lastkingsamazon

by Chris Northern

  Kerral read out the charge and the discipline ordered. The thief was tied to a wagon. I watched the big man stretch, look to me for the command to begin. I nodded and he made a fair show of striking. I could see the welt and that was good enough. The thief grunted in pain and I was satisfied that the man Rastrian had chosen understood his task. Don't rip him apart. Don't make it impossible for him to march. Make it hurt and make it look good. Ten strokes passed in no time and he was cut free. The healer took a quick look at him and was satisfied. The thief was not. Even pulled somewhat the lash hurts like hell and I hoped we wouldn't have to be punishing anyone else in the same way; that was the objective, one example and forget it.

  Around us camp was being broken in just the same way as every other day. Wagons dragged in, and filled so that the baggage train was in the center and the cohort formed up around the edge of the camp as the men came free. This last night, and three or four others for that matter, we had used the slightly more permanent forts that litter the road. The ditches and banks had been lined with stone and only the stakes had to be added to make the place secure. There wouldn't be many more of these. Not that we hadn't built forts further afield on a regular basis, it's just that nature reclaims them quickly unless they are made semi-permanent. No sense doing that in territory we didn't know we were going to hold forever, and we were halfway through Muria. Soon we would be in the Client Kingdom of Wherrel, of which we were not so certain. We were better than half way to our goal.

  Moving a large body of men out of camp takes a while even though things are organized so that the vanguard gets away before other units are ready and so forth.

  I didn't envy the whipped man his day's march today. I told Kerral to keep an eye on him and chuck him in a wagon if he couldn't handle the pace. Then I amended that. “Let him march for a bit then chuck him in a wagon anyway.” A hug after the thrashing. “Have him ride with my slave.” Let Meran talk to the man, and more importantly, let Meran report to me what the man said.

  By the second hour of the day we were on the road. The pace the same as the day before. I figured we would shave five days off the twenty five days I'd estimated for the march. Three or four days should see us as far as the town of Yuprit where Sheo should have a small encampment of troops for me. I was beginning to worry that I had heard no word from him, but I need not have done. Two hours into the march we encountered a patrol of roadwardens. As usual, they pulled their horses to the side of the road to let us pass. The roadwardens patrol the roads on a daily basis, keeping an eye on their state of repair, checking with roadside communities for news of bandit activity, and dealing with said bandits even if a few of their own small camps need to band together to have sufficient numbers to deal with them. The state pays for their upkeep as the complexity of having such a service paid for by individual patrons would be inefficient. They are lightly and cheaply armored, carry short bows and cavalry swords for the purpose of keeping the peace on the roads. They also acted as a courier service and provided way stations for travelers who can change mounts, exchange scrip for cash, and grab a meal and a bed for the night if necessary. It is a good career for commoners, just as is the military. A piece of land and a cash sum are given on retirement, twenty five years being the normal term.

  When we drew close, one of the dozen roadwardens called out my name, raising a scroll. The roadwardens had been traveling in the opposite direction to us, and so I knew it was a message from Sheo and eagerly steered off the road to take it from him. I opened it then and there and scanned the contents.

  I am ensconced in a small temporary fort some ten miles south of Yuprit, just out of sight of the road and close to the border with the Geduri tribe. I consider that the recruiting is going well, having pulled together four hundred men so far, all with some service history. My first centurion is a chap named Quail and people tend to do just that when they see him, a bigger meaner looking man I have seldom seen. He has a dark temperament but knows his place. Discipline is not a problem and the man has five years' experience as a centurion to draw on.

  Sumto, I hope the army is not moving too slowly. There have been killings in tribal regions other than that of the Alendi and Ensibi. I have a man in Yuprit sending me news and there is rumor that the war is not going well. There are refugees, ordinary people of the city fleeing south. There have been a few civilian clashes even in Yuprit, locals and our people at each others' throats. There are few sympathizers with the Alendi but they are a thorn in the side of the local chieftain, a client of Hadrin Ichal Merindis, and he is hesitant to act against his own people. A few city-run businesses have been hit by looters, a few citizens beaten and left for dead though there have been no fatalities so far. He will have to act soon, no doubt. We will see.

  I hope to have the full cohort you desire by the time you arrive. I have men watching the road and will know when to join you.

  There are also one or two rumors I will not commit to paper at this time. I am not sure whether to dismiss them or worry about them, and so do both.

  Regards, Sheo

  For some reason I felt disappointed, as though I had been expecting more. Details of the force he had mustered. Four hundred men, all experienced. What more did I need to know? He was doing his job. Good enough. As for his mystery rumors, I wish he had shared them but he had not and that was that. I was concerned that there was unrest in Yuprit, but we would be there soon enough to put paid to that. Also there were plenty of city men there, some of minor rank, and they would pull together to get the client king to act. If he did not protect our people he would be replaced.

  I stashed the letter and moved on.

  #

  We reached the downland toward the edge of Muria in the afternoon. The down was a long ripple in the earth, a bank that dropped two hundred feet uniformly for as far as the eye could see to east or west. The lands below were flat with only the occasional hill to mar a perfect view. The land was fertile and farming communities could be picked out from here by the dozen. The town of Paresh was clearly visible sprawled against a shallow hill some five miles away and I expected that we would camp close to the town that night.

  Meran collared me as soon as he could after we camped, coming to my tent with news. “That crossbowman is going to be trouble.”

  “That's why I had him with you, so you could judge his mood. What kind of trouble?”

  “So I gathered. Probably desertion, maybe a little knifework first.”

  I called for Kerral who promptly stuck his head through the tent flap. “Send for Rastrian, please.” Then to Meran. “Anything else I need to know?”

  He shook his head, tossed a bundle of cloth on my bed and left.

  It began to rain gently. I resisted the urge to stick my head out the tent flap and glare enviously at the nearby town. We had passed it by two miles before making camp, but it was close enough to run to. If the man with stripes on his back made a run for it I would have to send men after him. The fact that I wanted to be under a roof and in a proper bed myself didn't help my mood.

  Angrily I turned to the package my slave had left for me and opened it. New clothes. Smaller trousers, three pairs, and under shirts and shirts and a new jacket. All good quality. He was a good man, Meran. I smiled and thought what I might gift him with that would please him.

  Rastrian was not long in coming.

  “I hear your man is thinking of deserting. It better not happen, Rastrian. If it does I'll stick his head on a pole. If I can't find him I'll take two of your men by lot and stick their heads on poles. Understand this, captain. I am in command of your unit and they will be a credit to me. I am a patron of the city. If I meet a king I expect him to bow his damn head, and I won't have less from you or yours. Anyone under my authority who doesn't toe the line will have a line drawn round his bloody neck one way or another. My soldiers will be a credit to me, not an embarrassment. Deal with the problem or I will.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. After you have deal
t with the problem come back here and dine with me.”

  He was mad but holding it well. “Is that a request?”

  “No. It's an order.”

  Suddenly he snorted with humor and shook his head. “Some of your commanders say that you aren't worth much, never had a command and don't know your business. That you are soft. They are about as wrong as they could be. I'll make sure my men are a credit to you, as you say.”

  “Then I'll consider the problem dealt with. Focus their minds on the enemy and the booty to be had. I'll be generous if they do well by me, but by all that's holy I'll hang the damn lot of them if they make me regret not being harsher now.”

  He nodded. “You have made your point, sir. I'll take care of it.”

  When he was gone I stripped off my armor, picked up a book and started reading. It was hard to settle to it. The other commanders, all noble, thought I was soft; didn't know my business. Well, nothing had been proven yet. The days of hard travel had thinned my waist and shed some of the fat off me. I didn't hurt near so much as I had; my body was getting harder and more used to the pressure I was putting it under. I worried a little about my lack of experience in arms. As a boy I had trained with the others of my class, spending hours a day in exercise and lectures from military men. From twelve to seventeen that had become more serious, with weapons training, ten mile runs and horse riding and so forth. I had been fit and lean for most of that time, but I liked to drink and gamble and take what women were willing and those activities took up so much of my time that I had begun to avoid the military service that should have begun then. I hadn't held a sword in five years, or any other of the weapons I had been trained in. How would I handle the battlefield? How would I react to an enemy intent on killing me? I didn't know and the not knowing more than anything else made my belly pulse with fear. Not fear of dying, but fear of failing and fear of shame. I would put myself in the fight, hoping it was a small engagement, with good men to my right and left, and I would pray that I did not disgrace myself. Self doubt is a cancer that can eat at you if you let it. What I needed, I realized, was to get on with it. To fight an enemy and kill him and be done. Still the thought made me sick inside. I had never killed anyone and to be completely honest I really had no desire to do so. I guess some men are born bloodthirsty. The flush of youth brings anger from the desire to compete for women. I understood that any other man was a threat to the need to reproduce. To take women from other men was our nature. That is why we send our young men into the army, for that is when they are most likely to accept that way of thinking. Even if they don't recognize it in themselves, that is when they are most malleable and able to be turned into men who can kill. By avoiding that route I had lost that opportunity. I would have to do it cold and critically conscious of what I did. But I would do it. There was no turning back.

  I had lost the mood for company, let myself become introspective. With a curse I got up, stuck my head outside the tent and looked around. Kerral and Pakat were seated in the entrance to the tent Kerral had used to share with Sheo, sheltered from the rain but easily close enough to hear me. They moved to stand up and I gestured them down, then on impulse crossed the distance in five long strides. They shuffled round to make room for me and without a word being spoken Kerral made a long arm and dragged a camp chair close, flipping it open and set it down between the two men.

  Pakat leaned out into the rain and scooped a cup of hot tea out of a small pan hanging over the fire. He passed it to me without a word and for some damn reason I almost felt like crying.

  “Hell of a thing, war.” Kerral commented, eyes fixed on the rain, elbows resting on his knees.

  Pakat answered him without missing a beat. “Has its good points, though.”

  “Winning.”

  “Money. Women.”

  “Much the same thing really.”

  “True. You don't get women without money.”

  “Different species.”

  “Some men forget that. Think 'cause they walk upright and talk to us they are the same.”

  “Who knows what they think?”

  “Who cares, as long as they spread their legs regularly.”

  I found myself smiling but didn't laugh. They fell silent for a moment, but just for a beat. I guessed they wanted to see if I felt like chipping in. At that moment Meran came back to my tent, glanced at me, said nothing and popped inside. Doubtless he would settle himself for the night.

  “I was married once,” Kerral continued. “Older woman. Cozy. Had to divorce her in the end though. Got old, stopped being interested in my cock. No use to me after that.”

  “I've got one at home. Don't see much of her though.”

  I involuntarily cleared my throat and they gave a bit of silence to the night. The rain was fine. I felt a little happier.

  “I was betrothed for a while.”

  “Orelia,” Kerral chipped in. We had been friends, and he knew of course. I was shocked for a second. I'd forgotten that we were friends, that he had saved my life. I suddenly felt ashamed.

  “Did I ever tell you that I liked Jocasta better?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I would have guessed. Orelia is pretty but that's about her lot. Jocasta has a brain and likes to use it. Would have figured you'd like that.”

  “You think I think too much?”

  He laughed. “Only about some things, sir.” The sir was a reminder not to be too familiar.

  Only about some things. I wondered if my face were an open book. People seemed to be able to read me like one. Those that could read at least.

  “I need to brush up on my blade work.”

  “There'll be times when we camp for a few days after we hit the war zone.”

  I nodded. “That's good. Thanks for the tea.”

  #

  I did not go back to my tent despite the rain. I didn't want to make it seem as though I had needed their company, even though they both doubtless knew it. I had stuck my head inside my tent to warn Meran that Rastrian would be arriving to eat with me shortly, but I also wanted to be alone for a while.

  I wondered in the direction of my charges. I had no plan in mind, maybe drop into the healers and see how they were, not that I expected them to be anything but fine. It occurred to me that I might want to thank them for tending the crossbowman's lashes. Seemed like a reason to do something, so I headed over that way.

  The silence is what struck me first. There was something ethereal about the scene. He stood facing me, his back bowed and on his tiptoes, his mouth open in a silent scream, an arm wrapped about his throat. Next to his face was that of another man. For a second I didn't know what I was looking at, it didn't make sense. Then Sapphire eased the dying man to the ground and stood slowly upright, all the time his eyes fixed on mine. The distant light of camp-fires threw slow shadows everywhere. I had stopped walking. Stopped moving would be a better way of saying it. We just stood there for a moment looking each other in the eye. He had a knife in his hand. I saw the gleam.

  Why aren't I calling out? Am I afraid? I should call out, I thought, but didn't. He was my father's man about my father's business. As awareness of that inhibition seeped into my mind, Sapphire eased away silently and was gone in less than a moment. There was something almost supernatural about his leaving. There, then gone, though I saw him move. Moments passed. A man had been murdered and I had done nothing about it.

  I took a deep breath and let it out almost silently. Then another. I should call out, but I won't. Not yet. Maybe I should look first. See who it was. I stepped forward, movement giving assurance that I was acting and doing the right thing. That I had done the right thing. Why Sapphire had killed him could wait, but I would know in time.

  I went forward and knelt by the body. It was one of Rastrian's men, as I had somehow known it would be. He was wearing no armor, and carried only a sheathed knife, but I recognized the style of clothing, casual and flamboyant. I took his face in one hand turned it one way and the other. I wasn't
sure that I recognized him. It was at that moment, of course, kneeling by the dead body of one of his men, that Rastrian caught up to me. I heard footsteps heading my way, turned and saw him. Damn. Not good. Not good at all. I stood up, holding my hands out as he approached, showing they were clean of blood. “One of yours. Murdered. Not by me.”

  He didn't speed up or slow down. No stranger to death, he came close enough to see, but carefully not close enough to be in range of a lunge.

  “I'm going to show you my knife, just to reassure you.”

  He nodded, looking down at his man and I drew the short blade free and showed him it was clean.

  He looked at it. Nodded again. “Preth.”

  “What?”

  “His name was Preth. Joined us six months ago. Any idea who did it?”

  “None.” I put the knife away. This was a problem. The threats I'd made. A dead body. Me standing over him. Not ideal. Not by a long way.

  “I'm going to take him to your men. You come. Vouch for me. If the killer comes to light I'll see him dead.” I didn't wait but leaned over and grabbed an arm and his shirt front, pulling him up, then both arms under armpits, gripping tight, drew the body to his feet. Leaning and bending at the knee I let him fall over my shoulder, one hand sliding down his arm the other down his back. Gripping his arm I lifted, brought my right arm round and slid it between his wet legs to grip his calf. He smelled of shit and fresh piss. I'd not thought of it. Too late now. “Lead on.”

  Keep things moving. I was thinking. Keep Rastrian moving before he starts thinking. We were right next to the mages, who might have a way to learn something of the killer. Get away from there. Dubaku! Damn. Dubaku. The shaman would surely be able, may be, may be able to call the man's spirit back but that was ok. That was ok, the man hadn't seen who was behind him. You don't grab a man by the neck and stab him in the kidneys after he has seen you. And if Dubaku could and did call the spirit I would be off the hook. Good. Dubaku was good.