by Jackson Lear
“What of it?”
“Well … Miss Kasera isn’t here. Neither is the lieutenant. Nor is Zara. You’re next in the chain of command.”
“Jarmella is next in the chain of command. Not me.”
Jarmella called out again. “Odalis! Move your ass!”
Odalis didn’t dare turn around. “But you know what you’re doing, sir. Jarmella doesn’t. That one’s actually been proven.”
“ODALIS!”
The young cavalryman held Razoz’s sword out to me. “I took this before any of the raiders could. I think you should have it, sir.”
I took it. No sense in leaving a spoil of war behind. Odalis hustled back to Jarmella and the rest of the vanguard. I unsheathed the blade. Studied it briefly. Well made. Lighter than I expected. Smelled like it had been recently polished. Recently sharpened too. Taken care of with a good deal of pride. I flexed the tip. Got used to the weight. Tested it in both hands – regretted it immediately with my broken wrist.
“We need to go,” said Torunn.
I lingered, watching the mess of vanguard stumble over themselves. As soon as Jarmella was done shouting at Odalis she double checked the restraints holding Saskia to her flimsy stretcher. Everyone avoided her gaze lest they be the ones ordered to carry a vampire for the next three days. Odalis started organizing the infantry members to help carry Dalo and Benar. The infantry were typically the ones to carry the injured, surrounded by the cavalry and ranged units of mages and archers, but that was when they had the luxury of having decent numbers, not the skirmishing few they were left with now. Even their northern guide was dismayed at the slowness of Kasera’s best soldiers.
I focused on the guide more than the troops. He was going to spend three days with them, watching them fall apart and then report on everything he saw to whomever he served. He seemed like the type who would overlook their prowess while they fought under Loken and relay only their weaknesses.
Torunn started to wander after the forty raiders.
A couple of the soldiers were staring off into the distance, overwhelmed that their shitty day had only just begun. Jarmella snapped them back to the present. Got them to carry Dalo and Benar’s packs. She moved to the nearby weeds, brushing them aside with her boots to make sure nothing was left behind. Something caught her attention, one of those corner of your eye glints you wouldn’t have noticed unless you were thoroughly exhausted. Jarmella lingered on it, leaned forward with a careful squint, and gently reached into the weeds.
The guide lifted himself up attentively, an ‘impossible’ look now infused into his body. Jarmella pried a curved sword from the foliage, one covered in blood. It seemed to be lighter than she expected. She sniffed the handle. Recoiled. Tried to wipe some of the blood away from the blade. Found it was freshly sticky. She stared at it for some time, caught up in her own world before giving Leif a quick command. He hurried out of sight, returned a moment later with a curved sheath, gave it to Jarmella. Silence fell among the soldiers as Jarmella took the vampire’s sword for herself.
I called out behind me. “Torunn? I need six of your guys to help them.”
He looked back to the three stretchers. “Six?”
“Two of your guys and two of mine per stretcher.”
Torunn shook his head as he crept back towards me. “M-my people had to carry their own brothers and sisters in stretchers last time a Kasera was here, and now–”
“Yeah, none of you like the Kaseras. You’ve not been quiet about that since we got here. I need six of your guys to help my people.”
“They’re going long way across many fjords.”
“Not anymore. They’re with me.” I sheathed my new sword. Threaded it through my belt. Glared back at Torunn.
The man who had swapped places with Agnarr in the dead of night begrudgingly whistled to the forty northerners, hurried over to break the bad news – and my gods did it ever look like bad news. Somehow he wrangled six of the least argumentative raiders back, lead them to Jarmella and broke the news to her as well. Jarmella fired a grimace my way but didn’t refuse. The raiders helped the vanguard with the stretchers and like one big unhappy family we all moved on, dodging the black quick sand, avoiding the slick mud, and skirting through the trees towards the unknown mountain range looming dead ahead.
It soon became clear that there was no dedicated road linking Ice Bridge to Faersrock. There wasn’t anything remotely similar to a path, just a short stretch of the forest that was easier to walk through than what lay on either side. This forced us to change directions every mile or so as our previous trail became overgrown with roots and branches or filled with mudslides and fallen trees. We took this fork, then that one, this right, a couple of lefts, veered off sharply to the right, found a wide open swathe of hardened mud, then a narrow pass which could fit only one person at a time. We ducked, climbed, and tripped our way around trees tall enough to become legendary in their own right. We were continually pinned in, losing the salt air from the lake, overtaken by the pine needles on the ground, distant cracking of wood and branches, and the tumble of loose rock and boulders from miles away. A flutter of snowfall teased us, turning the leaves beneath us slick. As the land rose towards the foot of the mountain the wet patches of ground led to increasingly steep slopes and falling into ravines that would guarantee our death.
Jarmella had said all of three words to me since setting off. I remarked, “Nice sword.” “Yes, it is.” No eye contact from her. So, I remained in the lead, twenty yards ahead of the vanguard and twenty yards behind the northerners with my hood up, gloves on, and appreciating my many layers of clothing.
Wilbur was practically glued to my ass. I wasn’t manacled in anyway but his presence was definitely more of a hindrance than help. Our guide next to me was the bored and silent type. It suited me fine.
Gaynun veered off whenever we hit a part of the trail that was impossible to cross by horse. He followed the hoof prints and returned when our path and theirs merged again. He kept us up to date with his findings. Sometimes Draegor’s cavalry had suffered a half mile detour due to the unforgiving land, sometimes it was nothing more severe than twenty yards.
I tried to work through the timing of it all but out of the whole group I was the least familiar with horses and their capabilities. Draegor’s cavalry had an hour’s head start on us. There were some stretches of land where they could gallop, others where they were forced to move slower than us. We gained two miles on them from all of their detours. At best we were still an hour behind them. At worst, two.
I asked our guide: “Is the land ahead easier to ride with horses?”
It took some gesturing to get the right meaning across. “Yes.”
“How far?”
I should point out that the northerners don’t use Isparian miles. Our solution for understanding each other was to use time. Dividing the day from sunrise until sunset was easy enough. So was ‘half a day’ and ‘a quarter of a day’. After that it got a little tricky so I figured that ‘less than a quarter of a day’ would normally be up to three hours. ‘Much less’ would be around an hour. Another problem with measuring things by the daylight was finding an acceptable season to choose, since the winters here were notoriously dark and the summers painfully bright. Thankfully they had just had a harvest when they were all expected to work from dawn to dusk. We used that as a basis of measurement and from there I was able to translate all of this into Isparian hours and miles. Long story short: Faersrock was surrounded by twenty miles of thick trees and steep ground. After that it was a fairly pleasant walk all the way to Ice Bridge across eighty miles of thistles, weeds, and wild grass. If you want a real kick in the pants, four of our members had seen maps of the area complete with imperial miles and details of the terrain. Alysia, Zara, Loken, and Sergeant Bren. Three of them were currently on a boat. The other had been kidnapped. Alysia forbade bringing a map with her in case we were caught and searched as having a map ruined any chance of plausible deniability.
Wilbur held one hand up. “Hang on.” He squatted down next to a patch of fresh horse manure. He pushed it around with a stick, turning over one of the lumps. He waited for Jarmella and Gaynun to catch up.
“What is it?”
“This one’s sick,” said Wilbur. “There’s a lot of blood here. Some goopy, the rest fairly runny. And it has worms.”
“I found that too,” said Gaynun. “Worms swimming in blood.”
“From just one pile?” asked Jarmella.
“Three. This one makes four.”
“It makes sense if they’re being fed vampire blood,” said Wilbur. “Humans react in a similar way if it’s dirty.”
I dropped down, getting a face full of unpleasantness. I pushed my wrist forward, exposing the wrap of sapphire poison. The threesome standing over my shoulder fell silent as we watched the maggot-like worms writhe in discomfort, trying to swim through the blood to get away from me. I moved my wrist to the other side, watching the worms change direction almost immediately.
Above us a couple of blood ravens were perched on the branches, watching us closely and twitching with periodic spasms.
Jarmella lifted her hands gently. “Everyone back away slowly. Watch where you’re going. No one make a sound.”
We retreated, forcing ourselves onto a detour twenty yards away. All of our archers kept their bows nocked.
Gaynun waved from the side. “Jarmella? I found it. It was a dead horse.”
“How dead?”
“I’d say it happened before the attack, not after. They’ve skinned it as well.”
Sure enough, one of Draegor’s mutated horses lay on its side, its eyes wide open, completely blood shot. Lips peeled back, tongue hanging out. The blood ravens had been pecking at the creature for a couple of hours at least and hadn’t responded well to the diseased animal.
“Poor bastard,” muttered Wilbur. “Why skin it? That’s only going to slow them down.”
“Maybe to hide whose horse it was,” said Jarmella.
The horse’s chest started to expand.
Jarmella snapped her hands out. “Back up, back up, back up.”
The blood ravens fluttered overhead. The horse breathed in a shallow breath.
“Ohhhhh shit,” murmured Gaynun.
Wilbur stepped forward. Sword drawn. Sliced right through the horse’s neck. Gaynun leapt out of the way while Wilbur kept his attention locked firmly on the dead horse. “I’m sorry.”
Jarmella shot him a steely-eyed glare. “Adalyn?”
The mage trudged forward, her attention more on the ravenous birds above her than anything else. “Yes?”
“Can you check Wilbur and Gaynun’s clothes for worms, maggots, and … well, any trace of whatever is coming out of that?”
Adalyn’s nose crinkled. “Ew, what? Are those worms? Are they … ohhhh … they are! Ohhhh, boys. You two are fucked.”
Gaynun and Wilbur paled instantly. “I didn’t touch any of it.”
“Me neither.”
“You’re standing there with blood on your boots.”
“They’ve been poking around its droppings as well,” said Jarmella.
“Which is a bigger problem than you realize,” said Adalyn. One of the blood ravens squawked, trying to hurry us away from its feast. “The larvae in these things can latch onto you and your clothes and stay dormant for twenty days. When you stop moving they start looking for smells they find attractive. The stronger the better, which on humans is … well, have you ever met a dog?”
They gulped. “Yeah.”
“Where do they sniff you first?”
“… My hands …” murmured Gaynun.
“The next place they sniff. Well, these things go there and start biting and burrowing and sometimes if they’re able to find the right hole they go right up inside and that’s where they lay their eggs.”
Jarmella shook her head at Gaynun and Wilbur. “Go find some loose soil. Rub your boots, gloves, and trousers down thoroughly.”
“And make sure you’re not rubbing yourselves off on poison ivy,” whispered Adalyn. The two guys backed away from the birds as calmly as possible.
Jarmella gave the signal. We all backed away from the cursed horse of Ice Bridge. Adalyn held a cheeky grin at Jarmella. It lost its oomph when she looked to me.
“That was pretty funny,” I said.
Her cheer disappeared completely. “Thank you, sir. Er, sorry.”
“For what?”
“That was unprofessional of me.”
“Was any of it true?”
“No. I mean it could be, but not that I know of.”
“Are the horses sick?”
“Yes, sir. And badly. From the patches of manure I looked at these things should be on death’s door. It’s not much of a problem if there’s a little blood in your stool – these things happen. A burst blood vessel or the like. This here is more blood than just a burst vein and the worms are different sizes, which means they’ve been growing inside the horse for a while and their numbers have been increasing. They’ve been fed a lot of contaminated food. Probably contaminated blood as well. Back in the fight the horses did look deranged. Their coats were patchy with bits of fur missing completely, like they’ve been scratching themselves to death. Well, not to death, but … a lot. It happens if you’ve been drugged and have no way of relieving your burst of energy.”
I focused on Adalyn. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, sir.”
“Medic?”
“No, sir. Just a mage.”
“Who knows a lot about vampire worms in horses, bowel movements, and drugs.”
“I grew up on a farm.”
One piece fell into place. “There isn’t much call for magic on a farm.”
“No, sir. Which is why I became an imperial mage.” She certainly didn’t have the build of a farmer, either. Short and slim with a mousey look. Big eyes. Big ears. Prominent overbite. Short hair that stuck out like tufts of straw.
“What would happen if Draegor’s whole cavalry is infected like this?”
“Left untreated the horse is probably going to die.”
“Within the next three days?”
“It’s possible. It’s certainly taken its toll on one horse already.”
“Why take the time to skin it?”
“If it was covered in lesions it might show us that they’re in a worse state than they wanted us to see. A sick cavalry isn’t going to be much of a threat.”
“Except they did pretty well during their attack on Faersrock.”
“Yes, sir. As well as any imperial attack I’ve seen.”
“Is there any hope of us catching up to them?”
“No animal can be pushed forever. They must’ve pushed themselves to near breaking point just to get here in time. I’d expect them to be slower on their return, especially if they’re carrying prisoners.”
I turned to Jarmella. “I’d like to take a few of the troops ahead of the northerners to get a better look at the hoof prints. One cavalryman, one infantry, one archer, one mage.”
“Why one of each?”
“The cavalry ride but I feel like they aren’t used to staring at the ground as they move. The others are probably more familiar with the tracks but will notice different things about them. I know shit about horses and cavalry in particular. I’m hoping a mix of the troops will enlighten me.”
“What are you looking for?”
“How many there are, how fast they’re moving, how heavy they are, how many are carrying riders or prisoners, if they’re tired or energized, if they’re injured, how often do they stop for their riders to take a piss … that sort of thing.”
Jarmella drew in a deep breath, her whole body now trembling with nerves. “I’ve noticed that whenever you get singled out by our enemies things get a lot worse for us. I don’t know where your loyalties lie but you chose northern raiders over your own people and you’ve forced my hand into agreeing to come with you and
with them. Just know that I have at least one spell left at full charge. One that will leave you crippled and wishing for death.” She turned to the vanguard. “Odalis, Elgrid, Ivar, Adalyn, go with Raike for the next hour.”
The foursome trundled forward without saying a word. I walked on, my pulse elevated, and overtook the northerners who were walking quickly through the dense trees to catch up with their kidnapped loved ones.
We found the cavalry’s tracks easily enough. “What can you tell me about the hoof prints?” We spent the next hour picking out all the details we could. No one could tell me exactly how many horses there were but based on the droppings they estimated that a hundred remained. Considering we and Agnarr’s people had killed forty of them we figured that was an acceptable win on our part, especially considering we had to deal with multiple vampires.
Draegor’s cavalry had moved at a rapid pace for the first hour after leaving Faersrock then slowed to a quick walk. Some were definitely heavier than others, indicating that they were carrying prisoners. Flecks of blood were focused along the center of the road, leading us to conclude that the injured were kept in the middle to protect them against an ambush or to provide quick medical care if necessary.
Odalis pointed out some of the key features at a wider section of the path. “The horses we saw were not the large beasts of war from down south but they were more muscular. If you look here, this is one rider who has stopped to the side of the trail. They’ve turned around, the horse has stomped for a bit, and then moved on. The tracks from ten yards away get deeper and further apart – they’ve sped up. I’d say their commander stopped here to hurry up the slower riders. Whoever this guy is, he rode back to the front of the line.”
“Did anyone see a commander in Faersrock?”
No one knew. The attack definitely seemed to be more of a ramshackle raid than a military strike. Horses and riders rode off in all directions, sometimes alone, sometimes in pairs, other times in groups of five or six. They targeted civilians and armed resistance alike, set fire to buildings at random, but were able to pick out Loken from a distance – even though they shouldn’t have known we were going to be there.
