Vorris’ jaw muscles clenched. “And what exactly do you think I can do.” He gestured to his insignia-less shoulder and a bitter expression twisted his lips. “I’ve got no authority now.”
“Maybe not.” Koltun inclined his head. “But look around you.” He gestured to the Lieutenants. “Legion regulations have no rules forbidding the rank and file from making suggestions to their superior officers. Whether those officers listen or not is up to them, but something tells me you’ve got people here willing to give your words due consideration.”
Surprise cracked Vorris’ face, and he seemed to see the people around him—truly see them, the expressions on their faces and the worry in their eyes—for the first time.
“We were just saying that, actually.” Lieutenant Enthrak spoke up. “We’ve got our orders from Captain Hadrick, but those orders do include a bit of latitude for personal interpretation.” He turned to Vorris. “But we need you, Lieutenant. We were all there fighting to hold the wall, and we know who it was that kept us all together. We all have—or had—the same rank, but when it comes right down to it, you’re the one we’ve been following since this all jumped off.”
“Not any longer.” Vorris gave a bitter shake of his head.
“So you lost your rank.” Koltun shrugged. “Doesn’t mean you’ve lost your heart, or the strength of spirit that made you a good leader. You’re still alive and you can still swing a sword. Seems like you’ve got everything you need to get off your arse and help us figure the best way out of this situation.”
Vorris chewed on the words. “The Captain won’t like it. He’ll add insubordination to my charges.”
“And you think that’ll somehow make things worse for you?” Koltun snorted. “He’s claiming cowardice and desertion. A little bit of insubordination is the least of your worries.”
The Lieutenant’s brow furrowed, eyes darkening.
“What Sarge means to say,” Thog put in, shooting a glare down at Koltun, “is that it’s a problem to deal with later. After we get through this alive. And if we don’t…” He shrugged his huge shoulders.
“And I wouldn’t exactly call it insubordination,” Lieutenant Enthrak added. “After all, it’s just making suggestions to your commanding officers. It’s out of your hands whether we accept and act on them or not.”
“Aye, that’s something we can sell to the Captain, easy enough.” Rearden spoke up now. “If it ever comes down to it, that is. As long as it covers his ass, he won’t bother questioning its origin.”
“Help us salvage this situation,” Koltun pressed. “Lieutenant or soldier, it doesn’t matter. You’re nose-deep in this shite with the rest of us. It’s up to us to figure the best way out.”
“Sarge!” Caela burst into the room, hair streaming behind her.
Her arrival perked Vorris up, and he sat straighter, his expression lifting.
Koltun turned to face the crossbowyer.
“The snowfall’s slowing,” Caela put in, breathless. “Weather’s warming up, too. Turning to rain, with the wind dying down.”
Koltun’s gut tightened. Warmer weather meant the Eirdkilrs would be on the move. Their moment of respite from their grim reality had ended.
He rounded on Vorris. “You heard her.” His gaze roamed over the other Lieutenants as well. “The Eirdkilrs might have taken shelter from the snowstorm, but they won’t let a little rain stop them. So neither can we. It’s going to take everything we’ve got to stay ahead of the enemy. We need to move now if we want any chance.” He fixed Vorris with a hard stare. “So tell me, Lieutenant. Are you in? Will you help us?”
For long moments, Vorris seemed trapped within his own whirling thoughts. His gaze roamed over the Lieutenants and Koltun, though carefully avoided Caela.
Then he stood. “Rearden, Cenye, set First, Second, and Third Platoons helping the civilians get ready to move. Enthrak, what remains of Fourth Platoon needs to start those wagons moving now. Fifth Platoon can handle the wounded, and keep Sixth through Tenth guarding our backs.” Rank or no, he was in command once more. “We move out within the hour.”
Koltun grinned. There he is! Lieutenant Vorris might not bear the title of officer any longer, but that changed nothing. He was a soldier of the Princelands, his life sworn to the Swordsman and his realm. As long as he had a mission, he would fight.
* * *
Not for the first time in the last hour, Koltun deeply regretted the decision to march out of Hafoldarholl. A slushy sleet fell in thick sheets, a terrible mixture of wet rain tinged with the chilling bite of ice. He was so cold he could barely feel his legs in the stirrups and his rear had long ago gone numb in the saddle.
But he had it far better than most of those around him. The civilians had few belongings but some had been fortunate enough to bring extra clothing to keep out some of the damp cold, but the Legionnaires had only their armor and undertunics. In the near-freezing temperatures, the touch of that steel had to be biting and miserable. The wet only made things worse.
Only the fear of what came behind them kept them moving forward. They had left enough of their dead—wounded Legionnaires, miners, and civilians alike, wrapped in whatever furs and blankets could be spared—back in Hafoldarholl to know what would happen if they slowed.
The thick, freezing mud made the downhill trek far more unsteady and treacherous. Even the iron-shod hooves of the horses slipped and skidded in the slushy muck that covered the thirty-yard-wide Cliffpass, and it proved nearly impossible for the Legionnaires to maintain any cohesion as they struggled to maintain their balance. Koltun spared a moment of pity for the poor sods given the unenviable task of trying to keep the horse- and ox-pulled wagons from sliding out of control.
Disquiet set his stomach roiling. We’re moving too slow. The heavy winds and blinding snow had let up more than two hours earlier, according to Caela, which meant the Eirdkilrs had been marching for twice as long as the slow-moving column fleeing Hafoldarholl. The giant barbarians could cover ground twice as fast, which meant they would catch up all too soon. Even if they’d taken shelter from the storm all the way back in Highcliff Motte, the Eirdkilrs would reach them before the Princelanders arrived at safety.
But Koltun couldn’t think about that. On Captain Hadrick’s orders—orders Lieutenant Enthrak had convinced him to believe were his own—the thirty-two Legionnaires alive in Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth Platoons served as rear guard. Vorris, now a rank-and-file soldier, relegated to Ninth Platoon, had insisted on being at the back to help hold the line when the time came. Lieutenants Rearden and Cenye joined him, with the rest of the officers commanding the Legionnaires that spread out helping the civilians keep pace.
Koltun breathed a sigh of relief when, nearly an hour into their march out of Hafoldarholl, the sleet and rain eased up, then finally abated altogether. Dark clouds still hung over them, casting the day in shadow, but at least they could move without being soaked to the bone with every step.
The cessation of rainfall did little to speed up their pace. Water fallen from the sky and melted from snow and ice trickled down the Cliffpass, carving deep rivulets into the mire. Mud splattered everything, seeped into every pair of boots and shoes, and weighed on the already slow-moving men, women, and children.
Only a few had been fortunate enough to merit horses. Captain Hadrick, of course—the fat bastard wouldn’t give up his horse unless it was his only chance at survival. Koltun, but only after much pressure from his Screaming Howlers.
“We’ll need you as fresh as possible and ready to give orders if it comes to it,” Thog had rumbled quietly in his ear before they marched out. “We’re all counting on you and Lieutenant Vorris to keep us alive.”
Lingram rode at his side, his fingers clutching Nouth’s crossbow and the half-empty quiver of bolts to his chest. Nouth’s horse had been the one taken by Private Ardem, so Wallis had given his horse to the youth, as if passing along the baton of being the “scrub” of the Screaming Howlers. Wallis h
ad then taken up the task of helping the drivers manage the oxen pulling the cart that held the wounded Arch-Guardian Dayn.
The Secret Keeper appeared little better than he had the previous day. If anything, Koltun thought, he might be worse. He’d grown pallid, his cheeks sunken, with dark circles around his eyes. The Arch-Guardian’s shivering might not be only the result of the cold, buried as he was beneath so many blankets. Bradon rode at his master’s side, the two pack horses with their canvas-covered barrels of flarequartz close at hand.
Koltun contemplated how to turn the Arch-Guardian to their cause. Dayn had made his thoughts on the matter clear, but once he saw the plight of the Legionnaires, Koltun hoped he would be swayed. If not, they were all doomed—the Secret Keeper and his hatchet-faced apprentice included.
Bradon’s devotion to his master impressed Koltun. All throughout the journey and their stay in Hafoldarholl, the apprentice hadn’t left Dayn’s side. He’d given his own blankets and sat shivering as he cared for the wounded Arch-Guardian. Yet the shadows darkening Bradon’s eyes told Koltun just how badly off Dayn really was. Even with all the alchemical marvels the two of them carried in the Arch-Guardian’s strange wooden chest, Dayn only grew weaker with each passing hour.
Suddenly, the screaming of a panicking horse echoed loud from the head of the column. Koltun’s head snapped toward the sound, in time to see the cart carrying Arch-Guardian Dayn and a handful of other wounded sliding down the Cliffpass. The horse harnessed to the vehicle skidded and slid, shrilling a cry as it tried in vain to find footing in the icy mud.
A shout leapt to Koltun’s throat. Too late.
The runaway cart skidded straight toward Wallis and slammed into him. The young Screaming Howler had no chance to turn, much less leap out of the way before he was hurled from his feet and sent flying into the cliff wall. He collided with solid stone and fell limply to the mud.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Wallis!”
Koltun broke into a gallop, charging the fifty yards to where Wallis lay face-down in the mud. To his relief, the young man stirred. Groaning, Wallis pushed himself up from the mire, leaning heavily on his right arm.
Koltun reined up beside the young man and scrambled down from his saddle. “You hurt, lad?” He reached down to grasp Wallis’ arm.
“No.” A mouthful of mud muffled Wallis’ reply. With Koltun’s help, the young man managed to rise, soaked from head to toe. Groaning, he leaned on Koltun, but gestured toward something on the ground. “But I think we just got damned lucky.”
Koltun frowned down at the object Wallis indicated. Mud splattered the head of what appeared to be a mushroom, with a long stalk and bulbous cap of deep crimson threaded with purple veins, and grew in tight clusters of four.
“There’s a little patch of ‘em back there.” Wallis gestured to the cliff wall. “Lots more, actually.” He gave Koltun a weak grin and plucked a mushroom by the stem. “I’ve heard the others talk on and on about your famous potato and mushroom fry-up. We might not have potatoes, but this might come in handy.”
Koltun reached down to pluck the mushroom’s puffy cap, when a guttural scream echoed behind him. He froze, his right hand a finger’s above the plant, then turned toward the sound.
Bradon sat rigid in his saddle a few yards away, his face pale and eyes wide. He’d raced after the cart conveying his master—a cart that had stopped its uncontrolled slide as the driver got the panicking horse under control—and turned toward Wallis and Koltun just in time to shriek.
But why? Koltun’s brow furrowed.
Bradon gave a furious shake of his head and pulled his message tablet out with such force he nearly ripped his robes. His writing stick moved in short, furious strokes as he wrote. “Don’t move!”
Koltun complied, his heart hammering a staccato beat in his chest as he waited for the apprentice to explain.
Dismounting, Bradon came over to where Wallis stood and carefully, like a painter putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece, reached for the mushroom. He didn’t grab it by the cap as Koltun intended to, but instead gripped the stem as he lifted the brightly-colored fungi from Wallis’ fingers. Moving away, he set it down delicately in the mud, leaning it against the cliff wall.
“What in the fiery hell was that about?” Koltun demanded of the Secret Keeper apprentice.
Nervous sweat poured down Bradon’s face as he wrote on his tablet. “Widowmaker’s Cap is incredibly poisonous.” He capitalized the word with broad letters. “One bite is enough to kill an ice bear, and a single one of these cooked is enough to kill an entire platoon. But it’s the cap that’s the real threat.”
Curiosity furrowed Koltun’s brow. “How so?”
The Secret Keeper apprentice rubbed at the tablet with his sleeve, erasing the words so he could write again. “Widowmaker’s Caps only grow at high altitudes, which means they have to send out spores to proliferate.” At Koltun’s blank expression, he erased the last word and wrote. “Spread.”
“Ahh.” Koltun nodded understanding, though he felt no more enlightened than before.
“Those spores are highly toxic to anyone who ingests them, either by eating or inhaling,” Bradon wrote. “One breath is all it takes to kill a man. The spores are so effective at consuming nutrients from the bare earth at this altitude that they can eat through the soft internal organs, multiplying out of control and generating more spores. Inhaled, they can consume lung tissue, leaving a man drowning in his own blood.”
Horror flooded Koltun, and ice slithered down his spine. His eyes darted to where Bradon had set the mushroom down. He’d come within a heartbeat of agonizing death.
Wallis sucked in a terrified breath, trembling as he leaned against Koltun.
“Under normal weather conditions at this altitude,” the young apprentice continued writing, “the cap is thick enough to trap in the majority of the spores. But rain softens the cap so much that it will break at the slightest touch.”
The skin of Koltun’s hands crawled, and he wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers. “Keeper’s teeth!” Again, his gaze darted toward the mushroom, then to young Wallis. “And you said there were more of them?”
Wallis’ face turned white, and he nodded. “A few clusters there where I fell, and I spotted more growing out of the cliffs above us.”
Koltun looked up, and his blood ran cold. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of four-mushroom clusters sprouted from the stone walls bordering the Cliffpass. One strong gust of wind and every one of those little things could release deadly spores into the air, killing every man, woman, child, and animal.
Then it hit him, a flash of inspiration more powerful than a lightning bolt to the brain. He whirled on the Secret Keeper apprentice. “You said under normal conditions, their caps are thick enough to keep the spores in, yes?”
Bradon nodded, and his expression grew quizzical.
Koltun glanced up at the sky, which had begun to clear, the rainclouds drifting away to the west. “How long until they’re dry enough that we can gather them without them bursting in our hands?”
* * *
“Sergeant Koltun, explain to me why your Screaming Howlers have dropped back from the rest of the column and appear to be sitting and waiting?” Captain Hadrick’s expression was just short of apoplectic. “Have you all lost your minds, or simply forgotten that there is an enemy coming for us even now? A point you belabored less than four hours ago!”
Koltun glanced at his crossbowyers sitting beside the trail. They appeared as relaxed as they could be—given the circumstances.
“Let’s just call it important Screaming Howler business.” Koltun gave the Captain a grin that stopped just short of mocking. “Something we need to carry out in private.”
Captain Hadrick ground his teeth, and he looked on the verge of snapping something angry. But in this, at least, he had no grounds to argue. Koltun and the Screaming Howlers operated independent of his command, though they still answered to him on ma
tters of battle and strategy. Captain Hadrick couldn’t stop him from keeping his soldiers back, especially if Koltun gave a semi-valid reason for doing so.
“And, while we’re at it, we’re going to watch Ninth Company’s backs.” He gestured to Thog and Madden, who sat mounted up and ready to ride. “I’m posting them at Hafoldarholl to keep an eye on the Cliffpass. I want to make sure you are alerted the moment the enemy gets within pissing distance of striking the column.”
That seemed to mollify the Captain. A little. As Koltun had intended, hence his choice of words. “Ah, I see.” After a moment of thought, he gave Koltun a curt nod. “Very well, Sergeant. Carry on.”
“Thank you, Captain!” Koltun gave a crisp salute. “Swordsman be with you on your journey.”
The words actually caught Captain Hadrick off-guard. “Er…uh…and you, too.” With a click of his tongue and a tug on the reins, he turned his horse and rode off down the Cliffpass after his men.
Koltun didn’t bother watching the Captain go. Instead, he scanned the Legionnaires marching at the rear of the column until he found Vorris. Lieutenant Vorris, in his mind, even if the man no longer wore the rank or had the title. The fact that the other Lieutenants deferred to and relied on him—always out of earshot of Captain Hadrick, of course—meant they, too, respected Vorris.
He gave the Lieutenant a nod, and Vorris returned it. They’d exchanged a few brief words on what Koltun intended, his reason for hanging back. It was as much a long shot as trying to bring down the Cliffpass. He hadn’t yet broached that particular subject with Arch-Guardian Dayn; after their last conversation, he wasn’t certain the Secret Keeper would consider their desperate last-ditch attempt to bring down the cliffs again until they had no other choice. But in this plan, at least, he, Lieutenant Vorris, and Dayn were in agreeance—and Bradon had the Secret Keeper’s blessing to help the Screaming Howlers.
The Last March: A Grimdark Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 6) Page 18