Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1)

by Carlsson, Martine

  Bertrant reached the south of the camp where a wide, green prairie stretched out to a shallow river. The soldiers had spread out on the plain in groups. All wore their armour. Some men repeated moves while others dueled. Bales of hay had been aligned for the archers on the slope of the hill in the west. The men looked tired but cheerful. They trained hard. Bertrant heard the encouraging shouts of the officers. It was a pleasant sight he could be proud of, though he knew someone else had probably taken the credit for it. Louis progressed from one group to another, shouting counsel, rectifying a man’s movement, challenging a lieutenant to a duel with his long sword. His charisma among the men was beyond belief. All from his agile moves to his refined appearance screamed that Louis did not belong among them. Yet, his determination forced admiration. Louis had coerced the men to prove their worth, rekindling their will to fight, and the soldiers had learned to respect him.

  “He may not win the war,” Bertrant said to himself, “but he has won my army. And I was fool enough to give it to him on a silver plate.” He moved forward. Louis saw him and bowed.

  “Commander,” Louis said. His long hair was disheveled, but his armour was impeccable as always.

  “Do the men know our plans?” Bertrant inquired.

  “Yes, Commander. We have informed them that we will be moving south by the end of the week.”

  “Only moving south?” Bertrant raised an eyebrow.

  “One thing at a time,” Louis whispered. “They will know more once we are better prepared ourselves.”

  “Good. Come to my tent this afternoon. Birds arrived this morning,” Bertrant said. “Inform Faremanne.”

  Bertrant headed to the infirmary. He was not looking forward to seeing the monk again, but he wanted to be sure the infirmary was operational.

  The large tent was open on the south side. The beds were bathed in the sunlight. He didn’t count more than thirty men lying on the beds. Some had been injured for good and would have been sent home if there had been a home left to send them to. Bertrant spotted Louis’s friend. Selen sat on a bed, wiping the head of a wounded soldier with a wet rag. The sleeves of his shirt underneath his woolen tunic were rolled up to the elbows. Bertrant observed the man’s forearms and how wasted they were in such a place. He headed to Selen.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Bertrant asked with anger.

  “I…I said I would be in the infirmary, helping to prepare our departure, my lord,” Selen said, startled. His soft-spoken voice was barely audible. Bertrant was tired of straining to hear him every time the man opened his mouth.

  “You said you would inform them,” Bertrant insisted, raising his voice, “not that you would play the nurse!”

  Selen lowered his eyes. Bertrant wasn’t sure if the man realized that he was in a military camp. Louis had given his friend a golden opportunity to make his place, and Selen refused to grab it. What was wrong with him? He was neither a coward nor a chump. It was time Bertrant hammered the melted iron.

  “Why are you not with the others?” Bertrant shouted. He did not need to, but he wanted the man to feel uneasy. “Join them at once!”

  “I don’t think Louis would want me at the training field, my lord,” Selen muttered.

  “Louder!” Bertrant yelled.

  “I don’t think Louis wants me on the field,” Selen repeated louder. Bertrant was glad to see a spark of irritation in the man’s eyes. A hammer and an anvil were what he needed, indeed.

  “I don’t care what that man wants!” Bertrant barked. “I am your commander, and I gave you an order! Having you here is a shameful waste of a good warrior. Now go fetch your armour and move your ass down the field!” Selen turned white and pressed his lips. You hate that, Bertrant thought, good, I will shout louder next time. Bertrant watched the man leave the place in a hurry. He tried not to laugh. At least, he could still be frightening.

  “I don’t suppose you will take his place,” he heard a reproachful voice say behind him.

  “You have no authority to requisition my men, Brother,” Bertrant complained.

  “One day you will have to explain to me how you want a fully operational infirmary with only one physician,” Brother Benedict said.

  “Instruct the cripples; don’t take my best men,” Bertrant grunted. “Did you manage to fill your stocks?”

  “And when would I have the occasion to do that?” the monk replied.

  Bertrant knew he should have avoided the place. The man was painful like a knife stuck in his bowels. “I will send you someone else. You have four days to be ready.”

  “What should I do with the sick? They are not in a condition to follow.”

  “We will send them to the nearest village. We can’t delay our departure. Should they recover, they could still join us.” Bertrant did not count too much on that, but it was the best he could do for these men.

  He left the pavilion and walked towards the headquarters. On the way, he passed in front of the smithy. The hammerings echoed in his head. The blacksmith and his lads bustled on forging axe’s blades.

  “Don’t the men have swords already?” Bertrant inquired.

  “It’s a special command, Commander,” the sweaty blacksmith answered, short of breath, “as many axes as we can forge.”

  “Did the captains tell you why?” Once again, something was on, and he had not been informed.

  The blacksmith shrugged, clueless.

  The afternoon came without incident. Bertrant sat at his table, waiting for his captains. As usual, Faremanne was the first to come, soon followed by Louis. Segar entered the pavilion last.

  “Before we start,” Bertrant said, “I would like to make one thing clear. You, Louis, are now officially one of my captains, as is your friend, Selen.”

  “But, Commander!” Segar exclaimed, outraged.

  “No, it’s settled,” Bertrant carried on. “Vakeg is dead, and we are short of leading officers. What I don’t want is free electrons roaming around the camp, using and abusing their authority.” Bertrant remembered the axes. He would have to bring light on this. Besides, he needed the two men. They could as well be recognized officially. “Louis, you will inform your friend. And I don’t want him near my infirmary unless he is mortally wounded.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Now, back to our problems. I have received two letters this morning. One is from Pembroke. The man says that he has sent words to his captains and that he will help us. The other letter is from Count Elye.” All the captains looked surprised.

  “Did he respond?” Faremanne asked.

  “He says that he will consider our request, depending on our next actions. You can read it yourself.” Bertrant handed the paper to Faremanne, who passed it around to his fellow captains.

  “It seems like every support wants us to face the walls of Millhaven,” Louis said.

  “How are the preparations going?” Bertrant asked.

  “I have sent parties to hunt game and fish the river. Others collect bark to make flour. The stocks of food will soon be well-furnished. The troops are training. Yet, I haven’t seen much of Segar’s men,” Louis said with a reproachful glance at Segar.

  “Maybe they have better things to do,” Segar answered, making a face, “like patrolling the forest in search of orcs.”

  “It’s useless,” Louis replied with disdain without looking at Segar. “We already have guards, and we know there are orcs around. They won’t attack us now. But I need more men to fix the carts.”

  “They are my men. I assign their tasks,” Segar protested, a finger raised in the air.

  “Actually, I do,” Bertrant interrupted him. “We need these carts ready in three days. Call your men back.” Bertrant did not believe for a second that Segar’s men sauntered through the woods, waiting to get shot by an orc. The man had had his hand on the camp for too long. Beside the prostitutes and the occasional dogfights, Bertrant had heard of questionable deals and deeds he could never prove. He knew what that kind o
f scum was capable of. Yet, Segar had many men under his command. The captain may be appalling, but Bertrant needed him. The only thing he could do was to rob Segar of his authority. “To accelerate the task, your men will follow Louis’s orders on this.”

  “I will make sure they also follow the camp’s rules. They may have crawled in the wild a bit too long,” Louis said. The twist of his mouth expressed his open disgust and scorn.

  The man really pushes his luck, Bertrant thought. Making intentionally cutting remarks to a nasty man was a risky business.

  “They will behave impeccably,” Segar answered with sarcasm in his voice.

  “And I don’t doubt you will set the example. You can start by presenting yourself on the training field tomorrow. Shaved,” Louis said without raising his eyes from the papers he was reading.

  Segar turned white, then red again. Bertrant wondered if Louis took pleasure in humiliating the captain or if it was pure scorn. Segar wanted to say something, but Bertrant was tired of their squabbling. “That will be all for today. Thank you, Captains.”

  Segar Mills left the pavilion with long strides.

  “Maybe you should be more diplomatic, Louis,” Faremanne said.

  “I don’t care, I meant it,” Louis replied evasively. He walked away with a bunch of reports.

  “I wonder if we will make it to Millhaven with both of them alive,” Faremanne sighed.

  Bertrant looked at his captain with tired, exasperated eyes.

  CHAPTER 24

  “I can’t stand this arrogant, cocky bastard!” Segar exclaimed as he entered his tent. “To dare confront me with his swaggering gait and his imperious glare!” He stopped and looked around. “Viola,” he called. He brushed a hand through his curly, black hair and unstrapped his gambeson.

  A buxom woman appeared from behind a curtain. Her red hair was uncombed and her clothes were slovenly.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Come here!” he yelled, grabbing her wrist. The girl tottered towards him. Segar unlaced his pants and took out his flabby cock. “Suck it,” he snapped. The girl went on her knees and complied.

  He had wanted to spit on the bastard’s lordly face. The newly promoted captain had not even deigned to look at him. Who did he think he was? The scene repeated itself in his mind over again. He thought of what he could have answered, something sharp and preferably humiliating. The brat had the lips of a top-earning harlot. Segar found insults by the dozen, but nothing he could use in front of a commander.

  Segar pulled the girl up harshly, bent her over the table, and pulled up her dress to her waist cincher, revealing her round bottom. He gave it a slap and pushed his horny cock inside her.

  “To give me orders as to a dog.” He shagged the girl hard, fondling one of her bare breasts with one hand. He rolled the nipple between his fingers. “After only two weeks in the camp. Wench-looking whoreson,” Segar spat. The table rocked. He groaned and twisted his grip on her nipple as he came. The girl let out a faint scream of pain. He gave a last thrust and pulled back. “Clean yourself.”

  Segar laced up his pants and moved onto his bed. One flacon stood on a trunk on the side. He filled himself a cup of wine. One of his lieutenants appeared at the entrance of the tent. “Darcy, here you are at last.”

  “Bad day?” The man grinned. His teeth were yellow, flecked with brown. Darcy had a pox-ridden face and filthy, long hair. Segar thought that a dog butt looked more amiable.

  “One day I’ll rip his eyes out,” Segar mumbled. Viola approached him and sat on his lap. Nonchalantly, Segar opened her bodice, revealing her heavy bosom.

  “Or maybe you can bribe him.” Darcy smirked. The lieutenant came closer.

  “What are you thinking of?” Segar asked, interested.

  “The flesh is weak,” Darcy said with his gravelly voice. He grasped Viola’s chin. “Send him some cunt. Such men usually need a good fuck.”

  “You’re talking about the same man who sent away all of my whores on penalty of death?” Segar looked at his lieutenant doubtfully. “Should I send him Viola, who is not only my best whore but my last one? I may get only her head back.” Segar ran a finger around her left breast. “Besides, did you have a look at his dear friend? I wouldn’t be surprised if he liked another kind of ass.” Why would the bastard burden himself with someone who had the face of a bed slave and the appearance of a savage if there was not something more under. Besides, sometimes the freak stared at the whoreson as if he drooled.

  “This is a serious accusation. Do you have proof?” Darcy made a face of disgust.

  “Not a single one. But I will.” The only idea to humiliate the man publicly in front of the whole army for the most repulsive of all crimes aroused him. That would be a lynching worth remembering. Segar stroke his goatee and grinned.

  “He wants you to work on the carts from tomorrow on. Summon the guys.”

  “He can shove…”

  “No joke,” Segar interjected. “Bertrant backs him up. Let’s do what he says for now and keep a low profile. I’ll get him at the right time.”

  “You’re the boss,” Darcy said. “I’ll get the men to work. Won’t mind leaving me the girl for tonight?” the man asked with a lewd look at his whore.

  “I’m not done with her for tonight,” Segar said, placing her hand on his crotch.

  Darcy grumbled and left the tent.

  “Wake up, bawdy rascal,” a cheerful voice said above him. Segar opened his eyes. He lay naked on his bed with the girl across him. Captain Jamys stood beside the bed, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You ill-bred goat dung!” Segar exclaimed. “I have been waiting for your return for weeks.” He slapped the girl on her buttock. “Leave us.” The girl got up and disappeared behind the curtain. Segar rose and got dressed. “I am pleased to see your pretty face.”

  Jamys was not exactly pretty. He had a square chin, blond, shaggy hair, and a broken nose. The man was popular in every brothel up to the Iron Marches. Segar liked that he did not mince his words. That and his muscular build. The man was strong as a bull.

  “So, how was your journey in the Iron Marches?” Segar asked. “Fruitful, I hope.”

  “As always.” Jamys smiled, slipping a round purse in Segar’s hand. “When is the next convoy?” Jamys eased himself into a chair.

  Segar grimaced. “I’m sorry to say that our business is over. There won’t be another special freight. There have been some changes during your absence.”

  “What kind?” Jamys asked worriedly. “The kind that gets us hung?”

  “Not yet. But Vakeg has been cut in parts.”

  “What?” Jamys shouted, rising from his chair.

  “Sit down, I’ll explain,” Segar said. “Bertrant has two new captains. Two men who arrived at the camp two weeks ago. One is a hysterical general wannabe who thinks he can shove this remnant of army into Agroln’s ass. This drunk Bertrant gave him absolute powers. Do you figure? Look at the camp now! I’ve lost my whores, lost my fighting pits, even lost my command yesterday. Two years of good work turned to ruins.”

  “But I promised our clients in the east that I would be back with fresh meat. They won’t appreciate it. And think of the loss. The price of children and pretty maidens is higher than ever.”

  “Are you deaf?” Segar retorted. “I have no men left to raid the villages and farms, and these captains can make the difference between an orc attack and ours. We won’t even stay here. They want us to march on Millhaven.” Yet, the city was opulent, and he had business there as well. There may be things to sack if we are careful, Segar thought.

  “March on Millhaven?” Jamys gaped. “And what of the other man? You mentioned two.”

  “A painted savage. Never opens his mouth, but hacked The Mountain’s guts.”

  “Should we break their necks?” Jamys asked. He wrinkled his nose and wheezed with anger.

  “No. With Faremanne, they are now three captains, and the commander is behind them. They would know
at once that it’s us. Besides, they killed The Mountain and Vakeg. They are more dangerous than they look. I suggest we do nothing. We follow them south. They may even free Millhaven if they are lucky. We stay in the tail, and when the time comes, we act.” Segar had a nasty smile on his face.

  “With luck, we won’t even have to kill them ourselves. The orcs may do the job.” Jamys smirked. He relaxed in his seat again.

  “As long as they leave me the whoreson. This one is mine.” Segar’s imagination ran wild again.

  CHAPTER 25

  “What should I do with the woman and the children?” Kilda inquired.

  “I already told you. Send them with the others. They will be taken care of. There should be a convoy leaving in two days. Just enough time for us to free another village,” Colten said.

  “Will we go on a raid again tomorrow?” Kilda asked, surprised. “I thought we would take over the tower controlling the bridge leading to the city. This is why I went alone in the Ebony Forest. To spy on them and take notes on the shifts of the guard,” she said, upset. The tower was at a strategic crossroad to the city. The loss of the place could be a thorn in Pembroke’s foot. Besides, they had enough provisions and saved enough villagers for the next convoy.

  “There is a farm with a watermill four miles from here,” Colten explained. “It’s under the control of a small party of the count’s men, but we will take it over easily.”

  “And what of the tower?” Kilda insisted. “You told me that after the farms, we would turn on the outposts. We have to get at Pembroke.”

  “Oh, but we will, my dear. One thing at a time.” Colten rose and served himself a beer. He offered her one, but she refused. “You see. These people are forced to work under the control of Pembroke’s soldiers. So why do we attack the farms?”

  “To free the people,” she answered, like a child reciting his lesson.