by Lee Abrey
Robson and I mounted up and I prayed that Magpie and I would live through one last charge. And that he didn’t just attack the nearest horse coming at him, in this case probably the captain’s. Zol, I prayed, you know you have my soul, at least as far as Haka has loaned it to you, please don’t let them kill me. Guide Magpie so he doesn’t hurt himself or be injured. Maia, goddess of living things, please save us.
There was a god I might have missed out in this scenario. Pex, god of fire. I began to pray just as Robson spoke,
“I don’t think my horse is as fast as yours, mate, don’t leave me behind. Ten seconds.”
“Aye,” I said, “you go flat-tack and I’ll be there. Time?”
“Three, two, one!” We galloped over the hill screaming war cries,
“For Zol!”
“Haka comes!” The Sriamans were afraid of Haka.
A thunder of hooves down the hill, ground shaking and the air full of thrown knives from Robson and me. I managed to send down a rather attractive silver rain from both forearm sheaths before we closed.
That was what I was thinking, if I was thinking at all. How beautiful the blades looked in the firelight, the stars above glittering in cold rainbow colours across the dark indigo bowl of the sky. Perhaps realising they outnumbered us, perhaps just in the mood, the Sriamans were turning to fight.
Fighting on horseback at night is not something I recommend. Someone dragged me off Magpie, who charged off, chasing a Sriaman into the darkness, leaving me on foot and down to only a few small knives. I closed with the nearest Sriaman, broke his arm and liberated his axe, which I used to good effect. They said I killed nine men by myself but I don’t see how. I think the kingdom men who died saw to some of them. Magpie came back and killed at least four. I was rather pleased at that, as they were all coming at me and by then I was apparently alone.
That night we saved five captured soldiers, though two died later from wounds. We lost three of our group of five including Robson, who was unlucky when a Sriaman hauled him down out of the saddle.
Haka took the captain too, which I happened to see. I was fond of the captain and did remember cutting down the Sriaman who killed him.
I won another medal despite saying I didn’t want it. I was threatened with the stockade if I kept up that attitude, though they made allowances, said I was suffering from the stress of losing most of my squad and gave me the Black Dragon, for bravery during a covert operation.
****
During my time in the forces there was no trouble from the enemies I’d left down south, Azrael’s half-brother Young Perry or his co-conspirator Indigo. However, since they tried to kill me four times between them – that I knew about - I wasn’t taking chances. Even off-duty I kept a few knives on my person.
When I heard Indigo graduated with Azrael and was asking for a posting to the front I began taking extra care. Next time he came near me I was going to end it.
Azrael wasn’t in the army. Conspicuously he didn’t mention why in his letters, and I guessed maybe family permission was unforthcoming.
****
It was a stinking hot summer. In midsummer, just after New Year, our platoon was switched to days. I was feeling disconnected, struggling to adapt.
I wasn’t living pure but it was close. I hadn’t been really drunk since I joined the army, except on my annual leave and then only moderately. I didn’t go back to Sendren for my leaves. It felt better staying in the north, though I did go visiting family there.
Back on day patrol, I worked out every morning, rising at dawn, trying to get back into my old diurnal rhythms after over a year of nights. I would salute the rising sun and drift into the circles of the katas. The patterns were imprinted in my bones. The dance of war. First I would do them on foot and slowly. Until I ached. The blade in my hand would be an extension of my arm, all in balance and all as one. I worked with two sabres at least twice a week, one in each hand. My dragon scars didn’t limit me much if I kept moving, but there was tingling and numbness around the scarring. I still had my Blood advantages, speed and strength. Most days I fitted in an hour’s schooling with one horse, eating, washing, boot polishing, schooling another horse, maybe a hack if I had time and who knew what else the army would find for me to do?
We scouts were mounted. We might be on secondment to the infantry but we were cavalry and didn’t walk unless our horses went lame or they bucked us off, which happened occasionally. We were ordered out at all hours of the day, sometimes for days, sometimes only for an hour. One had to relax and be adaptable.
I wasn’t relaxed at all.
****
Suddenly the rains were about to begin and there was just over a month left of my tour. Barely five weeks to go. The days were dragging and I took every bird’s flight as an omen. The heat kept building, rain hesitating over the mountains, humidity rising until you’d swear you were underwater, but still the rain didn’t fall.
That morning I wondered about maybe leaving off some armour. The men were always trying to get away with less armour in the heat. The scout version was lighter than the kind I wore in the lancers, designed more for fast work and not for combat, but there was still weight to it and I already had a shirt, breeches and boots on, so it was hot. Our armour was UV-proof and designed to breathe, but it would never match light clothing.
No sense in tempting Haka, so I sighed and put it all on. Knowing my luck I’d leave off one piece and cop a Sriaman arrow there. I counted my blessings. Before bioplas, men made armour out of metal and leather. If I were Sriaman I’d be running around on foot with heavy armour that didn’t even cover me properly.
We were accompanying infantry platoons into the borders. The infantry would attack any Sriamans we found while we scouts would find something important to do on the nearest vantage point that wasn’t occupied by commissioned officers. Despite being foot soldiers, the infantry officers were usually mounted.
Sergeant Jansen was paired with me. Like my father, Jansen was a stockman, or had been, in a king’s forests. Unfortunately for Jansen, like my father he was also an alcoholic. Like me he joined the army during a drunk, though he said he enjoyed the life.
He’d binge badly every so often and get busted down a rank, but when sober was a fine soldier and a superlative scout, so he’d be promoted again. He was about thirty, recently signed up for another ten years, mainly to stay out of the stockade after he bared his arse to a general during a bender.
We headed for the point where we’d turn north into the borderlands. Visors still up while on our side of the border. Once across it we scouts moved out at a canter, visors down, leaving the column of men behind. The non-com’s were suggesting to the officers that some men to scout around the column would be good, the officers ordered it, and the non-com’s gave the order, sah.
A mile or so on Jansen and I slowed to a walk. Jansen was on his usual mount, Blaze, a placid white-faced bay. In our light armour, horses likewise togged up, we were not expected to engage the enemy.
Magpie and Dream, my surviving mounts from my time in the lancers, were gone to stud back in Sendren, a reward for having saved my life so many times. I was on a new horse, a chestnut, Acordia Firewalker, a full brother to Magpie, whose proper name was Acordia Cloudwalker.
Fire was big but moved daintily, a bright golden chestnut with mane and tail a paler gold. I picked him because I could still vault on – just - whereas another full brother also for sale was seventeen hands, which made a vault hard, and from a horse that big, bending down to get someone off the ground went past scary into suicidal.
As we rode, I amused myself by leaning down from the saddle to touch the grass next to Fire’s front feet. It could be considered a risky exercise, though it was part of equitation training. The idea was that one was flexible enough to do it without falling off or losing one’s seat completely. If the animal shied or bolted as one dropped down, a fall was more likely, however Fire was trained to ignore most kinds of silliness and bounced
along, happy to be on an adventure.
If we saw Sriamans, unless it was an easily-captured lone man, we were to run away and bring our information back for the officers. I was excellent at this aspect of the job. Running away was my usual instinct and my horses were all known for their speed and jumping ability. I had been told off by several officers for saying, “Run away!” instead of “Fall back!”
Jansen had been on an alcohol bender only a few days previous and was still cranky. Haka was stalking him, but he didn’t know that.
“Shawcross?” said Jansen. I grunted. “Usual crap, mate.” I gave an exaggerated and completely non-army salute.
“Understood, oh glorious leader,” I said, “I shall ride into the sun until I melt.” He rolled his eyes, just visible behind the visor.
“Likewise, for an hour. I’ll be in my own sauna to your north. Then turn due south, connect up with the column. Such fun.”
“Hoorah!” I said, in my best Court drawl. He laughed, and I said, in my more normal voice, “See you, mate.”
I wouldn’t. Not alive.
****
Chapter 42 – Crazy Horses
We reined away from each other at a quick steady trot, within hail but out of sight thanks to the trees. Jansen’s signal was a dove and mine was an owl. Being a night bird wasn’t perfect, but my daytime birdcalls were so bad they let me stick with owls.
The high country varied from light to heavy woodland, with occasional clear valleys and meadows that the spotted deer and other animals grazed. It was once a part of the kingdoms, but the kingdom people had all moved south or been killed.
Even though the rains hadn’t started, in the mornings there was heavy mist. The place steamed, water evaporating with the rising of the blazing sun. It was hard to believe it was the same sun as in Sendren. It seemed stronger here. I’d studied the climate zones of the planet at school, but the reality of a tropical zone climate was more than I had expected. The sun slammed down out of the sky, making you want to find shade. The horses didn’t like being out in it, no sensible creature would.
At first I could hear Jansen’s horse then I reached a small stream and lost the noise. Fire stopped for a drink. Not too much, didn’t want him sloshing if we had to move fast. Being out in daylight meant it was harder to hide but easier to read a compass. As I had no real sense of direction I was likely to go round in circles, so kept an eye on my compass. I also watched my horse to see what he was hearing or otherwise paying attention to. If he suddenly began scenting the air or something had him spooked, I needed to notice.
Mostly I looked for signs of the enemy like tracks or old camps. We liked to stay on our horses but sometimes you had to dismount. I slipped off Fire’s back every so often to look carefully over hills and also kept an eye on the time. As I rode I schooled Fire too, working him in the movements that we might need to do together. Please the gods, I wouldn’t have to fight a Sriaman again, instead I’d just finish my time and go home.
After an hour I turned south and rode back to the platoon at a canter, Fire and I both glad for the change of pace. I was the first to report. Jansen didn’t appear. I waited fifteen minutes before riding towards where I thought he should be and found his tracks. I still wasn’t good at moving quietly but could track.
This was the dangerous part. A scout missing might be nothing, just delayed. On the other hand, it might be Sriaman bait to come after him and be captured too. The trail led over a hill and I followed carefully, remembering to look ahead, around and behind as well as down on the ground. I reined Fire in, both of us hidden among trees on one side of another misty valley.
Immediately below was a little meadow with a stream running through it. Jansen’s track went that way, but he wasn’t in sight, though the thickly-wooded slopes of the valley sides could easily hide several scouts. Or a Sriaman sniper. I hooted and waited for the reply. Fire pricked his ears and was listening to something. Had he heard a dove? I pushed him forward. He propped a bit and I said aloud,
“What’s with you?” He snorted and seemed to be listening again. A horse nickered from somewhere ahead. Jansen must be on foot. That’s why he hadn’t answered. I thought to ride on but Fire didn’t want to move. Was there something I couldn’t see in the trees? I could see hoof prints, running past where I lurked, down into the valley. With Fire being new, I wasn’t sure if he was propping over a Sriaman or just petulant over being out in the heat. I hooted again. The invisible horse neighed. Was it tethered? That was unusual. We didn’t tether our animals. Our horses were trained to stay if we left them, but when it was time for their next oats they were likely to head to the nearest stable and you’d be on your own. It paid to be good to your horse when you were a scout, and to carry treats so they didn’t wander off early.
Fire started making a grumbling, nickering noise of his own. He didn’t like something. I stood in the stirrups, looking for clues, but nothing looked strange. The hoof prints were going in a straight line, deeply dug in. Jansen had been moving at speed. I sat down again, and waited. Fire surprised me by taking a step back. I let our paranoia rule, and reined him a little further back into the trees. I still couldn’t see or hear anything strange.
I would wait another five minutes. I dismounted, took my gloves and helmet off, clipped them to the saddle so as not to drop them, took a drink then sopped my handkerchief with a little water and wiped my face down. It was very hot. Fire snorted and made his grumbling noise again. I poured a little water into my hand, let him have some more and repeated a few times. He licked me long after the water was gone. Going for the salt, my father always said. Fire made a happy nickering noise as he slobbered on me.
“Hush up,” I said, wiping my hand on the grass, watching the trees Jansen’s tracks headed into. “You stay here, big fella. Shout out if you see anyone.” I ran up the stirrup irons and knotted the reins up short so he wouldn’t catch himself in anything or be spooked by flapping tack. I could move round the ridgeline more quietly by myself. I gave the horse a little more water, and then took some more myself before I put the canteen back on its clip on the saddle.
A hundred feet away, hiding to the side of the meadow in a stand of trees, I was none the wiser. Resting one hand on a thick trunk, I peered out and hooted like an owl. Silence. It helped sometimes to change focus, so I rested my head on my hand and shut my eyes, listening hard.
A coughing grunt made me jump. It was Fire, still back where I left him. Silence again. I tried to focus, to hear past the blood crashing in my ears. The horse below me stamped a foot and the tack chinked. At night it was all damped down. Daytimes, we weren’t trying for silence so much. If Blaze was there, where was Jansen? I pulled back behind the tree, resting my forehead on my hand again and trying to get my breathing back to normal. Fire neighed, scaring me nearly senseless all over again. I smiled at my own silliness and raised my head, which saved my life.
In a kind of time that wasn’t normal, where everything, including the light filtering through the branches above me seemed to stretch and slow, an arrow slid past my chin as if it were moving in jelly. I noticed it was an arrow, not a crossbow bolt, as it hit my hand. Then time sped up again as the arrow buried itself inches deep in the tree, pinning me to the trunk. A painful moment. Staring blankly at my pierced hand, my bare pierced hand, I remembered feeling hot, stopping for a drink, taking gloves and helmet off, securing them carefully to the saddle.
My hand was hurting enough by then to make my eyes water. I was still hot and now in pain. I hated pain. Something else occurred to me. I needed to move. I tried to pull the arrow out of the tree with my free hand. It didn’t budge. I figured there was a Sriaman about to fire again somewhere behind me, so braced myself, grabbed the arrow and snapped it off short before yanking my hand off the shaft. I’d seen men do it before, but they didn’t tell me how much it hurt. Both when you snapped the arrow and when you pulled yourself off it.
Pretty much blind from the pain, I dropped to my knees for a mom
ent, blinking. I didn’t have time to inspect the damage as an arrow hit the tree right above my head. Just my luck, an accurate Sriaman archer. I scrabbled a few paces then scrambled up and ran, getting trees between me and whoever was behind.
Another arrow appeared in a tree next to me, whipping back and forth. I bolted sideways as yet another skimmed my nose. I whimpered. That one was so close I swore I could smell the feathers that fletched the shaft. I dived behind a tree, changed direction, dodged behind another tree, kept doing that, whimpering, changing direction and hiding behind trees, until I was lost.
Panting, I stopped and cursed silently. My hand was bleeding and hurting in nasty waves and I remember thinking, right hand, typical. To my surprise the fingers, if a bit painful, were still working. I stood up against a tree, hoping it was between me and the bowman. There were some field bandages in my pockets. I secured one left-handed then slid my main knife out of its sheath. All the time I was listening, trying to hear anything over my thudding heart.
This was dumb, running around a forest. Well, it was for someone like me. I was better at fighting than running. I wasn’t that fast and had no sense of direction. I’d be lucky if I could find my horse. I braced myself and whistled loud. Fire’s answering neigh came from the opposite direction to where I thought he was. I looked round, where was the bloody bowman?
“Fire!” I yelled, hoping he would come to his name. There were more soldiers not far away. If they heard me I’d have rescue. Of course, if the bowman were nearby he’d be able to shoot me more easily. I began to run towards the neigh. “Fire!” Around joints, overlays and joins, our armour lacked the same strength as in the parts that went rigid on impact. The Sriamans knew our weaknesses like we knew theirs. The bowman shot me in the back of the right knee with a steel-tipped arrow. Sometimes when wounded you can keep moving and not notice even a severe injury. That time I couldn’t.