grae looked from one to the other, stared at them until their gazes fell away. “We’re Laraytian Standards! We have more than enough men to kill an animal! We’re not janes. We’re not garrisoners. We’re Standards! And five of us can kill anything on Celusia!”

  He looked to Hammer and Sage for support. But he found something entirely different in their eyes. He grew silent. Neither of his two closest friends could look at him. Not even Sir Jastyn could meet his gaze. Grae ran a hand over his eyes. Prayed for Lojen to give him words, and Lojen answered.

  The brig opened his eyes, let out a breath. “Black Murrogar made it out of the camp.”

  It was a calculated lie, but a dangerous one. The men needed an elixir of hope, and Murrogar was that elixir. But he couldn’t allow the men to rely on the old hero. They would spend weeks in the forest searching for Murrogar. No, Grae had to walk a very fine line.

  And then there was the Eridian. Lokk Lurius had seen the truth. Grae would have to talk to the mercenary. If they ever found him.

  The snarl on Rundle Graen’s face twitched. “Murrogar’s alive?” He grinned. It was the first time Grae had seen the bearded infantryman smile.

  “Aye,” Grae said with a long breath. “I watched him run off after Drissdie and Lokk.”

  “Lojen’s Bollock’s!” Shanks shouted. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He smiled as well, then noted Grae’s glare and straightened. “Why didn’t you tell us, Brig, sir?”

  Hammer grinned. “I knew the old bear wouldn’t let a tree take him down.”

  “I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t matter!” Grae snapped. “We don’t need Murrogar to kill that creature. And I don’t want you relying on him. The Beast is an animal, and nothing more. An animal without armor or sense. A wild creature that has to be brought down, like a fox or boar. An animal. And like any animal, it dies when you put steel in its belly.”

  No one spoke.

  Then a soft, trembling voice broke the silence.

  “N... no,” said Ulrean Cobblethrie. “No... it doesn’t.”

  †††

  Aramaesia’s smile could have set the forest ablaze. “He’s awake, Grae!”

  But Grae wasn’t so certain. The child’s head rested against Aramaesia’s shoulder. His eyes were half open, his head making the tiny, wobbling circles Grae had seen in men fighting unconsciousness.

  “Boy, are you awake?” he asked. It was too much. Great chunks of the wall toppled in his mind. “Can you hear me, child?”

  “Ca... cannot be k... killed,” the child whispered. His eyes closed and his body relaxed again.

  Grae gestured with his hand toward the child. “He woke up to say that? Those are the child’s last words?”

  Aramaesia stroked the child’s forehead. “Those were not his last words!”

  “A semantic difference, really,” Sage said. “They were his last words, but they might not be his last words. Very subtle.”

  “He said it couldn’t be killed!” Shanks shouted. “He’s seen it, and he said it can’t be killed!”

  “Yes,” said Grae. “A half-dead boy who can’t even hold a sword said the Beast couldn’t be killed. Do you have a point, Trudge?”

  Shanks stared into the forest and shook his head slowly. “No, brig, sir.”

  “We can ask Black Murrogar. If we come across him,” Grae said. “Now let’s get moving. And if I see either of you so much as make a face at another one of my orders, I’ll be throwing these shields into the river. Is that understood?”

  They nodded.

  “I asked a question!” Grae shouted.

  “Aye, brig, sir,” they replied.

  Grae motioned for them to rise. Rundle stepped forward to retrieve his shield, but Grae stomped his foot down on it. “Did I say you could have it back?”

  Rundle stared, nostrils flaring.

  Grae ignored Hammer’s gaze. “You’ll get them back when you prove you’re worthy of them. Now get up and get ready to march. We’re going to find Drissdie and the mercenary, then hunt us down a Beast.”

  “And Black Murrogar,” Sir Jastyn added.

  “What?” Grae snapped.

  “Black Murrogar,” Jastyn said. “He’ll be with Drissdie and Lokk.”

  “Yes, yes,” Grae replied. “Drissdie, Lokk and Black Murrogar.”

  “And Jjarnee,” Sage said.

  Grae kicked Rundle’s shield. “We’re going to find every seamarken member of the squad! All of you shut your mouths and get ready to march! Now!”

  Hammer picked up the two discarded shields and looped them on his arm.

  “Back to the camp?” Sage asked.

  Grae opened his mouth, then shut it. He walked a few paces before answering. “No. It’s too dangerous. Loop us around the camp, toward the east, and find their tracks.”

  Sage rubbed at his lips, held up a finger as if to speak, then noticed Grae’s expression. “Looping around the camp. Splendid idea, sir.” He marched forward, picking his way through saplings and ferns. Shanks and Rundle stared at the shields on Hammer’s arm as they walked past, but neither of them made so much as a face. The others followed—Sir Jastyn and Maribrae, Aramaesia and the child, and Meedryk, his pack rattling.

  “Didn’t they teach you to wrap the metals!” Hammer called after the magician.

  Grae stood still, watching the squad members as they plodded through the thick vegetation. Hammer folded his arms and watched too. “Grae, the packs are still in camp. And all the extra spears. The food. Everything. All we have is your canopy and a tripod to hold a kettle. But no kettle.”

  “We’re not going back, Hammer.”

  They stood silently for a time.

  “Something bothering you, Grae?”

  “Bothering me?”

  “You took their shields.”

  Grae glanced sideways. “Two men were ready to br
eak rank and abandon the mission. I could have had them branded, right here, Hammer.”

  “I was ready to skin them, myself,” Hammer replied. “But you took their shields.”

  “I took their shields.” Grae set off after the squad.

  Hammer stared at the shields on his arm. He watched the brig push through saplings, and sighed. “He took their shields.”

  Chapter 11

  You’re allowed to dance with her. Kiss her. You can even slip your hand up her dress. But you never take the Black Spinster to bed, you fool. Not ever. Didn’t anyone teach you that?

  —Black Murrogar’s warning to Lokk Lurius, from “The Headsman of Laraytia,” by Jurn Hallion

  Murrogar stopped several times on the way to camp. He knelt and ran his hands along the moss and soil, claimed to be looking for useful herbs, but Lokk knew the old hero was simply resting. Blood seeped slowly from the wound on Murrogar’s back and coppered the steel rings of his mail.

  “That wound looks real bad, Murrogar, d’you suppose?”

  “Don’t matter,” the old hero replied. “I can march, and I can kill. Never been required to do more than that.”

  “You’re losing blood¸” said Lokk. “Won’t make it far with holes in your wineskin.”

  Murrogar shrugged, wincing with the effort. “Lojen wants me alive.”

  “That so?” Lokk asked.

  “That’s so,” Murrogar replied. “When my work’s done here, I’ll go to Eleyria. And not before. Lojen is my spirit warrior. He’s giving me his strength.” The old hero sat on a rotting log and took deep breaths, seemed to sway unevenly. “When this is done, I’ll lay myself down on a patch of moss, like the Andraens do. And this fine, sculpted hunk of flesh will rot. Bits of me will become dirt, which means a part of me’ll become a tree. Or shrubs. Maybe a nice thorn bush. Other bits of me will become bugs or a bird. And one day,” he grinned, “one day, a woman’s gonna eat the bird I became. And I’ll get to be inside a woman one last time.” He laughed, a hoarse, windy sound that became a cough. “But some day, that woman will have a child, and that child will have a little of Black Murrogar in him.” He grinned, his eyes unfocused. “That’ll be a child to see. That’ll be a boy for the ages.”

  “You feeling right, Murrogar?” Drissdie asked.

  “Why’d you stop him?” Lokk asked. “I was almost asleep.”

  The old hero’s eyes regained their focus. “Course I’m alright. Old man like me is allowed to talk like that when the Black Spinster’s on her watch.” But he shook his head. Rambling like a songmaiden. A hum swelled and faded in his head, over and over. The sound had echoed in his head for hours. “Camp’s right up there. Walk slow and keep your mouths shut in case those trees ain’t finished blowing their noses.”

  They entered the clearing quietly, stepped over the ruined ramparts into a cratered camp. Dirt-powdered packs and haypads lay scattered around the jumbled stones of the firepit.

  “They’re not here,” Drissdie whispered.

  “Good scouting work.” Murrogar held his shield up, over his head. “I’d put yours up, too.”

  Drissdie and Lokk looked up.

  “Don’t have a shield,” said Lokk. “Don’t need a shield.”

  “Then maybe I’ll see you dance.” Murrogar braced himself and roared. A wordless shout that seemed to reverberate for several heartbeats after he was done. He lowered his shield and fell to one knee, coughing. “We’ll... we’ll sleep here tonight.”

  Drissdie shook his head. Took a step backward and gazed at the camp. The craters yawned like open wounds. “I don’t... I don’t think that’s a good idea, d’you suppose? We should find the squad. The Beast is out here.”

  “Course it’s a good idea.” Murrogar shook out a haypad. “It’s my idea. If the Beast comes for us, it won’t matter if you’re with two soldiers or twenty. Now start a fire and pick a haypad. Plague, you take first watch.”

  He stretched himself out on his side, wincing, but making no sound.

  †††

  It was late into Lokk Lurius’s watch when he heard the first hoot. A subtle noise. Like something a frog might make, but with more resonance. It could have been a natural sound in that forest, but something in the tone made the Eridian straighten.

  “Can the boy fight?” Murrogar called from his haypad.

  The old hero’s voice didn’t surprise Lokk. Murrogar’s breathing had never settled; he’d been awake the entire watch.

  “Like a cross-eyed eunuch,” Lokk replied.

  Murrogar set one hand down and pushed himself upright. The smallest of grunts escaped him as he did. “Better than a janissary, then?” He set a knee on the haypad and rose to his feet.

  Lokk touched the hilts of his short swords and nodded. “Just a bit.”

  Murrogar swung his arms, jumped in place twice and hmphed, his head cocked to one side. “Feel good. Oddly good.”

  Lojen’s filling me with his strength.

  Another hoot sounded in the darkness, from their right this time. Then another. Murrogar picked up his shield, drew Thantos’s sword from its sheath. “Here we go again.”

  Lokk glanced back at him. “Bad?”

  “For someone like you? Aye.” Murrogar nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell the others you died honorably.”

  The suggestion of a smile played across Lokk’s face. “Hannish, wake up.”

  Drissdie made choking noises and rolled onto his stomach, didn’t wake.

  Scattered gumps joined the hoots in the night. Faint green orbs appeared in the distance. Lokk dug in the soil with his fingers until he found an acorn. Sent it glancing off Drissdie’s head.

  The young soldier spasmed to his knees shouting, “I didn’t!” He rubbed his forehead and looked from one side to the other, his eyes gaining focus. “Something... something hit me.”

  Murrogar pointed up into the canopy. “Demons.”

  Lokk gave a soft chuckle. “Get your sword out, Hannish.”

  Drissdie’s breathing changed. Came in fast, rasping strokes. “Is it... is it... ”

  “No, it ain’t,” Murrogar replied. “Now be a lad and get your sword out.”

  The orbs coalesced into a throng. A dozen of them. Maybe more. Murrogar’s hand tightened on his shield. He made a few test swings and Thantos’s sword hummed through the air.

  Lokk pulled on his helm, with its long crest of braided horse hair. His short swords rang as he drew them, the metal throbbing and humming for a few heartbeats in the thick, midnight air. “Goodbye, Murrogar.”

  The old hero, cocked his head sideways at Lokk, then looked back toward the distant orbs. “Hello, demons.”

  Chapter 12

  The trees of Maug Maurai are strong and tall because they are nourished by blood. They feed on limitless offerings of corpses, and have fed so for a thousand years. The dukes of Nuldryn have had no claim on Maug Maurai, for it is the dead who rule that forest. It is the dead who wear the crown.

  —From “The Andraen Forest,” by Dallyn Salthis

  Sage found two sets of tracks east of the original camp. The prints led north, then farther to the east. Sage followed them for hours, until the shadows lengthened in Maug Maurai. “It’s like they were trying to hide their passage. They just vanished.”

  “What a scout,” Shanks called.

  “You had their tracks, Sage,” Grae snapped.

  “Yes I had them,” the scout replied. “And then I didn’t have them. Maybe they walked through that stream or something.” He glanced from one side of the forest to the other. “I know, I’ll blow the horn so they can come to us.” He rubbed at his chin. “Oh, slipped my mind. The horn is in the camp that we decided not to go back to.”

  Grae ran his hands through his hair and along the back of his neck. “What about Jjarnee Kruu? Any sign of the crossbowman?”

  Sage shook his head. “Nor of Black Murrogar.”

  The squad mates had chased the tracks for hours, stopping to shout and listen at intervals
. But Grae was certain the missing soldiers wouldn’t hear them; there were few sounds that carried in Maug Maurai, and no human ones.

  “Maybe... maybe something happened?” Meedryk pulled his meridian cloak tight.

  No one spoke. There were a thousand somethings that could happen in Maug Maurai, and none were good.

  “They’re lost,” Hammer replied. “That’s all. This place is a maze.”

  “Not likely,” Lord Aeren replied. “Lokk Lurius is the most competent person I have ever met. A man like him is never lost. He is always precisely where he wants to be.”

  Shanks scoffed. “Then he’s prolly back in Maeris, with his face full of tits right now.” The big infantryman laughed, but no one joined him, so he trailed off and folded his arms.

  “He’s not here now,” Grae said after a short silence. “And night is. So let’s make fortifications in that gully. Shanks and Graen, you’re digging... ” He ran a hand over one eye. Took a long moment of thought. “Meedryk, we left the shovels at the old camp site. Can you do something to help with the trenches?”

  Meedryk nodded several times before stammering a response, “Aye, brig, sir. I... I can cast a... a hypogeal deliquescence. It’s used mostly for removing stones or for sewer work, but I think I can channel it in a circle, so that the ground doesn’t cave at the edges and we can still use the mud to build up ramp—”

  “Next time, stop talking at ‘aye,’” Grae interrupted. “I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”

  “Aye, brig, sir,” the magician mumbled.

  “Shanks, Rundle, work with Meedryk to get the ramparts built. Sage, Lord Aeren, get a fire going. A big one.” He pointed a finger into the forest. “There are things that can kill us out there, and I want to be able to see them if they get clo—”

  Branches snapped to their right. Then a click, like great teeth coming together.

  “Arms!” Hammer called. “Arms and positions!”

  The soldiers drew weapons, formed up facing the sound. Aramaesia handed the child’s unconscious body to Maribrae and nocked an arrow onto her strange bow.