12
Gothenberg
The snowstorm had long since stopped, but not before ruining the harpa’s clever canopy and damaging two wagons. Now the caravan was moving again, but at a creeping pace far too slow for Yohan’s liking.
Redjack led them northeastward, toward a path through the Triumphs separate from the one they had traversed. Yohan was still unclear how the bearded soldier had found them, so far from his starting point and in the middle of a blizzard. Redjack himself seemed hazy on that point, as he was on many others, the fog of fear and desperation clouding smooth recollection.
Yohan would later recall these days as a sort of lost opportunity—the break in the weather, a clarity of purpose, and the greatest companionship of his life. And on the periphery of awareness, he knew these things were true. But of course it was impossible to appreciate them, for Jena had cared enough to come after him, and that was all that mattered.
There was never any possibility that he would not go after her, but the longer he considered the choice, the more he wished he had never spoken to anyone about the decision. He had known that permission would be denied, yet the instinct to follow a chain of command was too strong to resist. And then, just as the reality that he had wasted his chance at a rescue was sinking in, Summer miraculously turned the entire caravan around to salvage his hopes.
So now Yohan was responsible not only for Jena’s current sufferings but also any ills that befell his current companions.
He could not pretend to understand why Summer had decided what she did, other than the simple truth that she was a good person at heart—all the harpa were—and clearly recognized that he needed their help.
The strange thing was that Yohan agreed with Mercer—this was a personal quest and an unnecessary risk for the group. Yet the corporal’s commands were overridden by Summer’s, with a result that the unlikeable leader of the Vilnians was completely emasculated in front of his soldiers. The resentment was palpable, but Yohan had no time to deal with it. There was only a single concern on his mind. A single person.
By the time they neared the mountains again, the snowfall had resumed. As they reached the road that cut through, winding a difficult path up into formidable peaks, the sky was already a premature black. Another storm, and another delay to frustrate Yohan.
Only when he noted the traders’ distress did he recall that the protective canopy was no longer available, so now people, livestock, wagons, and contents were all subject to the capricious whims of a merciless nature, a situation all too common to his experience.
This time Redjack offered a solution, practically yelling to Corporal Mercer through howling wind and whipping precipitation. “Caves. At the base of the mountains. Not far from the road.” Ice thickened his beard, turning the intense ginger color a paler shade of despair.
Mercer nodded and passed the suggestion on to Summer. Without words, they focused their efforts on leaving the road for the natural, protective cover. Sure to his word, within an hour Redjack brought them to a pair of overhangs, barely deep enough to be true caves but sufficient to cover human and beast. The wagons would necessarily need to remain exposed until the storm passed and the caravan could move again.
Brody assisted Meadow with her wagon, Krisa aided Silvo, Kelsey Patrik, and Yohan Summer. The strain and worry kept them silent at first, but he had come to know her well enough that a few words and gestures were all they required to communicate. First they carried the food crates to the makeshift camp, then her bundles of clothing. By the third armful, her natural cheerfulness reasserted itself, and he caught her smiling down on a small wooden box. He stopped to admire that smile, remembering that this was the sort of behavior that brought him to appreciate her people—a contagious joy for life that could never be repressed for long. He desperately needed a dose of that now. “What is that?” he asked.
Without looking at him, without acknowledging what he had asked, Summer began to speak. “You asked me before why we don’t believe in the gods. I don’t think I ever answered you properly. It’s not that we don’t believe they exist, but rather our legends maintain that they aren’t worth worshiping. Instead, we find inspiration from simpler things. The stars and moon. From the pleasure of music, the song of the lark, the bark of a dog. From each other. From family. From those we meet who improve our lives. Those we think of, even when apart. From everyday objects that are all around, their beauty overlooked.
“As a girl, this was the first thing that inspired me. I’ve kept it, for it’s given me much luck. I always believed I would find someone who needed its power more than I.”
She opened the box, lifting a small object wrapped in plain cotton. At last she smiled at Yohan, handing it to him. “Here. For your search.”
He accepted it, opened the square piece of cloth, and stared at a large rough stone. A bright blue embedded in dull gray. As he looked back at her, Yohan could see the pleasure she received from the giving. Nevertheless, the transaction felt unequal. “I wish I had something to give back.”
Summer laughed. “That isn’t necessary, Soldier Yohan. I feel better knowing you have it. Perhaps, when you’ve found what you seek, you can give it back to me.”
An uncharacteristic hint of embarrassment marred her lovely features, as if she worried he would reject this modest offering.
He nodded and slipped the stone into his pocket. Yohan was not good at exchanges like this, and in any case had more work to do. He motioned toward another large crate, soaking in the snowfall. “This one, too?”
“Aye, that’s the last.” He was aware that her gaze followed him as he hauled it into the cave.
Shivering by a campfire kept weak for fear of the unpredictable wind, Redjack accepted their thanks with a melancholy acquiescence. “It was a cave very similar to this where doom befell my squad. In a storm much like this one.”
Kelsey stared out at the wagons, where Silvo and Krisa worked to secure the last of the valuable goods. Yohan noted that the big man tucked the mahogany box containing his precious lute under an arm and brought it with him into the relative warmth and dryness of the cave. If this meant the lute was finally going to be played that night, that was merely one more thing for Yohan to regret. He did not intend to be there to hear.
“In a storm like this?” Kelsey asked Redjack. “How could you see anything? I can barely make out the oxen.” The beasts were less than a dozen yards away, huddled together and clearly discomfited by the weather and tight surroundings.
Yohan did not hear the reply, for he was already making his way to the corporal. Once more, he made a request to his superior. Once more he was turned down. And once more the harpa came to his aid.
“Our responsibility is to the caravan,” Mercer said. “We go where the wagons go, and if the wagons don’t enter the mountains, neither do we.”
“I understand, Corporal. I’m not asking the caravan to go, only that you grant permission for me to go alone.” He did not see how the man could refuse this much. If nothing else, it meant he would have one less hated underling to irritate him. Probably permanently.
But Mercer still refused. “Denied. We need your sword. We’re short-handed already, since Bostik failed.”
Within the confines of the cave, there was no way for their conversation not to be overheard. The other soldiers made an attempt to appear disinterested, but the harpa did not. In particular, Summer watched the exchange with a pensive look. Patrik joined her and put an arm around her shoulders, as if preparing to shield her from the soldiers’ argument.
“I’m going anyway,” Yohan told his superior. “You know none of the others will stop me.”
“They will if they don’t want to be in my report. Try to leave, Private, and I will make sure you are court-martialed. Along with anyone else who refuses my orders.”
Yohan believed him, yet was still torn. He did not particularly care about his own future in the army, but he did not want any of the others to suffer on his account. Enoug
h of that was already happening to Jena.
Summer looked up into Patrik’s face. Cheerlessly, he smiled down on her and nodded, then turned to address Mercer. “Corporal, my mistress has asked that I scout ahead for a larger cave. I request someone to accompany me.” His head turned, as if just now detecting Yohan’s presence. “Private Yohan will do.” Then he turned away before the corporal could think of an appropriate response.
Yohan’s gear was already prepared, he simply gathered a fresh hooded cloak and met Patrik at the entrance of the cave. He saw the other man accept two cloaks from Summer, one for his head and shoulders and the other to wrap around the longbow he tucked beneath one arm. The two men nodded to one another, then Patrik stepped out into the snowy night.
Before he could follow, Yohan heard a heavy whimpering from behind. He turned to see a familiar black face looking up at him expectantly, red tongue hanging over the vicious row of teeth. “Nay, Lullaby. You stay here.” The dog growled at him, annoyed, then turned her back.
He sighed. At least he would not need to worry about her following into the hazardous storm. Perhaps I’ll find a treat to bring back. Then he laughed at his own foolishness. Between the storm, the mountains, and the barbarians, there was very little chance that he would return.
By midnight, Patrik wished he had stayed at the camp long enough to sup. He had not been hungry at the time, of course—his stomach constricted to the size of a pea as soon as he volunteered to come out on this fool’s errand—but he should have known to force something down.
With just the two of them, they made good time. Assuming no patrols would be out during the storm, they stayed on the road until well into the mountains. The snow and darkness hindered their vision, making every shadow loom ominously, but early on Yohan had pointed out that poor visibility worked in their favor. They had the advantage of surprise, so long as they remained undetected.
They spoke little, but that was more than a tactical decision. The soldier’s had always been a cold, distant personality—difficult to know and harder to like. Patrik could understand Summer’s sympathy for the poor man, but not the pleasure she derived from his company. Yet that was one of the many things he loved most about her—the amazing ability to find the good in anyone. That was a talent he had never possessed for himself. In fact, he was close to the opposite, despite harpa culture and expectations.
It was not worth delving into the reasons he was here. Why he had volunteered to help. She had wanted him to, and that was all that mattered. Now he would simply focus on making it back.
The snowfall lessened noticeably by first light of morn. And there, in the distance, much sooner than he had expected to see it, lay the fort. It was a squarish, two-level structure built into the mountainside. A narrow tower stretched above to a point where it had collapsed in on itself. The whole did not resemble any of the imperial architecture he had seen in his travels, though that may have been due to its advanced state of decay.
With the fort and mountain covered in a layer of white that reflected the burgeoning sun, the fresh fall of snow giving the air a crisp cleanliness, the scene before the two men should have been one of peaceful serenity. Instead, the pall of death hung over the eerily quiet landscape, the sight of the ambushed harpa caravan and the bearded soldier’s story lingering in their thoughts.
A strange place for us both to die.
If the road had ever reached up to the ancient stronghold, that time had long since passed. Now a difficult climb over snow and stone hindered their approach.
“I wish the snow had not stopped falling,” Yohan said. “Without cover, we’re a pair of target dummies out here.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Nay. They’ll be huddled inside, somewhere warm.” The soldier’s voice carried the certainty of experience. “I just hope no one decides to come out for a piss.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for night?” Patrik asked, conceding the other’s superior knowledge of tactics.
Surprisingly, his words were met with a shake of negation. Yohan was already shrugging off cloak and hood and tightening his sword belt.
“If we go barging in recklessly—”
“I’m not going to make her suffer one minute longer.” The tone brooked no argument.
Patrik nodded, understanding the sentiment that drove a man to this point. Yet as he took a step from the road onto the slope, a hand shot out to roughly stop him. He turned a questioning stare toward the soldier, who gave a dismissive shake of the head.
“I thank you for what you did in camp.” Yohan never took his eyes away from the fort. He did not speak often, and seldom looked at his companion when he did—an irritating habit that made Patrik feel insignificant. “You should go back now.”
Patrik could do as Yohan suggested, of course. He could return to the others, to Summer, where he belonged. No one would think him a coward.
Yet he had learned to follow an inner voice, one that told him to continue. Whether he admitted it or not, Yohan needed all the help he could receive. Little Patrik he relished the thought of perishing in these desolate hills beside this disagreeable near-stranger, he never really considered the alternative.
“I’ve come this far.”
“I’m serious. This work is for soldiers, not traders.” He did not intend the comment to be offensive, Patrik knew. Nevertheless, the harpa’s ire was instantly roused.
“Yohan, look at me… Has Summer taught you nothing, after all? You can’t do everything alone.”
At last his dour companion gave him what he asked for, turning those emotionless eyes directly onto Patrik’s as he spoke. “This may or may not be the same group we met, but there are enough of them to overwhelm an entire squad. Twenty? Thirty? Anyone who goes in there isn’t coming back. I have to try. You don’t. Go back to your caravan.”
The other man’s stare was rather more intense than expected, making Patrik wish he had not asked for it, after all. At last Yohan looked away, once again studying the fort, then crouched and began to move toward it, leaving the trader alone on the road.
Patrik listened to the sound of his own chaotic thoughts. Without making sense of them, he unwrapped his bow and nocked one of five arrows he carried in a belt quiver. He may not be good with a sword, but there were other ways to fight.
Yohan was already moving up the slope, leaving deep impressions in the drifts. Although the snow was more than a foot deep in places, his boots did not make the crunching sound that Patrik’s now did. The soldier heard and turned back. His own ire was audible in the warning he hissed. “If you make any more noise, they will kill her. Then us.”
Standing on a snowy bank in the brightening sunlight, Patrik suddenly felt very, very exposed. His gaze drifted between Yohan and the fort, which was within easy range of a bow or crossbow. Out in the open like this, the two men made easy targets.
He fought back the urge to duck behind the nearest snowbank, instead watching the structure for archers or lookouts. Yohan resumed his lonely trek up the slope. Patrik watched the big, surprisingly stealthy man reach the halfway point, then followed behind. By taking advantage of the pre-made bootprints, he managed to minimize the sound of his own clumsy footsteps. Meanwhile, his eyes never ceased scanning the small windows and decaying ramparts of their destination. With every stride nearer, he expected to hear a hue and cry, followed by a rain of arrows or a mad charge of bloodthirsty barbarians. Instead, his ears only picked up the unwanted sounds of his own heavy breathing and the thunderous pounding of his heartbeat.
Ahead, Yohan’s body stiffened, hit by a silent arrow. Then the same gust of wind hit Patrik, and he stiffened as well. Yohan moved forward once more, unharmed. There had been no attack, only a panicked imagination.
They reached the structure and pressed close to the uneven stone bricks that formed the misshapen wall. Now the easy part was behind them. Entering the enemy’s lair came next. With that, fighting of a kind Patrik had never before experienced.
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nbsp; He released the breath he was holding and sucked in another. His companion began to slide toward the nearest ground-level window. Not yet ready to go on, Patrik paused, giving his heart an opportunity to return to something approaching normalcy, and his mind an opportunity to wonder why he had insisted on coming.
Yohan peeked into the window, then slipped past. Patrik followed suit, quietly as he could manage, caught between a desperate desire to make no noise and another to get out of the open as soon as he could. As he passed by the same window himself, a quick glance inside revealed only that the interior was too dark to make out in any detail. At least no one saw him and yelled.
With some relief, he watched Yohan reach an opening in the crumbling wall. Sword drawn, the soldier ducked through, leaving Patrik alone outside. He waited one moment, expecting to hear yells of surprise, of anger, of pain.
Nothing. Not even the sound of Yohan’s footfalls, for his boots padded silently. Patrik listened for a few more seconds, then followed into blackness.
It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust from sunshine to dusk and shadow. During that time he remained completely motionless, focusing on his ears to warn him to danger, fingers tight on the string. He made out motion, then discerned Yohan cautiously creeping along the far wall toward an open doorway. Their eyes met, and the harpa was struck by the calmness on his companion’s face. The man might have been searching for breakfast.
On a second glance, Patrik revised his impression. It was less calm than determined. The soldier expected to confront evil, and wanted to get it over with.
Looking around, Patrik noticed a fireplace. No fire was lit, but there was wood inside, and a thick pile of ashes beneath. Recently used, clearly. Just beyond, hidden in a deeper shroud of shadow, was the top of a narrow stairway down.
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 44