Wayward Soldiers (8 page)

“We’ll spare your lives if you throw down your weapons and come out,” he said. “Keep up with these games and a lot of people are going to die today.”

“You’re right,” said Sivan. “A lot of people will die. Yours.”

I smirked. That old man had grit.

Sivan gestured covertly with his left hand as it hung near his waist. Behind the barricades, those real townspeople stationed with him began propping up armed dummies, weapons and heads showing. Afterward, they made themselves visible though each was smart enough to keep their spears hidden. I doubted that all the dummies would fool the raiders, but I hoped they’d at least further confuse our numbers.

I faced Zadok. “Signal Dekar’s bowman and Ira’s people into position.”

The leader came to a stop, but I couldn’t make out more than a few words of what he was saying as he lowered his voice to speak with Sivan. It looked like he knew something was off and did not want to move forward just yet.

I turned back to Zadok once more while sliding down the peak of the roof. “Sivan’s got this under control. Count to twenty after I leave and then signal Ira and Dekar to begin.”

“Where are you going?”

“We talked about this. Down. Things are about to get ugly.”

“Let me go too.”

“No. You’re up here for a reason. Just stay safe and be ready to move if things go badly. Understand?”

I could see he wanted to argue, but to his credit, he gave a nod. I tussled his hair and went downstairs.

I hated being blind to the goings on in the street as I ran down the stairs. Sivan and the leader’s conversation continued, their voices raising.

The tension would hit its peak soon.

Dekar must have sensed something for arrows descended just as I reached the first floor, before I counted to twenty. Not as many of the arrows found their mark as I would have liked. However, two raiders died in the first strike. A few more took injury.

All talk between Sivan and the leader ended. As was usually the case in the heat of fighting, instinct took over and men acted on their own accord.

Raiders pushed forward toward the barricades. Some peeled off to set fires where they could. Ira’s men came storming in from the sides to stop them. Dekar’s archers loosed another volley into the raider’s center.

I made it to the street as a man on foot came charging up with a lit torch and open canteen. I slipped into his path and brought my boot into his knee. His eyes got wide with surprise. My sword entering his chest surprised him more. The canteen fell to the ground, its contents splashing against his legs. I smelled oil. The torch hit the spill. His last few moments of life were spent holding an open chest wound and gasping at the pain of his burning flesh.

Another raider galloped toward me.

In the past, I recommended never fighting a man on horseback if not also mounted. Advantages in reach and height went to the person in the saddle and a horse moving with any sort of momentum was not an easy thing to overcome, as it became a weapon itself. But I had learned a few tricks to counter the situation.

I chose not to let the heat of battle get the best of me, and charge after my opponent. Rather I backed up three steps onto the porch and let the raider approach. The extra two feet in height did plenty good as his sword came sweeping in. I moved aside and his missed strike threw him off balance. He drew back on the reins quickly to avoid what he expected to be a swipe of my sword. Instead, I pulled a dagger and rammed it into the neck of the shuffling mount.

It was a cruel thing to do to an animal, but much like Ira’s advice to Zadok, cruel things were generally effective in staying alive. The key was not to make a habit of them lest they begin to define me.

The horse fell immediately, throwing the rider. The man fell harder. His leg bent in a way it had no business bending. He reflexively reached for it. I hurried over. My sword whipped across his throat.

For the briefest of moments, I was on an island, taking in the chaotic scene of battle. Whether on a massive field against a foreign enemy, or in my old hometown against people that had once been my countrymen, the elements of war remained unchanged. People died, some quickly, others with a great deal of suffering. Fires burned, animals wailed, angry words were shouted.

From a distance, it was easy to move pieces and bark signals as I had with Zadok’s flags. But in the middle of it all, it was just easier to kill the first man I came across not marked friend.

I came to the aid of a nearby townsman wielding a makeshift spear. He was barely holding his own against a raider until my sword slashed the flank of the raider’s mount. The horse reared and the townsman’s spear stabbed out, lancing the gut of the raider. I finished him off with a hack to the face.

Arrows continued to flit down, targeting raiders not engaged with townspeople.

The raiders gave just as well as they got. The square-helmed leader led his men toward the center barricades where Sivan and eight others stood firm. Sivan’s crew held overly long spears butted into the ground, but the horsemen maneuvered around the obstacles.

The square-helmed figure knew his way around a sword.

I swore. If Sivan’s men fell, the likelihood of us holding would diminish as the raiders would make it unchecked to the opposite side of the town and regroup.

I sprinted to the nearest barricade and leaped onto the uneven pieces of wood. I took several quick steps to the closest raider and dove at him. The raider managed to turn his head just as my sword cut into his side. I dumped him from the saddle, gained control of the horse, and bolted toward the raiders pressing Sivan’s group. Two other townsfolk followed my lead, jumping up and dragging raiders from their mounts before seizing control of the animals. They came up beside me and together we placed enough pressure on the enemy to prevent their progress forward.

I killed another raider while pushing toward the square-helmed leader. He was the key. Like most decent leaders, his men rallied around his presence. If I took him down, the others would run.

I shouted, “Hey! You Molak-be-damned coward! Try to take me down!”

It worked. He looked my way, actually pausing in the middle of battle to stare at me through his visor as if the fighting around him no longer existed.

That seemed careless and out of character for a man who knew the business of war. Of course, I could only guess what was going on inside his deranged head. He probably expected another easy raid, not the blood bath we had given him and his men.

Sivan woke him from his stupor with a thrust to the shoulder. The square-helmed man pulled back, knocking away the spear. His head whipped about, taking in the carnage. He saw something he didn’t like and began backing away.

“Retreat!” his voice rattled inside his helm.

He and the surviving raiders, more than two dozen men, peeled away from the press of battle, fleeing town any way possible.

We kept fighting them as they ran. Arrows struck several of their retreating backs.

Molak-be-damned. Somehow, we had won.

CHAPTER 7

The joy of victory never lasted long in the army. Sometimes it barely lasted a breath.

For some, the first victory was the worst because they didn’t know to expect the ups and downs of emotions that followed.

People would raise their hands over their heads and squeeze tight bloody swords. Hoarse, adrenaline-filled screams followed. For those caught up in the moment, a few intelligible words might have even slipped through the guttural roars.

It was easy to feel like a god in that moment.

Then the victors would turn to their brother, friend, or squad mate, looking for someone to share the moment with. When no one was there, confusion would take hold.

Sometimes the victor would still be so overcome with emotions they’d grab whoever was beside them in a hug and the thrill of conquest lasted a bit longer. Who cared whether they knew the man or not? He was on their side, right?

Other times when confusion would hit them, the joy would flow out of their body and panic would take its place. Frantically, they’d start searching for that person who was supposed to be next to them.

Then panic would turn to fear and the search would move to the bodies at their feet.

Covered in blood and gore, frantic hands would drag away dead soldiers, enemy and friend. Sometimes, these men would ignore the wounded because, gods be cursed, they had to find that friend they had expected to see next to them, the one who would make the joy of victory last.

Most of the time the person missing was found. Sometimes, the person was alive and looking for the soldier searching for them. Those were the good times as relief washed over both. Other times, the person missing was injured and carted off to a physician. But at least they were alive. Some joy could still be had.

It got worse when a soldier didn’t find much left—limbs missing, guts spilled on the ground. But at least there was closure in that, a grim sort of peace they’d choke down before saying a last goodbye.

The worst feeling came to those who never found the person they searched for. That happened often in the big battles with so many dead that the funeral pyres lit up the night sky.

I’ve been in every one of those situations at one point or another, even the last. Maybe that’s why I gravitated toward those blazing infernos of flesh and bone. I was saying good-bye to all those people no one ever found in time to properly share in the victory.

After the raiders fled, Zadok found me first. He wrapped me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe.

Thankfully, there would be no unsaid good-byes between us this time.

CHAPTER 8

When the momentary exultation of victory passed, the townspeople began searching for the missing.

One of the few solaces I had was that I wouldn’t have to say good-bye to anyone at the pyres because they couldn’t be found. Too few people were involved, and the field of battle too small for someone to be lost. I wanted to join the searches, but had to see to other things first. After my embrace with Zadok, I selfishly sought Myra, Ava, Ira, and Dekar with a fast visual. The clenching in my gut eased with each placement.

Next on my list was Sivan. I had an idea where he might be, and after a quick search found him moving away boards and other debris camouflaging the blacksmith’s cellar. Like me, his thoughts went to his family first.

How he managed to get through Ira’s traps unscathed was another matter. I chalked it up to his skills as a scout.

Damaris embraced her father. Nothing seemed to be wrong that I could tell upon walking up. She saw me and her face brightened further. That made me uncomfortable. I staved off any chance for conversation with her by speaking to her father.

“Sivan, I need you to go back out.”

“Why?” asked Damaris. “They ran away. We won.”

Sivan pried his daughter’s hands away. “Tyrus is right. They could come back.”

“Exactly. Many turned away at the bend in the road before town. Their leader could try to rally and regroup. We are easy to take now with all our traps sprung and half our hiding spots on fire. Plus, they now can add revenge to the list of reasons why they should come at us.”

“I’ll grab a mount.”

“Take one that the raiders left behind. They look to be in better shape than the ones you’ve been using.”

“Will do.” He gave Damaris a peck on the forehead and took off. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Damaris turned after her father was out of earshot. She wore a look of hurt. “You’re taking advantage of his willingness to help.”

“He’s the best I’ve got.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I never claimed it was.”

Damaris bit her lip, but said nothing. I probably should have said something to soften the tone I had been using, but too much occupied my thoughts.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. For now, get back in the cellar and keep everyone there. It’s not safe to come out until we hear back from your father.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

She ducked inside. I covered the door again before leaving

As in any situation, a commander was only as good as those beneath him. In my case, I had three of the best people I could possibly imagine at my disposal. Ava, Ira, and Dekar all had their own units during the battle and each continued that leadership role afterward, maintaining order while I saw to other things. There were plenty of tears streaking the grime-covered faces of the surviving townspeople. To their credit, they weren’t just sitting on the first available stoop with heads in hands sobbing.

Ava had formed a bucket line around the burning feed store. It hadn’t yet succumbed to fire. Their efforts held off the spreading flames while three men ran in and out the door, hauling needed supplies out to the street.

Ira and several others looked over barricades in the town’s center to ensure we’d be able to make another stand if needed.

Dekar salvaged weapons and armor from the fallen raiders, gathering up swords, axes, and shields that would be a huge upgrade from pitchforks and hammers.

Those not helping Ava, Ira, or Dekar, tended to the wounded or the dead.

I didn’t have it in me to begin offering condolences just yet, so I opted to check in with Dekar first.

He squatted over one of the raiders, staring at the man’s face. The man wore a mismatch of black and brown clothing over boiled leather. Blood oozed from a gash in his neck.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Dekar sighed. “This is the third one I’ve recognized up close. He was one of the two sent around town while the rest were at the pyre.”

He moved aside so I could get a look at the man’s face. I frowned at the thick mustache that overlapped thick lips. A week’s worth of stubble adorned the man’s cheeks and chin.

“Achaz, right?”

He stood. “Yeah. Ira said Achaz recognized him when they met and attacked anyway. He had to put him down.” Dekar clicked his tongue. “Cavalry captain. Only soldier to win the Golden Saddle pin twice for heroics in the same battle. People say his efforts leading the First Cavalry Unit saved the entire Fourth Division in the fight that led to Urtok’s Ridge. He was a legend. A hero.”

My stomach churned with acid. “And he died a raider. A thief at best. A rapist and murderer at worst. Gods, what causes a man to change like that?”

Dekar clicked his tongue. “What caused most of the country to turn on the people it sent off to war? It shouldn’t really be that great of surprise that the veterans changed.”

“It didn’t change us into this.”

“It could have. When I got back home and saw Adwa had remarried and wanted nothing to do with me, I was crushed. You know, I didn’t only come to Denu Creek to help you. I also needed you to anchor me and keep me from doing something stupid.”

That took me aback. Dekar was a man of few words, but what he said often held great weight. Was there any greater weight than being someone’s conscious?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I never asked you how you were doing.”

“It’s all right. We’ve been a little busy.” He laughed. “It’s helpful just to be around you and Ava.” He paused. “You’re not going to appreciate me for saying this, but you could have gotten caught up in some bad things too.”

I looked down at Achaz. The dead cavalry captain wore a look of sorrow under his mask of death. I couldn’t imagine raping and murdering anyone. “No.”

“You’re telling me you weren’t ready to make some decisions you would have later regretted considering how things were when you got home?”

I took a deep breath. I had been ready to let a lot of people die after that first eruption. In fact, several had before Nason and Zadok convinced me to do something to help. I doubted that guilt would ever leave me.

“I guess a willingness not to do something good is sometimes as bad as a willingness to do something evil.”

“Maybe. The people in town will never know of the good Achaz did in his past. They’ll never give him the credit he deserves for the thousands of lives he saved in the war. It’s sad how much more weight the bad things we do carry over the good.” He paused. “Or maybe, it’s the most recent decisions that hold the most weight.”

“You going to be all right?”

“I’m good. You’ve got work to do. I won’t keep you.”

I gave Dekar’s shoulder a squeeze and smiled. “Keep an eye out for Sivan returning while I check in with everyone else.”

He gestured. “Start by the other tailor’s place.”

“Gadiel’s? Why?”

“Nason’s there. His wife died in the fighting.”

My shoulders hunched, and I whistled out a breath. “Gadiel’s place? She was stationed on top of the theater before.”

“She was worried about Nason when the fighting got bad and left her post.”

“Molak’s balls. I’ll head over there now.”

* * *

Nason held his wife in his lap. He sat with his back against a post that had once supported the roof of Gadiel’s front porch. It now supported only Nason and the grief he bore. The rest of the tailor’s shop had collapsed after the second eruption. Zadok stood beside Nason, hand on his shoulder.

No tears ran down Nason’s cheeks, but anguish could be seen in his every move. The way he stroked his wife’s blank face. The way he supported her lifeless form in his lap. The way he refused to take his eyes off the woman he loved.

My own grief struck me hard. Despite the sadness of the scene, I envied Nason for having this time. It was time I never got with Lasha.

Zadok and Nason looked up at my approach. Nason’s eyes spoke volumes of the rage inside of him. I imagined it was a similar look I possessed when Zadok gave me the news about Lasha.

He shifted the grip on his wife and I saw that blood covered his other hand and forearm. The blood wasn’t his. A broken arrow lay on the ground not far from a hole in his wife’s side. Nason had tried to stop the bleeding. Seeing that, I was glad his kids were still being watched over by Damaris. They didn’t need to see their parents like this.

“I’m so sorry, Nason.”

He bobbed his head. “You warned us this could happen.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m less sorry.”

“I know. It’s my fault anyway. I thought we’d make it out all right, and I’d help others grieve their losses. I didn’t think it would happen to my family.” He looked down. “Yet, here I sit.” The first hints of a sob cracked in his throat. “I don’t want to move because I know this is the last time I’ll be able to hold her. Gods, Tyrus, what am I going to do?” The tears came hard.

I squatted and wrapped him in a hug. One of his arms squeezed me tight. The other supported his wife.

“I know you want me to tell you how to go on living without her, but I can’t. I’m still trying to figure that out for myself after Lasha. However, you will go on. You’ve got three young kids that need their father even more now. Focus on them. It will keep you going until you can figure the rest out.”

His body trembled. “What am I supposed to even tell the kids?”

“The truth.” I glanced at Zadok, then returned my attention back to Nason. “Their mother was a brave woman who loved them so much that she fought and died so that they could live.”

“I don’t know if I can do this alone.”

I forced him to meet my eyes. “We’ll get through this together then.”

He bounced his head absently.

I said nothing more as Nason cried. It took everything I had not to join in. I wanted to stay and sit with him, but I couldn’t. Too many demands pulled at me. As it was, between Dekar’s conversation and Nason’s loss, I was taking far too long to get a complete feel of our situation following the fight.

I encouraged Zadok to stay with Nason. I hated putting it on a young boy to comfort a grown man after the loss of his wife, but one thing my son had plenty to spare was heart. He gave me a stern nod of understanding far older than twelve years.

I left the two in search of Ava.

* * *

By the time I reached the feed store, it was completely in flames. The bucket line had been abandoned. Two townspeople stacked and organized the supplies they had managed to save, while others dispersed to complete tasks Ava put them on. Those sent off to other duties walked by me in a daze, barely acknowledging my presence.

I stepped over a small fissure in the ground and paused while considering the town from a broader perspective. Death, destruction, pain, and sorrow all covered in an orange haze.

I hoped it would be the townspeople’s last glimpse of the life I had lived for ten years, but instinct told me it wouldn’t be.

Soot covered Ava’s leathers, and sweat her face. Her breath came in gasps as she bent over with hands on her knees. Myra approached her from a different direction after having gone off to fetch a skin of water. Ava grabbed the skin quickly and drank with greed. Water ran down her chin and neck.

I smiled at Myra. She gave me a nod in return. I opened my mouth to ask a question, hoping it might elicit some conversation while Ava continued to drink. However, Ava finished before I had the chance.

She heaved a deep breath. “Gods, that was awful.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. The fighting, the running around, carting off the wounded, the fire, the bucket line. All without sorcery. The Geneshans can all go to hell for finding that stupid artifact. Their ancestors too for creating it.”

“Seems like Ao should get some of the blame right? She’s the goddess of sorcery.”

She grunted. “Works for me. Put her at the front of the line so I can watch her burn first.”

Despite the hellish aftermath of the battle, Ava’s tirade brought a chuckle up from the back of my throat.

After Nason, I desperately needed it.

I’d like to say Ava’s time in the army had caused her to speak so coarsely, but it had really only reinforced it. Growing up, the other boys my age with sisters all wished for a brother instead. Not me. My sister did just about everything any boy could do, often better.

Like me, Ava didn’t care which of the gods she cursed. In fact, if she had heard of a god or goddess, chances were she had cursed them at some point. Not quite as passionately as I had, but she could get her swears in when the mood struck her. Case in point, I’ve never met another mage who would even dare tell the goddess of sorcery, the mother of all gods, to take the first place in line to hell.

I glanced over to Myra who wore a rare grin. The cursing of gods didn’t matter to her in the least. I guess a love of blasphemy ran in our family.

“You did good,” I said to Ava.

She shrugged. “I guess. Still, I feel awful. Tired. Twisted an ankle too, I think.”

“Then take a break and get some rest.”

Ava glanced around at the destruction of Denu Creek. Her expression darkened. “Got a lot to do before I worry about that. If this place looked bad before, it’s appalling now.”

“Taking a few minutes to catch your breath isn’t going to make that great of a difference in the scheme of things. Sivan’s making sure the raiders are gone for good. If they aren’t, I want you to be at your best. So, sit down and rest. That’s an order.”

“Aye, Sergeant.” She gave me a sarcastic salute, turned, shuffled off to the shade, and plopped against an old wagon.

I grunted.

“What’s wrong?” asked Myra.

“Your aunt didn’t put up much of a fight. She’s more tired than she’s letting on.” I paused. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Thanks. Same for you.”

An awkward silence followed.

“All right. Well, I still need to check on others. I’ll come back later.”

“Yeah, sure. No rush. I’ll keep an eye on Aunt Ava.”

No rush? I suppressed a sigh.

* * *

With the wounded and dead cleared from Main Street, Ira barked orders, gesturing emphatically. A half dozen people worked alongside him. Some re-fortified damaged barricades. Others added more hazards to the path leading to the barricades. Sharpened stakes faced outward on the edge of exposed ditches or natural fissures from the second eruption.