by Guy Antibes
The man was as drunk as Trevor had seen him. He didn’t know how his friend could bear drinking the camp’s ale.
~
Four days later, they made an additional foray into the forest with another company of mercenaries. Trevor took the chance to locate the mound, and he rummaged around, trying to find remnants of the table, but the whole place looked like it had fallen centuries ago. He didn’t have much time and couldn’t find a trace of anything with the strange writing.
“More Viksarans,” Boxster said, riding up to the ruin. “Crackle has ordered us to withdraw. The time for scouting is over.”
They rode out of the forest and back to the camp. Crackle returned to their little stockade from a meeting of the officers.
“Three days to prepare,” Crackle said. “We’ve been given the defense of Gnarled Wood.” He unfolded a map while those interested gathered around. “It is south about twelve miles. The terrain is rockier, so we might have to go in on foot. The wood is a natural border with twisted trees and rough terrain.”
“So, you’ve been told,” Boxster said, working his mouth as he examined the map. “Where will the other units be?”
“A mile distant on either side.”
Trevor worked his way in to look at the map. “No one else within calling distance. We are on our own,” he said. “If the Viksarans know a way through the wood, we will be eaten alive. I can’t say I am happy about our assignment.”
“And who cares if you are happy, Denton?” Crackle called him by his alias.
“I do, but I’m not a deserter. Not from battle.”
Crackle narrowed his eyes and gave Trevor a chilling glance. “If you run, I’ll be right behind you to cut you down.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Trevor said.
Crackle gave Trevor a tight nod while Boxster remained staring at the map.
“You better memorize that,” Boxster said. “That assumes the map is accurate. Someone might have just guessed where the rocks are.”
Trevor walked off, and Boxster joined him.
“I think you are right,” Boxster said. “I would put three or four hundred men in Gnarled Wood, not Corey Crackle’s company. It doesn’t make sense strategically.”
“Unless they have troops stationed on either side who will collapse in if the Viksarans use Gnarled Wood to break through.”
“But they aren’t telling us,” Boxster said, “and we won’t retreat if they don’t.” He nodded his head. “We are going to have to tread very carefully, you and me. I’ve never deserted before, but we aren’t in the regular army, and the last time I looked at my purse, I noticed we hadn’t been paid what we were promised.”
“And that means we can just leave?” Trevor asked.
“Under the right circumstances, yes. What oath have we made to the mercenary band? None. And they haven’t made any promises to us. We fight for three meals a day, and we provide our tent.”
“Why go to Gnarled Wood, then?” Trevor asked.
“Because you could be wrong, and I could be wrong. Perhaps it is all but impenetrable. Then we sit and wait and fight a little and return here to receive our pay.”
Trevor sighed. “I can’t wait.”
~
Gnarled Wood was a jumbled mess. It was as if Dryden had gathered all the rocks in the border forest and dropped them in one place. The trees were gnarled because they had to grow under hostile circumstances. The thin little trunks had to twist and turn to get their drink of sunlight.
When they arrived, Boxster volunteered to verify the maps. Cory Crackle was told no one observed any of the enemy within a few miles of the wood. Trevor walked behind Boxster, leading his mount as they zigzagged their way through the jumble of rocks, trees, and underbrush.
Trevor found a track that intersected with the trail, that appeared to have been recently used. “Look,” he said to Boxster, kneeling. “Horse hooves.”
Boxster walked forward and began clearing the brush away. The vegetation concealed a substantial path leading west toward Viksar. “You have become quite the little scout. We have to see how far this extends.”
“Bad news,” Trevor said.
“Not at all. We have a route to defend. It will be easier to stop a column if we can concentrate on this road.”
Trevor and Boxster turned and began following the trail. It twisted and turned, but not so much so that a narrow wagon couldn’t navigate on the hidden pathway. It ended in a large meadow that didn’t show up on the map, but the place was empty.
“We do not want to fight them here,” Trevor said.
“Right. We will be destroyed if we have to confront a Viksaran unit in a wide-open space. I’m sure there won’t be just a single company coming through the wood.”
They had seen all they needed and ran to Crackle. Boxster did all the talking.
“We have our orders,” Crackle said. “Hold the wood. The perfect place to stop them is the meadow that you are warning me about. Lots of room to maneuver, and we can get our horses there, right?”
“But that will be a killing field for us,” Trevor said.
“We will kill the enemy. We have our orders, and we will stick to them. You aren’t thinking of taking off, are you? After your assurances that you wouldn’t do such a thing?” All the friendliness had left Crackle’s face. The man was reminding Trevor of Angry Sender.
“No, sir,” Boxster said. “I’m only trying to help you succeed.”
“The only way to do that is to show how much of an expert you are in the field.”
They were stuck in Gnarled Wood, and Corey Crackle refused to withdraw.
“Then let Denton and me scout along the track. When we see the enemy coming, we will return to fight.”
“I’m not so sure I can trust you.”
“We will show up, don’t you worry,” Boxster said. “When do the West Moretons think the Viksarans will attack?”
“Two days from now is the best intelligence. Don’t ask me where they got that, because I don’t know. Guide half the men to the meadow so everyone can rest up for a day or two before we go to work,” Corey Crackle said. “I’ll be along later.”
Boxster saluted, and Trevor and he walked to the picket line to retrieve their horses.
“Fools. Sometimes I think there are few rational men in the world,” Boxster said.
Trevor laughed. “Don’t include me in that group. I still have a lot to learn.”
“I didn’t,” Boxster said, “but you are farther along than you think. Let’s find an escape route. We will be in a position to scout the Viksarans tonight. I don’t trust West Moreton intelligence.”
Trevor didn’t, either, but he had to admit that he might not have taken any measures to protect themselves had he been by himself leading a company.
They gathered half the company and took them to the meadow. The stragglers had the task to blaze a trail for Crackle and the rest of the men.
Everything about the Gnarled Wood mission smelled like rotten eggs. Trevor voiced his misgivings to Boxster, who agreed. They approached the meadow from a roundabout way, not seeing evidence of any Viksarans. Nine men found spots to rest up for the next two days while Boxster and Trevor continued to scout up the hidden track.
Trevor heard sounds ahead and raised his hand since he was up front. “Enemy,” he said. “We have to make sure.”
Trevor dismounted and ran through the pathway while Boxster held onto the horse. The glint of polished armor and the dreaded colors of the Viksaran army were finally in sight. Trevor turned and ran back to his horse.
“They are coming!”
Boxster turned his horse and rushed to the east toward the meadow.
“The enemy is coming! Saddle up and form a rank.”
Trevor had to admit that Crackle had done an excellent job training the company. In a few minutes, everyone wore armor and anxiously awaited the enemy. They waited perhaps ten minutes more, which seemed like an hour, when they heard bugles coming fr
om the west. The Viksarans were past concealing their presence.
The enemy streamed out of the track into the meadow. They formed into fifteen wide ranks. Trevor counted five of them. Seventy-five men against nine. Those were impossible odds, and the enemy hadn’t stopped entering the meadow since Trevor could see more waiting to come.
Trevor endured one charge, and then he took an arrow in his arm and a cut to his shoulder. Viksaran magicians replaced Viksaran soldiers and bathed three of the mercenaries with fire. Trevor’s new ability saved his life. He looked around the meadow. There were two mercenaries left, including Breda, who sent flames at the Viksaran magicians and yelled at Boxster and Trevor to retreat.
In an eyeblink, arrows peppered Breda as she fell to the ground. The other mercenary bolted into the forest just as Boxster turned his horse toward the proper path back to the grasslands. “Cover me,” he said to Trevor.”
They fled. Trevor was covered with fire again, but whatever spell protected him, protected his horse, and soon they were out of sight from the Viksarans. Trevor was under no illusion that there wouldn’t be pursuit. They pushed their horses to the limit as they twisted and turned through the rocks of Gnarled Wood.
Trevor saw the trees thin and rode into a regiment of West Moreton soldiers surrounding the spot where they left the wood.
“The Viksarans are coming!” Boxster yelled as he rode through the center of the ambush. Boxster must have spotted Corey Crackle and rode directly to him. “You knew,” he said to their leader. “We were bait.”
“And good bait you were. Who is left?”
“Perhaps one other. Breda didn’t make it.”
“Actually, none of you were expected to. Report to the commander with your estimation of the enemy.”
“Yes, sir,” Boxster said. He gave Crackle a very snappy salute and looked at the line of men for the commander. When he spotted him, he nodded to Trevor.
Boxster gave the report. “You have orders for Crackle, sir?”
“None at present. You may go.” The commander flitted his hand, not even offering the barest of salutes.
“We may go,” Boxster said as he rode through the West Moreton line and almost headed to Crackle. “I take it that go means we are dismissed from mercenary service, don’t you?”
Trevor took a deep breath; his wounds were starting to hurt. “We’ve contributed enough to the war. I’d say my mercenary days are over for now.”
“We have that lovely camp back at Coaling. The tent is there waiting for you,” Boxster said, sucking in some air.
Trevor suspected that Boxster suffered from an injury too.
“I’m not going there to die. Karn Kissel and Bill Denton will be reentering Presidon, I imagine. I think I need the ministrations of Brother Yvan.”
Boxster winced. “That is a tall order, but I will do my best to accommodate you.”
When the Viksarans began their attack, and all eyes were on the invaders, Trevor and Boxster headed north. Trevor honestly didn’t know the difference between an assassination attempt and what they had just experienced. He would have to hang on for as long as he could. He hoped to make it to Presidon before he collapsed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
~
T revor woke in a disheveled room in a disheveled inn. Sweat covered his sheets, and he only wore his underclothes. He couldn’t look at his shoulder, but thick, ugly stitches decorated his arm. A jug of water was by the bed. Trevor drained most of it.
All he remembered was the wild ride to Presidon. Boxster had tried to take him to a pub for breakfast since they had ridden through the night, and he had fainted, face-first into his porridge. That was it. He had no recollections from that point to now, when he opened his eyes.
He did feel better, much better actually. He staggered to his feet. He had been out for a long time, judging from his beard. He pulled back the curtain from the window to his room and quickly drew it again.
They were in Tarviston! How long could he have been out!
Trevor began to pace the floor to get his feet back. He ran out of breath, much too soon, and collapsed on his bed. How could he have become so weak!
The door opened, and Brother Yvan and Win Denton entered.
“Up so soon?” Brother Yvan said. “You need to exercise, Prince Trevor.”
“Don’t use my name here. I’ll be Bill Denton,” Trevor said.
“Bill it is then. Are you Win’s brother?”
“Cousin.” Trevor took another deep breath. “I did exercise. I might have made it seven times across the floor.”
Brother Yvan smiled and nodded. “A few steps at a time. I thought we had lost you,” the cleric said. “Boxster thought he had the skill to fix you up, but infection is an awful thing, and you became sick.” The man smiled at his words.
Trevor felt homesick. As he looked at Brother Yvan and Win, he couldn’t stop tears from running down his face.
“Don’t worry, Trev,” Win said. “Brother Yvan said the medicine he gave you would make you cry. He didn’t tell me you would cry from joy.”
“Any emotion, actually,” Brother Yvan said. He looked at Win. “Go fetch some chicken broth. The innkeeper’s wife has been keeping it hot for the last few hours.”
“I’m glad to see you again, Win,” Trevor said. Tears came again. It was all so embarrassing, he thought.
The chicken broth was fortified with bread for dipping in the broth.
“Something soft for a few days. You have been at death’s door for some time.”
“What is happening in the castle?”
Brother Yvan’s face darkened. “Nothing good. I talked with Boxster about the assassination attempts. Virtue Underton is still the minister of war and has become very open about supporting Bering as your father’s successor. Bering, Dryden love him, now thinks he can act as king. He and Underton arranged for all the assassination attempts, or so Renny has told me. Your youngest brother is a font of information.”
“He is looking for allies,” Trevor said.
Brother Yvan chuckled. “He found one in me.” His face became serious. “There are few in the castle to help him. Lilith is still campaigning to replace your father, but she has retreated a bit. I’m sure she hasn’t changed her mind, but Lilith isn’t as open about desiring the throne. I feel she is ignoring the urgings of her mother to undertake an active usurpation. That is a good thing, Trevor. Your oldest sister shows traces of rationality creeping into her personality. Perhaps she is finally maturing.” Yvan shrugged his shoulders. “I could easily be wrong with that assessment, though. I’ve been wrong before.”
Trevor was getting sleepy from the food in his stomach. “I think I’ll rest a bit.”
“You do that. When you wake again, I have some unpleasant work to do on your wounds.”
Trevor quickly slipped back asleep.
He woke to a general shaking.
Boxster’s face hovered over Trevor’s. “Are you awake?”
“You made it so,” Trevor said.
Boxster grinned. “I’m glad you survived my healing.”
“Why the sling?” Trevor asked.
“You weren’t the only one injured at Gnarled Wood. I took a blow that broke my arm. I was almost in the same pain as you.”
“It’s not like you to want sympathy,” Trevor said.
“I only say that to apologize for the sloppy stitching on your arm. It was the best I could do at the time. Your infection didn’t come from that but your shoulder. When you fainted, I stole a wagon and took you here. I did say that I would fetch Brother Yvan.”
“And you kept your promise,” Trevor said.
“It isn’t a habit,” Boxster said.
More of a habit than Boxster let on, Trevor thought.
“How long?” Trevor asked.
“Twenty days. You were very sick, and by the time I got you to Brother Yvan, it was all he could do to keep you from expiring.”
“Better to be weak than expired, I alway
s say,” Trevor said.
“Did I mention Brother Yvan expected you to display a certain amount of delirium?”
Boxster never did have much of a sense of humor. Trevor asked if they were in any danger.
“Not so far. Only Yvan and Win know you are in Tarviston. I suppose you want to keep it that way?”
Trevor nodded. “I’m not up to defending myself. Even Wynn could defeat me as I am right now.”
“Both of us are exposed,” Boxster said, stroking his new beard.
“You look different with the beard.”
“And so do you,” Boxster said. “We should let them grow for a while, at least while we are in the capital. I brought more broth.”
Trevor sat up and began to eat on his own. He didn’t feel like anything but the broth and soaked bread. The soup was more robust; it was probably the same stuff left to simmer for so long. He didn’t mind. The warmth settled well in his stomach.
He got up and showed Boxster that he could hobble from one end of the room to the other. He made it ten crossings before he tired out. By then, Brother Yvan returned, alone, carrying his medical bag. He asked Boxster to leave the room.
“Time to redo Boxster’s stitching. I might make a mess of the scarring or might clean up the mess your friend made. This is going to hurt a bit. I brought nature’s best painkiller.” The cleric pulled a bottle of whiskey from his bag. “You will drink this first. If you pass out, all the better.”
Trevor was a willing follower of Brother Yvan’s request and fought to keep his eyes open but lost. He woke in an empty room. The stitches on his arm were no longer exposed, now covered with a fresh bandage. He could feel his shoulder and torso wrapped with another. The painkiller had done an excellent job, although Trevor was dealing with a dull pain that he could easily ignore. He had had injuries enough in his time.
It was time for more exercise. This time Trevor almost completed thirty crossings of his room. He plopped down on his bed, feeling that his strength would return more quickly.
The exercise and the broth continued for four more days.
“A little solid food and a trip downstairs for you, if you think you can stand it,” Brother Yvan said.
