“You should not have come there,” Louis sighed. “I’m sorry I was a bit rough.”
Folc noticed his friend’s face turn gentle again. He relaxed. “What happened over there?” he asked.
“We cleaned the camp of its worst elements: gamblers, rebels, thieves, brutes. Anyone who is a danger to the stability and order of this army. It is not an enjoyable sight, but it was necessary. It will also be a lesson for the cowards and the lazy,” Louis answered. He untied his gauntlets.
“But what of the women?” Folc inquired.
“Prostitutes. I warned them this would happen if they stayed. I warned all of them yesterday, commanding them to give up their despicable behavior and to follow the rules. Yet, some did not listen. Today they endured the consequences.”
“Prostitutes only do their job. Couldn’t you have shown them mercy and expelled them?” Folc could understand that brutes like The Mountain had to be stopped, but he felt pity for the women.
Louis turned to him and gave a faint smile. “You are young and you have a good heart. Still, you are here among us. Therefore, you must face the truth. Mercy is a weakness in wartime. Should we show mercy, not only would we lose the control of the men, but our motivation to fight. There is no place for doubt. We must be resolute in our actions.” He paused. “We expulsed most of the girls yesterday. The ones who stayed gave me no choice.”
Folc lowered his head and pondered on the words. Neither Lord Hunfray nor any lord he knew had presented him things that way. Besides, gambling and prostitutes were common at the side of large armies. Louis’s voice dragged him out of his thoughts.
“Why are you here, Folc?” Louis asked.
Folc remembered his errand. He took the tin box from his pocket. “Selen gave me this for you.” He handed the box to Louis.
“Thank you.” Louis took it. “How is he?” he asked with a whisper.
“He did not feel very well…” Folc saw Louis’s eyes grow wider. “But he felt better when I left,” he added in a hurry. His friend had better things to do than to worry about them. “I should go back to my tent. I promise not to mess again in your command,” he said, looking at Louis and Faremanne. He stepped clumsily out of the tent and hurried back to his quarters. Folc did not like to lie and preferred to avoid further questions.
Folc entered his tent. Selen lay unconscious on the ground. “Selen!” Folc’s chest tightened with anxiety. He rushed down to the side of his friend. He laid the back of his hand against his brow. It was hot and moist. Folc dragged Selen onto the bed. “Damn, you’re heavier than you look.” He put the shoulders first, then raised his friend’s hips and pushed them up onto the furs. Selen moaned unintelligible words. Folc looked at the cut on Selen’s brow. It had a nasty crimson color. Could the wound have been infected? Another tin box lay on the small table. He opened it. Folc plunged one finger into the balm and spread it over the cut. He frowned at Selen.
“I’m sure you have felt bad for long, but you did not dare to complain. If only you had let me do my job and rested.”
Folc picked up the goblet at the side of the bed. The water had been spilled, but the herbs still stuck on the bottom. He could fill it with hot water and give the tea to Selen. There was a brazier outside near the tent. Folc went out and warmed water over it. Once the water boiled, he removed it from the fire and filled the goblet. He returned inside the tent.
“Fire…wait…” Selen mumbled in his sleep, delirious.
“Oh, shut up,” Folc said. The anger in his heart was only motivated by the worry he felt for his friend. An infection could be nasty on a battlefield. In infirmaries, he had seen men die of gangrene. Fortunately, the wound was on the brow and did not seem to spread. Yet, Selen burned with fever.
Folc sat on the side of the bed with the infusion. He slipped a hand behind Selen’s head and raised it gently as he brought the goblet to his lips. He managed to have his friend drink most of the tea.
“And me who just said you felt better,” Folc mumbled.
He did not dare to alert Louis. The two men were so close that it could affect the camp’s new organization. Folc decided to stay silent and to watch alone over his friend. He could still change his mind later if the situation got worse. He filled a bowl with cold water and moistened Selen’s head and hands to cool him down.
“Please don’t get worse,” he whispered, holding Selen’s hand.
Three days passed by. Folc was mending his old clothes when he saw Selen stir. “Are you awake?” he asked. Joy filled his heart.
“Yes. I feel fine.” Selen opened his eyes. He looked relaxed. His face was smooth and serene again. Folc could also detect happiness. “I remember what happened now.” For a while, his friend seemed lost in memories. “Did Louis come searching for me?”
“I preferred not to tell anyone you were ill. Are you hungry? I fed you honey, but I guessed you would want more once you woke up.” Folc rose and fetched brown bread that he gave to his friend.
“Thank you so much, Folc,” Selen said, taking the bread. “What did I miss?”
“You should see the camp. It has never been this clean and tidy. We even have jails now. And they are not empty. There are new rules applying, with a death sentence for half of them. Lieutenants have been hung. I don’t need to tell you who is behind it all.” Folc smiled.
“I never doubted him,” Selen said, chewing on the bread. “How are the three other captains reacting?”
“Actually, Captain Jamys is on a mission in the Iron Marches, and Captain Vakeg protects a village ten miles from here. Segar is the only one left in the camp for the moment. He didn’t dare to move against both Louis and Faremanne. Not yet, at least.”
“Good. Maybe our two captains will win the men’s favors. Still, I would not count on it too much. Not everyone likes order and discipline.”
“If you feel good enough, maybe we could have a look at the situation at the headquarters.” Folc was bored of staying inside the tent and doing household tasks. He wasn’t a page anymore and he longed for some action.
“You don’t need me for that, Folc. You are a lord. You can go wherever you like.”
“Are you not slightly curious to know what’s going on?” Folc insisted. Maybe he was a lord, but he knew where young lads were not welcomed when uninvited. Probably his friend perceived his deception.
“Let’s go,” Selen answered. He rose and buckled his belt with his sword.
They headed to the headquarters and slipped inside the pavilion. Several lieutenants were gathered from the entrance to the front of the large table around which stood Sir Bertrant, Faremanne, and Louis. The three men studied a map, pointing at different places. Folc could not distinguish what they said, but they frowned and their voices sounded grave. Louis looked up from the map and saw them. His eyes gleamed, and he tried to hide a smile. Louis looked back at the map again. Folc felt some remorse for not telling about Selen’s health.
“Maybe they are all dead,” Folc heard Faremanne say. “It’s too long since we received news of them.”
“We should prepare a party and search for them. They may still be at the village or on the way here, wounded,” Louis said to Bertrant.
A soldier rushed inside the tent. “Commander! My lords!” The man reached the table and whispered something to Bertrant.
“He is here!” the latter exclaimed. “He has just arrived!” He turned to the panting soldier. “Fetch the man. I want to see him at once.”
Louis and Faremanne exchanged words Folc could not hear. Faremanne made a sign to a guard who disappeared behind a curtain.
A few minutes later, the tent entrance opened wide, and a strong, bushy man in leather armour entered. He had a battered breastplate half covering his fat belly. The man stank of sweat and a rancid smell of beer. His black hair was greasy, and he had not shaved in ages. There was something unpleasant about his face. He had a carnivorous smile and piggy eyes. Folc thought that he was probably the kind of man ogre legends were base
d on. Two of his men followed behind. He stopped two yards in front of the table and crossed his muscular arms over his chest.
“So, I’m back,” the man spat with contempt.
“What are you doing here, Vakeg?” Bertrant grunted. “Why are you not holding the village? Did the orcs take it?”
“Maybe. I left before they arrived,” the captain said, unperturbed.
“Wrong answer,” Folc heard Selen whisper behind him.
“You left?” Louis stressed the words. Folc saw his fierce eyes narrow.
“Villagers were getting on my nerves. They said they had no more food for me and my men. They complained night and day like crybabies. All a bunch of reeky pig filth anyway. Couldn’t even make decent beer.” While the captain talked, Louis had left his place near the table and had placed himself in front of the large man.
“Are you saying that you left this village because the beer tasted of piss?” Louis asked slowly.
“Yep, I did. You can send someone else ’cause…” The man did not finish his sentence. Louis punched him brutally in the face. Bones cracked. Folc hoped it was not Louis’s hand. Vakeg’s head now faced right, but his body still stood, unshaken. Blood dripped from his lips. Like a shot, he grasped Louis’s throat with his right hand. Vakeg’s pudgy, dirty fingers pressed on the white skin as he pulled Louis to him. Louis’s cold eyes did not flinch once. In the corner of his eye, Folc saw Selen reach for his sword. Then, it all went fast.
Louis drew the man’s dagger from its sheath. He pushed it into the man’s belly and hacked deep from left to right. As his bowels fell out, the man loosened his grip. Vakeg knelt and tried to push his slimy intestines back into his body. Louis moved around him, stepped between Vakeg’s legs, took the man’s chin in his left hand, and cut his throat clean in a gush of blood. He turned around, holding the half-beheaded head by the hair.
“No one leaves his post! No one surrenders! Is that clear?” Louis yelled at the lieutenants around him. He pointed at Vakeg’s lieutenants. “Guards, arrest these men. And all the ones who came back!”
“What should we do with them?” Faremanne asked.
Louis turned around. “Hang them.” He dropped Vakeg’s head and kicked at it with his foot. “And put that thing on a spike in the yard. It will teach them. We are here to protect the people. Nothing else.” Louis left the tent.
Bertrant came towards Folc and Selen. “Is he mad?” he whispered to Selen. “This man came back with thirty soldiers.”
“He is not mad, and you should do what he says,” Selen responded gravely, in full support of his friend. “I’ll go talk to him. He will probably want to send troops back to the village. You should have men ready.” He left the tent. Folc followed him.
Louis was cleaning the blood off his hands when they arrived in his tent. “I know. It was messy, but…”
“No, you were right. Someone needs to do the dirty work, and such men should not be in the Rebellion,” Selen said. Louis had not been the only one to feel disgust for the captain’s behavior. Folc had read outrage on Bertrant and Faremanne’s faces, but Louis had been the one to act. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Selen asked.
Louis softened and came to them. “I’m sorry I haven’t checked on you these last few days. I was busy with the camp. How have things been going for both of you?”
Neither Folc nor Selen dared to talk about the illness. It did not matter anymore now. “I may start to work at the infirmary,” Selen said. “Brother Benedict needs help, and I can be useful.”
“That is a good thing. And it’s a safe place,” Louis said.
Folc observed Louis. When they had travelled together, Louis had displayed a reserved but pleasant mood. Now that they were in the camp, his friend’s moves were sharp and his words had edges. Yet, Folc could not help but notice that the tone Louis used with Selen was different from the one he used with everyone in the camp. It was caring to the extreme, as if Selen was made of porcelain. The rest of his entourage, Folc included, never got such consideration. Folc wondered if it had to do with Selen’s kindness, or if they shared some kind of secret. There was something intriguing between them, but Folc could not put a word on it.
“I will ride to the village with another troop,” Louis said, talking to Selen. “Wait for me here. I will probably need your help at my return. There are things bothering me.” Folc saw that Louis reached out his hand towards Selen, but he had changed his mind and drew his hand back. As his hand contracted into a fist, his eyes twitched.
Folc got back to the conversation. “Can I come with you?” he asked. They both looked at him astounded. Folc sighed and turned to Louis. “Please, I’m not a child anymore. I need to do my share.”
“He is right,” Louis said to Selen. He turned to Folc. “You can come, but find yourself some kind of armour first—and a weapon. We leave in an hour. I want to be back as soon as possible.”
Folc left the tent and went to the smithy. The place was hot and smelled of smoke. The men did not glance up from their anvils as Folc sifted through the leftovers. The sword was easy to find, but there was no armour his size. He mixed pieces together and completed it with leather straps. He thought that he did not look very lordly, but at least he felt protected. Once dressed, Folc hurried back. Thirty men were already gathered in the yard of the headquarters when he arrived. A horse was waiting for him.
“We will take the main road to the village. There should not be enemies on it right now. I hope to reach Freyhorn at noon. We will act depending on what we will find there. Should the villagers be unharmed, a garrison will stay there.” Louis explained to the men. “Now, let’s go.”
Louis turned his mount and took the lead. Folc kicked his horse and followed them. They trotted to the village. The road was free of any obstacles. Still, the atmosphere in the group was tense. All Folc could hear was the pounding of the hooves and the singing of the birds above them.
The troop reached Freyhorn an hour later. Fortunately, the place was untouched by orcs. However, the villagers fled to their houses when they saw them. Folc watched Louis swing down from his horse and approach a group of people who had had no time to flee. They trembled and pleaded for their lives.
“Please, my lord! Have mercy!”
“Why on earth are you scared of me?” Louis asked.
“You’re here to kill us. The captain sent you!” one of the inhabitants shrieked.
“No, I won’t. Now, would you tell me what happened here? What did the captain do?”
One of the villagers calmed down and approached Louis cautiously. “The captain ate our provisions and drank our beer, my lord. When we ran out of beer, he was angry.”
“Is that all?” Louis asked, irritated. Folc considered that, for a villager, it meant already a lot.
“He also raped some of our women,” the man murmured, his head low.
“Did you react?” Louis asked. Folc thought that if he had not already killed Vakeg, Louis would have had the man put to death for that.
“We did, my lord, but then he hung some of us.” The man cried.
“Well, he won’t hurt you anymore. He has been executed. He and all his men,” Louis replied with a softer tone. The villagers looked joyful. “I’m here with new soldiers to protect the village. You may not wish to have more of our men in your town, but I can assure you that they won’t behave the same way.”
“We don’t have much food for them, but if they help us to gather provisions, we welcome them gladly, my lord. Thank you.” The men lost themselves in words of gratitude.
Louis came back to the troops and called the lieutenant to him. “You stay here with your men. If any of you hurt any of the villagers, he will end up like Vakeg.” Louis’s voice had been smooth but clear to everyone. “Folc. You’re coming back with me.”
They rode back to the camp in silence. Louis looked preoccupied. “What is wrong?” Folc asked.
“A crow from Embermire arrived this morning.”
&nbs
p; They were back at the camp in the afternoon. The soldiers made space in front of their trotting mounts. Louis jumped off his horse and headed to the headquarters. “Go fetch Selen!” he shouted.
Folc dismounted and strode to his tent where his friend rested on his bed, reading. “You are needed at the headquarters,” Folc said. “I think it’s important.”
Selen jumped up, buckled on his sword and followed him to the commander’s pavilion. Louis stood at the table with Bertrant and Faremanne. The captain had a piece of paper in his hands. He gave it to Selen.
“It’s from Lord Pembroke in Embermire,” Bertrant said.
“His motivations are unclear,” Selen said after reading the missive. “He talks about things coming from the woods and bandits.”
“Excuses,” Louis grumbled. “The excuses of a coward!” He pounded the table with his fist.
“It may be more serious than that, Louis,” Faremanne said to keep things in perspective. “Maybe the man faces difficulties we don’t know about.”
“Or maybe we lose the help of twelve thousand men because their commander hides under his bed.” Louis snarled.
“What do you propose?” Selen inquired, calm as usual.
“I will ride to Embermire and ask him myself. Maybe he won’t dare to refuse,” Louis said, marking it as his final decision.
Faremanne, Selen, and Bertrant looked aghast. Folc understood why Louis had asked for Selen. He would need a backup. Still, Folc could not see his own part in that.
“Embermire is sixty-five miles from where we are. It would take two days to ride there. Besides, you would need an escort big enough to impress the old lord. He is a count and you have no titles. And you better not count on a change of mind from that coward,” Bertrant complained.
“I will take a hundred men with me. It should be enough to scare away any bandits on the way, and it will not weaken your forces. We won’t take equipment or tents, only the food we can carry.” Louis said, resolute.
“You have made good decisions until now. I grant you these hundred men, but we await your return in four days. Don’t lose your time with that old bricon.” Bertrant didn’t seem to like the man at all. Folc wondered if there was not something more about it.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 13