It was awful watching the Jackals fall on the bridge at Sunwrack, but doubly so watching Hewspear get cut down. I didn’t know the man nearly as well as Vendurro, Mulldoos, or Braylar had, but I respected him—even broken and ailing inside, and older than any of the Jackals among us, Hewspear was twice the man of almost anyone else in the company. And he always dealt with me fairly. There was a nobility there, too, and a graciousness. While Hewspear could be firm, unyielding even—I thought back to his words about exiling his daughter-in-law if that’s what it took to secure a place in his grandson’s life—he was gentle and kind as well. And less rash or driven by his appetites than most men. Especially Mulldoos. I shuddered to think how his comrade was going to deal with the loss, and kept picturing Mulldoos dying as well, over and over, as he tried to avenge his fallen brother.
I shook my head, feeling a hollowness that refused to give way to pure sadness, at least so far. I tried to hold out hope, to convince myself maybe the lieutenant had only been badly wounded and captured rather than killed. But I’ve had no better success lying to myself than to anyone else.
Even if no one spoke, Syldoon frequently looked around uneasily, as if expecting monsters or the gods themselves to suddenly swoop down on us, and the scouts Braylar sent ahead seemed a little more reticent than usual. We obviously ventured somewhere humans weren’t intended to go, but at least we’d done so with a large if depleted armed force. That was some minor comfort.
The terrain was identical to what we left behind on the other side, which shouldn’t have been shocking, but somehow was. It felt alien, even if there wasn’t anything visible to indicate it was. Between the muzzled rage and the anxiety, there was a horrible sense of tension and foreboding in the company that I was sure wasn’t mine alone.
We rode for another hour and then stopped as the black clouds finally opened up. As they had outside Sunwrack, the Syldoon conducted their duties without complaint, but also without any hint or merriment, revelry, or even crude barbs and asides. I’m sure many had been close with the twenty who had just died to save our lives, or the few who didn’t survive the crossing. I wondered if they wished that Hewspear had selected them so they would be spared the guilt and remorse they surely felt. While I was no soldier, it was a terrible thing to witness men sacrificing themselves for your behalf, even if they had accepted the charge willingly.
I did what I could to help, caring for and feeding the horses, but it was small distraction and no balm at all. By the time camp was set up, such as it was, the rain finally subsided, though clouds remained, blocking out the stars and moon completely. Braylar took up residence away from the rest of the company, and his small retinue was sitting in a circle around the fire he prepared. I was a bit surprised, partly that he had found anything dry enough to light, but also assuming he didn’t want to attract the attention of whatever might roam this side of the Godveil. But maybe the captain was itching for a fight, or the chance to confront his makers and accuse them of being the uncaring and hateful deities they were.
I wasn’t sure how much wine or ale was left, or when we might see more of it, but they all seemed to be drinking freely. After seeing who sat where, I took a spot between Soffjian and Vendurro. Rudgi, Mulldoos, and Azmorgon were on either side of the captain. No one was in a hurry to speak.
Finally, Vendurro said, “What’s the plan, then, Cap? How far you going in here? And will we still be heading northish?”
Braylar didn’t respond right away, staring into the sputtering flames. No one pressed him, and the silence stretched on so long I thought maybe I imagined the question being asked at all.
Then the captain replied, “I do not know.”
Vendurro looked around the group, scratched at the tuft of hair on his chin, and when no one else thought to reply, said, “I know it’s a bad time, so don’t mean to press, but, well, we’ve gone to somewhere nobody ever imagined they’d ever see, me included, and the boys, well, they’ll be wondering what you have in store, Cap.”
“Will they?” Braylar asked, both syllables over-enunciated, weighted with dire consequence.
Vendurro nodded but said no more.
The captain took his eyes away from the small fire and said, “I will announce our intentions on the morrow. The men will simply have to try to sleep without knowing them in full.”
After another long silence, Azmorgon shifted his immense weight on a damp log and said, “Probably no good time for this neither, but who do you have in mind to promote? To lieutenant, that is. I got some good boys who—”
Mulldoos drew his suroka. “That’s the beauty of a blade. It don’t care what neck it slices across—giants bleed no slower than runts, just a lot more.”
Azmorgon’s laugh sounded like two stones being rubbed together. “I know you two were close, but Squirrel there is right—Cap’s got to think about practicalities now. So it might hurt to hear, but we got to consider—”
“If you open your giant mouth again without showing the dead the proper respect, I swear I’ll drive this through your jaw and shut it myself.”
Azmorgon leaned forward. “Hew died saving us. Good man. Fool of a man, too, same as you all. I told you we shouldn’t have headed for the Godveil. It was a fool notion, and I was against it from the start. And if you had to leave someone for rearguard, should have been me, like I done told you, but—”
Mulldoos sprang off his rock with surprising speed and had the point of the suroka pressed to Azmorgon’s neck before the huge man could do anything to stop him. “Shut. Your. Plaguing. Mouth. You hear me, Ogre? Shut it. I lost my best friend just now, so you want to try your luck, you make a move or say one more plaguing disrespectful word and see if I don’t ram this into your skull and watch the gallons of blood leak out. You hear me, you whopping huge horsefucker?”
Vendurro and Rudgi had their swords halfway out and Soffjian had a dangerous focus on her face.
Braylar stood and walked over to the lieutenants. “Azmorgon, you are right on one count. The men need to see their leaders acting decisively, especially in a time of crisis and chaos. From this moment forward, Vendurro is the company’s newest lieutenant. If you have any suggestions for nominating a new sergeant to fill his vacancy, I will hear it on the morrow.
“Because Mulldoos is also right. We lost one of our best today. Along with more than twenty other good men. And a failure to afford them the proper respect will incur my wrath no less than the man with a blade to your throat just now. So I suggest you follow the good advice you just received and shut your mouth before someone really loses their temper and things end badly. I cannot afford to lose any more lieutenants today. I have made myself clear, yes?”
Azmorgon hadn’t flinched away from the blade, his eyes locked with Mulldoos’s, and he was weighing something for several tense moments before replying, “Aye, Cap. All clear.”
Mulldoos slowly lowered the blade and took his place in front of the dying fire again. Azmorgon reached up, touched his jaw, fingers coming away with some spots of blood. Apparently his immense pelt of a beard offered little added protection.
The Ogre got to his feet, looking larger than ever, and he stared down at Mulldoos. The pale boar ignored him and Azmorgon walked off into the dark.
When he was gone, Rudgi laughed quietly. “Good thing nobody really lost their temper, eh?”
Vendurro looked at Braylar and seemed miserable. “Cap, what you said, it’s—”
“Overdue. Hewspear was intending to retire soon, before Cynead played out his most recent coup and forced us to the road. Did you imagine we kept you close simply because we craved your wit and company?”
The younger man shook his head slowly. “No, Cap, but—”
“You were being groomed for the position. You simply find yourself in it a little earlier than expected. It is done. Congratulations, Lieutenant.”
Vendurro nodded, and it was the most sorrowful promotion I’d ever seen. He didn’t bother wiping away the tears that fell dow
n his cheeks or pretend ash had flown into his eyes. “Aye, Cap.” He took a long swig from his costrel.
Rudgi leaned over to Vendurro and said quietly, “Timing is lousier than lice, but good on you, Lieutenant. You deserve it.”
Vendurro gave one quick nod, tried to respond, then stopped himself.
The group lapsed into silence again. Eyes lost in the shrinking flames once more, Braylar said, “We have spoken at length about what constitutes a bad death, a good death. I have seen many, men die, in my charge and by my hand. Too many of both, truly. But today a hero died. Many, in fact, but we would have lost half our company or more if it hadn’t been for Hewspear. He had ever been stalwart, courageous, and true, an exemplary soldier and leader, and I’ve spent most of my life chiding myself for not living up to his example.
“Was his a good death, saving so many? I do not know. I no longer pretend to know. But he was one of the finest officers to ever have the honor of calling himself Syldoon, and one of the finest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling friend. That much I know for a certainty.” He slowly hoisted his costrel and said, “To Hewspear,” before taking a drink.
Then he passed it to Mulldoos who did the same. Voice cracking, he said, “To Hewspear” before tipping it up.
Mulldoos handed the costrel to the new lieutenant. Vendurro’s eyes were wet as he said, “To Hewspear.” After taking his drink, he held it out for me.
I started to reach for it but stopped short. “I . . . I’m not a Syldoon. I—”
Mulldoos said, “You don’t drink to his honor, you skinny whelp, and—”
I accepted the costrel, said, “To Hewspear,” and took a swallow of bitter wine.
Tears started to well up and I looked at Soffjian, then back to Braylar and Mulldoos.
Braylar gave a short nod and while Mulldoos glowered, he said nothing, so I handed the flask to Soffjian. “To Hewspear,” she said, taking her drink before getting halfway up to hand it over the fire to Rudgi.
The short sergeant accepted it and completed the ritual with the repeated toast and drink.
We sat in silence again after that, as there was nothing left to say as we watched the fire until it was dead and gone.
The next morning, the company continued heading north, not straying too far from the Godveil. I rode near the front of the column, behind Braylar and his men. I suspected this always irked the other soldiers, but Braylar commanded it, and what’s more, I enjoyed not choking on the dust kicked up by over a hundred horses.
The first day was mostly uneventful. Every time I climbed out of the saddle, stiff and aching and with new blisters, I tried to find time to continue translating, but I had little energy for it. A somber mood still held sway over the company, so I was in no hurry to trouble anyone and kept to myself.
That wasn’t true of everyone. I was walking back from the most secluded spot I could find to relieve myself when Soffjian startled me. “Pity, isn’t it?”
Having nearly jumped out of my skin, I replied, “What is, exactly? I can think of many things that would fall in that category just now.”
She gave a small, rueful smile. “Very true. But just now,” she looked off to the east, away from the Godveil, “I was thinking that this is the first time in half a millennium or more that humans have ventured on this side of the Godveil, and assuredly the first time ever in force like this. So it strikes me that it is a true pity your captain is pressing so hard driving north.”
“What would you have him do?” I asked. “Deviate from his mission to go exploring in the wild?”
She laughed, brief, almost a bark. “Oh, that wouldn’t exactly be out of character, now would it? I know he is tempted. He must be.” She pointed east. “We have no idea what lies out there. None. It is the greatest mystery to ever befuddle mankind. Where are the gods? Why did they truly leave? Was it really profound disappointment in us? That seems bad form, as hosts, doesn’t it?”
I looked east as well, and admitted, “I would love to know. To explore. It is a terrifying thought. But also an exhilarating one. And maybe it’s a pity it isn’t possible. But it isn’t, is it?”
She faced me again. “Possibilities are more water than stone, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Maybe to a Memoridon. To the rest of us mundane folk, burdened as we are by expectations and limitations, things are not so fluid.”
Soffjian cocked her head to the side. “I can’t decide if that is flattery or insult. But either way, I would suggest you are the one limiting yourself here.”
“Oh?” I asked, intrigued despite myself. “How so?”
“My brother dismisses input as often as not, but I know he values yours.” I started to object, but she continued. “I would have no chance at all convincing him to head east a bit, to deviate slightly to see what we see, and would be shouted down by the rest even if he was inclined to listen. But you might not fare so poorly.”
I shook my head. “You know your brother—better than most, I warrant. He has a mind for vengeance now, as does the whole company. They want to reunite with Thumaar and then bloody the Emperor as soon as possible. He won’t listen to me on that point. Even if he believes it a pity as well.”
Her face hardened to stony impossibility. “Vengeance is it? He ought to be very careful then. While Bray has undeniable intelligence, when it comes to matters of orchestrating vengeance, his skills leave something to be desired.”
She turned to leave and I blurted out, “That seems a bit harsh. He was a boy, still. And at least he tried, didn’t he?”
Soffjian looked over her shoulder. “Tried? Oh. Yes. He did. And in truth, I advised him, mapped out almost the entire plan really, so I was equally inept at vengeance. At least when it came to my father. I have improved considerably since then.”
Then she walked away.
The next day proved much like the last, only I was more sore and uncomfortable. It was largely uneventful as well, with the only real exception occurring when we stopped to rest the horses in the afternoon.
I was walking away from the company, trying to find a good rocky outcrop to offer some shade, as the sun was beating down and reflecting off the parchment and giving me an awful headache. Mulldoos saw me and altered his course to intercept. I considered pretending that I hadn’t noticed and continuing a touch faster, hoping he would think it too much work to cut me off, but it was pointless, and would likely result in an uglier dressing down or encounter than it otherwise would have been, so I stopped.
Mulldoos had that odd hitch to his step, as his left arm and leg both seemed reluctant to cooperate most of the time. When he caught up, the pale boar stood in front of me, looked me up and down, and said, “Put those plaguing pages and case down, scribbler.”
I was instantly nervous. “The pages? But—”
“Yes, you leprous boil, the plaguing pages.”
I thought about reminding him that the captain had tasked me with that job, but knew that wasn’t likely to help the situation resolve without me getting elbowed in the gut, so did as he commanded, setting the case on top to keep the pages from fluttering away.
Mulldoos said, “You’ll never be a soldier. Never even be halfway competent. Obvious to everybody, ain’t it? But if you’re going to go around dressing the part, you better pick up a few things to avoid getting that helm all dented up or that gambeson skewered and bloody. You ready?”
I was a little dumbfounded—I always assumed if anyone would tutor me at all, it would be Vendurro. I was afraid to ask, really, as I knew I would be a target for mockery if I even attempted to swing a blade. “Did Captain Killcoin, uh—”
“What? Ask me to take you under my wing and regurgitate martial knowledge into your tiny little beak like a maternal mother bird? No. He plaguing didn’t. But he’s got a use for you, and it’s miracle of miracles you ain’t been killed already. And I figure since you keep on throwing yourself in harm’s way, you best do it with at least some small chance of survival. If you got to die
, at least look good doing it. So, asking again, you plaguing ready, scribbler?”
I looked at him. Face flushed, one eyelid drooping, half his face slack, posture torqued. Maybe he needed this as much as I did. I nodded, and Mulldoos did as well.
When I started to draw Lloi’s blade, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. “Whoa, there. Who said anything about you wielding steel, you overeager bastard? Nobody, that’s who. Plague me, but you’re in a hurry to get yourself killed.”
“I thought—”
“Well knock that shit off straight away. Obey orders. That’s all you got to do here. Think you can manage that?”
I straightened and nodded, wishing he hadn’t seen me at all.
“Right then. First thing, if you’re going to get into a scrap sometime, you’ll be needing something in the other hand.” He pulled the buckler off his belt and handed it to me. It was steel, with the handle wrapped in stained leather. “Might be we give you a proper shield at some point, but best to start with something simple, easy enough to get used to.”
The buckler did seem small and easy enough to wield, but it was surprisingly heavy.
“What’s the most powerful muscle in your body?”
I thought about it for a moment and then tapped at my helm.
Mulldoos laughed, and then hooted. “And here I thought you were supposed to be half clever. It’s your legs, your hips. You get in a fight, everything you do starts there. Stance, movement, generating power and follow-through, controlling range. Legs. Now, you got the legs of a wee chicken. But truth is, almost anybody can learn to defend themselves a little. We got girls in the company no bigger than you who manage not to get killed. Rudgi for one. So I ain’t given up hope entirely. Stance first, as that’s your base. Get those legs a little wider than shoulder width.”
Chains of the Heretic Page 11