Then, the two lines of belligerents made contact.
Brenyn descended the rock and hung his bow from a broken limb. Drawing his sword and lifting his shield, he hastened down the slope toward the front and looked for a gap that he could plug in the line. He found one at once.
His heart lurched as he realized the reason for the breach.
Aron lay on his back upon the slope, holding his sword over him, trying desperately to defend against an enemy that brought his own blade viciously downward again and again upon the steel of Aron’s sword, as if he intended to drive Aron into the earth.
As he rushed forward, Brenyn could see that Aron’s jerkin was drenched in his own blood.
Fairly leaping the last few yards, Brenyn crashed into the Thalian soldier with his shield, driving him back.
The Thalian stumbled.
Brenyn knocked the man’s sword to the side and lunged, driving his steel deep into the man’s chest. And then there was a gap, if only for a moment, in the Thalian line.
He turned to see Aron crawling up the slope, attempting to struggle away from the front. Looking around, Brenyn saw Jed, who was locked in a fierce duel with his own foe.
“Hold,” he shouted. “I must get Aron away – I will return in a moment.”
Jed, heavily engaged, did not answer.
Slipping his arm beneath Aron’s shoulder, Brenyn dragged him up the slope, away from the front, trying to get him clear of the fighting so that he could return and fill the breach next to Jed.
And then Glora was there.
Relieved, Brenyn laid Aron down. “Help him,” he told her. “I must go back.”
Without waiting for an answer, he pivoted back down the hillside.
And his blood turned to streams of ice.
The gap in the mercenary line had widened.
The man to Jed’s left, a mercenary by the name of Franden, had gone down in a heap. Two Thalian soldiers stood over him. After dispatching Franden, the Thalians turned aside, one to the left and the other to the right.
The mercenary line was breached and being flanked.
The soldier that had turned toward Jed raised his weapon for a killing stroke.
And Jed, engaged with another, was defenseless.
Brenyn was about to watch his friend, who was a husband and a father, die.
His heart jumped and quickened in his chest as he charged toward the front, for he knew that he would be too late.
Then, upon the blade of his sword, the runes embossed by the hand of his mother abruptly flashed in the sun.
And in that same instant, the light of that bright orb paled, dimmed. The noisome sounds of battle ceased, dying away over the slope. All around him, movement slowed and then stopped. To his front, the sword stroke of the Thalian had come within no more than a hand’s width of Jed’s neck.
But there, it had been checked, its movement halted.
His mother’s strange magic had awakened again, surging from the steel of the enchanted sword into his very being.
Brenyn crashed into the Thalian soldier, driving his sword deep into the man, forcing him down the slope, drawing the deadly steel away from his friend.
Fury took him then. A fierce and capricious rage, it utterly filled him, consumed him.
Brenyn laid about him with the sword, slashing, stabbing at the motionless, helpless forms of the enemy, piercing chests and throats, killing with ease and abandon.
Later, he would look back upon that moment with a certain remorse and even sorrow, that he could – and would – so willingly slay those unable to raise a defense against his assault. Even upon an active field of conflict, such an act was terribly akin to murder.
But in the heat of that awful moment, the single thought that possessed him was that he could – and therefore would – save the lives of all his comrades that yet lived upon this rocky and tangled, terrible field of battle.
How many he slew, there, upon the Thalian right flank, he never knew, but ere the magic subsided and time lurched forward once more and reeled the world into motion, dozens of the enemy had sustained death strokes.
When Brenyn came to himself once more, and the sun above him shone bright again, and the noise of the battle erupted into its fullness, he stood surrounded by Thalian troops.
But only for a moment. As time resumed its natural course, the entire right wing of the Thalian army, all of those that faced Murlet’s mercenaries, dozens of men, collapsed upon the earth.
Silence fell upon that part of the field.
Confused, panting from exertion, the men of Murlet’s band stared with wide eyes at the sudden and utter ruin of those with whom they had just been engaged in deadly conflict. Now, they were all dead, inexplicably, in a moment of time.
But it became immediately obvious to them what – or who – had caused the carnage.
Brenyn, sword dripping blood, stood alone beyond the line.
Up the slope, behind the line, with Aron’s head resting in her lap, Glora stared at Brenyn with wide and frightened eyes.
29.
Sheathing his sword, Brenyn made his way through the line and up to where Glora sat, ignoring the eruption of sound as the left wing of Orlav’s army, realizing that the enemy could be flanked – though without understanding exactly why – drove forward and began to push the Thalians down the hillside and into ruin.
Glora watched him come, her dark eyes wide and fearful, but Brenyn ignored her posture of alarm.
Coming close, he leaned down and looked at Aron. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and labored, but he lived. He looked up and met Glora’s gaze.
“How is he?”
“He-he lost a lot of blood, but I stanched the wound and gave him a sleeping powder,” she replied, looking down and smoothing the black hair from Aron’s forehead. “I think – I hope – he will live.”
Then she looked up again. “He would have surely died if not for… if you had not… What happened, Brenyn?”
‘Magic,” he answered. “My mother’s magic. My weaponry is rife with it.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand it, Glora, so don’t ask, but in moments of stress, as when I am afraid for the lives of my friends, it sometimes comes, and I cannot control it.”
He looked down again at Aron. “Can he be moved, do you think? – back up to the camp?”
She nodded. “It would be best if we could get him out of the sun.”
Brenyn straightened up and looked down over the slope. “There’s Jed. I’ll bring him and we’ll move Aron.”
He looked the other way, up the hill, as he unsheathed his sword and handed it to Glora. “You will have to clear us a path, so that we don’t discomfit him further.”
It was then, as he looked up the slope, that he saw the raven, seated upon the tor of rock where he’d stood earlier, with its head turned to the side and its one eye gleaming darkly.
He stiffened, a sharp chill of unease seeping into him, as he watched the creature, which was just as surely watching him.
“What’s the matter, Brenyn?” Glora asked.
Brenyn forced his gaze away from the black bird and looked down, shaking his head. “Just worried about Aron, is all. I’ll bring Jed and we’ll get him moved.”
When he looked up again, the raven had flown.
He and Jed, with Glora clearing a path, managed to get Aron up the slope to the camp where they left him and Glora in the care of the surgeons.
Within less than another half-hour, the battle was decided. The forces of Gruene were victorious, and the army, as day ended and evening fell over the bloodied hillside, settled back into camp.
Murlet’s band had suffered but two deaths, though at least a dozen were wounded, seven of those seriously. But in front of his position, not an enemy survived the day. Along the rest of the line, casualties had been more severe on either side. No one else in the army seemed aware of this curiosity, but Murlet’s mercenaries, as they supped and built up their fires for the night, conve
rsed in low tones and cast many a glance over toward the tent where Brenyn sat with Jed, quietly watching the flames reduce the dry wood.
The next day, the band buried their dead, Kurl Franden and another named Rend Caulus, and then Captain Murlet arranged for transport of their wounded, purchasing two oxcarts from a farmer.
A day later and the band departed for home, leaving Beran Hile to go to Fergus and collect the reward for their labor, with a contingent of twenty men to escort him north once the bounty was paid.
After descending the forested slope to the east of Fergus, crossing the deep chasm with its rushing stream, and turning north at the crossroads, they passed through the ancient forest of great trees and came down again into the vale that marked the boundary between Gruene and Merkland. They were delayed at the frontier of Merkland once more, though for less time on this occasion; then they moved briskly toward home, as quickly as the oxen could move and the wounded could tolerate.
Twelve days afterward, the band crossed the valley below Marta’s market and came to their own town once more. Along the whole of that journey, few spoke with Brenyn, acknowledging him with but a curt, albeit respectful, nod of the head.
Jed continued to share a tent and the evening fire with him as they traveled north, but he spoke little, and Brenyn often caught his friend gazing across the flames at him with troubled eyes. By the time they reached home, word of that which had been done by him during the battle – or what was conjectured about that which he had done – had circulated throughout the entirety of the band and been discussed at great, though surreptitious, length.
In the end, many of those men realized that their lives were due to whatever it was that Brenyn Vagus had done upon that dry, tangled, and miserable battlefield.
Though very grateful, they found themselves unsettled by the mystery represented by their solemn, gray-eyed comrade that had once slain a darking in their sight.
With a payment of five hundred gold looming – six each for every man, and a good amount for the box – Murlet decided that, though it was yet late summer, he would not actively seek another assignment that year. If one came their way that was attractive, they might take it, but they would be just as happy to enjoy several months of leisure. And so, they settled in and waited for Beran Hile to return with their well-earned bounty.
One morning, a week after their return from Gruene, when Brenyn was in the barn, equipping Noris with new shoes, Murlet sought him out. He waited until Brenyn looked up.
“About done there, Brenyn?”
“One more nail,” Brenyn answered.
“And will he be ready to ride?”
Brenyn nodded.
Murlet watched him for a moment. “Will you ride with me across the valley to the market?” He asked then. “I need to pay my mother a visit. She has been ill of late.”
Brenyn straightened up and frowned at him. “You want me to come with you?”
“I do,” Murlet confirmed. “I want to talk about things.” He held up his hand as Brenyn’s brow furrowed. “It’s about Aron – and Glora,” he explained.
“How is Aron?”
“Stiff and sore,” Murlet answered, “but sitting up and eating well.”
Brenyn nodded. “That is good to hear.”
He drove in the last nail, bent it over, rasped it smooth, and then checked each of Noris’ hooves while the captain watched. Then he looked at Murlet. “I’ll get him saddled,” he said.
Murlet nodded, “I’ll be outside.”
Later as they rode across the valley in the bright, discreet sun of mid-morning, Murlet looked over. “You bunk with Aron.”
Brenyn nodded. “I do.”
“What do you think of the man?” The captain asked bluntly.
“I like him.”
Murlet shook his head. “Nay – I want to know what you think of him, Brenyn – not whether you like him. I want to know your assessment of his character.”
Brenyn frowned over at him. “Why do you want to know my assessment?”
“Because I trust your judgment.”
Brenyn reined in his horse and turned to face him, frowning with doubt. “You trust my judgment, captain?”
Murlet’s brow furrowed with puzzlement at his demeanor. “Of course.”
Brenyn watched him for a moment longer and then glanced back toward the town, hidden among the trees. “I think you are the only one that does, then.”
“No, that is simply not true,” Murlet answered and he folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle as he met Brenyn’s gaze. He sighed. “You are trusted by every man in the band, Brenyn. You have proven your worth time and again.” He glanced away before looking back. “But you have to understand that you frighten them a bit.” He chuckled softly. “Indeed, my friend – you frighten me just a bit, if I tell the truth. All these things that you can do – things that only wizards and sorcerers do, and yet you claim to be neither.”
He shook his head. “Even wizards and sorcerers cannot slay darkings – and yet you slew a darking. The men do not know what to make of you, Brenyn, it’s true, but they trust you and they trust your judgment. As do I – and that is why I want your assessment of Aron Jakling.”
“Jakling – that is his surname?”
Murlet nodded.
“I never knew it,” Brenyn said. He looked over. “You knew that he was married once?”
Murlet nodded again. “I do. Glora has told me of his history. What I want from you, Brenyn, is this – is he a good enough man to marry my sister?”
“He is,” Brenyn declared at once. “Aron is serious, honest, and kind. I have nothing ill to say of the man, and I do not think that Glora will find one better.”
“Indeed? None?” Murlet continued to watch him for a few moments. “You know, I think she fancied you there for a time.”
Brenyn shook his head. “Aron is a far better choice, captain. I have no heart in me to give to any woman – it was given long ago to her that I will never see again, and I cannot get it back. I do not want it back. So, you see, I am not destined to be anyone’s mate. But Aron will make Glora a fine husband.”
Murlet met his gaze for a long moment and seemed to want to speak, but then simply nodded. “Thank you, Brenyn.”
Brenyn hesitated. “Is that all you wanted, captain?”
“It is.”
Brenyn looked back toward the hills. “Then I’ll go and leave you to visit your mother.”
Murlet held out his hand, preventing him. “No, please, come with me. In truth, there is yet another thing I would discuss with you. Let us go and see Marta, and then we will talk again on the way back.”
Surprised by this, Brenyn nonetheless nodded and followed him toward the road, where they turned north.
Marta was seated on the porch in front of her market when they came up, her two enormous dogs, Savang and Groll, lying at her feet. The dogs wagged their tails at Murlet, but eyed Brenyn with distrust.
Marta stood and regarded Murlet with a glad light in her eyes. “Jonny, my boy! Have you time for tea?” She glanced over at Brenyn. “And who is this?”
“This is Brenyn, mother. You’ve met him before.”
She nodded. “Ah, yes, the man who chases darkings.” Then her eyes widened. “And the same as slays them, I hear.”
“One and the same,” Murlet answered. “Yes, Brenyn and I would love a cup of tea.”
She studied Brenyn narrowly for another moment and then turned toward the door. “Come in, then; I have a pot on the stove.”
She led them through the market, a small, dimly lit, sparsely stocked affair consisting of a single small room, and then through a door off to the side, which led into her private quarters. Here, there was a sitting room toward the road side of the house, and a dining room with a round table at the back, looking eastward toward the mountains through a row of windows. The room was bright and cheerful, with brightly colored drapes hanging upon either side of the windows.
Marta waved them tow
ard the table as she went into the small kitchen that lay beyond. “Sit, lads, sit and take your ease. I’ll bring the tea.”
Brenyn looked around. Though simply furnished, the small home was bright and clean, and reminded him of the house he had once shared with his Gran.
Marta brought the tea with three cups and poured one for each of them. Then she returned the pot to the stove and came and sat next to Murlet. Studying her, Brenyn realized that once upon a time she had been quite pretty, but time and troubles had wearied her and aged her.
Knowing that she was Murlet’s mother and remembering the shadows that often lurked in the depths of the captain’s eyes, Brenyn wondered yet again – what had happened to these people? What tales would their history tell?
Marta sipped at her tea and then reached out and touched Murlet on the cheek as her eyes grew soft. “How are you, Jonny, my boy? Are you well? Are you content? How is Riana?”
Murlet took her hand in his and smiled. “All is well, mother, Riana is fine. All is as well as it can be.”
At this, her eyes darkened. “I am sorry that your life has gone as it has, Jonny. You should have assumed your father’s place long ago and enjoyed the privileges of your birthright.”
Hearing this, Brenyn realized abruptly that he was witness to things that were undoubtedly private – and personal. But Marta seemed not to care that he was privy to such a tender moment. She even looked over at him to include him in the conversation.
“If our young friend here,” she said, studying Brenyn before turning her attention back to Murlet, “could but slay all of those foul creatures, you might return to Magnus and claim that which is rightfully yours.”
Murlet shook his head. “The world is what it is, mother, as is the past, and we cannot alter it. I am content with my lot as it is and am as happy as any other.”
Her gaze darkened further. “But what of our people, Jonny? They yet suffer, ground beneath the tread of war and ruin.”
Murlet nodded in sadness. “But that is the state of the whole of the world.” Frowning suddenly, he looked down and stroked her hand that he yet held in his. “Could I go back to Magnus,” he said, “could I raise an army sufficient to evict Shammed from the palace and free our people from his tyranny – and then if I could somehow keep the darkings and their wickedness at bay, I would do so. You know this.”
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 27