What Was Forgotten

by Tim Mathias

  Chapter 19

  It was the first night that he could remember where his sleep was uninterrupted by sentry duty. Only his dreams kept Zayd from having fully restful sleep, but he had grown accustomed to it, or at least as accustomed as was possible, he estimated.

  It was the safety of being in Ten Tower fort, Zayd thought. That was the real difference. He had been a sparrow among hawks for days and days, and while a cautious voice in his head warned him not to become too at ease, he could tell that the soldiers of Ten Tower were not the same type of soldier as the men of the Ninth Regiment. Or, if they were, they were well disciplined and displayed none of the aggression that Zayd had experienced following the siege of Yasri. Those soldiers had an unquenchable bloodlust, something too vicious to be innate; more likely it was something that infected them during the siege. It had plunged them into barbarism and reshaped them into barbarous men. War was the forge that took wondrous things and turned them misshapen.

  Except for some. For some, it was precisely the reverse.

  Barrett stood in the doorway of the barracks, a bowl in each hand, and approached once he saw Zayd sitting up awake in the bunk. The morning sun poured in through the small windows of the wooden barracks of Ten Tower, telling Zayd at once that it was far past dawn. Barrett sat on a cot facing Zayd and handed him a bowl of tepid oats and milk.

  “It was warm,” Barrett said. “Maybe an hour ago.”

  Zayd rubbed his eyes. “I can’t recall the last time I was not up with the dawn.” He ate a spoonful of the oats and, despite it being tepid, found it to be surprisingly nourishing. “I’m sure I will be reprimanded.”

  “Not quite. Commander Walrend ordered that we not be woken for the morning’s tasks.” Barrett stirred his spoon in his bowl. “Which is why I, too, am without warm breakfast.”

  “Not woken,” Zayd repeated before taking another bite. “Something I could get used to.”

  “Try not to. It was only for today.”

  They ate the remainder of their meal in silence. The sounds of soldiers practicing combat and performing drills in full gear sparked long dormant memories in Zayd, back to when he was first conscripted in the Imperial army.

  “What is it?” Barrett asked. Zayd looked at him, confused, until he realized he had stopped mid-motion, his spoon hanging halfway between his mouth and the bowl in his lap.

  “Nothing. A long buried memory stirring in my mind. I felt for a moment as though I was back at the beginning. Another ten years of service ahead of me.”

  Barrett paused. “By the Beacon, you are close to the end, aren’t you? Has it been ten years?”

  “Nearly.”

  “Ten years since…” Barrett trailed off and dragged his spoon through his empty bowl. The unspoken offense often swam near the surface, yet always remained submerged, always hidden by a mask of anger.

  “Barrett… I –”

  “No. No apologies. I would have done the same. I would have killed every last enemy I could. You didn’t know we would offer you quarter. And we knew the dangers. He always tried to make sure I was more cautious than brave. Few three-term soldiers see retirement. Even ones as skilled as my father. So… do not apologize. I wouldn’t apologize to any invader. You aren’t sorry, and you ought not to be. I would’ve killed you if I had the chance, and I would’ve forgotten you along with all the others that have stood before me.”

  Zayd nodded, half in understanding, half lost in disbelief. Was this the same man who had snarled at the sight of him whenever they crossed paths for the better part of a decade? Was it the same man who, on the day of his surrender, had tried to stab Zayd with the same arrow that had killed his father? Barrett must have seen him fire the arrow that night. He remembered, as clear as any memory he possessed, that it took three other knights to restrain him as he screamed and cursed, saliva spraying from his mouth. He had never been more grateful that he had not faced off against Barrett directly than he had been that day. He could still see the fearful faces of the other Tauthri in his village as they watched, uncertain of their fate and terrified of the prospect of the hysteric warrior being unleashed upon them.

  “Would you have done what I did?” Zayd asked. “Would you have yielded? Or would you have chosen to die, as the Dramandi did?”

  “I don’t know what I would have done. I know that I would never want to yield to an enemy… any enemy. I would keep fighting until I bled every last drop. But you surrendered, and you’ve had ten years of service because of it. And you could have more if you chose. So the choice for me would be not whether to die fighting, but when you would die fighting, and for which god.”

  “So you would have surrendered and given allegiance?”

  “To the Ryferians, yes. But I would not to the Dramandi or the Ivesians, or any other power. I would hope that I would have had the wisdom to see that the Empire was always and truly on the side of righteousness, of light and of everything good. You must have recognized the Empire as that. In some way, you must have known. If not, it must have been the hardest choice you’ve ever made.”

  “Neither. I didn’t know then, and I don’t think I could have known. I never truly understood the Beacon until I was already in his ranks. But the decision was not difficult, either. Looking at my wife and my son, I knew that I had to do everything I could to save them. I couldn’t watch the two creatures I love the most die because of a choice that I made. And she loves me, so I think she would have chosen the same. Love wants to endure. It wants to endure all storms that it might flourish once they subside, and it will endure any sacrifice, any loss, and what remains will once again make itself whole. I believe I must have known this, standing as I was, surrendering, that day on the road.”

  “Perhaps it was the Beacon speaking to you, whispering in your ear,” Barrett said.

  Zayd smiled. “Yes, perhaps it was, so that I might be alive to fight against his enemies. The Dramandi.”

  “And to help capture traitors in his army,” Barrett laughed. “Who can know, though? Perhaps the true purpose has yet to come.”

  “You might think that very little goes on here,” Commander Walrend said, leaning on the railing of one of the southeastern lookout towers. “But you’d be mistaken. There’s always something going on. We might be far from the front, quite far, but we’re still in hostile territory.”

  Zayd nodded and looked out at the landscape that rolled outward in a seemingly infinite expanse until it was lost to the horizon. Walrend had not looked at Zayd once since he stepped up into the tower at the commander’s request. Instead, Walrend was constantly preoccupied with the goings on of the fort, only stopping occasionally to look outward as if to give himself a respite from barking orders. When he squinted, his deep-set eyes looked nearly black.

  The commander was an imposing man, possessing the stature of a warrior, the scars of a prisoner, and the discipline of a monk. Scars like the veins on a leaf traced across the sides of his head, running through his short brown hair. Part of one of his ears was missing, and a thin layer of stubble covered his cheeks and jaw.

  Walrend spun around. “That lap was too slow!” he shouted down at a group of twenty men, each one carrying the better part of a tree trunk on his shoulders, that had just finished running the perimeter of the fort. “Go again! And don’t think I’m not watching your every bloody step!” The men stepped back into formation without a word or sign of protest and started running again. “What was I saying? Right. Enemy territory. It’s easy to forget that when you’re not lining up on the battlefield. But I see the Dramandi watching us. Yes, they’re probably watching us now. And you know what? I’m glad. Let them watch. Let them see how well-disciplined my men are. Let them see how they’re tough as iron. The enemy that comes to my gate is an enemy that will face a force as hardened as any veteran regiment.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Even the men of the Ninth Regiment, traitors though they were, still battle-hardened and yet even they could not stand against us.”
Walrend pointed at the soldiers running. “See them there? Much faster this time. They’ll be as exhausted as a cheap dockside whore at high tide, but by the bloody Beacon, they will be toughened. That is how you stay ready for combat. Expect it every day. Every damned day.” Walrend turned and walked down the steep wooden staircase, back to the ground. Zayd followed.

  “I’ve sent to General Vaetus to let him know what has transpired here. Praene’s treachery, the Dramandi attacks… everything.”

  “What of our mission, Commander?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see. It’s up to General Vaetus what happens next. He may ask you to accompany a contingent of my men while we escort the…… cargo… back to the capital. He may decide to send some of his own men to do it. Or he may ask for you and your fellow night-eyes to return to the front lines. Yes, yes, we’ll just have to wait.” Walrend stopped in his tracks and, for the first time, looked at Zayd. “You don’t mind what I said, do you? Night-eyes?” He turned and kept walking. Every soldier within sight of the striding commander quickened his pace or strained to work twice as hard.

  “I know there are some fools in our ranks that look down on your kind. There may even be some here. But you’d never know it. Do you know why? Because my men know I wouldn’t stand for it. That’s belligerence, and I won’t have the slightest bit of it. The Tauthri put up a good scrap, but you saw reason and you came over to the side of the blessed! The En Kazyr did the same thing decades ago and no one dares say a deriding word to them. At least, not to their faces, lest they want to deal with an angry pillar of muscle and steel. No, captain, I see the asset you are – you and your men – and if General Vaetus grants it, I’d allow you to remain here as our sentries for as long as this fort is needed. The lot of you could finish out your terms of service right here. It’s not as glorified as being face to face with the enemy, but…” Walrend stopped and turned once more. Zayd thought he saw something of a grin. “But maybe you’ve had your fill of that. In fact, I’d wager as much. Talk to your men about it. Whatever happens, while we’re waiting on the General’s orders, you and your men will take the second watch. Starting tomorrow night.”

  Zayd glanced up at the watch towers and smiled; he had thought that once the Eighth and Ninth Regiments left Yasri, the great punishments they had endured during the siege would be over. Yet they continued to die, and not just at the hands of the enemy. He thought of Gavras, still unsure whether Barrett running him down was an accident or not. Ten Tower seemed to be a locus of order set in a wilderness of chaos, and Zayd thought that, if Vaetus did not summon them to the front, wherever that was at this point, he might be happy to serve his remaining months here, with predictability and routine… boring, safe routine.

  “May I ask, sir, what will happen to Praene?”

  “We’re going to question him, along with every one of his men. He must have been taking that loot somewhere. To someone. He had to have some way of dealing with that gargantuan slab of gold. I doubt he would be content to chisel off a piece here and there for the rest of his life. I doubt his fellow defectors would be content with that just the same. So we’ll question him… I dislike torture, but if it comes to that, then it comes to that. And once he talks, we’ll have the giant take his head.”

  “There’s an En Kazyr here?”

  “Yes, the one that was marching with you. Our patrols found him just before we found Barrett. He said that one of the Tauthri saved his life. Was that you he meant?”

  “No, not me, sir. His name was Turald.”

  Tascell, Daruthin, and the six other Tauthri were at the fort’s archery range, demonstrating to a watching group of Ryferian soldiers that they needed no practice. Commander Walrend ceased to be the taskmaster after his men had the final meal of the day, when they could cajole, make games where they could find them and, much of the time, place bets on whoever played. Walrend understood that enforcing his normal level of discipline at all hours of the day would quickly breed resentful soldiers, and resentful soldiers sometimes sought to replace their commanding officer in ways that Walrend imagined would be quite distasteful.

  On their second night at Ten Tower, the Tauthri were the subject of the soldiers’ betting games. Wagers were being placed to see, between Daruthin and Tascell, who had the more accurate shot, but after several rounds won, Daruthin stepped back and let Lesryn, one of the other scouts, compete against Tascell. It made for a more evenly matched competition and for a more compelling pair for the soldiers’ bets.

  They were smiling as Zayd approached. Completely caught up by the energy of the soldiers cheering them on, they had not noticed him watching, and Zayd was glad for it. An arrow hit a wooden practice soldier in the head, and a cheer went up from half of the soldiers. Coins changed hands. Watching, Zayd had little doubt his men would choose to stay, given the chance. Walrend had been right when he said that if any of these men harboured hate, they would never know it.

  “Captain,” a deep voice boomed behind Zayd. He turned to see Talazz, surprised at not having heard the En Kazyr walk up to him. “I am glad to see you here.”

  Zayd nodded and, for an instant, remembered the black arrows that wounded the giant. The worry was plain on his face. The giant’s chuckle sounded like thunder.

  “I hold no grudge against you for wounding me and whichever or your men stung me with arrows.It was necessary for your escape, and for the eventual capture of the traitor. And I should thank whoever it was that warned me in the forest.” Talazz frowned and looked away. “It disgusted me to run, though I would have died had I not. And I ran from the Dramandi as well as from the traitors.” The giant looked at his feet. “I am… ashamed. It will take years and many great deeds to restore my honour. It will start when I am allowed to take the lives of the traitors who shamed me. That will be a good start.”

  “They should count themselves lucky to have a clean death,” Zayd said. “What will you do after?”

  “I have asked to return to the front. These marks on my honour demand that I return to the battle. If I am lucky, I will kill many Dramandi before I die. Perhaps the commander will have me kill the Dramandi prisoners here as well before I go.”

  “Perhaps,” Zayd said. He remembered Sera’s desperation as she attacked him. Surely she would welcome an end to the suffering of her people, and if not that, then at least to her own. He had seen as much in her eyes and heard it in her voice. The yearning for death. He remembered such desperation amongst his own kin. Wenniam had wanted to die with a sword in his hand, as if there was more dignity in that. But there was no dignity in allowing the slaughter of your people to continue when there was hope.

  And there was still hope for Sera. He knew there was. If she would be swayed, how many of her people would live? Would the Empire not be stronger for having the Dramandi as vassals instead of merely creating another burial ground for an entire people? She was not a noble, as far as he knew, and not a part of their army, but it was clear that she was loved and respected by her people, and not only because of her status as a Revered. She might even convince the commander of Roh Dun’s Shields to lay down their arms, or rather, to swear those arms to the service of the emperor.

  Having had their fill of betting on Tascell and Lesryn, the soldiers dispersed, some still gloating, many still commiserating, and Zayd approached his men, who beamed. Their pride, and likely their egos, were inflated at the show of admiration from the Trueborn.

  “Well done,” Zayd said. “Which of you was the victor?” Tascell pointed to Lesryn, who took an exaggerated bow, eliciting a laugh from the others.

  “Though he really owes his victory to Daruthin, for conceding the competition,” Tascell said.

  “I conceded the victory,” Daruthin corrected. “There was no competition.”

  “You may have a chance to reclaim it,” Zayd said. “Commander Walrend would like us to remain here.”

  “For how long?” Daruthin asked.

  “Several weeks, at least. If General Vaetu
s does not request that we return for the battle against the Dramandi remnants, then it would be indefinite. At least until the war is over.”

  Zayd expected more of a pause as his men thought it over, but Daruthin responded right away: “If we are not called back, I would stay here. I’ve had enough of this war.”

  “Walrend is very strict. Your tasks will be demanding of you. Every day.”

  “It could not be more demanding than what we’ve been through,” Tascell said. “At least Walrend seems even-handed in his toughness. I would stay, too.” Assent soon followed from each of them. Zayd nodded.

  “He’ll be happy to know your choice,” Zayd said. “Make sure you are rested tonight; tomorrow we will be treated the same as the others.”

  Zayd began to walk back to the barracks. He could feel sleep encroaching on him despite having slept long the night before, as if all of the restful nights he should have had were at last trying to have their time all at once. Tascell fell into step beside him.

  “Vahr, I wanted to say… I need to give you my apologies. The way I acted when we fled that night…… it was shameful. I doubted you.”

  Zayd stopped walking and, for a moment, said nothing. He had forgotten about how Tascell had acted then, and what he had said. Such things were made minor when set next to everything that had happened around them. Yet it still clearly held some importance to his lieutenant. “You did doubt me, Tascell, that’s true… but I don’t know if I should fault you for that. I might have done the same. I doubt many could anticipate being in the pit we found ourselves in, and fewer still would have come through it as wholly as we did. And, I should add, you did save my life.”

  “Well…” Tascell looked at the ground, “that soldier may not have found you lying there.”