by Cas Peace
Yet what he felt wasn’t simple gratitude. In spite of her assurances and reluctance to judge—and their suspicions concerning Rykan—Taran felt more responsible than ever for what was happening in Albia. Without his interference, the Andaryans might never have invaded and Taran wanted to do whatever he could to atone for his mistake. Robin’s reference the previous evening to joining the military had him thinking.
Ignoring Cal’s request, he said, “Cal, how would you feel about going out with the Major’s company?”
Cal was startled. “Fight the invasion, you mean? Do you think they would let us?”
That reply told Taran all he needed to know. “I’m not sure, but I intend to ask. Cal, the Major’s been left behind in a potentially dangerous situation, and she’s on her own. It is partially my fault, no matter what anyone says. Now, you and I can both handle weapons and take orders, and we have our other talents. I want help. Are you with me?”
“Of course,” said Cal. “Though I don’t know what Rienne will say.”
They found out at some length what Rienne had to say after Taran had offered their services to General Blaine. They had been accepted on a temporary basis.
Robin was delighted to have them. Rienne, however, was not happy. She’d been dealing with some of the wounded from the front lines and knew what Andaryan weapons could do. Taran’s assurances about their shielding skills and swordsmanship didn’t comfort her one bit.
“You didn’t see the horrendous scar Sullyan sustained in that last battle,” she snapped. “And what about poor Bull’s shoulder? They’re trained and experienced fighters. If they can be hurt that badly, what chance have you two got?”
“Thanks Rienne,” said Cal. “It’s nice to know you’re confident in me.”
She burst into tears. “Don’t be such a fool,” she cried. “The last thing I want is to see your bodies brought in here for me to sew up.”
“Look, Rienne, I promise we’ll stay out of the worst of the fighting,” said Taran. “We’re novices and we know it. Robin won’t want us getting in the way. We’ll be pushed to the back, likely as not, so we don’t cause him any problems. All we’ll be doing is mopping up the stragglers.”
“Just see that you are,” she sniffed.
She made Taran promise to talk to Bull each day. The big man was acting as contact and coordinator as he usually did; his shoulder, although healing, precluded him from anything else. She returned to the infirmary, unable to watch them leave.
Robin made sure they had all the field equipment and weapons they needed, then led the way to where the rest of the company was waiting. There were at least four hundred mounted men drawn into formation behind their sergeants and every one of them cheered as Robin took the saddle. Taran and Cal accepted their horses from the stable lads, Cal suspiciously eyeing his fiery little chestnut.
Robin addressed the men, his voice betraying none of the apprehension Taran guessed he was feeling at assuming his first solo command.
“You all know Major Sullyan is unable to lead us this time,” he called, his voice ringing clearly, “so it’s up to us to make her proud. We’ll turn the invasion back, drive the demons south, back to the rat holes they crawled from. Show them they have no hope of victory here. Sullyan’s waging her own diplomatic battle beyond the Veils and she’s relying on us to buy her the time she needs.
“What do you say, lads?”
The cheers crescendoed as Robin took the head of the column and moved them out. Taran and Cal fell in behind.
+ + + + +
The company moved fast through the chilly autumn evening, not halting until several hours had passed. It was dark by the time they were settled and Taran was glad for the campfire he’d made. Robin had offered to share his tent as it was easier than them taking one of their own. He showed Taran and Cal the routines of field camp: caring for the horses, laying out and inspecting all their gear and cooking an evening meal. They accompanied him while he made his tour of the men, introducing them to the members of the company. Taran was pleasantly surprised to find how easily they were accepted.
Once the tour was complete, he and Cal followed Robin back to the tent, which was little more than an oiled leather sheet stretched over a pole. They drank a last cup of fellan before turning in. Robin contacted Bull to get an update on how Sullyan was faring and Taran noticed his worried expression as he broke the link.
“What is it?” he asked.
The younger man answered slowly, concern plain in his eyes.
“No report from the Major.”
“Maybe there’s nothing to report?” said Cal.
Robin shook his head. “We always report. It’s one of our firmest rules. Like the one about never leaving each other alone beyond the Veils.” He stared moodily into his fellan. “I knew I should never have left her.”
Taran slept poorly, wrapped in blankets on the ground, and woke to Robin shaking his shoulder. Stiffly, he climbed to his feet, immediately inquiring after Sullyan. The Captain shook his head, his face haggard as he supervised the breaking of their camp.
There followed another hard day of riding before they received any news of the fighting. One of Robin’s scouting parties encountered some wounded swordsmen making their way back to the Manor and brought one of them to speak with Robin. The man, his right arm crudely wrapped in a blood-stained bandage, slid awkwardly from the scout’s horse and steadied himself against the beast’s shoulder.
“Get this man some water,” called Robin, dismounting. Once the swordsman had taken a few swallows from the water, Robin asked, “What news of the invasion?”
“No good news, Captain.” The swordsman was hoarse. “They crossed Loxton’s border to the east of the Downs and are still pushing hard northward. We’d manage to hold them for a bit but then they’d come back at us stronger than ever and sometimes broke through our lines. They’re losing fighters all the time but they don’t seem to care. It’s strange. I’ve never known demons fight so hard.”
The news was sobering and once Robin got the enemy’s last known location from the wounded man, he urged his company onward. Knowing the Andaryans were being unusually dogged caused him to call battle formations well in advance of where he expected to find them. He also doubled the number of outriders.
This foresight likely saved many casualties when they startled an Andaryan scouting party well forward of its lines. Taran and Cal watched in admiration as Robin’s swordsmen made brief work of the small band.
The Captain ordered a halt to allow his men to deal with some minor injuries. Then he led them forward, soon making contact with Vassa’s defending forces. They were already camped and Robin sent his company to settle among them. Once he’d made a tour of his men, he went to speak with Colonel Vassa and the captains of the other three companies that made up this fighting force. Taran offered to set up the tent and see to Robin’s gear and horse. The Captain gratefully accepted.
Taran also contacted Bull to save Robin the trouble, but there was no good news. The General had not heard from Major Sullyan. When Robin returned to the tent to take some fellan before getting some sleep, he was devastated to receive this information. Taran tried to reassure him but failed. All they could do was press on, do their job and hope for the best.
+ + + + +
It had been a week since Heron and Verris received the change to their orders and now they were holding yet another hurried command conference in the field. This was taking longer than either of them had expected, but when Heron asked his fellow officer if he knew the reason behind the delay, Verris replied scathingly.
“The Duke doesn’t tell me his reasons, Heron, any more than your fat general tells you. He just gives orders and expects me to obey. I’ll tell you this, though, he’s in a ranting powerful rage. I don’t know what caused it but I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end. He’s been known to do murder when something angers him like that. We’re better off where we are, Heron. I hope your lord knows how to keep his h
ead down.”
Heron and Verris had come to an uneasy arrangement over the deployment of their joint forces. They had agreed to put aside their rivalry to concentrate on presenting a united front once the true skill and experience of the Albian forces became apparent. Although fully expecting a strong response once Verris’ brutal tactics began to bite, neither of them had anticipated the strength of the companies sent against them, nor their coordinated skill.
Since the Hierarch’s edict against wholesale raiding into Albia, the Andaryan nobility had had no opportunity to test Albia’s defenses. The elusive nature of Heron’s and Verris’ initial attacks hadn’t increased their knowledge. Although neither had expected an easy ride, the effectiveness and determination of the Albian swordsmen was a nasty shock.
However, the Andaryan companies were also strong and had swelled over the past week with fresh troops. They had continued to push the Albians hard, forging their way northward. They had no definite goal other than the emphatic order to keep the Albians occupied, and this did not help morale. Heron and Verris, however, gave their men no time to ponder the whys and wherefores of their duty. They had been instructed to engage and harass the enemy at every opportunity and they did.
Once they had decided the day’s strategy, Heron and Verris parted, each with their own section of the countryside. They had agreed to split up, but not so far apart that they couldn’t come to each others’ aid. Heron strode back to his assembled men and gave the order to mount.
In keeping with the week, it was another exhausting day of harry, engage, retreat and regroup. Heron kept in touch with Verris through the substrate and they managed to push the enemy forces farther north. Late in the day, Heron felt a familiar touch on his mind as Verris passed him the long-awaited command: they were at last to begin falling back.
He was relieved. He was finding it hard to obey his orders while keeping his men alive and free from serious wounds. Those who suffered incapacitating injuries were sent back through the substrate immediately, before the wounds could become infected. The severely injured were killed. This did not sit well with Heron but he recognized the need. He signaled his men and they began a slow, organized retreat.
He rode behind his men, leading them through what cover they could find. Suddenly, a dreadful pang shot through his brain, nearly knocking him from his horse. The shocking death cry—Verris’—reverberated in his mind, blinding him, making him gasp with agonizing pain. It was swift, it was violent, and there was nothing he could do. The cry was automatic, subconscious, and it only reached him because of the intimacy he’d shared with Verris during the campaign.
Fearful, his brain aching fiercely, Heron shook his head to clear his mind. He yelled his men onward, heading for the designated campsite where the remnants of Verris’ command would meet him.
Once the last straggler had ridden in to the camp in the frosty darkness, Heron called one of Verris’ men over. “What the hell happened?”
The swordsman responded sullenly. “He took a crossbow bolt right between the eyes, Commander. Right between the eyes! Bloody lucky shot if ever I saw one.”
“What in the Void was he doing to leave himself open to crossbows?” Heron was furious, only too sure he knew the answer.
There were smaller crossbows that could be shot from horseback but mainly the weapon was used by foot troops. This meant that either Verris had ridden into an ambush, which wasn’t likely as the humans couldn’t possibly have known where they would be, or Verris had taken advantage of the order to fall back and had stopped to do some looting. That would have left him and his men vulnerable.
The swordsman’s shifty demeanor confirmed Heron’s suspicions. “What the hell did he think he was doing? How many survived?”
“A handful,” the man said, drawing another curse from Heron.
“Get them over here. You’re all under my command now and there are going to be some changes. If you and your comrades want to make it back alive, you’re going to have to learn to obey new orders. Jump to it.”
The man hastened to do Heron’s bidding and the Commander watched him go. So, Verris had finally reaped the rewards of his greedy nature and vastly inflated ego. Heron couldn’t say he was surprised—or particularly sorry—but he was furious. Any failure of this magnitude would reflect badly on him and he still had Lord Sonten’s as-yet-undisclosed plans to worry about, not to mention the forthcoming conflict in his own realm.
Assimilating Verris’ disaffected men was not something he wanted to deal with right now, but he’d have to do it. Every available man was needed for the war and Heron could not afford to lose any more. Cursing under his breath, he swung away to instruct his own company leaders.
+ + + + +
The week passed incredibly quickly for Taran, caught up as he was in fighting the invasion. Each day blurred into the next, each consisted of scouting, fighting, sleeping and eating. The weather was cold, gray and damp. He never seemed to be able to get warm unless he was fighting and then he was too warm.
At least he seemed to be acquitting himself well with his comrades. Some of his broadsword maneuvers were even being copied as they proved most effective against the raiders. He and Cal were also increasingly respectful of Robin’s leadership and they had learned that Robin was an ace shot with both longbow and crossbow. Taran had heard some of the men boasting about it earlier in the week but had treated the stories with skepticism. Until now. That very afternoon they had come across a group of raiders looting an abandoned village. Robin immediately took advantage of their greed, he and his men taking a heavy toll. Taran himself had witnessed Robin killing their leader, an unerring shot that took the demon squarely between the eyes.
This feat seemed to ease Robin’s soul, for which Taran was grateful. During the week, Robin had grown increasingly distraught at Sullyan’s silence. Bull’s obvious fretting, which the big man couldn’t hide when any of them communed with him, didn’t help.
The young Captain was desperate to return through the Veils to the Count’s mansion, to demand answers, but he was tied to his command, responsible for his men, and couldn’t abandon the fighting. Each night he’d railed against the General’s refusal to send someone to relieve him.
He tried again that evening, once the men were settled. It had been a fairly light day for once—the outlanders finally seemed to be falling back. From his seat opposite, Taran watched as Robin’s eyes cleared from contact with the General.
“Bloody bastard cares nothing for her,” snarled Robin, startling both Taran and Cal. “You’d never believe he owed her his life, would you? He doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘gratitude.’”
“He owes her his life?” said Taran. He hadn’t heard the story Sullyan had told Rienne.
Robin spat. “Oh, yes. A command of his was overrun by Relkorians. He’d have died had she not staunched his wounds and run for help. She even warned him before he engaged them, but he wouldn’t listen. Typical of his bloody arrogance.”
“When was this?” asked Taran.
“Oh, years ago, before she came to the Manor. That’s what started it all. She saved his neck and beat off a raiding party all by herself, and she was only ten years old.”
“Ten?” said Cal, looking up from oiling his sword. “That’s incredible.”
Robin’s voice was suddenly tinged with exhaustion. “Yes. She’s an incredible person.”
He flung himself onto an old log that was doing duty as a stool, his anger abruptly draining away. He dropped his head into his hands.
“Oh, gods, I can’t lose her. I really couldn’t stand it. She’s all I’ve ever lived for. She’s taught me everything I know, from soldiering to using my powers. She’s made me what I am. If something really bad has happened to her, I just don’t think I could go on.”
This speech frightened Taran. Robin had never let himself go quite so thoroughly before. They were all tired and worn down by the constant fighting and they all had minor wounds and aching muscl
es. The last thing they needed was for Robin to lose control. Yet Taran couldn’t think of a way to comfort the young man. He appreciated how the Captain felt, being more than half in love with Sullyan himself.
Handing Robin a mug of fellan fresh from the pot, he patted his shoulder. “Perhaps we’ll be free to go search soon,” he said. “The Andaryans were definitely falling back today. The worst is over and once we drive them back, we’ll be recalled. Then we can cross the Veils again and go and see what’s happened. You never know, there might be a simple explanation. Communication through the substrate is never constant, something might be blocking her link.”
Robin shook his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Taran, but I know for sure something’s wrong. She’d never be gone this long, no matter what the reason for the invasion. No, she’s either hurt, or prisoner, or both. I pray to the gods it’s not worse.”
Taran could only drink his fellan in silence.
+ + + + +
That night, in the dark and weary early hours, Taran woke. He thought he’d heard a cry and sat up, his heart beating painfully in his throat. Vaguely, he was aware of having been in an unpleasant dream. It seemed that Cal had also been disturbed because he, too, was sitting up, already reaching for his sword.
A noise across the tent drew Taran’s attention. Robin had thrown back his blankets and was looking wildly around. “Did you hear that?” he asked.
Taran shook his head. “I was having a nightmare, I think. What did you hear?”
The camp was silent; there was no outcry from the sentries, no warning of raiders. Robin stood and Taran could see him trembling.
“It was Sullyan,” he whispered. Taran stared at him. “She was calling out to me, screaming. I know it was her.” He hugged his chest. “She’s in great danger and pain, Taran. We’ve got to find her.”