by Jackson Lear
“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.
We stopped at a wide clearing. A hundred horse prints stomped restlessly in a loose huddle while someone issued new orders. Elgrid found four senior riders – two on the outskirts facing inwards while addressing the riders, another two moving between their troops like sergeants making sure the grunts were paying close attention.
I stopped at a fine slash of blood. Searched the surrounding area. Found a mostly-stripped and headless woman lying on her front with two arrow wounds in her back – one in her shoulder blade, the other piercing her lung. Her head lay more or less attached to her bloodied neck. Her knees and shins were muddied. It looked more like a mercy killing than anything else, and she had allowed it. Despite the frosted ground her skin was still warm and her limbs moved freely. No stiffening yet. Blood still trickled from her neck when I squeezed her throat.
Odalis paused beside me. “Sir, if I may … there’s been some talk amongst the soldiers.”
“I’d be very careful about the next thing that comes out of your mouth.”
He took that as a cue to drop into a whisper. “You have the numbers, sir.”
“No. You cause a mutiny and I’ll cut your throat.”
“It won’t be a mutiny sir, it’ll be the rightful chain of command. Even now it shouldn’t be Jarmella, it’s always a member of the cavalry.”
“Which makes it you or Wilbur.”
Odalis didn’t even look sheepish when he nodded. “Exactly, but I have seniority over Wilbur.”
“Jarmella has seniority over you.”
“But I’m a member of the cavalry. Either way it doesn’t matter. You were primo delta. That makes you a lieutenant.”
“As a mercenary. Not army.”
“Commanding is commanding no matter where it comes from. Jarmella doesn’t have the training or experience for this. You do. It’s as clear as day.”
“Odalis?”
“Sir?”
“Fuck off and go make yourself useful.”
Ivar huffed through the trees, this time with his bow nocked and half drawn. “Sir! The riders have split up. Half of them are still heading east towards Brilskeep. The rest – the lighter and faster ones – have gone south towards the fjord. They’re circling around on us right now.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Torunn pointed to the giant mountain range stretching for as far as the eye could see. “That’s it.”
“How long will it take to get there?”
“Another three hours.”
“Draegor’s riders are an hour away in two different directions,” said Elgrid. “At least one group will catch us in no time.”
“That puts it at fifty of them against sixty of us,” said Odalis.
“Except one set of tracks are heading back towards Faersrock,” said Jarmella.
And the northerners knew it as well. Half of them were arguing with the rest about which way to go – follow the ones back home or go after the heavier riders.
“We have the numbers,” said Odalis.
“They have vampires,” murmured Torunn.
“Hang on,” said Jarmella. “No offence to Agnarr’s people but only four of them have bows. The rest are hand to hand.”
Torunn peered back at Jarmella. “Why is that offence?”
The volume among the northerners increased to a shouting match. Torunn barked at them with a couple of ‘korla’s thrown in. The six guys who had helped to carry Dalo, Benar, and Saskia on the stretchers wandered to their people, massaging their hands, while the rest of them faced the very real possibility of being forced to give up.
“It’ll give us a chance to get some horses,” said Odalis.
“It’s not worth it if they’re a day or two away from dying,” said Adalyn.
“It is if we cut their numbers in half.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” said Jarmella. “We have eight archers – two who were trampled and are on stretchers, so those two are out. Most of us have exhausted our magic reserves, leaving us with fifty fighting hand to hand against fifty of them on horse back.”
Adalyn said: “If even one of them is a vampire we’ll be overrun.”
A fair few eyeballs looked my way. The northerners resumed shouting at each other.
“What’s with them?” I asked.
Torunn shrugged sheepishly. “They’ve been walking for hours.”
“We’re expecting to walk for days.”
“Aye, but … That was fighting talk. We have people injured in Faersrock. Might be dying.”
Jarmella said: “They won’t get back before nightfall.”
“They might.”
I looked to Jarmella. “It’s your call.”
Jarmella sunk, staring back at the wounded vanguard in unknown lands as she debated the merit of three options: dig in somewhere nearby and hope to ambush the cavalry – assuming that they were circling around on us and not going to attack Faersrock again; stay the course and keep following the first lot of riders; or split off now so that we had a chance of reaching the mountain pass before the riders mowed us down.
“They might’ve detoured with Loken and ditched him somewhere,” said Elgrid.
“Yeah,” mumbled Jarmella. She looked back towards Faersrock. Started shaking her head.
The northerners finally reached the point of shouting ‘fuck you’ to everyone who opposed them.
I turned to Torunn. “Is going back to attack Faersrock a common tactic of their cavalry?”
“I sail ships, not ride horses.”
“But splitting up – is that normal for them?”
“Not always, but sometimes.”
“To see who’s following them?”
“Aye, and sometimes to attack the town again if no fighters are still there.”
“So when you’re following your enemies, like now, do you do it quietly or as noisy as hell?”
Torunn looked as though I had asked him a completely alien question. “Why would we be noisy?”
“To get your enemy’s attention.”
He was still thoroughly lost. “Then they would know we’re here.”
“Exactly.” I stepped back. Cupped my hands around my mouth. Bellowed. “DRAEGOR!”
Torunn grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand down while swearing in his northern tongue. I had also earned the ire of Jarmella once again and the rest of the vanguard.
I shook Torunn’s hand free. “The riders are either going back to raid Faersrock or they’re checking to see if anyone is following them.”
“Yes.”
“Now they know someone’s following them. But they don’t know how many. If their orders are to attack Faersrock then they’ll know that we are onto them. If their orders are to circle around and see who’s following them then they’ll be worried about walking into an ambush. Either that or we might have just ambushed their allies. So now they have something to worry about. We have three hours until nightfall. Let’s make it count.”
The forty northerners stared back at me, no doubt muttering a few ‘mother fucker’s under their breath. Even Jarmella got in on that. “Vanguard? Form up. We don’t have as much time as we would like.”
I made my way to the front of the pack with one hand resting on the hilt of Razoz’s former sword and kept moving, determined not to check behind me until someone forced me to.
The gangly fourteen year old northerner hurtled past me with a shortbow in his hand and a quiver by his waist. Some scraggly hairs had started to grow above his top lip and under his chin, but they were few and far between. He remained in the lead, scanning left and right, desperate to prove that he was doing a good job. He stopped only once – to stare in wonder at the vanguard tactics behind him. Gaynun and Menrihk were both up a tree with seeing rods fixed to their eyes. Both giving signals with open and closed fists, numbers, spelling things out with the first letter of whatever word they wanted to communicate, which was pretty impressive given that they were just one error away from falling and breaking their necks. They soon climbed down, resumed their march.
The kid was waiting for me.
“What’s up?”
“Rohd hed.”
“Road ahead?”
He nodded and began measuring things out with exaggerated gestures and sounds. He pointed to the ground; ‘Here’, then pretended to gallop, ‘one. There? Ten.’
“Thank you. Your name?” He didn’t know that much Isparian so I held out one hand. “Raike.”
It clicked. “Ithka.”
I pointed to the road. “Draegor’s horses?”
He shook his head. He pointed to me. “You …” He thrusted forward, growled with fangs, and pointed to the sword by my side.
“Yes, I killed a vampire.”
He perked up. “Vampire.”
“Yeah. It’s the same word in Vasslehün and Ispar.” Again, it was lost on him, so I shifted my accent. “Vasslehün: vampire. Ispar: vampire.”
“You, vampire …” More thrusting. Held up a finger, then two, then three, all with a questioning look.
I stretched out all ten fingers. The kid’s eyes expanded in wonder. Then came a healthy dose of suspicion. I did it again. Very serious. The kid? Still suspicious. He peered at the sword by my waist and made an obvious search for the rest of my vampire trophies. I peeled up my sleeve. Showed him the scratches from a previous vampire attack, when one of those bastards had raked me with his poisoned nails.
“Making friends?” asked Jarmella, as she huffed beside me.
The kid read the mood from Jarmella well enough and trotted back into the lead.
“What’s up?” I asked.
It was Jarmella’s first time ahead of the northerners. She twitched with every schick of the axman sharpening his blade while walking behind us. “You’re not in charge here.”
“I know.” Normally I would’ve opted to remain silent, but we were still two hours away from the mountain’s edge and so far no one was eager to use it as a short cut to Ice Bridge.
Jarmella didn’t look so convinced by my candor. “Despite what the others might say in whispered words: you do not have seniority over the vanguard. You are a member of General Kasera’s house. If you’re going to remain with the Kaseras th
en you’re going to need to toe the line like one of us, not like an impulsive mercenary who wants to prove that his dick is bigger than everyone else’s, okay?”
“I understand.”
“I need you to agree.”
“I agree.”
Jarmella couldn’t shake her glare. “Do you purposely jeopardize every mission you’re on or is there just something wrong with you?”
“If I purposely jeopardize every mission then there is something wrong with me.”
Clearly that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “So why are you like this? And what the hell were you thinking by calling attention to our position earlier?”
“Why did I shout loud enough for my throat to still be hurting?”
“Yes.”
“Because we were about to lose most of our northern allies.”
Jarmella looked towards Torunn and the rest of Agnarr’s people. “Them?”
“Yeah. They were as eager as anything to charge into battle when we were back in Faersrock. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was them hoping for a fairer fight in the forest within the next couple of hours. But half a day later and they’re tired. There’s no one to lead them. Finding the cavalry tracks divide in two encouraged them to turn around sooner rather than later. And I get it. They were worried that the riders were going to attack Faersrock again. I doubt they would’ve. The moment they saw us they knew something had gone wrong in Brilskeep. Why was Miss Kasera Lavarta in Faersrock and not in a dungeon a hundred miles away? Why were we fighting Draegor’s people alongside Agnarr’s? Even more of an issue: Faersrock was practically empty of Agnarr’s raiders. There was only one ship when there should’ve been a fleet. Where were the other ships? Potentially attacking Ice Bridge or Brilskeep. If half of the cavalry returned to Faersrock there’s a good chance that the remaining hundred raiders would’ve arrived back home, enraged at what Draegor had just done to them. The cavalry wouldn’t stand a chance. There’s a lot of unanswered questions for them to deal with but the most pressing issue is to return to Brilskeep to see what’s happened. Believe me: they know something’s happened. They just don’t know what and their imaginations will be running wild. It’s in their best interests to head home and prepare for whatever they think we’re about to throw at them. So, splitting up half of the cavalry was just to see if anyone was following them. I would’ve liked to have kept quiet to buy us some more time but Agnarr’s people were more concerned about going home than helping us out so I forced their hand.”
