Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  Braylar said, “No, the Baron might be impatient, even impulsive, but he’s no fool—he would have no wish to see his men’s lives thrown away.”

  “Even to capture a man who tried to kill him?”

  Braylar shook his head. “Suspects attempted to kill him. That is the key. Suspects. That, and he values Captain Honeycock too highly.”

  I watched the torches moving in Gurdinn’s camp. While the men wielding them seemed to be moving almost randomly before, several appeared to be forming up roughly into a square now.

  “What if,” I asked carefully, “the High Priest is expecting reinforcements?”

  Mulldoos turned and spit against a nearby tree. “Nah. They got their household guard, and some troops on hand. But no army to speak of. Gurdinn might not have one gathered here either, but he’s got a sizable enough force. Henny’s got no reinforcements.”

  “Sellswords maybe?” Vendurro asked.

  Mulldoos shot the younger man a look. “You been kicked in the head by your horse recently? Nowhere near enough time to hire help of that kind. Telling you, Gurdinn’s just playing games here. He…”

  Mulldoos trailed off as the torches and dark figures indicated more Brunesmen had formed up into another sizable square, thick with shields held above their heads and in the front line.

  Both squares started forward as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon.

  “Nahhhh, he ain’t plaguing doing it. Feint, nothing but a feint.” But Mulldoos didn’t sound entirely convinced.

  The priestguard in the towers started shooting arrows. I couldn’t make them out really, but I heard the twang of the bowstrings, and then saw a few strike the ground in front of the Brunesmen.

  The two squares suddenly surged forward, breaking into a trot as they rushed the wall. Once in range, the arrows started to come fast, but the initial barrage thunked into the shields held overhead.

  Vendurro slapped the cold ground. “Plague me, but they’re doing it. Mad bastards are rushing the wall!”

  If there had been more men on the walls with bows, they might have whittled the Brunesmen down quickly with a withering hail, but there only seemed to be a handful of bows shooting at them, and the locked shields did their job for the most part—only two soldiers were struck, neither fatally.

  The two squares reached the wall and Brunesmen stepped out to throw torches. One was struck in the shoulder by an arrow and his torch fell harmlessly to the ground, but the other launched his up into the wooden tower as an arrow whizzed above his head and forced him to step back under cover of the shields. The squares parted a little, and the Brunesmen positioned ladders in the base of the dry moat as best they could and leaned them up against the wall. It didn’t look easy, but Henlester hadn’t thought to fill the dry moat with any kind of spikes or impediment, so it didn’t slow down the besiegers overmuch. A concentrated rain of arrows came fast and heavy, and a few more Brunesmen were hit, their armor sparing some the worst wounds, but still, men fell in the dry moat, some certainly never to rise again.

  I found myself leaning forward to watch, and saw the others doing the same. Suddenly I heard a scream, and thought one of the Brunesmen dead or dying, but it was an archer on the wall. He had an arrow in his neck and toppled backwards, disappearing from view.

  Gurdinn had brought some bows, and the archers were out there in the dark between the torchlit camp and the torchlit wall, loosing arrows with little risk of being hit themselves.

  Mulldoos actually whooped. “He might be a plaguing horsecunt, Cap, and a fool besides, but he’s got guts! Got to give the bastard that.”

  The torch that had been thrown up into the tower must have been stamped out or kicked back behind the wall, but the archers weren’t showing themselves as much, given that their silhouettes made them targets and arrows continued to plunk into the wood or ricochet off the stone every time they stood to take aim at the men scaling the walls.

  Gurdinn’s men climbed the ladders, shields held above them with one arm to offer some protection from the archers above. Though the walls were shorter than those around a castle, they were constructed in similar fashion—there was a parapet for the priestguard to man the wall, though simple and wooden. Two of the priestguard flung one ladder back before a Brunesmen could get purchase, but when two more tried to throw off the other ladder, a priestguard was struck twice and dove or fell, and the other ducked, giving two of Gurdinn’s men time to climb over. The first was cut down as an axe struck him in the face, and he tumbled backwards into the dry moat, but the other held off two more priestguards long enough for more Brunesmen to gain purchase and start battling the priestguard on top of the wall.

  Three more ladders went up, and while two more were knocked back, the third held long enough for more Brunesmen to rush over the top and take the wall. The priestguard fought hard, and several Brunesmen were thrown or knocked off the wall.

  It was difficult to make out much except shadowy movements, and flashes of torchlight off bits of armor and weapons and the edge of shields. But the ring and clamor of battle carried loud enough that felt like it was taking place right in front of me.

  Mulldoos was right. Gaining and holding the spots on the wall was proving costly. Even with Gurdinn’s archers in the dark shooting at what must have been close range and taking out some of the priestguard, I saw several Brunesmen fall, either wounded badly enough to be out of the fight or dead. And a fair number who had been near the tops of ladders when they were repulsed must have sustained grievous injuries as well hitting the stones or packed earth below.

  Vendurro pointed to the opposite side of the compound. Fire suddenly bloomed in two of the wooden towers there.

  Braylar nodded in appreciation. “He drew most of the defenders to the north wall with the showy assault. The priestguard didn’t have enough men to hold the entire perimeter, or they were undisciplined and left the southern stretch. Either way, a clever stratagem.”

  The priestguard saw the flames as well, as several went running across the courtyard to put them out and fight off any invaders inside the compound.

  I saw one fall, dropping his shield and clutching the arrow in his thigh. It looked to have been shot from somewhere near the fires.

  “Very clever,” Braylar said. “Captain Honeycock has lost men, but it won’t prove nearly as costly as it should.”

  The defenders fought for every inch of the north wall as they tried to repel Gurdinn’s soldiers—some more ladders were pushed away, some more Brunesmen were cut down or pinned with arrows, but Braylar was right. With their forces split between the walls, the priestguard were overwhelmed, their bodies thrown from the wall or littering the courtyard.

  When the balance shifted, it tipped quickly. Several Brunesmen that had managed to secure a spot on the courtyard formed up in a half-ring, fending off the priestguard while one of their comrades unbarred the large wooden gate and let the remainder in.

  Near the wooden tower closest to us, three Brunesmen raced up the stairs. The archer in the tower had been shooting at other Brunesmen coming through the gate and hadn’t seen those nearest him until it was too late. He dropped his bow and tried to draw his sword, but a spear took him in the throat before he got it out of the scabbard.

  Another pair of the priestguard started falling back to the lodge itself, shields and swords still up, as four Brunesmen advanced on them. I couldn’t tell if the Brunesmen ordered them to surrender or not, but if they did, the priest’s soldiers ignored them.

  Two of Gurdinn’s men in the center kept the priestguard occupied, swords flashing, shields blocking the blows, but the other two quickly flanked the priest’s soldiers and cut them down, hammered them from all angles until the swords found a spot not protected by mail and pummeled or shattered the bones and flesh underneath. The four Brunesmen moved off quickly in a group, attacking another knot of the priest’s soldiers from the rear who were trying to retreat from the wall.

  Several of Henlester’s men
ran for the entrance to the lodge, but Gurdinn’s men cut them off. Looking around, and seeing themselves badly outnumbered, they started throwing their shields and weapons in the dirt.

  I thought with their blood up, the Brunesmen might not be in the prisoner-taking mood. Gaining the courtyard hadn’t been easy, even with the diversion, and they’d seen several of their own wounded or cut down. But Brune’s soldiers were disciplined enough not to murder unarmed men. Or feared punishment from Gurdinn. Or more likely the Baron himself. Either way, they kicked weapons away, ordered Henlester’s soldiers on their knees, and bound their arms behind their backs.

  A few more priestguard fought on in small pockets, but soon the clang of battle died down, and it wasn’t long before the remaining priestguard saw that the engagement was decided and threw down their weapons as well.

  I saw Gurdinn in the middle of the courtyard, his sword edged in blood that looked black. He took stock as the priestguard were trussed and guarded, as the Brunesmen dead and wounded were tended to, cleaned his blade and slowly slid it back in the scabbard. Like Braylar, he led from the front.

  Mulldoos said, “Lost some men, but that old bastard pulled it off. Stubborn prick, but seems to be smarter when the fight’s on than when it ain’t.”

  Hewspear agreed. “Smart plan, sound execution. He lost fewer men than he really should have, all things considered.”

  “Then again, Henlester might have a former soldier or two in his employ, but if so, judging by that fiasco, they’re either green as hell or ain’t seen any proper fighting in a long time. No cohesion at all. Lost their advantage, responded too slow or too fast.”

  With the gate open, most of the Brunesmen had moved into the lodge compound, some to guard the prisoners and lead them back to their camp, some to aid their wounded, but most gathered around Gurdinn as he called out something in the direction of the stone lodge. I noticed he hadn’t slung his shield on his back yet.

  Vendurro asked, “How long, you figure?”

  “Before what?” Mulldoos replied. “Henlester comes out or I take a shit?”

  “The surrender, I was thinking.”

  Braylar didn’t give Mulldoos time to respond. “The High Priest stood a fair chance of holding Honeycock at bay, provided he held the wall. But the lodge proper isn’t designed to really withstand a serious attack. Too many doors and windows. Two or three accessible from the top of the stables, there.” He pointed, presumably for my benefit, as if I might not have been able to identify stables or windows. “I’m guessing there are only a handful of priestguard inside—he committed them all to the defense of the wall. As he should have. Now that he’s lost that, and unless I misjudge and Henlester is a tremendous fool, he will come out shortly. He has little choice.”

  “Head held real high, though.” Mulldoos laughed. “Like Gurdinn ought to be grateful he deigned to surrender to the likes of him and his lot. Ought to kiss the hem of his tunic, thank him for being such a holy horsecunt of a powerful prisoner.”

  Hewspear added, “Which is exactly why he might keep Gurdinn waiting all morning. While he has nothing to truly gain by it, inconveniencing someone he considers a lesser shouldn’t be discounted.”

  We waited, and watched Gurdinn waiting, and I broke the silence by asking, “What if he’s holding out for a rescue?”

  Mulldoos snorted. “Rescue? You know something we don’t, scribbler?”

  “You said yourself that Gurdinn wouldn’t attack a fortified position unless there was a compelling reason to do it. So Henlester has no more troops, as you said. But what about some of the other priests? This lodge belongs to High Priest Vustinios, correct?”

  “That it does. But offering sanctuary is one thing. Sending in a relief force and inviting war from a big-britches baron is something altogether different. High Priest Vustinios might have given Henlester the keys to the lodge, but he ain’t risking his neck more than that. No rescue party coming.”

  “Well, why did Gurdinn attack in the night then? He took the compound, but he lost men, even with his ploy. Something pressed him to act.”

  “Can’t say. Because he’s an impatient prick?” Mulldoos tried to make that sound as dismissive as he could—and did a very credible job—but I sensed a note there. As if the question were niggling him more than he was giving me credit for. Particularly as time dragged on.

  Gurdinn wasn’t content to sit and wait too long, though. He bellowed out something, an ultimatum no doubt, and when the doors didn’t swing open and he was answered only with silence, he ordered some men with axes into position while the rest of his men readied their shields and weapons again.

  But before the first blade struck wood, the door slowly swung out over the landing. The Brunesmen stepped back, and a man emerged who had to be High Priest Henlester. As predicted, he did carry himself with a degree of haughtiness, but no more or less than most influential fieflords or clerics. High Priest Henlester looked around at the armed men facing him, his white hair hanging wild about his shoulders, face clean shaven, and then he hiked his tunic in his hand and walked down the stairs, looking every inch like someone in command of the situation and not someone about to be a bound in chains.

  He marched up to Gurdinn, and they had a lengthy exchange. Then Henlester turned and summoned some of his acolytes who had been hiding inside the hunting lodge. They filed out, looking nervous and staying close together like a flock of chickens. They didn’t appear nearly as confident that the gods would protect them from angry men with bloodied swords. Which was wise, although now that Gurdinn had Henlester in hand, he didn’t seem all that interested in the minions. He finally slung his shield across his back and started across the yard toward the gate, his men ushering Henlester forward. Other Brunesmen guided the remaining acolytes, though “herded” would be closer to the truth, and a few went into the lodge, I imagined to search the grounds for any priestguard or holy men attempting to hide behind.

  As we watched the Brunesmen directing their prisoners to the wagons and tents of the besiegers-turned-conquerors, Mulldoos scooted back from the ridge and sat up. “Stupid, lucky, skilled, maybe some mix of the three, but Gurdinn’s got Henfucker by the nose. Now what?”

  Braylar didn’t reply immediately, but then he suddenly seemed to make a decision. He moved back as well, and when he was far enough away not to be sighted from the other side, stood, shaking the small stones and leaves from his hands. “Now, we get him.”

  The other Syldoon all edged back and got to their feet as well, and Mulldoos said, “Gurdinn lost some men down there, for sure, but still has us outnumbered pretty good. Guessing you got yourself a plan then, Cap?”

  Braylar looked at his men and smiled. “I have myself a plan.” Then he started down the hill.

  “Worried he was going to say that.” Mulldoos followed, with Vendurro, Hewspear, and myself a few steps back.

  For once, I shared Mulldoos’s sentiment exactly.

  Braylar got his troops moving quickly and it wasn’t long before we were back in the saddle. If the Syldoon were curious what we were up to, they kept it to themselves as far as I could see. Braylar ordered two men to ride on and reclaim the wagons and to meet us several miles ahead on the road east toward Marty’s Fork.

  Everyone seemed glad to be riding again, and heading in the direction of home. All save Soffjian, and to a lesser extent, or at least by proxy, Skeelana. I overheard Soffjian asking her brother what had happened so quickly to convince him to quit the area and return home. In true Braylarian fashion, he ignored her the first time, and hedged when she repeated her inquiry the second.

  It was clear he was less than forthcoming, but aside from a small uneven smile that radiated condescension, she did and said nothing else and fell back from him as our company rode through the woods, choosing instead to wait it out and ride alongside Skeelana.

  I rode past the pair, and Skeelana looked over at me. As ever, there was a peculiar amusement there, playing on her lips and skittering acros
s her eyes, that I couldn’t quite fathom. It was as if she found the sibling squabbles amusing, even if our lives might be hanging in the balance or outcome. Or maybe it was the entire enterprise she found funny. Or me. That last possibility bothered me the most. And the fact that it bothered me at all bothered me even more.

  We wound our way around the broad twisted trunks of the bronze trees. Braylar was maintaining as quick a pace as we could manage through the forest, short of blindly galloping and getting whipped in the face with passing branches.

  When I finally passed the rank and file Syldoon and approached the captain and his closest retinue, I wondered what Braylar’s plan consisted of that was going to throw his much smaller company against a larger one that proved itself eminently capable in matters of bloodletting. Though I had no idea about specifics, I didn’t need Bloodsounder to tell me that violence was coming. There was no mistaking that.

  We rode up and down the hills throughout the morning, with two Syldoon scouts somewhere ahead, one periodically falling back long enough to report. The company broke once to give the horses a rest, but not for very long. The captain pushed hard, and that resonated with his men, even if he hadn’t shared his plans. Their mood seemed to change as we pressed on, more stern and serious, as if they intuited their leader was bringing them to combat.

  The group stopped and cared for the horses again early afternoon, as our smaller dirt path grew together with a wider and grassier route, the tall blades blowing in the breeze. It was much too early to make camp, so something else was afoot. After receiving another report from a soldier and sending him back on his horse, Braylar summoned his company together. They all looked at him expectantly. I seemed to be the only one with obvious nerves.

  Captain Killcoin pointed at the broader trail and said, “Captain Gurdinn is going to be leading his Brunesmen down this path sometime in the next few hours. He has several wagons in his little caravan, so the going will be slow. I expect him to round the bend in the trail near dusk. He has more men in his company. A fair amount more. But as you no doubt heard, they attacked the hunting lodge this morning, and they will only be eager to find a suitable place to collapse for the night.