by Eric Lewis
“Bastards,” snarled Alessia, “they just can’t help themselves! Every damned time….” She made to spur the horse on toward the catastrophe, but Ulnoth, walking beside, took a tight hold on the rein.
“Whoa there, what you think you’re about? You won’t be allowed to do any good in there. None left to be done, most like.”
Alessia glared down at him, her face all twisted fury. “What do you care about good? You just want to kill, same as them!”
“Maybe. But you still have to pick your battles, same as me. We should leave this place.”
The debate was ended when the clamor of a column on the march echoed dangerously close and they scrambled away and into the woods. No longer sure of their course, they skirted the outermost clearings surrounding Wengeddy, and came to a series of low hills and marshland at the edge of the forest. The westerly road away from the town lay somewhere beyond.
Then, out of nowhere came a series of shouts, the pounding of hooves on mud. Alessia pointed at something emerging from behind one of the slopes. “Look!”
“What the…?”
It was a man, tearing through the gullies between the hills, fleeing for dear life toward the trees it seemed. But he’d picked a poor route. If he wasn’t quickly run down by the two mailed horsemen on his tail, the marsh would slow him until he was.
“Is he going to make it?”
“No.”
The man tossed something away as he ran – a heavy piece of clothing it looked like. That gave him a little speed but the riders were still gaining. Alessia raised her bow uncertainly. “Can…can you get a clear shot?”
“Nah, too far,” said Ulnoth. “He’s had it.”
They watched, helpless as the man charged right into the marsh, making it only a few paces before it wrenched him downward with a splash. The riders rounded a knoll, their massive chargers stomping into the mud after him.
Then, something quite unexpected happened. Something that Alessia imagined would not have happened again in a thousand thousand years. She watched in astonishment as a great flock of birds – herons, she thought – took leave of the sky and landed right on the spot where the man had fallen. So many and so thick among the high grass that the wind of their passing breezed across the marsh to cool Alessia’s face, and when the riders came upon the place where the man lay, they saw only what was plain in front of them – a flock of herons.
“Gods,” said Ulnoth, “now there’s some luck!”
At a distance they could hear the riders argue about where their quarry had escaped to. They traded curses, a dramatic shrug, then they turned away, apparently having given up the chase.
Slowly, the man they sought rose among the herons, soaked and covered in feathers and bird cack, and like a corpse suddenly revived, made his shambling way toward the line of trees.
“Careful,” whispered Alessia, “not too fast or you’ll— Oh, no!”
He slipped again, making a loud splash. One of the riders looked back at the sound and shouted to the other, and they took up the hunt again. The mounts galloped across the marsh as though it were solid ground, so strong were their limbs.
The man was mere yards from the forest’s edge, but the riders were upon him and he stumbled once more, perhaps accepting his fate. They pulled long swords from wooden scabbards, making dull metallic swishing sounds. The raised blades glinted even in the overcast light.
Neither blow fell, though. At just that moment two arrows flew out of the trees, piercing the riders each through their necks just above the mail rings. Both of them tumbled, eyes wide, from their chargers, bleeding and drowning in the shallow water while the horses neighed in alarm.
After moments of stunned silence the man raised his head to regard his two saviors. “W-wha…who…?” He raised a dripping, shaking, dark-skinned hand, and Ulnoth reached out to pull him clear of the muck.
“Well,” he said with almost obscene levity, “that was a sight. Should call you the heron king, well as them birds served you. Who are you?” The man just stared, incredulous.
“Whoever you are, you can come with us,” Alessia said, “if you want.”
* * *
“I…I’m not sure which of you is crazier,” the man who’d given his name as Corren finally said in a thick northern accent after sitting in shock for some time. “It’s all…a bit hard to believe.”
“Believe it,” spat Ulnoth. “You think them soldiers and lords are something special? All that padding and metal makes ’em gods? I thought that. Then I turned a couple into stew for the vultures. Three now.” He kicked the bodies at their feet.
“And two more for you, if I count your story right,” Corren said to Alessia.
“Hold on, I never set out to—”
“Oh, I’m not complaining. I’m still breathing thanks to you two. Bit unsettling though, isn’t it? Common folk taking up arms all on their own. Could cause a panic in some circles.”
“Some circles are due for a share of panic,” said Ulnoth. He bent over and gripped one of the dead soldiers’ swords. “Hey now, speakin’ of taking up arms….” He made some clumsy cuts in the air, and Corren and Alessia shied away. “Lighter than it looks. I could do some damage with this.”
“I’m sure you could,” said Alessia. “Now I know you don’t know how to use one of those.”
“I can learn,” Ulnoth replied, ogling the blade up and down like it was a Thazovi dancing girl. He glanced back toward the bog. “Imma go make sure no more got curious and come lookin’ for these two.”
“Be careful!” said Alessia as she began stripping the corpses of anything useful.
“Humph, why start now?”
“Your friend there’s what in the north we call ‘peculiar’. Namely, he’s a bloody psychopath.”
“He takes some getting used to,” Alessia said, “but he’s been through a lot.”
“We all have,” said Corren. “I lost my whole family when I was a lad. Won’t see me going on a killing spree over it.”
“People react differently to things. Once we brought a man in after a battle with only a slight head wound. For some reason, he absolutely would not let the temple cat kill any of the mice. Kept them as pets and fed them. Talked to them. Afterward he went right back to fighting. Next I saw of him he was dead as these two.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m no temple mouse. Thanks for, well, saving my life and all, but I think I best get going.”
“Go where? Your town’s laid waste – we saw the smoke.”
“My town? Wha— Oh. Oh, no—”
“You’re not from Wengeddy?”
Corren’s face turned a red that was visible even under the canopy of trees. “Um, no. Well….”
Alessia stood slowly, eyes wide. She took a step backward. “You…you’re one of them. You’re a soldier!” She turned toward the bog where Ulnoth had gone, ready to run.
“No! Well…yes. Wait, let me explain. I deserted.”
“You were drafted then?”
“No, I volunteered, gods help me.”
Alessia wrinkled her nose, put a hand to the knife at her waist. “So you’re a killer and a coward. Doesn’t much recommend you.”
“I’m not a killer! W-well, except the other day, by accident. That’s why they were after me. I wouldn’t do it. I threw off my kit and ran.”
“Wouldn’t? Then why join up?”
“Because….” Corren sighed. “Because I heard the wrong words, listened to the wrong lies. It all seems so stupid. I’m a fool, I realize that now.”
Alessia relaxed just a little bit but kept a decent distance. The sound of marsh grass swishing and crunching grew louder. “Then maybe there’s some hope for you. But for now, don’t tell Ulnoth – he’ll tear out your intestines.”
“Aye, I worked that bit out for m’self already.”
“Noth
ing,” said Ulnoth when he returned. “Nothing to be seen anyway. Heard some screams though. Don’t know what that’s about.”
“The count they’re after escaped the siege, blended in with the fleeing townsfolk. The bastards were executing everyone to flush him out, few at a time to not raise a ruckus. That’s why I ran. Maybe that caused a stir?”
“Maybe,” Ulnoth said, then looked at Alessia. “We should leave here. There’s nothing we can do.”
“I don’t know, I still want to try to find—” She stepped halfway out of the trees and came face to face with a bloody stranger. “Ah!” she yelped. It was a frail, past middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard, one clouded eye, and a long gash running from his ear to his shoulder blade.
“H-help…” he moaned, then collapsed into Alessia’s arms.
“What happened?” The man just shook his head.
“Looks like the townsfolk got wise,” said Corren. “I figured they couldn’t keep it quiet for long.”
“Well, if he found us you can bet the reds will too, and I ain’t keen to take ’em on all at once.”
“We can’t leave him here alone,” said Alessia.
Ulnoth opened his mouth to argue, then looked past her. “Shit. He ain’t alone.”
Alessia turned to see twenty or more people running, limping or crawling toward them through the marsh with cries of “Help!” and “Gods, save us!” There were no great temple doors closed against them now.
“You go if you want. I’m staying.”
“Lessi, they’ll lead ’em right to us,” Ulnoth said. “You ain’t even got enough supplies.”
“I’m still staying.” She began dragging the wounded man deeper into the forest.
“Listen, you can’t—”
“Don’t you tell me I can’t! Help me or get out of here.”
They helped her.
* * *
Righteous outrage can be a powerful tool, but it doesn’t stitch lacerations or set bones. Alessia quickly used up her last bit of gut thread while Ulnoth implored the patients not to cry out as she worked, mostly by threatening to punch them senseless if they did.
They cleared a place between three trees with relatively dry ground and set the wounded nearby to wait their turn. They used branches and even sword scabbards from the dead soldiers for splints, and vines as bindings. It was primitive in the extreme and Alessia lost three of the lives in her care.
“I need more,” she said as she worked, sweat dripping from her brow. “I need bandages, thread, everything.”
“We don’t have any,” Ulnoth said as gently as he could, careful not to set off her temper again. He jammed a stick wrapped with cloth into someone’s mouth to bite on while they moaned and bled. “We used the last of it.”
“I—” Corren said, then paused. “Er, that is….”
“What?” Ulnoth prompted.
“I think I know someplace that might have the supplies we need.”
“Where?”
“The soldiers’ camp.”
Ulnoth rolled his eyes. “Oh, good. Let’s just stroll on over there and kindly ask to pick through their stores. Should work out sweetly.”
“If we’re careful I think we can pull it off.”
“How in the seventeen hells do you think that?”
Corren pointed down at the dead riders that still laid by, still clad in their armor.
Ulnoth shook his head. “No. Aw, hells no. No way I’m riskin’ my neck for a buncha strangers.” He glanced at the gaggle of refugees that were still alive and conscious. “No offense, but—”
“I thought you said you were already dead,” Alessia observed in a husky mockery of his voice.
“It’s more than just that,” said Corren. “They have other things. Food, weapons, coin. They just looted a whole town. We dress up in this armor and we can walk off with half the camp and no one’ll say a thing.”
Ulnoth frowned. “I’m no warlord. Even in that dead pig’s getup I won’t look—”
“It’s not about how you look, more how you act. Confidence, bearing, attitude. And I’d say you’ve got plenty of attitude.”
“Whatever you decide,” Alessia said, “do it quick!” She looked up from tying off an amputated finger. “I can keep the rest alive, but not for long.”
Ulnoth sighed. “All right, what the hells. Might as well go out like a crazy bastard.”
They threw on the mail and helms as quickly as one can throw on thirty pounds of iron, not bothering with the underpadding. It didn’t fit— “Because of course it doesn’t fit,” Ulnoth complained as the armor’s acrid preserving oil invaded his nostrils – but eventually they stumbled onto the two big horses that had lately been made riderless. They nudged the mounts out into the marshy plain.
“You know the way,” Ulnoth said casually, “and passwords and secret handshakes or whatever, I assume.”
“Uh, no,” mumbled Corren. “I guess I just figured, what with the armor and—”
“Sure you do. You’re one of ’em, after all.”
Corren froze on his horse, staring at Ulnoth. The mail ventail covered his mouth, leaving only the eyes visible. “You knew,” he said. “You knew the whole time.”
“I suspected. I saw you runnin’, throwing stuff away. I may be a dumb peasant but I can put two and one together.”
“So why didn’t you do for me like you did those two others?”
Ulnoth’s mail clinked as he shrugged. “You was runnin’, they was after you. I figure whatever you done to make ’em wanna hunt you down’s a mark in your favor. And there’s more than enough of them around here still wearin’ the colors to pick from. I know you and Lessi both think I’m fracted in the noggin. Maybe you’re right. But I guess there’s a method to my madness.”
“Gods take me,” breathed Corren. “That’s a relief.”
“Fact, I even thought about joinin’ up once. For the coin.”
“Did you? Just think, things’d gone different it could’ve been some other bastard with a grudge coming after you.”
Ulnoth sat still another moment, then kicked his horse forward again. “Let’s go get that loot.”
A quarter mile. That was all the distance that separated them from the place where citizens had been rounded up and systematically executed in the search for the count, and as they crested the last hill and it came into view both men began sweating over the danger they’d placed themselves in. And also because of the armor.
“Nice of ’em to stick around for us,” Ulnoth said. “So what are we lookin’ for? Tents and wagons and such?”
“No, it was a quick march from Wengeddy. We didn’t have time for that. Just what could be carried, which works out fine for us, doesn’t it?” He pulled his own ventail across his face and laced it tight. “Look lordly now.”
“But you said it ain’t about looks—”
“I lied. Sit up straight!”
The scene before them told a story in three acts all at once: carnage, confusion, and boredom. Bodies were tossed in piles to clear the way, others left where they’d fallen. Half of those – the men – were also decapitated and the heads arranged in a comparatively neat stack. A few soldier companies still double-timed it here and there at their captain’s orders to pursue the rest but with no idea of which way to go. Those with no such orders milled about, pissed on the dead or picked their teeth and played at dice.
“Impressive,” Ulnoth said, “you boys got this ‘pacification’ business down cold. How long you think a proper payback for this’d take—”
“Hush!” Two soldiers tramped across the muddy ground toward them. They made perfunctory halfway obeisances, their knees not actually touching down.
“Thought yer lordships’d never come back,” said one. “Catch anything on them bigarsed horses o’ yers?”
; “Erm….” Corren fidgeted in the saddle, then nodded sharply. “Aye, a couple.”
“So where’s the heads? Ain’t we to collect ’em up for the Lady No?”
“They were bitches, didn’t see the point. Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“No m’lord. Sorry. Say, you fallin’ ill? You sound different from this mornin’. All this gore can’t be good for the humors.”
“Yes, perhaps I am. I…uh, I wonder if you could, that is….”
The man frowned. “M’lord? Say again?”
Corren cleared his throat. “Tell me where to find the physic.”
“Oh. Thataway.” He pointed toward a not-too-distant grove of trees where a draught mule was tied up. Sacks and boxes encircled it and a small fire with two men nearby. “Thinks he’s too good to be sat near the rest of us.”
“Fine with me,” said the other soldier. “Keeps the screams away.”
Corren dismissed the pair, and they rode toward the grove. “Nice one,” said Ulnoth. “Thought we was done for there. But what did they mean by ‘the screams’?”
The question was answered a moment later. An open-mouthed howl erupted from one of the men sitting by the fire, the other standing over him holding a pair of bloody pliers. Corren winced. “The company physic’s also the barber and the dentist. Bit of a jack of all trades.”
“And master of none, sounds like. Did a little dentistry of my own on a recruiter not so long back. That went just about as well.” The soldier with one tooth less skulked away bent forward with a red rag jammed in his mouth and tears in his eyes. The physic was wiping his pliers down when he looked up to see the two riders approach. They dismounted with a great deal less skill than professional cavalrymen should have.
“Ah, hail m’lords. Come with a toothache? Saddle-sore? I’m all outta ointments for that.”
“No,” said Corren. “It…it’s Cap’n Gadanga. His arthritis is flared up again. He’s down ’round the bend and urgently requests your assistance.”