by Scott Moore
“Who was manning the wall?” she asked.
Nov felt his posture dampen. He had been tense and ready to fight, but now that the threat had balked and ran for the hills, only regret remained. His sword dropped point down, but he still held it in his hands.
“I believe I asked you a question soldier,” she said again.
Of course, Nov knew who had manned the wall. He knew who had turned the crank. She wouldn’t have to look far to string the culprit up. But before he could answer, Alti who had fought with them, stepped in front of him like a shield.
“What does that matter? What does anything matter aside from those dead here with us?” Alti started.
“Who are you?” Mankamp’s voice held authority to go along with her posture.
But the woman did not flinch away. Where Nov had melted under the scrutiny, the woman stood taller. Nov could feel the tension building. He glanced over his shoulder toward the door. He couldn’t determine if he watched for a threat or to plan an escape route.
“There are people who could have been alive tonight if your men had drawn swords. If any of your men had not been cowards, then these people would have survived. There is a threat beyond these walls, beyond your garden tea, beyond the balls and frills.” The woman did not say this to only Mankamp. She roamed her eyes to all the people left standing on the stage. Most of them dropped their heads, especially the cowardly men. “How many soldiers of this city even brought swords with them tonight? I count one man.” She pointed toward Hamms, surrounded by those attending his wounds. “This is who saved the rest of you on the stage tonight, but no one would have died if only the men standing in front of me would have been wielding swords.” The woman paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. “But don’t let the men take all the blame for this, if women cared more about their city and lives, then they would discard the fancy dresses and help fend for themselves.”
“That is enough from you!” Mankamp had taken a step down from the stage, but she still stood tall. “I have heard enough from a stranger and your words mean nothing here. This was an attack from the inside, not the outside. The vile creatures outside these walls do not number enough to cause us alarm. Those creatures do not even have minds to organize. Whoever manned that wall is the real coward, and a traitor to the city of Sera and its people. They are the sole reason these men and women lie dead at our feet.” Mankamp turned around to face those upon the stage. “This is not an act of war. This is an act of cowardice by whoever opened the city gates. The Groundborn creatures do not number enough to harm us. They haven’t for a hundred years and they do not now. We will find who manned the wall tonight, and they will be punished for their crimes. As for now, get our hero to the Grand Hospital. Make sure he survives.”
Mankamp turned back toward Nov and the woman. “As for you, we thank you for your service, but you are not one of us. Meaning that you hold no word to our council.”
Like that, the Lady Duchess had turned their hollow victory into nothing more than ashes. She had untangled their web with a daft tongue. The nobles behind her would eat up her words. It did not matter that the Groundborn were many. It did not matter, that it now seemed they had leaders amongst them. Her words would ring above all the carnage.
The man on the wall would hang for his crimes. Nov felt the tendons in his neck squeeze at the thought of the rope. He had given his life for nothing. The city of Sera would not fight. He would die a traitor and soon after the city would follow him to the grave. Nov dropped his sword to the ground with a clatter. No one seemed to notice or care.
Your pride is a foolish thing. It binds you in many ways nothing else can, and then it breaks you.
38
The horse’s hoofs beat the ground jarring Miles in the saddle and creating a thick layer of dust behind them. Everything melted on either side of them. He could still feel Sammy’s dumb arms wrapped around him. It didn’t matter, soon they would both be dead. No one could help them. Anyone who tried would find themselves killed. Those creatures were impossible to kill. They were impossible to run from. Everything went to shit and there was no way to avoid stepping in it.
Miles turned the horse and felt the vibration run up his spine. The surge was enough to make him want to yell out in pain, but he bit his bottom lip and kicked the horse in the flanks. The speed killed him. Bumps were almost enough to cause him to let go of the reins all together and just fall to his death.
The only thing that kept him going, kept his mind moving, and his hands tight against the leather, was the stupid flicker of hope he tried to keep burning. A pointless hope. He had seen the claws ripping through flesh like a knife on hot butter. He would die. No longer a question of how, but when. When would they catch up to him and his sword not be enough? Miles tucked his head to his chest.
Miles kicked the horse again with the heel of his boot. He wanted to keep moving as fast as he could. The horse clearly used to being pressed hard kept its legs moving.
Sammy squeezed harder with every jolt, causing Miles to hold back more screams of pain. Sammy stayed quiet, something Miles could chalk to good luck. Miles didn’t have a damn thing to say to Sammy.
The clouds opened and spit mist into Miles’ face. Not the large drops of rain, but the annoying spray that doesn’t quiet soak, but drips from the body in streams. Miles continuously lifted his arm from the reins to wipe his eyes. That meant he had to balance himself and Sammy, behind him, with his legs. The task wouldn’t have been a bother, but his legs were barley strong enough to hold on while his arms provided support, without the added strength of his arms it was hell trying to stay on the running horse.
Miles realized this wouldn’t work for much longer. No matter how much he wanted to ride like hell, he needed shelter and time to rest.
“We have to stop,” he said.
He talked to Sammy but had the full realization that Sammy wouldn’t provide him any help. Sammy just hung on for the ride. Miles would have to save himself and then if he had time, he would have to save this damned idiot too.
Miles took a chance with the slowing pace to look back at Sammy. The man stared off into the night with no expression on his face. Sammy didn’t fear the creatures behind them. He didn’t seem bothered by the rain coming down atop their heads. Sammy seemed like a man without a care in the world. If Miles thought even for a minute, he would get an ounce of help, he erased that now. Sammy didn’t give a damn if they drowned in the rain.
Miles didn’t care though. He had gotten this far in life without the help of any bastard. Had risen to the station of knight without handouts. Been inches away from becoming a lord. If only his damned pride hadn’t gotten in the way.
Miles slowed the horse even further. His heart had time to slow with the pace and he realized it was a good thing they had stopped. The area around was nothing but black darkness, something he hadn’t realized in his panic. The moon hid behind the same clouds that spit rain into their faces.
Miles lifted his shirt up over his head. It didn’t provide much comfort, but it blocked some rain from his eyes.
Most of the landscape turned into flatlands. Most of these fields would flood, providing no comfort for any farmers. It made for deep mud during the rains and hard travel for anyone trying to move fast.
It also provided zero amount of shelter from the weather. The rain picked up and the mist that annoyed Miles before now obscured his vision to nothing.
“This rain is shit,” Miles said.
Sammy didn’t respond.
“Doesn’t this bother you in the least?” Miles asked, knowing damn well it didn’t.
Sammy continued not to reply. As if he didn’t understand that a question had even been asked of him. He stuck out his hand and cupped the water.
“What is it?” Sammy asked, as if mesmerized by the rain.
“It’s shit,” Miles yelled. “It is all shit, everything is shit, and you’re an idiot.”
Miles let go of the reins and jumped from t
he horse’s back into the wet mud. His boots stuck with a wet smack. No use trying to ride a horse through this, it would only accomplish a broken leg for the horse and a broken neck for Miles.
“Get off the damned horse,” Miles told Sammy. “You have to be the dumbest person I know.”
Sammy looked around as if there was something to see, as if he could see into the darkness and beyond.
“Or stay up there and break your fucking neck, I don’t give a shit.”
Miles turned and started to walk away and then heard the wet smack of feet hitting the ground. Sammy moved behind him. There was no quick way to move in mud and Miles didn’t have any clue where to go.
He hoped that if there was a field, it wouldn’t be too far before there would be a barn or house. He hoped for a town, but what would be the point in that. They would see him soaked in rain, blood, and whatever else had caked onto him. No, better to avoid town for the night. The town’s folk would just run and scream at his appearance, then he would have to fight, and he was tired of fighting.
They would find a barn, or something resembling a barn and sleep there. Miles picked up his heavy boots and flung mud into the air. Whereever they were heading would be a well fought for respite.
***
The well fought for shelter turned out to be a shithole of a shed. A shed discarded years ago by some poor farmer. The roof made of tin was rusted badly in patches. The flooring rotted into a soft mushy substance that broke through with the pressure of their boots.
Outside, Miles had wanted to tie the horse up to a nearby tree. Something to help them get away in the morning, but nothing remained of the old farming shed but the frame. So, he had let the horse roam free, hoping beyond hope that it would stay near the shed for the grass. Miles knew better. Luck would have the horse a hundred miles away by morning.
Miles sat in the corner away from the holes in the roof to keep the rain from pattering off his head. The room was a shithole, not even a barn at an inn, and not a lord’s manner, but it beat the hell out of the wind and rain.
Sammy still stood on the outside of the doorway. Miles let a sigh escape him. He didn’t have the patience to be catering to this man’s needs.
“We will sleep here tonight,” he started. “Come in and try to get comfortable.”
Sammy continued to look around but didn’t say a word. Miles shrugged. He didn’t give a damn anymore. If Sammy wanted to sit outside and drown, then so be it.
Miles pulled his shirt off his head and felt the water pour down his neck. Sammy quit looking around like a lost child and stepped into the shed. He made for Miles, but Miles held his hand up. “You can sit in that corner. It’s not so cold that we need to huddle for warmth.”
Sammy followed the direction Miles pointed. He moved to the corner and stood there staring around the shed in childlike wonder.
Miles shifted and heard the squish below his ass. Just more shit to coat the clothes he wore. It was nothing compared to the blood, sweat, and other bodily excrements.
Sammy moved away from his corner and traced a nearby garden tool with his finger.
“For fighting?” he asked, without turning back. His finger continued to trace the object.
Miles thought about not answering the question. Sammy had to be playing him. This man couldn’t have survived this long before Miles had met him. Sammy played Miles for a fool, had to be. Yet, as Miles watched his boy like movements, he knew that Sammy didn’t play or kid around. Sammy wandered like a lost soul in this world. How had the man survived? A question Miles couldn’t answer. It seemed impossible that he had made it a day, let alone a lifetime.
“It is for sowing fields,” Miles replied.
Sammy continued to run his fingers across the metal for a few more seconds and moved on. His curiosity brought him to a small rake.
“So, you kill these fields then?” he asked with simplicity.
Miles tried not to yell out in frustration. He realized the man was nothing but a simpleton. A simple-minded fool, and his only companion on his journey toward death. Miles watched as Sammy made the same simple gestures with his fingers as before.
“You don’t kill fields,” Miles started. “You use them to grow food.”
Sammy didn’t seem to understand the concept of farming, but he nodded his head in acceptance. Then he continued staring at the rake for a few more moments in silence. Miles thought about how he hadn’t gotten that good night’s rest he needed. The drunken stupor wore off, replaced by a dull throb in the base of his neck and skull. The weariness of his bones still there and settling in for what promised to be a good long time. Miles felt his head hit the back of the wall in exhaustion and he felt that maybe he could still get a few winks of sleep in before the sun peeked up over the horizon.
“So, you are a field’s keeper?” Sammy interrupted any chance of Miles falling asleep.
Miles restrained from sticking the rake up Sammy’s ass. He wanted to show Sammy that maybe those tools were for killing, but he didn’t.
Then without reason Miles answered Sammy. “I am a soldier, a knight, and once I was a lord for a short time.”
Sammy remained quiet a moment. Miles hoped he had just run out of questions. Maybe he could still wander into sleep like a long-lost traveler coming home. The quiet didn’t last long.
“Do you like to kill people?”
The question hung in the air. Miles had killed men before. He had killed women too. That was the point of being a soldier. Kill the man standing in front of you before he killed you. Killing was the motto of soldiers. Yet most of the time, the other soldier just looked scared and lost as he pulled his blade free. No doubt they would have killed him. Very rare a man even knew what he died for. Miles had thought he knew. Miles thought he was valiant. A king’s man. Then the king asked him to do the unthinkable.
He doubted Sammy wanted that answer. He doubted Sammy would understand the answer. Miles still didn’t understand it himself. An unborn child still in its mother’s womb. What would that have proved? What could that have accomplished? What was the point of it? A stupid test? A test derived to see just how loyal Miles was? It didn’t fucking matter anymore, it was a failed test. A shit order. Miles didn’t give a damn anymore, it didn’t matter.
“I do what is needed that I can still live with come the morning.” Miles’ new motto. Wake up in the morning and don’t regret the day before. Miles figured if he could accomplish that much then he did alright.
Sammy didn’t reply after that. He sat down in his corner and stared off through the hole in the roof above his head. He didn’t mind the rain falling into his eyes. Miles took the time to catch whatever remainder of sleep left.
39
All things considered, it took them a little longer than Nov would have thought to find out who manned the wall. When they came for him, Nov sat at a table in the mess hall. Dressed in his best uniform, displaying the seven stripes for the council. He had polished his sword and boots. Sitting at the table, he presented a model soldier. In reality, he was a traitor.
The men were tentative at first, telling him why they had come. He had known why they were there. He could have run already. Could still run. Not a single soldier in the barracks could have bested Nov in sword combat. He could have sliced through them all, fought into the streets of Sera. Could have even made his escape out of the city gates into the forest.
That would have proved nothing. He would still die. It would be a more noble death, but he had killed enough citizens of Sera by his actions. Now came his time to pay the price for his choices.
The hands grabbed him around the wrist. He didn’t struggle, but with every step the boys beside him gained confidence in their duty. They squeezed harder and laid cut-throat looks across their features. These barely wet fuckers would put on a face to take him to the cells, but they had every right to be mad. He wouldn’t hold it against them.
He would hang for his crimes, but soon after the whole damn city would follow. N
ow that the Groundborn had a leader, it was only a matter of time before they attacked. Sera would fall; his attempt to save her had failed. Mankamp made him a traitor by a simple word and there would never be a saving grace. The boys pushed him out into the streets.
There had never been a lot of commotion on this side of the city. The streets were reserved for soldiers and the merchants who catered to them. Today, the same couldn’t be said. The streets lined with men, women, and children. All of them had a few choice words for Nov as the boys pushed him down the street. Several tried to storm the arresting party, but the soldiers remembered they had swords on their hips now. They wouldn’t use them if times got rough, but hell, no one in this city fought.
Unable to reach Nov, they took to throwing whatever they could reach. They threw rocks, fruit, candy, and even shoes. The shoes confused Nov the most. How much did someone have to hate you to throw their shoes? They would walk barefoot in the streets, and most were too poor to buy a new pair, so they would rather hit Nov once than have their own comfort.
Nov thought about ducking his head, but he had done this to himself. He had his choice atop the wall. He didn’t have to turn that crank. He had done it on his own accord. If this mob wanted to see him suffer, he could understand their plight.
It wasn’t as if he had used the extra time, while the council figured out the soldier rotations to have a good time. He had used it to come to terms with his own death. To really hit home that he had failed Sera. He had spoken those words of promise to Earl and then broken them.
Nov thought of Earl for a moment. How he had died alone in that hospital bed. Nov hadn’t even bothered to visit. Hadn’t even known when Earl had passed or how, or if he suffered. Maybe Mankamp was right, maybe Nov was a coward. He couldn’t fight the war against the Groundborn alone. Couldn’t visit his only friend as he died, and now he couldn’t even make a final stand for himself.
Another rock took Nov in the chin. The soldier beside him chuckled. Nov could feel the blood trickling down onto his pressed uniform.
