Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge)

by Mercer, Trish

  The general belatedly remembered to return the salute. “Excellent work, son. I’m impressed!”

  Perrin beamed. “Thank you, sir. And eight guards? That’s new.”

  The High General scoffed. “Nicko Mal thinks the world should see I’m fully protected ‘at such a dangerous time as this, and in such a dangerous place as this’. Waste of manpower.” He started for the command tower, grinning. “Now I want to see your map—”

  “Uhh,” Perrin said, not following his father but glancing at the coach, “I didn’t realize you were coming alone.”

  General Shin stopped suddenly and his smile fell. He immediately spun around and marched back to the coach. Perrin kept his face very still, saving his outburst of laughter for later when he relayed to Mahrree what happened next.

  Mrs. Joriana Shin stood at the open door, one eyebrow raised and a hand on her waist. As her husband sheepishly walked over to help her down—the footman stood ready but she ignored him—Joriana said quietly to her husband, “A little over-excited about towers and flags, are we?”

  Perrin couldn’t tell what his father responded, but when he turned around he wore an overly-grave expression, one that he reserved only for the rare times he was embarrassed.

  Perrin’s mother walked over to her son and embraced him.

  “Your father’s been excited the entire ride, son,” she whispered into his ear. “Now be a good boy and let him play on one of your towers, all right? He’ll pout all the way home if he doesn’t.”

  “Of course, Mother!”

  Perrin escorted his mother to his home to visit her grandchildren before he, the High General, and the eight guards went on their tour of the new system.

  By the time General Shin climbed down the third tower he inspected, he was beaming. “Every house in every village will be labeled, the residents’ names recorded, and towers just like this one erected everywhere, Major Shin. I defy the Guarders to find a way to strike us now!”

  Several of his guard nodded in agreement, except for two lieutenants who were climbing down the tower. Everyone, it seemed, needed to inspect the view.

  “I’m glad to hear it, General,” Major Shin smiled. “There are still some problems we need to consider, such as posting the banners in villages that don’t have a constant breeze—maybe vertically? But—”

  “But nothing. You’ll work it out. I want copies of your plans and tower dimensions before we leave for Idumea in four days. Seventeen copies of each, Major. Get some men on it as soon as we get back to the fort. I also want detailed explanations of how you taught the men to know the village,” the High General said in a tone as cheerful as he’d ever attempted, and started walking back to the fort with his guards and son.

  “As for the names of each resident, Mal’s already told me he has a few concerns about recording more than a family name,” the High General told him, “but I’ll work on him. And I also want the procedures for conducting the Races to Edge. That Zenos certainly is fast, isn’t he?” He hadn’t stopped grinning since he arrived.

  Perrin chuckled, partially because of his father’s nearly exuberant behavior. “Yes, sir, he is!”

  Corporal Zenos caught up to them just as they turned onto the main fort road. He was still winded and sweaty, despite the cool temperature, as he saluted the general.

  “Sir, I hope the race was satisfactory in demonstrating how we, um, traverse the terrain in order to uh, to uh . . .” He struggled to find enough official-sounding words.

  High General Shin actually chuckled as he patted Zenos on the back, then put his hand on his shoulder to steer the corporal to walk with them.

  Perrin simply shook his head in amazement.

  “The race was very entertaining and effective. Yes, Zenos, good run. But I must admit, I think I would’ve enjoyed watching my son race you instead. I heard from my daughter-in-law it was quite an exciting finish last week.”

  Perrin winced.

  Zenos dared to smile. “It was, sir. Major Shin is very fast.”

  “He always was!” the High General bragged to his guard.

  They nodded politely to him.

  Perrin cringed and blushed.

  “No one could beat him,” the general announced, happily squeezing Zeno’s shoulder.

  The corporal shrugged a little from the unintended pain of Relf Shin’s good mood.

  “Perhaps you can run the race again next year, Corporal, and I can come observe it myself.”

  Perrin noticed Shem’s discomfort, and was starting to feel some himself. “Father, I really don’t think that—”

  The High General held up a hand to stop his son. “We’ll discuss next year’s race next year. Now, Major, I have a question about communication between the towers—”

  He released Corporal Zenos to gesture to a distant point, and Perrin heard the corporal exhale quietly in relief.

  ---

  Shem’s relief didn’t last. Before he could drift away from the High General and his accompaniment to massage his shoulder, a lieutenant caught his arm.

  “Walk with us, Corporal. The general said your name is Zenos?”

  “Uh, yes sir.”

  “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Lieutenant Xat.”

  Zenos blinked. “Uh, no sir. Since you’re new, I’m fairly certain we haven’t met before. Corporal Shem Zenos.”

  Lieutenant Xat glanced over to another lieutenant who also now walked with them. The six other guards surrounded the High General, but the two lieutenants and the corporal remained a few steps behind.

  “So,” Xat said, “you’ve gained a bit of a reputation for yourself. First to notice the Guarder raid here? Severely injured? One might wonder why you chose to serve so far away in Edge, considering the dangers. Perhaps it’s that you simply find the north appealing?”

  Shem was so confused by the odd question that for a few moments he didn’t know what to answer. Eventually he blinked and smiled uncomfortably at the two young officers.

  To his surprise, they smiled back.

  After another awkward pause, Shem eventually said, “I suppose so. I mean, there’s more snow in the north, but Weeding Season isn’t as oppressive as it is in the south. The air isn’t as heavy. Drier. Better.”

  The lieutenants smiled at each other and seemed to relax.

  “Well, we find the north appealing as well,” said Xat. “People talk about how disfigured and fearsome the mountains look, but when you see them up close, you have to be impressed by their strength and power. Perhaps that’s what makes people in the world nervous—the sheer might of the north?”

  Zenos shrugged. “I always thought the mountains were rather pretty. Especially when the sun is setting and it casts shadows on the rocky tops. Really quite something to see. Of course,” he rambled on, “the sun rise is also good. On the mountains. Shadows, again. Partly cloudy days are good, too. More shadows.” He bit his lip to make it stop moving.

  Xat put a hand on Zenos’s sore shoulder and chuckled at his nervousness. “Glad to find someone who shares a common love. Not many of us in the world, are there? We need to stick together, Corporal.”

  “Yes, yes we do,” Shem smiled. He nodded to the other lieutenant who hadn’t spoken. “I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

  “Heth,” he said shortly, as if he weren’t allowed to say much.

  Zenos nodded slowly. “Well, it’s been good to meet you, sirs. I need to get back to my duties. I’m on an evening patrol shift. Got to get my horse ready, my pack, my sword . . . oh, I already have my sword. One less thing to worry about!” he guffawed. “Good evening to you both.”

  The lieutenants watched as the corporal jogged off towards the stables.

  “He missed the first code, but responded correctly to the second about finding the north appealing,” Lieutenant Xat observed.

  “And for a ‘quiet man,’” Heth scoffed to his companion, “he certainly talks a lot.”

  ---

  Shem jogged over to the s
tables clenching and unclenching his fist, his Shin-pinched shoulder forgotten. They would remember him as a nervous, babbling idiot. Which, he admitted to himself, he pretty much was right now.

  He hadn’t expected this so soon. Walickiah had been whisked away only last week, and now there were two to replace him.

  High General Shin was in trouble.

  Actually, everyone at the fort was in trouble.

  And Shem was feeling just a bit overwhelmed.

  Chapter 20 ~ “Know this, Zenos,

  that I know.”

  They say it’s the luck of the draw, but Shem Zenos never believed in luck. Or in coincidences. Everything happened for a purpose. So when he drew the ‘single rider’ straw, he knew exactly why.

  “Ooh, Zenos is riding alone tonight!” several soldiers sniggered.

  “What a waste,” a sergeant growled. “He doesn’t even have a girlfriend to make it interesting! Wanna trade?”

  Zenos shook his head. “Nope. I rather enjoy being the lone man. Gives me time to think, to ponder the weightier issues of life . . . such as Gizzada.”

  The other nineteen men going out on patrol with him laughed.

  Zenos really did enjoy being the lone rider. The men went out in groups of twos, threes, fours, and the random one, in order to confuse anyone who might be lurking in the forest. Because where’s there’s one, there’s always another close by, right? Some soldiers made other use of their time as the lone rider, the sergeant being one of the main offenders, and a few men were nervous about being out there by themselves for six hours.

  But not Zenos. He actually did ponder the weightier things of life, and not once did Gizzada ever cross his mind.

  But tonight something else would occupy him.

  It wasn’t until his second hour along the dark forest’s edge that he saw his opportunity. While no other soldiers were near, Zenos clucked his horse to the fresh spring and tied him securely behind a boulder and out of sight. Then he lined himself up with the boulder and marched twenty-seven paces, turned, went another thirteen paces, turned again, and continued on until he saw the steam rising and the man waiting.

  “What’re you doing here?” the startled man in green and brown mottled clothing asked Zenos. “Everything all right?”

  “Nope,” Shem said, noticing that a few more camouflaged men came out of the shadows to greet him. “General Shin came in with eight guards, and two of them aren’t right. One called himself Xat, and the other, Heth—Dormin’s brother.”

  The men looked at each other and nodded.

  “Heth?” one large man said. “Definitely trouble. But two of them?”

  Zenos sighed. “What should I do?”

  “We’ll get working on a plan. In the meantime, do your best to keep a close eye on them.”

  Zenos held out his hands, exasperated. “That’s it? Nothing else?”

  One of the men gestured back to him in the same way. “We’ll be working on it! Now get back on duty!”

  ---

  It was well after midnight when Corporal Zenos, fresh off his shift, made his way from the stables to his barracks. The long, low building was attached to the guest and officers’ quarters by a wide hallway. That hallway also connected to the surgery wing, the mess hall, the command tower, and supply buildings, so that in the cold snows of Raining Season no one needed to walk outside unnecessarily. Wet, cold soldiers, Major Shin and the surgeon believed, frequently became sick, useless soldiers.

  Slowly ambling to the barracks building, Shem was lost in thought—as he had been all evening—trying to understand how he would deal with the problem that two of High General Shin’s guards weren’t exactly there to guard him. How could he lure both of them to the forest, or away from the general?

  He couldn’t handle this alone, but for now he had no choice. Help wouldn’t be coming until tomorrow, if those in the forest came up with a solution.

  The towers were a bit bothersome.

  Shem always felt so brave up in the forest, but down here much of his resolve slipped away, because he was alone. He couldn’t reveal his concerns to anyone. Once he considered heading over to Major Shin’s home, but how do you wake someone up in the middle of the night to say you have a “gut instinct” about something? The lieutenants were officers, after all.

  So how in the world did Guarders infiltrate the Command School?!

  Shem glanced up and was surprised to find himself heading towards the guest quarters, instead of his barracks. He shook his head and turned to the left. Consumed again by worry, he wandered.

  He couldn’t let them succeed, at whatever—or whenever—it might be. He had to come up with plans himself, in case he didn’t have until tomorrow.

  After several minutes Shem again looked up and blinked, stunned to find himself in front of the hall to the guest quarters again. Somehow he’d walked in a circle.

  There are no coincidences.

  There was a reason for this.

  He swallowed hard and opened the door to the hallway of the guests’ quarters. He crept quietly into the dimly lit passage and shut the door noiselessly. Suddenly he felt an immense desire to get to another passage that intersected the main one. As he snuck down the corridor, he heard a slight sound coming from the hall he was approaching.

  He peered around the corner and saw two dark figures standing before a door, as if in intense, quiet conversation.

  Shem’s stomach twisted nauseatingly, but he also knew why he was there. He’d been directed. Reluctantly, he felt for the hilt of his sword, but instead remembered Major Shin’s advice. He didn’t have to kill them, only give them something to remember him by.

  He’d never caused a death before. That was the real reason he hadn’t drawn his sword during the raid last season. He just couldn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  And he’d never tell anyone that. How could he be in his position and refuse to take a life?

  Actually, that was an inaccurate phrase—take a life. It’s not as if one claims it for himself. Rather, it should be end a life. Everyone loses. Shem wore the sword only for show. And most days, he never slipped the long knife into his boots. He’d rather lose his own life before ending someone else’s.

  But as his mouth went dry, he realized he might have to abandon his creed.

  Shem watched the two men in what seemed to be an earnest and hushed argument, and wondered what he could do. Then it came to him—a clear image in his mind of what needed to happen—and his stomach lurched at the idea.

  But before he could think his way out of it, before he could list all his arguments as to why he shouldn’t be doing it, he suddenly was.

  He ran down the hallway faster than during the Strongest Soldier race. The two men—each holding their long knives, and one of them with his hand on the guest bedroom door—couldn’t comprehend what was rushing at them until it was right on top of them.

  “You!” Lieutenant Heth whispered.

  Corporal Zenos saw the glint of the blade rising up as he caught the man’s arm. Instantly he twisted Heth’s arm and shoved the knife into his throat before he could speak again. Zenos then spun, caught Lieutenant Xat’s thrusting knife, and forced it into his chest, silencing him.

  In less than five seconds both men were on the floor, long knives protruding from their bodies, right outside of the High General and Mrs. Shin’s door.

  Shem gasped and fell to his knees. “Dear Creator, what have I done?!”

  His stomach churned violently as he stared at the still bodies. Only give them something to remember him by, right? That’s what the major told him. They could still be . . .

  In the clammy dark, he looked closely at the lieutenants.

  He scrambled to his feet and took off running down the hall and back to the main corridor. He ran blindly, trying to keep the need to retch down in his belly, but knowing it was going to come up. He turned down another hall, and then another, and burst through the door of the surgery wing. There he vomited all over t
he floor of the reception area.

  The surgeon’s assistant on duty scowled. “We have buckets for that, Corporal!”

  Shem crumpled to the floor terrified, exhausted, and still nauseated. The assistant brought over a bucket and dropped it with an annoyed thud next to Shem, then retrieved cleaning supplies from a closet. Shem was only vaguely aware of another man in bedclothes coming up to him as he emptied he stomach again in the bucket.

  “Corporal Zenos, that doesn’t look pleasant,” the surgeon said in a slightly bored manner. “Let’s get you to a cot.”

  Shem nodded weakly as he struggled to his feet, the surgeon helping to pull him up. With his free hand the surgeon picked up the bucket and led Shem to the large treatment room lined with thirty beds. None in the room dimly lit by a handful of lanterns were occupied tonight.

  “Certainly hope this isn’t the beginnings of an outbreak,” the surgeon said as he lowered Shem on to a cot, and placed the bucket on the floor strategically by his head. “This room will be overflowing with all kinds of unpleasantness by morning if it’s the cook’s fault again” he murmured. “May need to find more buckets.”

  Shem shook his head. “I ate in the village today,” was all he could mumble. He did eat dinner at the fort, but everything in his mouth tasted of rancid peaches, and he knew he’d never again be able to stomach peach pie. And he certainly couldn’t tell the fort surgeon he was ill because he just stabbed Guarders in disguise. Instead he flopped his arm over his eyes and tried to calm his stomach, but it wouldn’t calm.

  He had just stabbed two Guarders in disguise!

  He could still see their bodies, patches of blood growing around them on the floor that some still-rational brain part of his brain steered him to carefully avoid as he inspected them—

  They might only be injured.

  As the rush of his horribly successful moment dissolved in his body, terror replaced it. Someone would figure it out soon. It was only a matter of minutes, surely. The other guards would arrive and . . .