Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  The captain turned around, making no special pains to remove the sneer from his face. “Nearly as curious as you appearing here before the dawn.”

  “You weren’t trying to leave without me, I hope. The Emperor and Commander Darzaak were quite clear. Skeelana and I escort you to the capital. The entire way. And as to my sudden, and early, arrival, surely you haven’t forgotten—”

  “You have your ways. Of course. And of course I could not possibly have forgotten. So let us both dispense with the theatrics, sister. You know we are preparing for an unexpected fight. There is very good reason to believe our enemies are moving against us this morning. Very soon, in fact.”

  Soffjian drove the butt of her ranseur into the floorboards. “Oh, dear. And what enemies are those?”

  Without missing a beat, Braylar replied, “The kind that carry swords and grudges, my dear. And they will be upon us presently if we are not on the move. So, as I can see you are already armed and fed, you are welcome to join us. In an Imperial escort capacity, of course. I would never expect Memoridons to get involved in a conflict not of their making. Or you can remain behind and take the Fair in for a few days. Catch up after, as I know you are infinitely capable of. But either way, my men will be leaving without me in a moment, which would hardly be very captain-like of me. So if you’ll excuse me, I have some martial matters that require my attention.”

  Soffjian didn’t look particularly satisfied with that response, but wasn’t prepared to push the issue either. I had the feeling she was trying to determine if her brother was playing her in some fashion. Which, if true, was a healthy skepticism to have. I would have been better served with a healthier dose of it myself along the way.

  She nodded and bowed ever so slightly. I wasn’t sure if that was appropriate or mocking and Braylar gave no indication. “If it’s all the same to you, I will accompany as you leave to meet your foes. And do my best not to get in the way. If you’ve seen one grand Fair, you’ve seen the rest, true?”

  Soffjian didn’t wait for his response and left the room, deftly sidestepping a Syldoonian soldier coming through the door. Braylar looked at me and my possessions. Much less than most men, but too much for one horse. He said, “Store your extra clothes and writing supplies in a wagon in the stable, and be quick.”

  “It sounded as if it might be a few days before we meet up with them again. Should I bring my writing desk with me? I’d like to, if that’s fine?”

  Braylar replied, “As you wish. If I give you a crossbow, do you think you can avoid shooting your horse, yourself, or one of my men if you ride with us into combat?”

  At hearing “combat” I resisted the urge to swallow hard or shift my weight from one foot to the other. “The last time I had one, Captain, I managed to distract one of Henlester’s men long enough for you to kill him. And hit a horse. Though that was even luckier than nearly hitting you and the guard. So, does that count as acquitting myself well enough to handle one again?”

  The words were out too fast, and I almost started to apologize and recall them as he stared at me before saying, “Stow your gear then, Cross-bowman Arkamondos. And I will arm you once more.”

  It seemed the more I was around the measured and calculating captain, the more rash and impulsive I was becoming. Not a very good combination.

  I started toward the door and he said, “Stay close to Vendurro. I gave him no explicit instructions to keep you safe, but I suspect he actually likes you, so he might protect you a bit. I would advise you to stay near me, but I will be in the thick of it, and will have no patience for you if you get in the way.”

  With that lukewarm assurance, I headed out of the common room, forcing myself not to look around to take it in a final time. It wasn’t so very special, and it seemed to invite ill luck. It would be my final time here regardless, but there was also utter finality, and I didn’t want to dwell on that possibility. I walked quickly though the door and made my way down the stairs, nearly colliding with another Syldoon, moving around him only half as smoothly as Soffjian had managed. I’d never felt particularly dexterous, but this crew made me feel clumsier and less sure of my footing than at any other point in my life.

  Unlike the Three Casks in Rivermost, the Grieving Dog didn’t let commoners pay half-rent to sleep on the common room floor, but Gremete was up. As the owner of the inn, she probably rose before dawn most days, anyway. She was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over her meager chest, and didn’t look particularly happy about the very early traffic of soldiers going up and down the stairs, but it didn’t appear to be the irritation of someone roused from sleep.

  Braylar leaned over the railing above, his mail and lamellar and weapons jingling, if such deadly accoutrement could be said to jingle. “My apologies for the disturbance, Lady Proprietor. The lodging has been exemplary, on the whole.”

  Had she been in a smaller city, or a road inn, seeing armed men moving early might have given her pause or concern, but Gremete seemed entirely nonplussed. “And you’ve been a good patron. Exemplary might be a bit strong, but you never stiffed me, were tidier than most, and minded your manners. On the whole. For soldiers.” She had mastered the half-amused, half-exasperated tone that could have only come from being a mother.

  This wasn’t lost on Braylar, who smiled, more genuinely and longer than normal. He walked down the stairs, gloved hand still grazing the bannister ever so slightly, making a slithering noise as he went. When he reached the bottom, he tossed a small pouch jingling with coins. Gremete caught it, and though never having been stiffed, seemed in no hurry to begin now. She opened it and thumbed through the coin, squinting in the scant light. Then she looked up at Braylar. “I’m better with sums than most, but it looks like you overpaid a bit. More than a bit, truth be told. Looks to be about double what you owe. Something I should be worried about?”

  Braylar’s smile never left his face, held there so long it was worrisome. “A Syldoon never overpays, Lady Innkeep. Under on occasion, and accurate to a penny the rest of the time, but never over. Food and lodging, as discussed. The extra is to cover the damage.”

  Gremete looked up at the second floor and back to the captain. “About to recant on the good patron part. What all did you do to my rooms, Syldoon?”

  “The rooms are in fine shape, Gremete. Never better. Some repairable damage to overall business I imagine. I expect it will be readily apparent soon enough.” He regarded me, smile gone. “I had hoped all the armor and weapons and what not had alerted you to a pending melee. Were those hints overly subtle? Move, Arki.”

  He headed out the door, as Gremete started asking another question and just as quickly stopped when it was obvious he was in no mood for more discussion. She looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. “The man does know something about damage, but I have no idea what he’s talking about either.”

  She tucked the purse into her apron, threw a towel over her shoulder, and disappeared into a dark hall, shaking her head as she went.

  Hurrying after Braylar, the writing case, satchel, crossbow, and quiver all bounced in various directions.

  I walked into the stalls, the hint of the sun flaking the roofs and eaves to the east, but generally still blocked off from all but the castle in Alespell right now. The half-moon and its half-ring was still half-visible above one roof, delicate and white, like some fragile bit of crystal that had already been cracked in two, the missing half crushed to dust or fallen behind the horizon. A lantern hung on a hook just inside the stable door, otherwise we’d be in near darkness still, even with dawn upon us, but it was shuttered most of the way, and so the interior was gloom. Most of the Syldoon were mounted already, and Soffjian and Skeelana were as well.

  It was a larger party than I expected, certainly more than had been staying at the Grieving Dog. I did a quick count and came up with eighteen: fifteen soldiers, two Memoridons, plus myself. With the chill in the air, everyone’s breath was ghosting in front of their faces at irregular interval
s, and the effect was nearly mesmerizing. All these soldiers, armed and armored and saddled up for some skirmish or battle that only a handful of them had any understanding of, simply trusting that their captain had roused them in the middle of the night with good cause. Which was likely true. So when I shivered, it had less to do with a chill outside the skin as in.

  I secured my gear on my horse as best I could, and it looked only marginally less clumsy on the animal than it had on me. But at least it wouldn’t have to bear the added weight of armor. Though if Captain Killcoin was right, I’d probably find myself wishing I had some. When we headed to the temple, I expected I might witness some combat, but never imagined I might be in the thick of it. And there was little question I would be this morning.

  The captain turned his helm over, spread the aventail drape out, then tipped his head down as he lifted the helm over, the riveted rings spreading about his shoulders and obscuring every part of his face save for his eyes. It gave him an even more fearsome look than usual.

  Mulldoos approached Braylar and reported, “All the men are ready. And the wagons will move out later today, as ordered.”

  Braylar nodded and pulled one glove tighter on his hand, flexing the fingers. “Very good. And the rest?”

  Mulldoos nodded. “Timing’s like to be tricky, Cap, but the ripper’ll show on cue, or the man that cocks it up will answer to me.”

  Braylar nodded. “Who do you have assigned?”

  Mulldoos called out, “Lugger, Brunzlo, over here, now.”

  Two soldiers came jogging over, lamellar plates clacking.

  Mulldoos said, “Cap’s got some questions for you.” Then he moved off to inspect one thing or another, possibly for the third or fourth time, was my guess.

  Braylar turned to them. “You boys up to this?”

  The taller soldier who had a pronounced dent in his nasal helm said, “Aye, Cap. Got it squared away, no worries.”

  “And the keepers?”

  The shorter Syldoon chuckled and ran a finger across his neck in a sign that hadn’t required interpretation since the dawn of time. I thought about how angry I’d been at that family for profiting off a caged beast and the foolishness of yokels, but that didn’t mean they deserved to get murdered. My stomach flipped and wrestled with itself.

  Braylar nodded. “Timing is critical. Open the cage too soon, and you’re like to spoil the surprise and probably get killed in the bargain. Too late, and you will still end up dead. By sword or claw. Or Mulldoos. Either way, succeed and you’re heroes, fail, and…” he drew a gloved finger across the mail drape, right around throat level.

  Both soldiers saluted and walked their horses out of the stable and into the alley leading to the main street. I got my horse moving and sidled alongside the captain. I glanced at the rear entrance to the inn and seeing no one, asked as quietly as I could, “Is this really wise, captain? I’ve seen this creature—it isn’t a trained—”

  “It was your suggestion. And safer than the alternative.”

  “Which was?”

  “Fire.”

  “Fire?”

  “An element. The hot one.”

  I thought about the stables, the hay, the wattle, daub, and old wood in nearly every building. Yes, even a small fire would be more dangerous than a ripper running free.

  “But, what if it kills patrons here? Shopkeepers? Fairgoers?”

  “It is a ripper. I would be disappointed if it simply nuzzled them and showed its belly for a good rub.” Braylar was trying to make light, but between knowing that the man and his sons were lying in a pool of dried blood somewhere, and the likelihood that others would be soon enough, I felt sick again.

  “Is that why you paid Gremete extra, because—”

  Braylar lowered his voice, whisper-rasping, “Gremete has been compensated. Grossly, unless I misjudge. I imagine she will be safe indoors in any event. While your affection for battered soldiers, plump pilgrims, scarecrow girls, and flinty old innkeeps is commendable and duly noted, you seem to forget, I do what must be done to protect my men and our mission. And if that required all of Alespell to be turned to ash, I would gladly do it. But with any luck, our enemies will serve as the main course, and the beast will be hunted and killed before it can cause any serious mischief.”

  Braylar looked up at the dawnlight, more prominent on the shingles on the upper portions of the roof now, creeping down like a silent thief. “We have to move. Now. But rest assured, my tender scribe, this will likely save lives. Ours, at least. And in the final tally, that is all that truly matters.” He called out to the other soldiers in the barn. “Lead your horses. We go.”

  We all rode out onto the main concourse, Broadbeef Lane, and headed east away from the Grieving Dog. It was largely deserted at this early hour, but even if curfew hadn’t been lifted and the first Fairgoers hadn’t crossed the bridges and gates, some Alespell denizens were already up and moving through the streets, though most darted into the shadows or down a side street at the approach of a large party of men on horse, so I never got close enough to make out their purpose. Likely some were bakers or craftsmen, and some thieves or drunkards, though if the latter, sobering up remarkably well, and moving to safer avenues.

  Many of the buildings in this district, a mix of commercial residences with the merchants living above the storefronts, were full of variety, the corbelled houses and shop fronts with a wild mix of facades… chipped paint and whitewash, ornamented by irregular paneling, faded murals, enamel mosaics, and decorative tiles both cracked and new. In the still dim light, the colors were muted and largely gray or grayer, but the diversity of construction and decoration still caught the eye, as did the range of signs hanging for the illiterate to make out the purpose of the shops—some wooden silhouettes, like the scissors hanging from the tailor, the saddle from the saddler, and others with the object painted on simple signs, like the boot for the shoemaker, the candle for chandler, and on and on. Some were simple and without frills, but a few merchants had employed talented artists to render hats and purses and wagon wheels and locks and gloves and every other thing someone might sell or buy.

  Vendurro rode up alongside me, helm and lamellar reflecting very little with the sun still only peering over the highest rooftops. He started to say hello, yawned loudly enough to draw a dirty look from Mulldoos over his shoulder ahead of us, and took a big bite out of a hardboiled egg. Bits of crumbly yolk caught in the tuft of beard on his chin, then fell down his armor and onto the saddle. He brushed them off and grunted, seemingly more bothered by the spilled food than the likelihood of spilled blood that awaited us… ahead somewhere.

  I leaned in close and said, “Has the captain said where we’re going?”

  Vendurro offered me an egg, thankfully not the one he’d bitten. I was about to decline and then realized I hadn’t eaten anything yet to break fast. Even so early, and with the possibility of death and destruction closer with each step my horse took, I was still hungry. I took the egg and Vendurro replied, quietly so as not to draw anyone’s ire, especially Mulldoos’s, “Don’t have to ride with Cap too long before figuring out he’s not one to let loose the wheres and whatnots until he’s good and ready, and I’m guessing he’s neither just now, as I ain’t heard a thing. You could ask one of the lieutenants just there, but I figure you’re in no hurry to get cuffed in the ear, which is an altogether real strong likelihood, which is probably why you asked me, ain’t it?”

  I nodded and took a bite of the egg—it had a grain or two of salt still pressed into the white on the outside, but was otherwise as plain and generally tasteless as a boiled egg could be. Still, it would quiet my stomach for a bit. “Did he say anything about what he…” I looked around at the other Syldoon riding around me—I certainly didn’t want to get punched in the stomach, ear, or anywhere else Mulldoos might decide on. I was about to attempt to rephrase the question when a soldier on my other side who I didn’t recognize said, “I’d snap your lips shut, scribe. Unless of cours
e you wanted them so swollen they don’t open real good on their own.” I thought he was issuing the threat from his corner, but he tilted his head to the front, where Braylar, Hewspear, Mulldoos and the two Memoridons rode in a tight group. I’d been so busy thinking how to pose the question I hadn’t seen Soffjian or Skeelana ride up.

  Yes, silence did seem to be a good choice, especially when I realized I was the only one even whispering.

  Soffjian had mentioned abstaining from any fight, but she still had on her scale cuirass, where Skeelana wore nothing more protective than a half cloak over her sashed jacket. I noticed that both of them were behaving a little strangely. While everyone else looked straight ahead, or occasionally toward a noise coming from one of the darkened buildings or side streets, the Memoridons’ heads were in constant motion, though very deliberate, as they very slowly turned in nearly every conceivable direction. Not as if they suspected a threat, or in response to any particular sound, but as if they were trying to make sure they saw everything everywhere and took it all in. It was unnatural, and I noticed Vendurro watching them as well, and when he glanced at me, he shrugged his shoulders. “Plaguing queerest company you’ll ever hope to ride with, scribbler.”

  I couldn’t argue that point.

  However, my question about our destination was soon answered. Braylar led us down a cross street, Bulwark, and it was narrower than Broadbeef. Several houses down, a figure stepped out from an alleyway, and I immediately tensed up and almost reached for my crossbow, but no one else seemed remotely alarmed. Once we got closer, it was obvious it was another Syldoon, and two more emerged behind him.

  Braylar dismounted and handed the soldier his reins, and Mulldoos and Hewspear climbed down as well, pulling their crossbows and quivers from their horses. I followed their lead right after Vendurro did, and the three soldiers took turns leading the horses into the alley. I hadn’t even noticed the entrance at first, as a wagon blocked it from view from the north, and a large number of crates accomplished the same feat on just the other side of Bulwark in front of the opposite alley, preventing anyone from immediately seeing that either in the gloom.