Forsaken

by Jon Kiln

  Nisero felt a sting in his chest, and a growing cold, that reminded him of being in the water at the dark bottom of the well. He realized the feelings were some hybrid of fear and doubt. He pushed the dark feelings down and fought to keep pace with the captain’s hard pressed ride.

  They did stop midmorning to water the horses. There was a stream that cut through the path like the beginning of a canyon. The air grew colder and Nisero laid out his wet clothes from the well, with little hope that they might dry in the brief rest. The horses’ sides were lathered from the ride and heaving against the saddles. They could do for a day’s rest, but Nisero doubted the captain would even consider it.

  “I’m seeing nothing.” Berengar spoke over the hiss of water through the rocks, flowing down the steep slope off one side of the road.

  Nisero remained silent, waiting for the captain to continue.

  “Our target bandits left no trail to speak of,” Berengar said.

  Nisero looked back down the path sloping behind them, and forward beyond the split of the creek as far as the next rise. He knew what he would see though. There had only been a few hours of light to spot any tracks, but the road showed no sign of traffic out of ordinary wear. The dirt off the road showed no substantial numbers attempting to escape to other terrain. They were reaching land that did not present much opportunity off the trail except for long drops.

  “I’ve noticed none either. They appear to have stuck to the road and with limited haste.”

  Berengar shook his head. “Slow moving armies still leave their mark on unpaved roads. Is it possible this Solag acted alone or in a small band?”

  Nisero sighed and watched the flow of the water as the horses drank. “Perhaps. In the sense that all things are remotely possible. They could be on foot, but they appeared to have taken some pillage – more than could be carried on the back realistically. They have at least one unwilling captive. Your village was not a company of warriors, but they put up a fight from the look of it, and lost. Do you think they would have fallen so to a single man or a modest band?”

  “No, I do not.” Berengar stood and walked to edge, staring down over the drop and the descending bed of the creek. Nisero stared at the captain’s back until he spoke again. “I fear an army of bandits that can cover its trail and lose us more than I fear facing a legion of cold-blooded soldiers.”

  “They did not leave this road before this point, trail or no trail,” Nisero said. “We will press on and they will give themselves away.”

  Captain Berengar nodded without turning around. “We should refill the water skins before we ride again. The next village is a border town called Darkenhauls. There are a number of roads that lead to and from the kingdom, and out into the mountainous tribal regions. We will need to be creative and sharp to find out which path Solag and his invisible army trod.”

  Nisero stood and unlashed one of the water skins from his saddle. “We’ll paint them in blood, if that’s what it takes to reveal them.”

  Berengar squatted down, but still kept his back to the lieutenant. “With all their writing and painting, they may have already painted themselves.”

  ***

  Seeing Darkenhauls made Captain Berengar miss the beauty his village once held. Patron’s Hill in its former warmth and color was a stark contrast to the dull grays of the rocky village below them. Buildings had deep cracks filled with putty from clay and sand. Other gaps between boards, the corners between walls, and splits traveling up from foundations remained as dark openings inviting in the wind and cold.

  The captain supposed Darkenhauls was far superior than his savaged home by every metric now.

  They had topped a sharp crag and followed a poorly marked trail leading down into where the border town sat. The captain could not spot one green thing growing anywhere in sight. He knew from the time before he enlisted that the people of this town herded sheep and pigs. The families clustered into clans that watched one another’s animals, protecting them from beasts and bandits where the King’s men seldom patrolled. There was grass to eat, though it was some distance away, along the mountains and over treacherous ground. Still, Berengar swore he remembered green grass within sight of the town when he visited for trade with his father, grandfather, and uncle. Either his childhood memory was optimistic, or the land had suffered over the years and under this generation.

  “They scatter like rats under the first flare of the lantern.” Nisero’s voice startled Berengar out of his thoughts, passing back and forth between eras like a magical traveler.

  He took a moment to let his eyes see and his mind process what Nisero referred. They were still at a height such that they stared down on the worn shingles of the roofs. A few patches covered holes that Berengar swore would still leak in a light rain.

  Then, he saw the movement. Young men dodged between the buildings and tried to stay behind cover as they made for the far side of town. Women and children paid notice to the approaching soldiers. They did not offer greeting, but they were not fleeing as obviously as the men of the town.

  Berengar grunted out a single laugh despite the situation. “They think we are here to conscript for the King’s army.”

  Nisero let out an audible breath, and the captain waited for the lieutenant’s reply. “Then, they are cowards as well as rats.”

  “Border towns have different dispensations from the crown than interior subjects.”

  Nisero looked at the captain. Berengar noticed out of the corner of his eye.

  “I was not aware that cowardice and disloyalty were privileges in this region.”

  “For generations, the border towns were punished again and again because when the army came to fill their ranks, the men fled across the border. This drew punishment from the crown and exposed the border to losses from unprotected towns. The law was made that border towns were exempted from conscription, so the men could stop fleeing and still serve to protect the outlying villages instead of abandoning them.”

  “Cowards,” Nisero breathed.

  Berengar shook his head and let a smile twitch at one corner of his mouth. “You’ll have to take that up with the King, brother. Were I born in Darkenhauls, I doubt I would have joined the service either.”

  Nisero leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at the captain. “I find it hard to imagine you any other way.”

  “It is hard for me to remember that far back myself, but I believe I recall applying to the Elite Guard to avoid conscription with poorly trained recruits around me. Had I not joined, maybe I would have been home with my family to stave off the likes of Solag.”

  Nisero drew in a breath. The captain waited for the lieutenant to say that it wouldn’t have mattered. Instead, Nisero settled back into his saddle and let the captain’s comment lie.

  As they approached the rocky space between the first two outlying buildings, Nisero said, “Why do they run, if they are immune from conscription?”

  “Not all men of the King respect the rules when no one is watching,” the captain replied, “and we did not announce ourselves like a party about official business normally would.”

  Nisero cleared his throat. “I suppose that is because we are not about official business.”

  “See?” Berengar shrugged. “Rats may be vermin, but they are not wrong about what might happen when the lantern is lit.”

  A woman stepped out of a doorway to their left with a basket on her hip. The contents were covered with a faded cloth as gray as the buildings and ground. She kicked the door behind her with a wooden heel. It swung part way on the leather straps that served as hinges, but the door bound and stopped a few inches shy of closing.

  She stepped off the uneven stairs and crossed over the stone path in front of the horses without raising her head.

  Berengar spoke quietly, but she jumped at his first word and turned her body so her concealed basket was behind her. “Hail, dear lady, good health and fortune from the crown and the gods.”

  “Oh, my, I did no
t see you two approaching. My sincere apologies for failing to greet.”

  Berengar believed her, as she probably would have stayed hidden inside had she spotted their approach.

  “I am Captain Berengar of the Elite Guard. This is my brother-at-arms, lieutenant Nisero. We bring greetings from the King and beg apologies for the intrusion on this official business.”

  “Oh, be sure to take the beloved King my love and praise upon your soon return. May the King and his brave, honored warriors live forever.”

  “I appreciate your blessing, dear lady,” Berengar said from his horse above her. “I will be certain to tell the King of your high, fine words the next time I see him. Perhaps I can ask you a few questions that will aid our mission and speed our passage from your beautiful village?”

  The lady actually looked at the buildings on both sides and behind her before turning her attention back on the captain. He wondered if she were looking to see if they had been magically transformed while she wasn’t looking.

  “I do not know much.” She shuffled a step away from the men. Nisero made a move to dismount, but the captain moved a hand still holding his reins and lightly touched the lieutenant’s wrist with the tips of his fingers. Nisero took the signal and settled back into his saddle. After all, Berengar was certain she was telling the truth yet again. “I surely do not know anything that would be of use in the business of the King.”

  “We seek a bandit,” Berengar said.

  “There are plenty to choose from just beyond the border,” she said. “They ride through regularly, looking to take what has not already been taken.”

  “So, you see many bandits through here then?”

  “No, not many.”

  Berengar tilted his head and looked about the buildings. “You have been able to scare them away with whatever goods you hide in your basket then?”

  She swallowed and took another step away. “I’m hiding nothing, sir, I swear it. I have little, but what I do have is fair earned and fair defended.”

  “I believe you, sister. I’m just curious how I have many bandits to choose from, but so few come through this border town.”

  Her eyes left him for the gray ground. “Even the wolves recognize when the bones no longer hold meat, so they chase after fatter game.”

  Berengar and Nisero exchanged a look. The captain thought perhaps his family and the people of Patron’s Hill represented the meatier bone. Perhaps living in a shanty in Darkenhauls instead of fighting for the crown in the Elite Guard would have been a longer life with a greater reward at the end. He missed his chance to scurry when the lamp was struck.

  He could not read what Nisero was thinking, so he turned his attention back on the woman. She had managed three or four more backward steps in the interval.

  “We seek a man named Solag. Is he one of the many bandits you might know?”

  Her eyes widened for an instant, but then returned to normal size. It was quick like a flicker of motion, but he saw it and he was willing to bet Nisero had too.

  “I know of Solag, but thank the gods he is not here, and has not been for some time.”

  “Still tell me the truth, do you, dear lady?”

  “I have no reason to lie, especially not for an animal like Solag.”

  Berengar noted that she had not actually said “no” outright, which he tended to find was a stable sign that some level of deceit was at play.

  “What do you know of him that makes him an animal?”

  “He feeds like a beast with no bottom to his stomach. He waylays out of habit even when there is nothing to gain. We are fortunate in that his appetite for destruction far out paces any satisfaction he finds here. He typically avoids us entirely upon retreating to the mountains.”

  “Typically, but not always, you mean?”

  “I have not seen him for some time and I sincerely hope you are successful in bringing on him all that he deserves.”

  “He was here as recently as yesterday or today, wasn’t he, dear lady? You could at the very least describe him for us?”

  Her eyes narrowed this time and her mouth tightened. Berengar read anger in the expression, but at him, his words, or another – he was not sure which.

  “I said I had not seen him for some time.”

  Still not an outright no, he noted again.

  “It’s just that we surprised you when we rode up in the open. Being the first building in Darkenhauls, I imagine you have had to watch for your many bandits, maybe Solag in particular, in order to survive. You were not watching now, which could mean Solag had passed through already, so would not again so soon.”

  Her face reddened. She shook her head, but did not speak.

  Berengar dropped his voice and said, “If you point the way he went, I’ll merely pretend I smelled him out without any guidance.”

  She shook her head again. “I hope he has found his way to the underworld, but I’d have no way of knowing, sir. If you ride through town and out the other side, you will find vacant barns. Travelers usually stay there before heading into the mountains for whatever business suits them. They have not been in use since the droughts began.”

  She turned to go, but Nisero called after her. “Does Solag use them?”

  She stopped and her shoulders tensed. Berengar held up a hand to the lieutenant. “Sorry for the trouble, dear lady. Good health to you.”

  She took another step and Nisero spoke again. “Do you know who Solag’s father is?”

  She turned around. “I do not know his name, but he led the band of bandits before Solag. I wish you both good health as well.”

  As she left, Berengar dismounted. The lieutenant followed the lead. They walked their horses through the center of town for several steps before the captain spoke again. “We don’t know enough to pick a direction as of yet, but we have reached the same spot this animal did in the recent past.”

  “She knows far more than she is telling, Captain.”

  Berengar nodded. “I knew that about her before she ever spoke. No one will likely come right up and reveal Solag’s location, but the information is here.”

  “If he wanted us to follow, seems like he would have left another message here.”

  Berengar shrugged as a woman holding the hands of two girls hurried across their path with her head down. “I’m not sure what a man like Solag would really want.”

  A young man circled around in front of the horses and jogged out of the way. He nodded at the captain who watched the boy sweep greasy hair out of his eyes. He was at least a couple years younger than his son Hallen had been, and this dirty boy was far worse fed.

  Suddenly, the boy drew a dagger out of his shirt and lunged at Nisero’s chest. They were both taken by surprise. The horse blocked the captain’s view, but he saw them fall to the ground. Nisero’s horse reared and the captain saw the boy on top of the lieutenant.

  Berengar dove at them.

  Chapter 4

  : The Deep Pass

  The horse’s front hooves nearly landed on the back of Berengar’s head. He dived through on the attack with no weapon in hand, and his head down. He was unaware of how close the horse came to opening his skull until he felt its leg bump his back.

  He hooked his forearm around the boy’s chin, missing his aim for the throat-choke due to the boy tucking his head. The captain felt the boy’s mouth through his sleeve and fully expected to be bitten through to the bone at any moment. The captain’s weight slung the boy sideways and off of Nisero underneath. The captain had no idea if the lieutenant was stabbed, nor how many times. In hope that it wasn’t too late, he fell to his back on the unforgiving ruts in the stone path and pulled the boy on top of him.

  Berengar stared up at the sky and saw the cheap dagger raised upward in the small, dirty hand. The blade was clean of blood, but Berengar had no strong plan to keep it that way, if the boy thought to jab it blindly backward. The captain nervously watched the blade quiver. If the blade moved right, he would roll the boy over
onto it and press his head down into the rock. If he came left and back as he should, Berengar prepared to pull upward on his grip, even if he was bitten for it. He would hope the boy would catch himself with the stab, instead of his forearm.

  The boy kept the blade aloft. He neither stabbed nor bit, so Berengar waited, with his enemy resting on the captain’s belly in the street.

  Nisero stepped into view and kicked the dagger out of the boy’s unsure grip. The dirty hands flexed in the air as if grasping for an answer. Berengar felt the boy’s hot breath through his moistening sleeve.

  Nisero grabbed the boy by the throat and dragged him to his feet off of the captain’s chest. The young man danced awkwardly on his toes as the lieutenant maneuvered him from side to side in the grip of one hand. “Are you whole, Captain?”

  Berengar sat up and lumbered to his feet towering over their captive. “I am. Were you injured?”

  “Closer to it than I should have been by so clumsy an attack, but I’m unharmed.”

  Berengar looked around the street. A few groups hustled away from scene, but more than a few eyes watched from windows or corners. “We need to get out of the street to deal with this.”

  “Do we take him with us to the barns, Captain?”

  Berengar drew his sword. He held the blade out to the side of the boy’s face, above Nisero’s locked fingers. He brought the point up to the line of sight of the young man’s left eye. The boy blinked and his breathing changed rhythm, but the captain saw the boy steel himself for what came next.

  The captain narrowed his eyes. “This is the dangerous end, boy. You nearly poked us with it and we don’t appreciate it.”

  Berengar saw the boy try to swallow through the grip of Nisero’s fingers.

  Nisero said, “Attacking a member of the Elite Guard is a high offense, little dog. You will waste in a dungeon. Trials take a long time and are often delayed for business concerning big dogs. You will likely starve and be eaten by rats long before you are sentenced to death.”