Veil of the Deserters

by Jeff Salyards

  Rusejenna. Soffjian. We were doomed.

  Braylar called a halt. Two scouts raced past us on either side of the wagon, one still bleeding around the arrow in his arm. They reported to Braylar and his lieutenants. The captain turned his horse in circles, looked back past the convoy and behind us. I craned and looked down the side of the wagon as well. They were still at least three or four hundred yards out, but there was a large battalion of Imperial footmen, and they were marching for us.

  Vendurro was doing the same on the other side, then sat again and drove his fist into the bench. “Guessing that answers your questions, bookmaster. Not making it to the plaguing gate.”

  We might have been able to fight through men alone, despite bad odds—Braylar had survived worse before—but taking on two war Memoridons as well…?

  No. We were captured or dead men. Knowing Braylar, likely dead. I imagined the order for a mad charge at any moment.

  The Imperials hadn’t begun loosing arrows at us yet. Then Rusejenna rode her horse down the middle of the street toward us. Very deliberately. Clearly savoring the moment. She might not dance to the captain’s tears, but she was obviously the victor, and in no hurry to see it end.

  I expected Braylar to order one of his men to shoot at her, or do it himself, but perhaps he was unwilling to allow his entire company to be slaughtered, as no bolts flew. Instead, the captain, Hewspear, and Mulldoos rode out to parley, crossbows hanging from their saddles.

  Rusejenna stopped, waiting for the three of them to approach. When they were fifteen paces away, she raised her hand and the Syldoon halted as well.

  Vendurro slammed his hand into the wagon again. “Plague me. Didn’t even make it to the plaguing gates. Can’t believe Cap is giving hisself over. Better to die fighting then hung from…” He stopped, leaned forward.

  “Plague. Me.”

  Rusejenna was gesturing at the Imperial phalanx behind her when Soffjian spun her horse around and faced the lines of soldiers, arms outstretched. Even from so far away, I thought I saw the warping around her splayed hands, and before the Imperials could draw their bows she had used her memory magic on them. They were falling, staggering into each other, the lines breaking apart, as dozens of men were wracked by whatever unseen thing she’d done to them.

  The captain and his lieutenants kicked their heels in, tried to close the distance to Rusejenna, drawing their weapons. But the Memoridon was already turning back to them, got her arms up. Hewspear dropped his slashing spear, fell over against his horse’s neck as he rode past her and Mulldoos didn’t even manage that, falling out of the saddle, hitting the ground hard, rolling once onto his stomach, hands on his helmet.

  But Braylar was completely unaffected. Rusejenna pushed out at him with both arms, focused everything on him, but it did no good at all—whatever sorcery she worked on the lieutenants failed on him. And then he was on her, Bloodsounder whipping around, the flail heads arcing out, the Deserters taking off nearly half her head as he rode past. She dropped from the saddle, the last movement she would ever make.

  The captain beckoned us on, and our convoy was moving forward again. I looked behind us, and the Imperials were marching, drawing their bows from their quivers, but they were on the edge of bow range and still moving closer. We started forward as the captain rode up to Hewspear, grabbed his horse’s bridle, led him to our wagon, and ordered two Syldoon to get him inside. I looked back as they did—Hewspear was stunned and dazed, but could sit up, though barely, with his chin on his chest. Two more Syldoon got Mulldoos to his feet ahead of us, and while he walked drunkenly for a few steps, he was able to climb back into the saddle, cursing when they offered assistance, but still shaking his head and wobbling, and favoring one side of his body.

  Down the street, Soffjian was gone but some of the Imperial Syldoon that hadn’t been completely blinded or incapacitated were forming back up, and Braylar’s company charged, loosing crossbows first and then drawing their other weapons. The Imperials didn’t have the men or time to reform a phalanx, but they did their best at small impromptu shield walls here and there, their long spears angling out.

  One Jackal Syldoon took a spear in the chest and was vaulted out of the saddle right into the overlapping shields, and another had his horse speared out from underneath him and went rolling across the stones, trampled under the Jackal horse behind him. But the other Jackals made it past the spear points, knocked men over, hooves smashing, swords and axes and maces bashing and cleaving the small pockets of Imperials out of the way.

  When Vendurro drove our wagon through, we rolled over a body and I nearly flew from my seat. An Imperial on my side pivoted, shield up, the spear tip coming at me. It struck the bench right behind me and I trained my crossbow and loosed. The bolt struck him in the face, and he staggered back and fell as we raced past.

  “Nice one!” Vendurro hit me in the arm. “Next time, try shooting the whoreson before he has a chance to stab you though. Reload.”

  I looked at him for a moment, then grabbed another bolt as we rounded a corner, nearly running down a Thurvacian carrying a wicker basket on his head.

  “Out of the way, you dumb bastard! Jackals coming through!” Vendurro laughed, laughed like a madman, and I felt myself giggling as well.

  And then the stunning dawn clouds were more visible everywhere as this street was wider, the buildings crowding less of the sky. And the immense wall and the eastern gates were before us. The captain slowed, arm raised, and our entire group followed his lead. There were far more civilians about now, their bright colored coats and long tunics everywhere, some leaving the city, others coming in, so the portcullises were up. And it was early still, so the path wouldn’t be congested.

  The eastern gate. The sun rising before us. Surely that was a good sign.

  I glanced around the wagon and looked back—the Imperial infantry were nowhere to be seen. We had a chance.

  Our company rode forward, Thurvacians turning to object as they were driven aside, until they saw not only Syldoon soldiers, but several covered in their own blood or someone else’s.

  We crossed the small plaza just before the gate, riding into the shadow of the wall. I glanced up at the wooden hoardings that lined the top of the high walls, and imagined rocks or boiling water dropping out of the trap doors above us. I started to look behind us again when Vendurro hit me in the arm. “Easy does it, Arki. And point that bolter downside, would you? You shoot a Syldoon in a gatehouse on accident, we ain’t never seeing the other side.”

  I did as he ordered, watching as Braylar rode briskly up to the first gatehouse. He spoke to a guardsman, pointing back toward the middle of Sunwrack, then gesturing in the direction of the bridge, the other gatehouses.

  The guard nodded, stepped back, sent another guard running to the next gatehouse on the bridge. Then he barked at some Thurvacians to get out of our way, and waved us through. Our company rode and rolled along through the next two gatehouses without any problem, despite the fact that the Jackals had clearly just been in combat of some kind. Perhaps given that it was the Capital of Coups, guards were used to bloodletting occurring by armed bands in Sunwrack, or maybe the guards were from a Tower affiliated with the Jackals.

  No matter the cause, we were three quarters of the way across when we heard commotion behind us. I looked, despite Vendurro hitting me in the arm again, and saw the Imperial troops at the first gatehouse, the Sun and Leopard standard held aloft.

  A few moments later, a horn sounded, and Braylar shouted, “Ride, you whoresons! Ride!”

  We were off again, the wagon bouncing, rocking, and I nearly bit my tongue in half as we hit a divot in the stone bridge. Arrows started coming down from the gatehouse behind us as well as the final one in front. I looked up, saw Syldoon scrambling along the ramparts, shouting orders, and then heard a horrible grinding sound. The bridge was shifting underneath us, being winched away toward either tower, rolling away from the middle. The Jackals whipped their horses, and Vendurr
o snapped the reins on our team, and we plummeted forward, arrows raining down, two or three tearing into the back of the wagon. Syldoon were loosing crossbows up at both gatetowers, and I did the same, watching my bolt ricochet off the stone, but maybe keeping an archer from shooting another Jackal down.

  I heard the portcullis winch free behind us after we rode through the last gate and made it to the solid ground surrounding Sunwrack. We kept riding down the road until we were out of bowshot. Braylar looked back at the bridge—while a good number of our company had escaped, more than a dozen Jackal soldiers were trapped, the bridge being rolled out from underneath their horse’s hooves, arrows picking them off as they rode away from the opening in the middle, toward the portcullis on either side. Even well armored, there were simply too many arrows and nowhere to go. Horses were shot out from underneath them, and Jackals were cut down one by one, or fell into the chasm as the bridge rolled further into the gatetowers.

  We were all watching, helpless to do anything, when I heard a muted whump and then a strange keening whistling sound. I looked everywhere before seeing the trebuchet missile flying down from high in the sky. The huge stone struck the earth twenty yards away and bounced several times in the distance. If it had been on target it would have destroyed the wagons, crushed men or horses into red sludge.

  Mulldoos was still sitting oddly in the saddle, one shoulder more hunched than the other, body twisted somewhat, and when he pulled his helm off his head, I saw one eyelid drooping, and when he spoke it was through half his mouth, the other half almost paralyzed. “Best clear out, Cap.” He might have said more until he realized how stricken he was.

  Captain Killcoin looked around at our bruised, bloodied, and battered company, his face still obscured by mail. We’d lost at least two dozen men. Maybe more. Though I couldn’t see the captain’s expression, I could feel the fury as he called out, “We ride for Thumaar. We can lick our wounds when we are well away from here. Take a final look. If we ever set foot in Sunwrack again, it will be as conquerors.”

  He turned his horse around and rode off, and we followed into an indeterminate future, deserters from the Empire, very likely to be hunted by an Emperor who now commanded the mightiest armies and Memoridons the world had ever seen.

  We rode hard for much of the day, stopping to feed and water the horses only briefly before moving off again. Even with the wagons slowing our pace, I still worried the beasts might come up lame or blown. Clearly, though, the Syldoon knew their horses better than I did and just how hard they could push them.

  I left the bench frequently to check on Hewspear, but he was unresponsive each time, in the same position, chin on his chest, breath shallow, body stiff. He refused food and my attempts to give him water only ended with a wet beard. Whenever I returned to the front, Vendurro gave me a hopeful look, which soured as I shook my head.

  Several times I found myself craning around the edge of the wagon and looking at what remained of our convoy, wondering if Imperial troops were thundering down the road after us, but scouts reported no immediate pursuit.

  Vendurro hardly spoke at all during the ride, but my anxiety must have been palpable, because after seeing me look behind us for the tenth time, he said, “Got a few things working in our favor, bookmaster. Cynead must have figured those battalions and Memoridons would take us clean in Sunwrack, didn’t have a hunting party ready to come after us. So we got a lead. That, and must have been survivors to report Soffjian turning on them, so they probably figure she’s riding with us. Which she ain’t, of course. But they don’t know that.”

  “And she is a power to be reckoned with.”

  “Ayyup, going to be real careful on how they decide to try to run us to ground. Emperor’s got soldiers and war Memoridons to throw at us, but got to figure he won’t be rash about it neither. Even without Cap’s sister, they got Memoridons who can track us, so no fire on their horses’ tails. They might even figure we could lead them to Thumaar.”

  I sat back against the bench, took a deep breath that didn’t relax me at all. “And the third thing?”

  “Third?”

  “You said ‘a few things in our favor.’

  “So I did. Misspoke then. Just the two, really. Bought us a little time, is all. But still, better than being a corpse at the bottom of the Trench.”

  We lapsed into silence after that, Vendurro probably thinking about nothing except all the Jackals who fell to their deaths or were shot out of their saddles that morning, me trying to think of anything but them and failing most of the time, and when I did succeed, it was only to meditate on the false Skeelana, or the fact that we were all fugitives now, and likely doomed. It felt a mercy when we finally stopped for the night with the moon high and bright in the cloudless sky.

  I offered to help Vendurro with the horses, but he seemed eager for a distraction and said he would take care of them on his own after he looked in on Hewspear.

  After forcing cold food into my belly, I got down and stretched my legs, staying clear of the rest of the Syldoon. I only recognized a few soldiers here and there, and each time they were part of sullen, silent groups that were making camp for the night. Simply walking near them, I felt intrusive. I saw Mulldoos off to himself, cursing loudly as he struggled with his horse’s harness, tripping and nearly falling, one eye full of murder, the other noticeably drooping. I moved away quickly, giving him an even wider berth than usual. Even as damaged as he was, he could easily kill me with one arm, and it would take nothing to provoke him now.

  I was about to return to the wagon when I spotted a solitary figure out in a field, armor winking under the moon. Though I could sense the rage radiating even from a distance, I chose to cautiously approach. I stopped several feet behind him, suddenly wondering at the wisdom of seeking him out when the captain said, “I imagine the only way you would be disturbing me right now is if you translated the means of binding every Memoridon in Sunwrack to us, or striking the Emperor dead on the spot. Surely you would not risk my wrath with anything less momentous than that. Surely. So what marvels have you unveiled, Arki? Regale me. Astound me. I beg of you.”

  “I… that is—”

  “No?” Braylar kept his back to me. “I thought not. Away with you then.”

  Perhaps I should have heeded his warning. But I suddenly had so many questions swirling I couldn’t contain them all. “When Rusejenna tried to fell you and failed, you were immune, protected somehow, weren’t you? By Bloodsounder?”

  He finally turned and faced me, his left hand on the haft of the flail, face lost in shadow but eyes hot. “That is what you want to speak to me about? How I survived unscathed when so many of my men did not?”

  I changed tack as quickly as I could. “You knew that we were going to be betrayed, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t want Skeelana or your sister to know about Bloodsounder, or the scrolls, or—”

  “Of course I knew we would be betrayed.”

  “Before we left this morning, did Bloodsounder—?”

  “Betrayal was inevitable, you fool. Because of who we are. Just as we hoped to betray Cynead and rethrone Thumaar. We are Syldoon. It is our nature.” He glared at me, voice suddenly hoarse, anger and frustration and bile borne on each word. “And that is precisely why I would rather have died than hand over Bloodsounder or anything else we uncovered to the Emperor. I believed we might have had the key to Cynead’s defeat in our hands. That is why I gave the order to let no Memoridon into my head. That is why I wanted to strike you and Mulldoos and the rest down for failing to heed me. The fact that it was that little bitch Skeelana and not my own blood is immaterial—betrayal was inevitable, if our secrets were known. And not simply my life in the balance, but those of my men.”

  The captain took two steps toward me, and I had to force myself not to step away, as he seemed barely able to check his fury. “Every single one of my men who died like a dog today fleeing their city, and those who will likely die tomorrow and the next. All of us, my Towe
r, my commander, on a precipice now, because you and my officers ignored my explicit orders and saved me in that forsaken plague village.”

  There was nothing I could say to that. I couldn’t even stammer. Braylar shook his head, turned away again, and slowly released his grip on Bloodsounder. “Back to the wagon with you, archivist. Disturb me again at your peril.”

  He stalked off into the darkness, leaving me with my thoughts, my fears, and my remorse. Sparing the Hornman in the grass, sparing the captain’s own life in the village of the dead—each time, I considered them compassionate acts, simply the right thing to do. I never imagined they could lead to tragedy and greater loss, compounded death and devastation.

  That was a drastic failure of imagination.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always, there are too many people to acknowledge and not enough words.

  First and foremost, I have to thank my lovely wife, Kris. She has been steadfast and endlessly encouraging as I pursue this dream, and I couldn’t ask for a greater inspiration. Plus she puts up with Pollacky mood swings, Woody Allenesque worrying, and more Salyards shenanigans than any one person deserves. I would not be here without her.

  My agent, Michael Harriot, has always been a terrific sounding board and insightful beta reader, supplying savvy advice and terrific guidance at every turn, and talking me off more than one ledge along the way.

  The folks at Skyhorse/Night Shade Books have been infinitely patient, putting up with my countless questions and suggestions, with Jason Katzman and Lauren Bernstein deserving a special shout out for bearing the brunt of it. There are surely a number of folks operating behind the scenes who I don’t know by name, but I wish I did because I’m grateful to all their hard work and effort in making this book a reality.