Brave Men Die: Part 3

by Dan Adams

  It was very early in the morning, still well before dawn, when Volans approached carefully from behind him. Sneaking up on his belly, he was careful not to stand and create a man-shaped silhouette that would have stood out amongst the thinly spread trees.

  ‘Castor,’ he called softly, tapping him on the shoulder.

  Castor turned his bleary eyes on the lieutenant.

  ‘Hydrus wants you to lead a group of men out there and investigate one of the shadows he keeps seeing.’

  ‘Is it really a threat or is it in his head?’

  ‘Who knows until you go out and investigate? I’ve seen my fair share of moving shadows out there tonight. Who can say if any of them were real?’

  Castor rolled his eyes and slowly scurried his way back from the edge of the tree line toward the waiting group of men and back up to Hydrus’ location. With the six men he was about to lead out into the empty Kyzantine plains behind him, he nestled beside Hydrus and waited for instructions.

  ‘Look out there Castor,’ he whispered. ‘There has been a shadow slowly moving from the right side of my vision to the left. Something is moving out there and I want you to go and stop it.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘No fucking idea. I just want it to stop moving so I can stop freaking out.’

  Castor reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the copse of trees over the prickly grass in the direction of Hydrus’ mysterious shadow. The six others followed with crossbows tucked under their armpits and scanned the darkness for the enemy. Castor kept low as he made his way toward the small ditch that lead to the north–east that would get the squad where Hydrus had indicated.

  Crawling up over the side, Castor kept his body flat as possible and rolled over into the ditch, brought his bow up and scanned both directions. Nothing. He gave the others the signal and they joined him in the ditch. Aron and James were the first over, bows at hand. They moved further along as the others dropped down into the darkness. Castor was too tired to try and make out who they were, so he continued his way along passing the other two.

  The ditch got slightly deeper so he took his chances and got to his feet and ran doubled over for a couple of metres before slumping back down, listening for sounds that he had been spotted. After moments of hearing nothing but his own heartbeat, he signalled for the men to hurry up. When they had caught up he went again, for longer this time, with the rest of them in tow.

  His destination was now only a hundred metres in front and the wind had picked up, carrying the softest wheezing noise with it. Castor jumped as a creaking noise filled his ears, the silence of the plains magnifying the simple sound as he dove to the ground for cover. He got to his knees feeling incredibly foolish and risked a glance over his shoulder, only to be comforted by the fact that the rest of them were shitting themselves too. Another noise broke the silence of the night and the seven Nails all raised their crossbows and peered along the sights, looking for something to fire upon. Something, anything that was real that they could kill to soothe their nerves.

  There was nothing.

  Castor crawled out of the ditch and went forward on his stomach after he reassured himself that everything was fine and looked for any signs of Hydrus’ threat. His imagination played tricks on him as the moon disappeared behind the clouds and threw everything pitch black. He could hear himself breathing, the noise pounding in his ears, and he worried that he was giving them away.

  The shadows moved off on his right. They had all seen it and jumped at the movement. There was nothing left for it now. They had to see what it was. Castor gave the hand signal and they all jumped to their feet, fingers on the triggers, and ran toward the possible threat. They raced up the last little incline and threw themselves over the edge, bolts sighted on nothing but grass. James and Aron went down toward the left, Castor moving on the right as the others kept them covered.

  All three spun in tight circles, worried they were surrounded, that the enemy could come from anywhere. Slowly they lowered their weapons one by one and Aron turned and looked at him to explain, but all Castor could do was shrug. What could he say, there really was nothing here.

  ‘Let’s get back to camp. There is nothing out here to kill. Hydrus must have been imagining things.’

  Shadows flittered behind him and they all spun round to face them. Once again there was nothing there.

  ‘Fuck I need some sleep,’ Aron muttered.

  The others all mumbled their agreement. Castor smiled and thought of sleep. Maybe tomorrow he would get some as he made his way back to the ditch. He knew as soon as they returned they would be back to their positions along the tree line looking for jumping shadows.

  The Kyzantine scout risked a smile as he watched the Murukan squad turn around and return to the copse of trees the unit had set up camp in. He had been tracking them on foot for days now, running along behind as they crossed the plains. With nothing but a spear and the bag slung over his shoulder with food and water, travelling light was the only way he could keep up. The general had ordered that he find them and pursue, disrupting them whenever possible.

  Tracking the silhouettes of the seven men, they slowly crawled to the others without ever turning back. He rolled over on his back and looked up as the moon slid from behind the clouds, exposing his position in the grass. Clutching at his dagger, he scraped a sign in the dirt that the unit would recognise and follow.

  Exhausted himself, he thought his job was done for the night. The moving shadows he had created earlier would keep the Murukans up all night, jumping at anything. Closing his eyes he drifted to sleep, smiling at a job well done.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sighing, Chase drew his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. He pulled the shovel out of the earth and threw the garment behind him, taking a moment to pause and look over the fortifications the camp had constructed since his return. The blistering sun beat down on the work party and the sentries posted beyond the work zone.

  Wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, Chase thought that this was more like it. His muscles ached from the hard labour of reinforcing the Kyzantine camp. It had been two weeks since he had arrived in the Gorgon Pass, weeping at the loss of so many of his men. All of those that had stepped foot into the pass under the command of Dale and Peake had perished. There was not a single survivor, no one to tell their tale.

  He spread his arms wide, feeling the muscles across his chest stretch, then lowered his shoulder blades to stretch his back.

  ‘Get on with it,’ Abe chided, swinging the mattock into the dirt.

  Chase smiled, stretched a little longer just to play it out before planting his shovel back into the earth and getting on with it.

  Chase had spent his time wisely, ignoring the Murukan presence at the bastion and focusing on making his own camp defendable. Dale and Peake had never had the opportunity, their orders were to strike immediately in conjunction with the other forces. But had they established a fall back position, some of them might have held off the cavalry force that ambushed them.

  He’d taken Alina out of Dagenham the day after the funeral, before the mourning period had officially ended. Patric had understood. He’d offered to inform the Emperor of their absence and his need to return to the front and pass on a note to Carolyn from Alina.

  Alina had understood his urgency, had understood the reasons why he didn’t want her by herself in Dagenham. The Church would use her. They would use her as a martyr when his nieces died, use her against Patric or against Chase, whatever they needed to suit their own purposes. She would be safer in Redisberg, and it would allow their daughter to resume her position with the Redisberg Guard.

  Always too impatient for the political manoeuvrings, Chase had found comfort in the hierarchy of the military and ignored what happened in the capital. The centre of all the Empire’s scandal, Dagenham was where everyone went to make a name for themselves. Most were crushed within the first few months. Some like Patric and himself had managed to ge
t through it all, but Patric thrived on it where Chase wanted nothing but to get as far away as possible. When the opportunity came to get out, he had. And then history repeated itself. He chuckled at the thought.

  Under his armed escort they had made good time back to Redisberg, skirting on the tails of the second instalment of companies moving south. Under his personal banner, the civilian troops gave them a wide berth but the officers provided them with food when the march stopped each night. It had been useful until they turned onto a western trail that would take them home.

  When Chase and Alina arrived back in the city, the streets were sombre and practically deserted. It had been mid-morning, the sky overcast and the city garrison was ill at ease. His daughter had easily brushed aside the announcement of their arrival and had continued overseeing the provisions being sent south for the troops. It was like he no longer existed and life had moved on in Redisberg — everyone was now taking orders from his daughter.

  She had managed Redisberg better than he expected and he wondered how often she was listening when she had been running underfoot as he went about business. Chase smiled at the memory of his little girl holding onto his leg as he answered petitions and ordered his men about.

  His daughter had dealt with the news of the crushing defeat in the Gorgon Pass and reacted as per her station. She was her father’s daughter, after all. She hadn’t kept it a secret from the people, she had mourned with the families, and had inspired the replacement battalion to march headlong into the same danger that had slaughtered their neighbours. There had been no sign of revolt, no desertions. His daughter would make him proud on the day he was on his deathbed, when she succeeded him.

  His return home was short-lived. He’d spent a couple of hours reading over the reports, ensuring the city defences were in place before riding south with his entourage of six — the same six who’d ridden to Dagenham and back with him. Over the years his personal guard became more like friends, he trusted them with the safety of his family or walking into any situation by his side, like the Gorgon Pass.

  His parting with Alina was as hard as it always was, but both remained stoic. He promised silently that he would return if it was possible and his faithful wife promised to be waiting. He’d run his fingers down the side of her soft face, brushing past her tangled blonde hair. His lips touched hers briefly, before he grasped her hand and pulled away. He’d get back to her if he could and she knew it.

  They had travelled quickly under Chase’s unerring pressure to resume command of his own people. The information in the reports was unsettling. Pyxis had arrived quickly, taken command of all the soldiers stationed at the pass, and sent the majority of them in as fodder to save her own cavalry forces from the brunt of the attack. But she left as quickly as she came, in pursuit of some Murukan guerrilla outfit that had decimated the combined Kyzantine force in the pass.

  It hadn’t been Duncan — the commander could defend his bastion against anything — but the unit that had struck against Pyxis, that had outflanked her, had ridden through her camp, they were something else.

  Chase had his suspicions. The unit had probably come from Buckthorne, rather than the outpost at North Reach. If he could confirm the unit’s name then he would know for sure. Until then, it was safer just to stay out of their way, better to let Pyxis chase them over the countryside and let her own unit take the casualties.

  The man left in charge when she left didn’t care about his people’s lives, he had an objective and was clearly determined to achieve it despite the cost. Chase had ridden into the rudimentary camp astride a sea of wounded bodies. There had been no perimeter set, no lookouts posted. Chase shook his head in shame; he couldn’t help but feel he had let his people down.

  The captain had argued poignantly that the Murukan cowards had not once come out to meet him on the battlefield in front of the gates and as such he’d felt no need to construct a fortification around the camp. Instead he had been constantly sending Redisberg men against the walls in an effort to breach them. What infuriated Chase more was the captain’s stubborn belief that by throwing men’s lives away could he actually achieve it.

  Duncan’s walls were unbreachable. He should know, he’d tried in his own youth.

  Chase had unceremoniously sent the captain chasing after Pyxis and her unit. He’d wanted to kill the man for his incompetence but wanted to inflict the kind of damage he had done on Pyxis more. His niece had sacrificed his men and he hated her for it.

  Lifting the sharpened log with five others, they carried it across the camp to the earthwork mound they had spent the last few days building. The work was tiring but it wasn’t costing him any men. They had not seen any sign of Duncan and his forces since Chase had arrived. The old man was too smart to come out from behind his solid walls anyway.

  He planned to keep as many of his soldiers alive as possible in case the situation changed and they actually had an opportunity to attack without being slaughtered. If the Kyzantine forces were to break through at one of the other passes and circle around to the Gorgon Pass from Murukia then he’d finally have Duncan, drowning the old man’s garrison beneath two waves of Kyzantines. Until then he was smart enough to bide his time.

  He squinted as he looked to the north–east, bringing his hand up to block the sun from his eyes, trying to make out the shapes riding toward the camp. The soldiers he was working alongside dropped the fortifications and moved toward their weapons, others lifted the tools in an aggressive manner. Chase took note and stepped forward to meet the newcomers, sure any threat would be met with immediate hostile force before his life could be put into danger. Abe was by his side within seconds.

  Chase watched as the group of five men dismounted and approached cautiously, suspiciously scanning the crowd of soldiers. He noticed the Dagenham crest on their armour and sighed inwardly, already knowing that whatever they had come to tell him, he was sworn to do. Chase wondered what the Emperor wanted and hoped they would quickly get to the bloody point.

  ‘Lord DeVile?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve got orders for you sir,’ the herald said, indicating the pouch at his belt.

  Chase nodded and the man removed a wax-sealed folded envelope. He took it, running his eyes over the four soldiers that accompanied the messenger before lowering them and focusing on the orders. He read them twice, to make sure he believed what he was reading.

  ‘Who did these orders come from?’ Chase asked.

  ‘The palace in Dagenham. Bishop Draze gave them to me himself.’

  Chase suspected that Bishop Draze was the current influential clergyman in court. If he had issued the orders they could have come from the Emperor, or they could have come from the Church. Everyone had their own motives and until he got to Dagenham he wouldn’t know who wanted him in the capital.

  ‘Was there anything else?’ Chase asked.

  ‘We’ve been instructed to escort you back.’

  ‘Is there that much trouble in the Empire?’

  ‘No, my lord, but they were our instructions.’

  Either the man didn’t know about the Murukan unit raiding Kyzantine towns or was under orders not to mention it. That was interesting.

  ‘I’ll organise my own escort after I return to Redisberg. You are dismissed.’

  The herald nodded and remounted. His escort followed suit and rode back down the pass.

  ‘My Lord, what are your orders?’

  Chase turned to the young woman that was standing beside him, her shovel unceremoniously stuck into the ground at her feet and her skin sweaty and covered in dirt.

  ‘Tell Hugh I want to see him. Organise Grant and the others to get ready to ride immediately and ensure that our horses are saddled.’

  ‘Sir.’ The woman saluted and ran off.

  ‘I guess my time here was short-lived, Abe,’ Chase said, turning to the veteran.

  ‘Our time.’

  Chase chuckled. ‘It might have been good to go up
against Duncan again at the end.’

  ‘I reckon we could have taken the bastion this time round, he’s getting to be an old man these days.’

  ‘Those walls won’t fall in our lifetime, Abe.’ Chase was surprised by the honesty and the fact that he really did believe them.

  ‘If this is our last campaign, it was a pleasure serving with you. If I can ask, where were we ordered?’

  Chase looked off into the distance. ‘First to Redisberg to see my wife. I have a feeling it might be my last. Then onto Dagenham at the Emperor’s request.’

  Dagenham was much like he’d left it. He’d checked back into his favourite tavern, made sure that they all had something to eat. He was lingering, like he had done all journey. Had the orders actually come from the Emperor? It was possible that Sebastion wanted him in Dagenham for any number of reasons, but the fact the orders had come from some bishop worried him. The seed of doubt was growing in his mind. If the Church were the ones who wanted him here, he should be worried.

  Chase took two of his entourage out into the town, making his way through the crowded streets and simply listening. He needed to know what he was getting himself into. Whatever he was going to have to do, he’d probably learn of it on the streets first.

  There were rumours aplenty about everything. What Chase was interested in were the political movings of the city, rather than which women were already widows. Standing in front of the tailors on Seventh Avenue, he took note of the armed men wandering down the street holding up the book of the One God and yelling scriptures into the din of the crowd.

  What was more interesting was the combination of the bishop supported by the enforcers of the clergy. The bishop was spouting verses about the damnation of magic and the crowd was getting restless, nodding their heads in agreement.

  Clearly the populace was behind the damnation of the magic-wielding nation of Murukia but Chase wondered why the Church was so determined to push it. Everyone knew that Derrick was killed during a raid supported by a mage, he didn’t think it was essential that the people were constantly reminded of the fact.