Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  I wasn’t alone.

  I nearly jumped and fought the urge to spin around. The only occupants in the village were us, so it had to be an ally of some sort, and still I felt my insides turn to liquid.

  Slowly turning around, I tried to make out the shadowy silhouette that was slightly more black than rest of the gloom in the barn beyond, hoping I would recognize Vendurro.

  Instead I heard Soffjian say, “I have been waiting for the right opportunity to chat. I do hope this is a good time?”

  She climbed all the way into the wagon and sat down near the rear. Soffjian didn’t have her ranseur for once, but its absence didn’t make me feel any more secure. She could strike men down with no weapon at all.

  I was usually nervous enough around women as it was, especially attractive women. I routinely made an ass of myself, fumbled my words, inevitably said the wrong thing, and regretted opening my mouth in the first place. Now, alone in a dark barn with one, who also happened to be Braylar’s sister, who also had the capability of turning my mind to silt in an instant, or driving me absolutely mad (and not with love or lust), I was feeling as unsettled as you could possibly feel. Mulldoos would have been more welcome, and the phantom of a plague victim would not have been worse.

  Still on my haunches, I leaned back against a barrel, wondering how far her unseen reach extended, and if I suddenly bolted out the front of the wagon, would I have any chance of making it out of the barn before she felled me.

  Soffjian took my silence for concession. “Very good. Now then, I was hoping you might be able to clear up a few things for me.”

  She said this with the sly implication that she already knew much more than I could ever know, but was only looking for confirmation.

  I took a deep breath, sought the right words. “I’m happy to help in whatever way I can. Only, the captain will be wondering where I’ve gone to shortly, so I don’t know that we will have a lot of time. To sit in the dark and have a discussion, that is. And what’s more—”

  “Oh, never fear—I won’t keep you overlong. I promise. And I would hate to do anything to jeopardize your relationship with the captain.”

  I had difficulty believing that. Perhaps she was less manipulative than her brother. But I doubted it.

  Soffjian continued, “I’m curious, though. What exactly is your relationship with Bray? Sorry, familial casualness. Your captain. Clearly you aren’t from the Empire. How is it you come to find yourself in his service?”

  I weighed a number of answers, most designed to obscure as much as possible. But I suspected a Memoridon could learn the truth easily enough, even if she hadn’t already. I opted for selected truth. “I am Vulmyrian originally. Though I was trained at Highgrove University. I was a scribe and archivist for a number of patrons over the years, which brought me to Rivermost. It was living there when I heard your brother was looking for someone with my talents. Honestly, if I’d been satisfied with my lot in life, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to interviewing with the man. But I wanted more than what I had. A lot more. So I did.”

  The silhouette seemed perfectly relaxed. “How wonderfully direct and forthright. I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised. This conversation is going to go very well, I can tell already.”

  I doubted that as well. “I’m not sure my new patron would approve me disclosing too much, however. He’s rather particular about who knows what about his goings on. And you… the two of you don’t seem to have an especially good relationship, if you pardon my saying.”

  Soffjian laughed. “No. That we don’t. So pardoned. And I appreciate your loyalty. I do. Above all things, I appreciate loyalty.” She folded her legs underneath her. “So, he clearly misplaced the original scribe that was assigned to his unit.”

  This clearly wasn’t a question, so I didn’t hurry to reply at all. In fact, I opted not to respond in the slightest.

  That didn’t slow her down any. “So, do you know what happened to the archivist who was originally in his company? Before you joined? Thurvacian, I believe, was he not?”

  I weighed my words carefully, cognizant that, despite her casual demeanor, she was obviously measuring my every word, the tone of my voice, and the time it took me to fashion any reply at all. “I can’t say that I do. Given that I wasn’t a part of his company when that person was assigned. I imagine he didn’t perform his duties adequately?”

  Immediately after the words were out of my mouth, I wondered what else this woman could do. Was she secretly plumbing the depths of my memories as we spoke, to find the ones that proved the words a lie? Could she do such a thing?

  Why had I left my writing case behind? Why?

  Soffjian said, “Fair enough. Thank you for your candor, Arkamondos. Or do you prefer Arki? I’ve heard you referred to as both. And of course, much worse by Mulldoos. Foul beast.”

  Was she trying to bait me into joining her in decrying a member of Braylar’s retinue? She seemed not to like the man any more than I did, but it was likely she was engaging in some verbal gambit or other. Was she attempting to position herself, align the two of us together in order to encourage me to speak more freely? If so, it failed. Despite my dislike for Mulldoos. “Well, I don’t know the man all that well, only having been among the company a short time. According to some of the other Syldoon, no one rubs him the right way, so I try not to take it personally. As to the name, whatever you prefer is fine. I will answer to either.”

  “Amenable, loyal, forthright. My brother is incredibly lucky to have you, Arki.”

  Had any other attractive woman paid me so many compliments, I would have been equally suspicious. But I was doubly on guard, given who I was speaking to. “Well, many thanks. That said, I probably should return before the captain wonders if he needs to recruit yet another archivist.”

  Soffjian chuckled. “Only a few moments more, if you would. I don’t know how many other opportunities we’ll have to discuss things so openly and honestly.”

  “Very well. I stay at your pleasure.” Even as the words were out, I silently groaned at myself.

  “So,” she said, “I know you’ve only been among my brother and his men a short time, but I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on something else for me. You see, despite occasionally wearing armor or serving our armies close to the front lines, I do not count myself an expert on anything military. But I couldn’t help but notice my brother’s new weapon. It is quite striking, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  My breath hitched in my chest, thrown off rhythm completely. I considered forcing a laugh, but knew that it would be the falsest move possible, so did and said nothing.

  Soffjian continued, “He was always partial to more traditional sidearms, if I recall. It seems curious that he would suddenly opt to switch to a flail. Syldoon soldiers train at proficiency in all weapons of course, but like the rest of us, they are not immune to favoritism. And Bray—apologies, Captain Killcoin—was always partial to small axes. I do wonder why he chose to adopt a flail now. Do you have any idea?”

  I did, and tried to clear my mind of that fact. “Again, this predated me some years, so I can’t speak to it with any authority. And being armed only with quills—”

  “And the occasional crossbow.”

  “And the occasional crossbow,” I amended. “I’m less martial than you are, by a fair margin. So the proclivities of soldiers are a mystery to me.”

  She let that hang there for a moment before saying, “Be that as it may. It is equally curious—maybe more so—that the flail heads are in the likeness of Deserter Gods. Impossible to miss that.”

  “Impossible. For certain.”

  “And yet I never took Bray for an especially pious man. Even if he opted to pick up a new weapon, challenge himself perhaps, certainly he could have chosen a flail less holy. Or unholy, depending on your vantage.”

  Again, I was left wondering how much more she might have known than she was letting on, but I got the distinct impression she wasn’t
merely toying with me, or trying to get me to incriminate myself in some fashion. I was nothing to her. She was seriously hunting for new information, or at least information that confirmed already formed suspicions.

  I said, “While I suspect you and your brother have had a falling out of sorts and haven’t seen each other for some time besides, I’m sure you know enough about the captain to know he is not really… communicative. Especially to one such as me. I’m no confidant. So I’m afraid I can’t really tell you very much. All I know is that the flail is terrifying, and even if he chose to pick it up relatively late, he uses it to great effect. Beyond that,

  your best bet would be to question someone like Hewspear or Mulldoos.”

  She didn’t reply right away, and in the dark, I had no expressions to try to read. I said, “This has been a lovely chat, but—”

  Soffjian spoke up, suddenly sounding much less gracious and tolerant. “I’m sure you’re right. I really am asking the wrong questions, or posing them to the wrong person. Let me try another then, before you return to your master. It’s come to my attention that Braylar was interviewing a little waif just before I arrived. One accused of being a witch, rumor has it. I believe she found herself into the Grieving Dog kitchens or some such thing, at his request. So, still something else odd—why was he interviewing a hedge witch? And why did he extend himself to help her? Certainly the captain of a Syldoon company has not forgotten that recruiting Memoridons is the sole province of, wouldn’t you guess, Memoridons.”

  My mind was suddenly buzzing with answers, each somehow a worse choice than the last. I swallowed hard. “A waif? Hmmm. I can’t say. I don’t—”

  “Before you go down dissembler’s road too far and spoil our little conversation here, I do want to tell you one thing. Being a Memoridon, I have certain… skills. For instance, I could step into your mind and sift your memories any time I choose. While Syldoon sometimes pick up tricks to frustrate us, I am sure you would pose no problems at all. Skeelana is much more deft at such things, and could do so gingerly if instructed, but I confess, I am something of a brute when it comes to sifting. So if I enter you looking for answers, I will rend you apart. Shred you. Destroy you, most likely, to discover what I search for. Not with malice, mind—I just don’t happen to be especially gifted in this way.

  “Now, you are my brother’s ward, under his protections and purview, so unless I harbor serious suspicions, I won’t do this thing. We are merely talking right now. Exchanging information. I do hope we can continue merely talking. Don’t you?”

  I gripped my writing case so tight I thought I might dent it and my mouth was drier than dirt ten feet underground.

  Falsehoods would get me nowhere. But revealing even an inkling of what I knew would damn me forever in the captain’s eyes, and most likely result in me pleading for my life in a ditch as Mulldoos laughed and put an end to it.

  I was trapped. Utterly.

  So, breathing fast, I did the only mad thing I could think of. I went on the offensive. “Do you prefer Soffjian or Soff? I’ve heard you called both. And of course much worse by Mulldoos. Horrible barbarian that he is.”

  She maintained a level tone and replied, “No doubt. Soffjian is preferable.”

  “Now, we are having a nice conversation, Soffjian. As nice as you can have in a dark empty barn in a plague-ravaged village, anyway. I do like a good conversation. I prefer it with mulled wine in front of a nice fire. But still. I’m glad you sought me out. Up until now, I’d been wondering why the Syldoon were so wary of you and your kind. But I think I’m beginning to understand. Captain Killcoin—my apologies, Bray—he obviously mislikes you for reasons that are his own. But the entire company tensed up the moment you joined them and probably won’t unclench until you leave. And it makes sense now. I do understand.”

  “Do you?” she asked, and two words never sounded chiller. “And what—”

  I pushed on fast before she decided to simply excavate my skull. “You asked a question, so in a good conversation, it is your turn to listen. You make soldiers nervous, but you terrify me. Silly to pretend otherwise. It is what you wanted, and you achieved that. But I will tell you something else. I am the captain’s ward, as you said. And his man. And that loyalty you lauded, earlier? It is to him. Not you. Not anyone else. Him and his retinue and his company. That’s it. I have nothing to hide, and frankly, I’m not sure how much he does. The captain is secretive, to be sure, but I am the last person to know anything in this company. So you are really having a conversation with the worst person possible if you are hoping to unearth anything. There is nothing I can tell you.”

  When I stopped, my head was pounding, I was shaking, and I was sure any moment my eyes would be filled with bright lights as she ripped my skull open and poked inside. I waited for her to do something, say something, but she sat there, frozen, silent, and it was all I could do not to jump over the bench and run for it.

  So when I heard a voice calling from somewhere just outside the barn, my bladder almost voided. I looked at Soffjian, or her silhouette, and was at a total loss for what to say.

  Vendurro yelled out my name again. I pulled the front flap aside, and croaked, “Here.”

  “That you, Arki?”

  I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me, and said, “Yes. Me.”

  “What are you doing out here in a dark barn by yourself? Roping the unicorn?” He laughed at his own joke, getting closer. “No need to head to the barn, Arki. You’re among military men, not plaguing librarians. Hells, even librarians and priests got to be forgiving of a man tending to his pent-up business, right?”

  I didn’t respond, glad my face was in the shadows so he couldn’t see me shine up bright and red. Getting caught with my manhood in my hand would have been preferable to him stumbling on me speaking privately to the captain’s sister. I didn’t know what to say, and half expected Soffjian to speak up, incriminating me completely, though I wasn’t technically doing anything wrong, as she had sought me out, not the other way around.

  Looking behind me, I feared the worst, but she was gone.

  Vendurro didn’t wait for a response anyway. “Well, no time to finish, more’s the pity for you. Pull your hosen up and get to the inn. Cap’s got something he wants to talk to all of us about.”

  I grabbed my writing case and started fumbling over the seat. “What is it?”

  “Didn’t say. On account of wanting to talk to all of us. Inside.”

  I jumped down, the springs on the wagon squeaking as it rocked gently back and forth.

  Vendurro looked at the case and then back up at me. “Like to write about it after you’re done, do you?” Even in the dark I could see he was still smiling.

  “What? No. That’s why I came out here. I forgot my case.”

  He nodded in exaggerated fashion. “Sure it is. Why, sure.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me along. “Come on then. You know the Cap don’t like waiting none.”

  I hazarded a quick glance over my shoulder before the barn disappeared from view as we walked around the corner of another building. Soffjian was nowhere to be seen.

  “Shouldn’t we lock the barn doors, or shut them or something?”

  Vendurro looked around the deserted village and said, “Think we’re good.” Then he punched me in the arm and broke into a jog, calling over his shoulder. “Come on!”

  We ran down the empty street toward the inn, and crossed over the short stone bridge.

  When we got inside, I knew it wouldn’t be raucous, as it was a defunct inn with only half the company bedding down there, but I still expected to encounter boisterous jokes, someone spinning a tale of some kind, or dicing and cursing. And probably whatever stock of ale and wine they still had left on the table.

  But it was strangely quiet. At first, I thought it might just be the spell of staying the night in a plague village, but then I saw the faces of the men, some talking to each other, but most staring into their cups or at the rafters.


  Clearly something was wrong.

  I saw Vendurro stiffen. “Alright, you bastards, what is it?”

  The three closest soldiers looked at each other and Vendurro raised his voice. “Out with it, straight away.” While he was younger, and smaller framed, he had obviously been paying close attention to Hewspear and Mulldoos and did a fair approximation.

  The soldier in the middle stood up and, looking very uncomfortable, said, “Cap’s… taken ill. Like he does sometimes. You know… ill.” He pointed up the stairs. “Lieutenants took him up there. Is it bad, Ven? Looked bad and—”

  “That’s Sergeant, Craslo,” he snapped. “Sergeant. And seeing as how I just got here and had to inquire with you as the whats and wheres, I’m thinking you’re asking a plaguing stupid question. Ask another one, and I’ll set you to digging latrines.”

  Craslo looked at the open door then back to his sergeant. “It’s night.”

  “Say one more plaguing dumb thing, you lippy limp cock, one more, and you’ll be digging them in the dark with your hands. Doesn’t need to be a question, just the next dumb thing out of your plaguing dumb mouth. Go on then.”

  Wisely, Craslo held his tongue. It might not have been Mulldoos barking at him, but it was an officer, and an incensed one at that.

  Vendurro looked at me, said, “Come on!” and started taking the stairs two at a time. Balancing my writing case, I didn’t trust my balance or dexterity, so I hurried as fast as I could to keep up. I reached the landing, and saw another Syldoon standing guard in front of a room at the end of the hall. He looked at Vendurro, eyes wide.

  “Head downstairs,” Vendurro ordered. “No need to be crowding the whole lot of us up here. Go get a drink.”