Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  “Might be they do. It could happen.”

  “Horseshit. Double horseshit. Ain’t happening. Better luck finding them flying ponies.”

  I asked, “What about the aqueduct?”

  Mulldoos gave me one of those looks that said he expected the next words out of my mouth to be worthless or worse. “What of it?”

  “Well,” I said, pointing at the aqueduct on the hill that fed into the city. “Perhaps scaling the trench wouldn’t work. What if—”

  “It wouldn’t.”

  “Fine. It’s impossible. But what if they chose to sneak into the city through the aqueduct instead?”

  Vendurro pointed at me, “Aye, that’s it! That could work!”

  “Couldn’t,” Mulldoos said. “Like to drown or fall to their death more like. But even if they got into Sunwrack by waterway somehow, they got guards posted there, too. And you’re both forgetting something anyway. Even if a group could somehow survive the trench or the aqueduct, which is next to impossible, but let’s say they do.” He pointed to the drawbridge ahead. “They make their midnight raid, and even manage to kill the guards on one gatehouse and lower one drawbridge from the inside. Also ain’t likely, but maybe they’re the toughest bastards who ever lived and they pull it off. Got another real big problem right quick then, don’t they?”

  Vendurro thought it through and looked back over this shoulder at the gatehouse we passed through. “Ayyup. Brave bastards would have to climb up from the trench bottom on those four as well, take all the gatehouses. Kill all the guards, roll out or lower all the bridges. All without raising an alarm. All at the same time.”

  “Ayyup,” Mulldoos said, mocking only a little. “And if by some miracle they pulled this off, which they ain’t doing, on account of it being impos sible and all, but let’s grant them that for a plaguing laugh. Let’s say they secure all the gates, roll out or lower the bridge together at all points. Real hard to bring an army across one bridge in any kind of hurry—big enough for daily traffic, not designed for moving all your troops. Hew, how long did it take our Tower to cross last time we went out in force?”

  Hewspear smiled. “More than half a day. Again, you have demonstrated my point most admirably.”

  Mulldoos ignored him, too intent on proving the young sergeant dead wrong even at the expense of his own argument. “Aye. And that was without the walls raining arrows and bolts down on our heads. Can’t take a bridge, but even if you could, not taking the city that way.”

  “What’s more,” Hewspear added, “There are over fifty Towers housed inside Sunwrack. Let’s say half of them were out in the field for our imaginary war here. That still leaves at least twenty-five to defend the city, plus all the auxiliaries and city watch. No, a direct assault would be a disaster and doomed from the start, and starvation isn’t practical. I have to say, Mulldoos, that was the most backwards rhetoric I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “I’d spit at you, if you were closer.”

  Braylar had been silent, eyes roaming the faces leaving Sunwrack, man by man, and tracking the groups in front of us making it through the largest gatehouse and into the city proper. The captain never seemed to relax his guard, even when the rest of him was presumably at ease. He’d seemed to be ignoring the debate, so it surprised me when he said, “The water supply.”

  Everyone looked at him and waited for him to elaborate. “You can’t take the city once it’s locked up tight. That is evident enough. But if Sunwrack has a weakness, it is access to water. Yes, there are some wells that go deep, deep into the earth. But they are slow, and on their own, not enough to supply the city for long. Which is why there are vaults and cisterns and conduits. And the aqueduct. So if there were enough traitors in the city, and they were exceptionally well coordinated, they could conceivably poison the wells, and destroy the water vaults. While the besiegers took care of the aqueduct further up in the hills, either destroying that, or poisoning it as well.” His eyes continued assessing and sweeping over everyone, as if looking for traitors.

  Mulldoos laugh-snorted. “You got a devious mind, Cap. Right devious, you do. So there you go, old goat. Weren’t my idea, but that could do it.”

  Hewspear wasn’t entirely ready to relent. “Conceivably. But in addi tion to being legion, and exceptionally organized and working in perfect conjunction, these cagey saboteurs could also need to be exceptionally willing to die as well, as the vaults and wells are all well-guarded. Plus, they would really need to poison all the barrels of wine and beer besides. And this isn’t a single castle we’re talking about. That kind of coordination and execution, well…”

  Braylar replied, “Likely to fail as not. Perhaps more so. But it seems the only gambit that might have any chance of success at all. Sunwrack might be next to impregnable, but no place is impervious to treachery from within. Least of all a city where factions are constantly conducting silent wars against one another, and a large chunk of the local populace would like nothing more than to feed its Syldoon overlords to the bull crabs.”

  And then we passed through the large gatehouse and put the massive walls behind us. We were in Sunwrack, Capital of Coups, center of the Empire and all the secrets, maneuvering, and treachery that went with it.

  The Thurvacians weren’t so very different from their Anjurian neighbors, at least physically. Perhaps a bit swarthier or more olive in complexion, with darker hair and darker eyes being more common. The capital was, after all, less than two hundred miles from the border of the kingdom of Anjuria. But with the Severed Sea and the Godveil an impassable border to the east, and the Moonvow Mountains and the Bonewash Sea marginally more passable obstacles to the west, there was only a small corridor between the kingdom and empire. But with hostilities for hundreds of years, it was no wonder that any exchange of ideas, invention, costume, and culture were stymied.

  I watched Soffjian and Skeelana ride up. The Memoridons had to be factored in as well. While memory witches were persecuted or hunted in most lands, the Syldoon not only tolerated their presence but utilized them to the fullest. Even if all other conditions had been favorable, the Memoridon presence would have frightened off all but the most adventurous of Anjurians from entering the empire.

  So, beyond some cosmetic similarities, the two peoples were noticeably disparate. Where Anjurians favored cotehardies and close-fitting tunics, tapered and designed to showcase the wearer’s shape (with sometimes really unfortunate results), and hoods of various sizes, Thurvacians opted for flowing robes with broad voluminous sleeves, or trousers with large overcoats over their tunics, belted with broad sashes, and on their heads, small wool or felt caps trimmed with squirrel or fox fur or, in some cases, dyed feathers. The Anjurians preferred muted colors and dusky jewel tones, but Thurvacian dyers had achieved remarkable colors of nearly any shade imaginable, often bright and outlandish.

  The differences extended to construction as well. The kingdom of Anjuria was filled with wattle and daub buildings, or timber, with stone reserved only for the wealthy. But in Sunwrack, the homes and dwellings frequently were red clay or brick, with a much larger number of stone buildings mixed in, utilizing arches for doors, windows, and support for terraced gardens. And most buildings were topped with sheets of copper or brass that had been polished to gleam, capturing every drop of sunlight and making it seem as if the city itself were nearly on fire.

  But the Syldoon roaming the streets were more different still, and not simply because of the inked nooses or their pewter Tower badges. Captain Killcoin and his crew had tried to blend in with Anjurians, but here, I was confronted by appearances I had never encountered before. Tall, coppery-skinned men with faces that appeared scarred in ritual fashion; others who shaved the fronts of their heads and dyed the hair in back fantastic colors; more than once I saw two or three who had blue tattoos of ravens inked on their faces. The Syldoon were an eyeful.

  Something struck me then. “All the Syldoon seem to travel in pairs, or even greater number. Is that a requirement?�
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  “If you are fond of your heart pumping blood, it is,” Hewspear replied.

  “I don’t understand. This is the capital, and the Syldoon are the overlords. Is it so unsafe to travel alone?”

  Braylar replied, “You just hit upon your answer, archivist. We are overlords. We rule over a much larger population of Thurvacians. While there have been very few uprisings, lone Syldoon have been murdered on occasion.”

  “I would expect murderers to suffer a pretty awful penalty. The murderers, I mean.”

  “When caught, they do suffer a very long, very public death. And when not caught, usually someone is taken in their place and executed as well. It does tend to ensure such violence against us is very rare. But one can never be too careful. And the other Towers are no friends of ours either.”

  Braylar turned down a street that led us through the middle of the city, which seemed to incense Soffjian. “The Avenue of Towers would be quicker.”

  “Yes,” Braylar replied. “Yes it would.”

  She waited for him to say more, and when it was clear he didn’t intend to, she grew more irritated. “So then, you are taking the slowest route because…?”

  “Because, sweet sister, while it does have the most traffic in general, it has the fewest Syldoon. And until we have spoken to our Tower Commander, I would rather not trumpet our arrival for every other Tower in Sunwrack. You hastened us here. We are here. An extra hour or two will make no difference. Feel free to ride ahead or take whatever route you fancy, by all means.”

  She scowled. “My charge is to escort you the entire way, and—”

  “You will not shirk in your duty. Not even in the capital city. Truly impressive diligence. Are you afraid I will whip the horses and drive them out of Sunwrack the second you disappear around a corner?”

  Soffjian rode a little further ahead but not so far as to disappear around any corners.

  We trekked through the center of the city. Where Alespell had been a confusing warren with streets running in every conceivable direction, and the buildings so crowded they blocked out most of the sky, most of the lanes and alleys in Sunwrack were orderly, running to the four points of the compass. And though there were several buildings that were taller than anything Alespell boasted, they weren’t pressed up against each other nearly as close, as least not on the main streets.

  Bells were tolling, heavy and leaden, too muted to actually be called “ringing.” While I couldn’t tell where they were coming from exactly, it was definitely somewhere ahead of us. Braylar’s eyes lit up a little, and he stopped the wagon. The other Syldoon reined in their horses as well. A few men in rough tunics and trousers walked around us in the street and looked ready to complain about the holdup until they saw the nooses.

  The captain looked at Hewspear. “When was the last time you saw a ceremony? Five, six years?”

  “Seven, I believe.”

  “And you, Mulldoos?”

  Mulldoos looked up at the unmoving clouds as the bells continued tolling. “About that. You thinking of taking a gander? Ain’t our Tower. And your bitch sister won’t be too keen.” It didn’t sound like he was too thrilled with the idea either, though.

  “She wanted us to speed things up. Let us grant her wish and see what the other Tower is up to, shall we?”

  We crossed several more side streets, the tolling growing louder with each one, and then Braylar called out to his sister once before turning and heading east. She spun her horse about and trotted back to catch up. Clearly not keen.

  The street opened up into a square, and the first thing I saw was the large crowd gathered there, as if ready to watch a performance of some kind.

  The second thing I saw was the gallows. A broad platform with ten nooses in the middle and ten men standing alongside them, and two armed men on either end

  “Just in time,” Braylar said, as we stopped near the edge of the square.

  While the captain seemed to be at ease, the rest of the Syldoon were tensed up. Which struck me as odd, given the death they had doled out in the short time I’d known them. I had no wish to watch anyone hang—I’d seen it before a time or two, and it was nothing next to the messy, painful, and plentiful ways I’d seen men die while in their company.

  Soffjian and Skeelana seemed to be indifferent, with Braylar’s sister only saying, “I would have thought you’d seen this one time too much already, brother.”

  He ignored her and watched, as quiet as the crowd assembled before us. This was also unusual. Ghoulish as it was, hangings often drew an unruly audience, with rotten food and insults thrown in equal measure. But that was usually only with one condemned man choking at the end of a rope, or sometimes a pair. Did the fact that it was ten men somehow change things? I wouldn’t think so. Or if it did, it was more likely to stir the crowd to greater depravity. Bloodlust was bloodlust, after all.

  And then I noticed a few other oddities as well. None of the men next to the nooses were bound at all. Yet they all stood in attention, one step away, and they weren’t dressed like the local militia I’d seen; they had no armor on at all in fact, and were garbed head to toe in layered black. Some with fair hair, others with locks and beards as dark as tar, a few with hair the color of rust or dried blood.

  “Are those… are those Syldoon?”

  “They are,” Braylar replied.

  “Why are they being hung? What crime did they commit?”

  A man clothed all in gray stepped forward and began speaking to the men on the gallows, though I couldn’t make out anything he said.

  “No crime at all. This is their manumission, Arki. From this day forward, they will be free men, full Syldoon. Well, most of them, I assume. You never can tell.”

  The men on the platform replied as one to some question or directive they’d been given.

  “Freed? But… they are about to be hung. Aren’t they?”

  “Indeed.”

  Hewspear said, “You are about to see Syldoon slaves leave off their bondage, transforming into Syldoon soldiers. They have been offered the chance to leave Sunwrack forever, or undergo the rite of manumission. These here have chosen to stay, to be bound forever to their Tower and barracks mates, but no longer as slaves. It is… something to behold.”

  I still didn’t understand, and started to ask another question when Braylar silenced me. “Enough. Be still and watch, and you shall have your answers.”

  Somehow I doubted that, but I shut my mouth. The men on the gallows responded to a query or command in unison again, several times. Then they stepped to the edge of the platform and slipped the nooses around their own necks and pulled the knots tight.

  Aside from a little murmuring, the crowd was still hushed, and there was a sense of expectation that was almost oppressive.

  A figure appeared on either end of the gallows platform, both women, both with the standard surokas on their hips, but otherwise unarmed and unarmored. They wore the same outfit, turquoise jackets belted over brown trousers. The Memoridons were still as statues as the men stood on the edge of the platforms, ropes slack for the moment, and the crowd was dead silent now. You would have thought we were watching corpses being interred in a tomb rather than men about to have the life choked out of them.

  The man in gray robes said something else, raised his arm up, and then all ten men willingly stepped off the platform and began to swing and dangle and choke, feet kicking several feet above the ground. The armed Syldoon drew their swords and watched from above.

  I wanted to turn away—I didn’t see how this would answer any question except how long it took for ten men to choke to death—when the Memoridons moved closer to the men at either end, raised their hands, touched the two men on the chest and the back, and dipped their heads.

  Both men kicked more violently, thrashing as if being cut or burnt, and then they suddenly stopped, nearly at the same time. Their chins dropped onto the ropes that were strangling them, and the soldiers still on the platform cut them down in turn. B
oth men collapsed to the dirt in heaps and lay there, motionless, and the Memoridons moved to the next men in line and laid their hands on them as they had done with the first pair.

  The Memoridon on the left took a little longer than the one on the right, but otherwise, it was nearly identical. And so it went down the line—the choking, the jerking as soon as the Memoridons touched them, the Syldoon being cut down once they had succumbed to whatever was being done to them.

  But on the second to last pair, I heard Soffjian say, very quietly, “They are taking too long. Too long.”

  The Memoridon on the right finished with her man and he was cut down, and she moved to the final man on her side of the gallows and grabbed his chest and back. But her partner seemed to be struggling, as her man was twisting and turning so hard she was having difficulty keeping her hands on him. The man next in line was turning purple and already kicking his legs violently, so hard that he struck the Memoridon and knocked her away from the other Syldoon she was trying to save.

  She finally finished, and the Syldoon on the platform cut her man down, but the remaining Syldoon was struggling so much she could barely get her hands on him, mouth open, tongue out, eyes rolling back into his skull, the veins and muscles popping out on his neck as he fought for breath that wasn’t coming. The other Memoridon completed her ritual with the final man on her side of the gallows and rushed over to try to steady the hanging man enough for her partner to finish, but he suddenly went slack. She placed her hands on him, tried to perform whatever it was she needed to do, but it was too late.

  The Memoridon looked up to the Syldoon on the platform, slowly shook her head, and he cut the man down. The other nine on the ground were all beginning to move again, pulling the cut nooses from around their necks, gasping for air, slowly sitting up with dazed expressions on their faces.