Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  Braylar shook his head once, straightened, and stepped back to retrieve his suroka from the grass.

  We heard a piercing whistle blast, followed immediately by a second, and then the few Brunesmen who weren’t immediately engaged began running back to reclaim their horses.

  The balance had tipped.

  Mulldoos picked up his throwing axe, slid it back into the leather strap at the back of the belt. “Got to say, Cap, never seen you choke a man to death with that thing. Real original. Inspired even.”

  While his face was obscured by the mail, there was no mistaking the grim smile he had behind it. Then Mulldoos asked, “Letting Gurdinn ride free?”

  Braylar kicked his shattered shield as he watched the few Brunesmen mount up. “They left a portion of their force back in the forest. We don’t have the men to run them to ground. We have what we came for.” He looked at both of us again. “I do hope you aren’t waiting for gratitude.” He looked at me. “Either of you. I had things in hand.”

  Mulldoos nodded slowly. “Aye. Fooled that big bastard into thinking he had you and was about to pin you to the wall, when it was you working him the whole time.”

  Captain Killcoin ignored his lieutenant and kept his eyes on me. “And while I grudgingly admit you helped save my life once, you nearly killed me just now.”

  I was about to protest, but then thought better of it and clamped my jaw closed. But Mulldoos had no such reservations, and shockingly defended me. A bit.

  “You should count yourself lucky you got a scribbler dumb enough to run into combat. The last couple would have been cowering behind a wagon wheel. Expected it of this one, too. Life is full of surprises.” He looked at the last Brunesmen riding back down the trail into the forest. “What now, Cap?”

  “Now we see if this was all worth it.” And he started toward the wagon again.

  The Syldoon had been outnumbered, more lightly armored, with a stone wall at their backs.

  But they’d prevailed. Somehow. They’d felled their foes or driven them from the field. And while the relationship with Baron Brune was now irreparably severed, the Syldoon had their prisoner.

  They won. Bloodied, injured, and fewer in number now, but they won.

  Captain Killcoin looked around at our battered and bruised company. With the Brunesmen fled and combat over, it was oddly quiet, save for the odd moan or grunt, several coming from the overturned wagon. Braylar walked toward it, his byrnie and lamellar cuirass rustling metallic as he went.

  All of the prisoners huddled as far from the bars as they could. Some of their wounded cried out as the men around them shifted, jostling whatever bone was broken. The captain unfastened his helm strap and pulled it up and off his head, the mail aventail tinkling as he did. His hair was drenched in sweat, and there was a red band across his forehead where the helm padding had pressed tight. And faint bruising around the noose tattoo around his neck.

  Henlester locked eyes with Braylar, saw the noose, and said, “Ahh, so it’s the mighty Syldoon, is it? Now, this is a surprise. It was too much to dare hope for a rescue, and yet I allowed myself to, if only briefly. But it’s clear I simply only have new captors. Will you unlock my cage only to herd me into another, Syldoon?”

  Braylar twitch-smiled and turned to Vendurro. “The men do appear uncomfortable, Sergeant. Let’s remedy that, yes? Finish cracking this wagon open. Immediately. Let it never be said that the Syldoon are uncharitable hosts. Even as captors.”

  Vendurro said, “Aye, Cap.” He walked over to the group of soldiers and relayed the order to Benk and the other Syldoon who had been hammering and chopping at the wagon previously.

  Benk replied, “Be a lot easier if we had two axes. Or a bigger one. Didn’t some Bruneboy have a big old axe, in the grass somewheres around here?”

  Vendurro spat. “Cap said immediately. Know what that means? It means right here and now. Shut your yap and get to it.”

  “I know what immediate means, Sarge. Not a halfwit. Just saying, we could finish quicker if—”

  “Rip that wagon apart. Now.”

  Benk gave a weak half-hearted salute, rolled his eyes, and said, “Come on, then,” to the other soldier. They were moving toward the wagon when Braylar stepped over and grabbed Benk’s arm. Hard from the looks of it.

  Benk faced his superior, clearly uneasy. “Cap?”

  “If I ever hear you disrespect an officer again, I will strip you of arms, armor, and horse, and leave you for the enemy to deal with. Do you understand?”

  Benk colored up and the gulp was unmistakable. “Aye, Cap.”

  “Very good.” Braylar released him and Benk all but ran over to the wagon and reclaimed the small hatchet and returned to chopping as the other Syldoon started pulling at a board.

  It seemed a harsh reprimand, given how much latitude Braylar allowed his own retinue, but perhaps it was the public nature of the disrespect that rankled the captain so.

  When the Syldoon finally ripped enough planks free, the captives filed out, Henlester first, followed by the priestguard and those uninjured underpriests who assisted with the wounded last.

  Captain Killcoin ordered a man to ride ahead, then he faced Vendurro. “Get the good priest there on a horse. We ride out.” He turned to Benk and added, “You stay behind. Alert us if another Brunesmen force pursues. I expect they will. Captain Gurdinn will rage for a few minutes, but he will have them after us before we know it.”

  Benk saluted much more smartly than before, rotating his arm in that odd fashion they had after pumping his fist on his chest.

  The Syldoon were either mounting up on this side of the wall, or vaulting to the other to reclaim their mounts. Vendurro had Henlester up in a saddle, but the High Priest called out, “Syldoon!”

  It was clear from the tone that he wasn’t speaking to anyone but Captain Killcoin.

  I was spinning my horse in a circle, trying unsuccessfully to climb into the saddle, when I heard Braylar reply, “How may I help you, my esteemed cleric? Would you prefer some refreshment before the ride? Some honey cakes and tea, perhaps?”

  As I settled in, sliding my foot into the stirrup, Henlester said, “What of my men? You don’t intend to leave them here, do you?”

  Braylar looked at the small sad group. “That is precisely what I intend. As you so astutely pointed out, you have merely changed captors. They would be no better off in our company. In fact, they might not fare so well at all. We are cruel to the point of savagery, I’m afraid, and in quite a hurry besides.”

  Henlester’s thin lips thinned further, and barely seemed to move at all as he said, “The Brunesmen might slaughter them.”

  Braylar smiled. “Nothing would please me more, as the Brunesmen would have to catch them first. Recapturing prisoners, even those on foot, takes time. We could do with some time.” He looked at Vendurro. “He is in your charge. If he attempts to flee, bludgeon him into submission. If he attempts it twice, slit his throat. He is not so valuable that we can afford to waste time recapturing.” And then back to Henlester. “There—you see how this works now?”

  The captain addressed the underpriests and priestguard, all of them staring at their high priest. “You are free men again. I suggest you run and run fast. For those too injured to flee… hide well. I suspect the Brunesmen will be too busy pursuing us to pursue you. But then you can never be certain, can you?”

  Then Braylar’s horse was off, and our party followed his lead, leaving the overturned wagon, dead horses, huddled prisoners, and slaughtered men in our wake, as the last of the sun’s light still curved over the horizon and lit the clouds and the world for a few more brief moments.

  I looked over my shoulder. Henlester’s group was unsure what to do, one guard pointing back toward the woods, another toward the stone wall. At least the captain hadn’t killed them outright. That was something.

  We rode in silence, picking up pace as darkness came on. I moved up to the front, just behind the captain and his lieutenants. They we
re arguing, though it was difficult to make out all of it over the clap and clomp of hooves on the earth.

  Mulldoos said, “You think Gurdinn leaves the convoy behind and tries to ride ahead and run us down?”

  Hewspear said something I couldn’t hear and I caught the last part of Braylar’s response, “—rigid bastard. Follows orders to the letter. So, I’d guess Brune told him the prime objective was the old cleric. He’ll ride hard. So we’ll ride harder.”

  Mulldoos replied, “What of our own wagons? Maybe ought to stow them and circle back. Seems like—”

  “No. We can’t risk that. You know this, yes?”

  “I know Gurdinn leaves his own wagons, he’ll run us to ground, sure as spit.”

  “And if he does, we’ll make him deeply regret doing so. We have the priest. We have our treasure.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at me, though I hadn’t even known he was aware I was there. “And we have the scholar to unriddle them, yes? So. We return with all of it, or we do not return. That is all. You are expert tacticians. I suggest you craft tactics to make sure it happens.”

  Mulldoos grumbled something to Hewspear, who nodded slowly. They talked, or argued—it was difficult to tell one from the other with them—with barely any space between them or their mounts as they nearly knocked helms together.

  I moved up along the other side of Captain Killcoin. He didn’t turn my way or address me, content to simply ride into darkness as quickly as was safe to manage. Braylar seemed to sense my unease, or at least my shoddy horsemanship. “Do not worry, Arki. They have good eyes for the night. Better than ours, I believe. Riding along a beaten trail like this, we are fairly safe. Provided no one thrusts a torch in their faces. And we don’t have to gallop or jump any walls.”

  “Will we need to? Gallop or jump, that is?”

  Braylar turned in my direction, his eyes lost in the shadows of his helm, face covered by the mail drape. It was a visage that did nothing at all to calm the nerves. “Hard to say. If we do, I expect we will be light one archivist when we are done.” His humor was difficult to read most of the time, but more so with only a little moonlight flashing on his eyes to indicate there was a man in the helm at all.

  I supressed a shiver as best I could and we rode in silence, but I couldn’t resist staring at him.

  Braylar glanced at me and said, “Out with it. Your unspoken questions are more often annoying than the ones you insist on jabbering, as they hang there invisible, fraught with portent and nervous energy. Speak.”

  I looked over my shoulder briefly, spotting Soffjian and Skeelana near the rear of the company, far from listening distance. “Are you feeling… well?”

  “I am alive. Beyond that, wellness is a luxury.”

  “What I mean to ask is—”

  “I know precisely what it is you mean to ask. I suspected as much before you asked it. As to how I feel, I will tell you this—the memories have not begun invading as yet, but I sense their scouts. Tentatively exploring, moving hidden and malicious. If I had a way to trap and destroy them I would. But even Lloi could never manage that.”

  I stole another quick glance behind us. “Perhaps a Memoridon could. They already know you will be bombarded, so maybe you could—”

  Braylar’s breath came out diffused, broken by the mail mesh. “They know far more than they should already. I will give them no more opportunity than that.”

  I framed the next question carefully, turning it over in my mind and asking it a few different ways silently before settling on the one I gave voice to. “Would you be so reluctant if your sister wasn’t involved?”

  “No. I would be more so. Far better to have a known enemy than an unknown one.”

  “But how are Memoridons enemies? I still don’t understand this relationship. They answer to your Tower Commander as well, don’t they?”

  “To him and only to him, Arki. Their agendas are frequently not synonymous with the rank and file soldier. And when it comes to matters of memory magic—with Bloodsounder and my own peculiar affliction clearly falling within that purview—that is their jurisdiction. I have no wish to be their pet, or their experiment, or part of some obscene research. Skeelana has been in me once already. I would not invite her there again unless I have exhausted all other options. And what is more, unlike the Syldoon soldier, they had no choice in their tenure in the Empire. They obey the Commander only because they have to. Coerced fealty is not loyalty.” He turned, and it was as baleful a look as could be cloaked in so much metal. “You would do well to remember that.”

  I nodded quickly and he said, “Very good. Now be silent. I will simply have to endure your unasked questions harassing me. It will be a long night and a long ride.” And then he nudged his horse further ahead, plagued by whatever unseen devils assaulted him.

  Hours drifted by under the light of the moon and its crown, as we stopped only briefly to water and feed the horses and take a breather ourselves before climbing back in the saddle. We left the Forest of Deadmoss and put its walled enclosure far behind us, passing farmsteads and sleeping villages, but mostly open fields.

  My body was stiff and sore, but aside from the small wound on my side that burned abominably, I was not in horrible shape. I wondered how well the other Syldoon were holding up. And more importantly, how long their old captive would be able to continue. I’m sure he was far more accustomed to perfumed pillows than midnight flights. Still, he seemed to sit the saddle much better than I did, his posture and bearing erect, his white hair lit like snow in the moonlight. You would have thought we were stealing a king.

  Falling back slightly, I found a place in the line mostly to myself, not speaking with anyone, and doing my best to stay out of the way.

  I’d never ridden in the middle of the night before, and while I wouldn’t have guessed I could fall asleep bouncing and jostling so much, I had to pinch my wrist to keep myself from sliding out of the saddle. But after a while even that failed, and for long stretches I felt myself dozing, starting awake every time my chin dropped toward my chest, and then almost immediately after shutting my eyes again.

  After one such start, I heard a voice next to me. “So, you’ve pulled the trigger twice now. How do you feel?”

  I nearly jumped out of the saddle. Even though she kept her voice low, I had been dozing deeply enough to miss Skeelana riding up alongside me.

  “What? What did you—”

  She smiled. “To be accurate, you’ve probably pulled it countless times now. The trigger, that is. But only a handful in battle, by your own admission. And only twice that ended someone’s life. So, sympathetically, I can’t help wondering—was it easier the second time? Or do you feel worse?”

  I looked at her. Several pins in her hair glinted before winking out as some clouds draped the moon completely. “Well, perhaps next time we are stuck in battle, you might lend a hand. Find out for yourself.”

  She shrugged. “Like I told you, I’m no war Memoridon. I wouldn’t even wear this stupid suroka, except it’s mandated. Far more likely to stab myself with it than anyone else.”

  “Well, I’m a clumsy scribe, but pulling that trigger kept me alive, and might have done the same for someone else.”

  “So you feel good about it then?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t say that. I feel awful, in fact.”

  Skeelana considered that. “But better to be alive and feel horrible about what you did than the alternative, right?”

  “Back in Alespell, you defended yourself when you had no choice. Maybe you didn’t draw blood with steel, but you defended yourself, and took a life. How do you feel?”

  It looked like she had a small smile on her face. “Awful, in fact. I’d say that speaks well of us, really. We should feel awful. Killing another person, no matter the circumstance, well, it’s no walk on rose petals, is it? But what I’m asking is, now that you’ve done it twice, was it easier? The second time?”

  I pulled a flask off my belt, uncorked the bottle,
and drank some stale water before answering. Skeelana declined my offer and I slipped the stopper back in, thinking about the best way to put it, to capture some part of my feelings. “The man—the men, now—the men I killed or helped dispatch, they weren’t just alive. They had lives. Friends, families, dreams, fears, secrets. Things they hoped to do and never would have the chance now, things they wished they hadn’t done and lost the opportunity to atone for. I’m grateful I am not afflicted like Captain Killcoin. Thanks to Bloodsounder, he knows more about the men he killed then some of those in his own company, maybe even his personal retinue.

  “But even without being privy to all those awful personal details of the men killed, it’s still impossible not to think of everything you ended. All with a simple blow, or worse, the squeeze of a long steel trigger. So much obliterated by such a simple act.”

  “And yet they donned the armor. They picked up the weapons. They knew they were taking the risks, these men. It’s not as if you senselessly murdered someone in the street.”

  “No,” I replied. “That’s so. And while knowing that should make it easier to deal with, to bundle any guilt in a box and bury it somewhere, the truth is it doesn’t. You asked me how I feel, Skeelana? I feel worse. Happy?”

  Her smile turned slightly sad, and then disappeared altogether as the moon was cloaked again. “No. I’d hoped to hear it was easier and less terrible, truly.”

  “Why? You’ll stay out of the fray, won’t you? You said as much.”

  “I will try, Arki. I will certainly try. I did witness it, all of it, from the trees. And when I saw you shoot that soldier, shoot him dead, I imagined it was me, and imagined how I’d feel. I’m sorry to say I guessed right.”

  We rode in silence for a while, and then Skeelana asked, “Speaking of Bloodsounder, how is your captain faring? As you said, unlike anyone else here, he has more than his own ghosts or demons to contend with, doesn’t he?”