Skeelana’s horse whinnied and I looked over, not even noticing that she hadn’t moved back to the rear wagon. “I will never understand men,” she said. “But especially those that play at war.”
She saw my questioning look and qualified, “I would think it odd that a much smaller group would stand their ground. Wouldn’t you? You’re a man, but not a martial one. That’s a compliment, by the way. But wouldn’t you suspect something?”
I watched as Soffjian slowly raised her arms and spread them wide. “We killed a small number of them in the Green Sea, with a few survivors. One recognized me in Alespell, and we killed a larger number when they tried to trap us there. Then we slaughtered them in their own watchtower and burned it to ground. The only thing we didn’t do was rape their wives or kill their dogs. I expect they’re pretty angry, so maybe not thinking all that clearly.”
Skeelana nodded slowly. “That does make a mannish sort of sense. Though the Syldoon wouldn’t rush into a battle unless they had examined every angle first.”
“Well, they are no Syldoon, that’s for certain.”
“Well, neither are you.” I felt Skeelana staring at me, and looked away from the Hornmen long enough to see the intensity in her blue eyes. “Does your captain know that one of the Hornmen from the steppe saw you? That you are the cause for all this mischief?”
I tried to keep my face blank, and as usual, utterly failed.
Skeelana winked. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
And then the Hornmen charged.
They galloped down the small incline, those on the road kicking up dust, those who had spread into the grass on either side, clumps of earth and sod. While no army, it was a huge group of horsemen, and no matter what tricks or traps were laid, I couldn’t see how we would survive or avoid capture.
Yet, the Syldoon waited, not raising their crossbows or moving their mounts yet. Ahead of them, Soffjian was still in the saddle, arms outstretched and angled slightly toward the Hornmen as if to welcome the oncoming horde.
Having seen what happened in Alespell, I knew there would be no pyrotechnics. But at that distance, I wouldn’t be able to even see the slight telltale shimmer that she emitted in Alespell. I was wondering how I would know she had done anything at all when I saw the splay her fingers on both hands and tilt her head back as if she were merely enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face.
Then a number of chaotic and awful things happened very quickly.
Several of the Hornmen jerked on their reins, some falling from the saddle. Others seemed to have lost complete control of their mounts, as they rode into each other, again with several riders falling to the dirt. Some Hornmen were shaking their heads back and forth, a few slapping their helms, or clawing at the air in front of their faces. What had been a charging line of horses was now in complete disarray, with many racing off in every direction except for the one they had been heading in.
The rest still came on, though it was impossible to tell if they’d suffered whatever had befallen their comrades. Soffjian wheeled her horse around and raced back toward the Syldoon line with roughly half of the Hornmen host pursuing her, some slower than others.
The Hornmen hit the patch of ground where Vendurro and the others had hidden the caltrops, and while some made it through unscathed, a large number of horses screamed as they seized up, a horrible, nearly human sound, and then threw their riders, or became uncontrollable in their pain.
It was terrible to behold. The whole scene. And it got worse.
The Syldoon raised their crossbows, took aim, and loosed almost in unison, with only a few shots coming late. Not nearly as well armored as the Brunesmen, a half dozen or more Hornmen were struck and wounded or killed on the first volley. Their shields offered some protection, but not nearly enough.
The Syldoon reloaded, working efficiently, and then rode to meet their foes, and I got to see what “rolling gears” meant. Braylar’s men sighted their targets as they cantered, loosed again, and then curled off to the right and left as they reloaded, and the Syldoon who had been behind them did the same.
More horses screamed and Hornmen fell from the saddle, but the remainder kept coming, probably not having realized how swiftly their overwhelming advantage was disappearing.
The Syldoon rode in circles, loading and shooting, taking down their foes, staying outside of javelin range, not letting the Hornmen close. The Hornmen dropped and continued to drop. If they had a commander who would have recognized that things had tipped abruptly and inexplicably out of their favor, he was dead or he’d ridden off already.
Thanks to whatever Soffjian had done, some sneaky tactics, and discipline, the Hornmen were routed and destroyed. It was shocking how quickly it happened.
When a handful of Hornmen realized that everything had gone wrong, they turned and tried to flee, and were summarily shot in the back. Some Syldoon pursued those who fled, careful to stay away from the grass that hid caltrops. One or two Hornmen weren’t that observant or lucky, more concerned with escaping than anything else, and went over the same sabotaged ground again. One horse fell on its side, crushing the Hornman underneath, and another was so hobbled it didn’t take long for two Syldoon to catch up and fill him with bolts.
There were around ten Hornmen who had slowed their mounts further up the hill, and appeared to be riding aimlessly in no singular direction, holding their heads, shaking their helms, hunched over. Not knowing that their force, so formidable only moments before, had been wiped out.
“What…” I found myself whispering, in awe, and raised my voice. “What did she do?”
As Skeelana leaned forward on her horse, watching the Syldoon take out the remaining Hornmen, she replied, “Unless I misjudge, she has blinded them.”
I looked back to the field, and all of the behavior suddenly made sense, but I still found myself amazed. And a little horrified. “Blinded them?”
For once, Skeelana didn’t seem bemused. “You recall, I told you that everyone has internal screens, or veils, that protect them from the constant bombardment of sensations.”
“I do. Though that still seems incredible.”
Skeelana pointed at the scene ahead. “More incredible than this?”
I conceded the point as another downed horse or man screamed, it was difficult to tell which. She said, “Well, tearing them asunder will drive a person mad, or kill him. As it did in Alespell. But Killcoin has the right of it—that requires tremendous focus. Here, she spread her attack wide, to strike as many of them as possible. So, she didn’t destroy the veils entirely, only tore holes in them. I’ve seen her do it once before.”
I watched the wandering Hornmen on the fringes of the battlefield, still drifting. “Is it permanent?”
“For some, yes. Those probably directly in front of her. The further away, the less severe. Some will be blind for a few hours, or days. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?” She sounded sad.
“Why is that?”
“Because death is permanent.”
My stomach clenched as I looked where she did, and saw the Syldoon riding down those blind men, some of whom tried to run, a few who turned their horses madly about, jabbing out with spears before being shot out of the saddle.
The Syldoon caught up to them, herded them, and butchered them.
I stood up, wanting to rush out to somehow stop them. While it was one thing to kill a man who was fighting back, this was cold savagery. Unjust. Unconscionable. The foes might as well have been disarmed.
I was about to jump down and get on my horse tethered to the rear, ride out to plead with the captain to show some clemency, when I remembered that all of this was traced back to that moment of ill-given mercy in the tall, wave-like grass. Somehow I had talked Braylar out of killing an unarmed man then, despite his misgivings for doing so, and it had ultimately led to the battle in Alespell when I didn’t confess seeing the spared man in time, and from there to the killing and destruction at the watchtow
er, and finally, to this bloody moment.
All back to me.
There would be no dissuading him this time. Not now. Certainly nothing from my mouth could alter the course of this action. I slowly sat back down, and though I wanted desperately to look away, I could not.
Mercy was lauded as a virtue by priests, by kings, by parents. And yet, the choice not to slaughter a man in cold blood had led to countless other men being killed.
Skeelana seemed to sense my thoughts. “There is no kindness in war, Arki. But at least you didn’t have to kill anyone else today. That’s something.”
Nodding slowly, I felt numb, watching Syldoon finish the Hornmen off one by one. I finally looked down at my feet and sighed, then pushed the crossbow away from me, on the vacated seat on the bench.
When I looked up again, Soffjian was nearing the wagon, dismounted and walking her horse. Her face was exceptionally pale, eyes nearly closed, a vein like a lightning bolt prominent on her forehead, and she moved past without acknowledging either of us.
Skeelana got off her horse and tried to give me a wan smile, gave up, then turned and disappeared as she followed the spent Memoridon.
I looked out at the field and was somewhat shocked to see Braylar and Mulldoos leading a handful of prisoners toward us. Blind prisoners. Stumbling, falling over each other and every odd clump on the ground, holding each other’s arms and belts to try to stay on their feet, heads jerking in the direction of every sound.
Why had he spared them? It certainly wasn’t an unexpected outpouring of compassion. As Lloi had once said, the man didn’t do anything without calculating really hard on it first. So why then, if not mercy for mercy’s sake? The Syldoon clearly weren’t taking on more prisoners, not with the Brunesmen somewhere behind us, and sparing men that might turn around and join the enemy again later flew in the face of everything Braylar had shown me at the watchtower. The captain had, against his better judgment, allowed me to haggle for a man’s life in the Green Sea, and he would never let me live down how that had turned out. So why now?
The captain took his helm off. He was sweaty, but otherwise hadn’t exerted himself overmuch. This must have been the most lopsided victory he’d ever been part of. Except for one Syldoon who had been sliced on the bicep by a javelin, and another who had foolishly come too close to a blind Hornman and been struck by a wild blow, I don’t think they had suffered any casualties at all. And certainly no fatalities, unless one of those minor wounds festered. At the beginning of the battle, I’d been sure we would all likely be killed, and the very opposite had occurred. It was staggering really, and certainly more so for the blind and vanquished Hornmen in tow. Why were they alive?
As Braylar halted near the wagon, he must have read the question on my face as clearly as ink on parchment. “Am I such a monster that it’s inconceivable that I might let a fallen foe live?”
I spoke carefully, especially with his other men reining in close enough to hear. “No, but you are somewhat of an… uncompromising man.”
Mulldoos looked around the field, and then at the newly blinded men, who flinched at every sound, unlike those who had been born to the condition or grown accustomed over the years. “Got to say, Cap, sort of wondering the same thing myself. Why herd them like crippled calves? Could have let them herky-jerky themselves over the horizon and saved some time. Why bother with the round-up?”
Captain Killcoin ignored him and looked at the small group of cowed and shocked prisoners. “Who among you has some rank and can speak for the remainder here?”
Most of the Hornmen were in stained gambesons or mismatched bits of boiled leather, but there were two in byrnies. The closest, a balding man of middling height, gray stubble across his face, called out, “Bull here? Or Corrviss?” After a pause. “No? How about Seddwin or Nails?” He sighed, straightened up a little taller, reached out to touch the shoulders of the men just in front of him, pushed them aside, and took a couple of hesitant steps forward. “That be me, looks like. Name of Rozvert. Men call me Rose. Who am I speaking to, then?”
It struck me how much courage it must have taken for him to accept that he was what amounted to the commanding officer present. Blinded, trounced, and likely fearing execution, he acquitted himself far better than I would have.
Braylar replied, “I am Captain Braylar Killcoin, commanding officer of the Outriders of the Jackal Tower, Fifth Tower of the Syldoon Empire. And while your commission might prove to be a short one, I am encouraged to see a man of some salt in front of me.”
Rose’s eyes darted around, tracking the captain’s voice and every shift in the saddle or cleared throat in the vicinity. I would have panicked, but he seemed to steady his eyes, though they were locked in on Scorn’s forelocks, so it was clear he still wasn’t seeing anything. “You the ones that did for the watchtower a few days back? And our brothers in Alespell before that? Hate to think we got what we got here going after the wrong men.”
I wondered if Braylar would spin a lie of one color or another, but he dealt with the question head on. “We were indeed. Though to be fair, we tried to pass by the watchtower without incident. And in Alespell, it was your brethren who attacked us.”
There was murmuring behind Rose and he turned and spit into the grass. “Well then, I got to say, Syldoon, really wishing we was in opposite positions right now. Because I’d be looking for the highest branch to hang you from.”
“You would hang blinded men? How delightfully savage of you. Then I am very fortunate we are in the current positions we are in. And you are as well. Despite the urging of some of my more merciless men here, I do not intend to hang you, or otherwise bring an end to your miserable lives.”
Rose brought his sleeve up to rub it across his sweaty pate, stopped short to be sure he didn’t hit himself in the face, then finished wiping his brow. “What did you plaguing do to us, you Syldoon bastard?”
Braylar replied, “You would do well to remember that the roles are not reversed, Hornman. And as to the answer, it wasn’t me. I am but a humble soldier, like yourself. Though clearly better at it. No, that was the handiwork of a Memoridon. And not an especially nice one.”
“The blindness? Is it…” he licked his lips, then forced himself to continue, “for good?” It was clear the prospect terrified him more than being executed.
Braylar looked for Vendurro, and finding him, said, “Clean up those caltrops. We will be back on the road shortly.” Vendurro nodded, and Braylar looked at Rose again. “As to the duration, not being a Memoridon I can’t say for certain, and as she has retired for the afternoon, I would only be hazarding guesses.”
The Hornman’s face hardened, and I found myself saying, “Only those closest to Soff—… to the Memoridon are likely to have permanent or long-term blindness. The rest will recover in time.” Immediately, I regretted letting the words out of my mouth. Braylar was looking at me curiously, Mulldoos with a face flushed with anger, the rest of the Syldoon with equal parts surprise or hostility. Only Hewspear seemed bemused.
Even Rose cocked his head, trying to locate the new person addressing him, and then said, “That’s a boy. Unless you done started doing things real different over there in the Empire, none of your witches got cocks. What does this plaguing boy know about it?”
Braylar didn’t look away from me as he replied, “That is an excellent question. Which I will ascertain the answer to another time.” He looked back to the Hornmen. “But for now, the only thing that concerns you is the very immediate future.”
Rose looked ready to spit again, then thought better of it. “What of it, you prick? Can’t imagine it’s any better than what you gave the boys at the watchtower.”
“I have spared your lives, but can snatch them away just as quickly. I do not expect gratitude, but a little humility and politeness is in order, even feigned. You might have a future yet, if you can manage to still your prideful tongue and do as you’re told. Do you think you can manage that, Hornman?”
Rose didn’t look like he could manage that at all, but after a long pause, he unlocked his jaw. “You best not be speaking about me only. What happens to me happens to the rest of my boys here. Good or ill.”
Braylar smiled an unpleasant smile, though the chilling effect was lost on the man in front of him. “Their well-being is in your hands, blind man. Do not test me.”
Rose stared ahead, lips pulled tight, veins bulging in his temples.
Braylar continued, “As it happens, you are not the only party that is pursuing me just now. So—”
“Ain’t surprised at that. Only thing that’s surprising at all is it ain’t more of us—”
The crossbow bolt in the throat stopped him short. The Hornman reached up to grab it, spitting blood all over his chin, sightless eyes darting in all directions, and then he dropped to his knees and then fell over on his side. Most of the other Hornmen stepped back in horror. Only the other man in a byrnie crept forward, kneeling alongside Rose, reaching out tentatively to steady the dying man as his body jerked in the grass.
Braylar spanned his crossbow again as he said, “Now then, for those in attendance who might not be able to tell from the gurgling noise you heard just now, your lippy self-proclaimed leader is bleeding his last at your feet. I have no wish to kill unarmed blind men—it is hardly sporting, and brings me no pleasure—but we are running out of time. You there, the only other Hornman in mail. Stand.”
The Hornman did so, slowly, his palms out in front of him as if expecting a crossbow quarrel to rip into him at any moment.
“What is your name, Hornman?”
The man reluctantly stuttered out, “Crowder.”
“Very good, Crowder. And do you think you can be a good soldier, follow orders, and not get yourself or any in your small band killed? Because I tell you now, I am out of patience, but not bolts. So if you cannot manage this task, we are done playing choose the leader. You all die now.”
Veil of the Deserters Page 38