The next morning, we were all ready to move before daylight. I had us wait an impatient hour until I judged it safe enough for us to travel without veering too far off course, or risk one of us breaking an ankle by standing in a concealed rabbit hole on the hillside. As soon as the sun appeared over the cloud-obscured horizon, the rain came with it, heavy and cold. With the rain came a strong wind, which blew in irritatingly sudden gusts, pulling at our packs and our shields as we marched.
“This is more like it, eh?” asked one of the men. “Marching up a shitty hillside, in a shitty part of the world, getting covered in shitty rain.”
“You always were an optimist, Leaves,” said another.
“Bastard,” corrected another man. “He always was a bastard. That’s what you meant to say.”
None of us particularly enjoyed the rain. In battle, it made our footing treacherous, but when we were marching it simply leeched away the enjoyment of the journey. In combination with the wind, it made most of that day an unpleasant one. We had seen snow before, though it only fell rarely in these lands, but I thought that even snow would be preferable to the combination of rain and strong, gusting wind that we felt as we slogged along the road. It wasn’t as if we suffered from the cold, but the wind made us feel like we were being jostled in a crowded marketplace, the way it pushed and pulled at us. Tempers frayed as the day progressed, though of course we were far too familiar with each other for it to descend further than the occasional snapped comment or over-sharp retort.
We passed other travellers as we went, though they were few in number. I’d have thought it more unusual if there had been lots of them given the inclemency of the weather and the fact that armed men often used this road as a way of getting from Blades to Gold and vice versa. It wasn’t unheard of for even a disciplined force to steal what they wanted or needed, so it would have been a stupid merchant who came this way.
Those we did see hurried out of our path, with many of them outright fleeing with their goods. Their reactions told me that they were particularly wary of theft or murder. Perhaps some of them had already been robbed and all they had remaining to them was their lives.
A couple of the more defiant travellers did stop to speak briefly. One – a scrawny old man on a rickety cart drawn by a knobbly old horse, told us that he’d been on this road for over a week and that he’d seen what looked like thousands of men heading to the south east. They’d let him pass by unhindered, but he was under the impression that it was because he was carrying nothing of value.
“They looked like common criminals, most of them. Filthy in their armour. I reckon half of them would have murdered me if I hadn’t bowed and scraped like they were high and mighty lords. I’ve got my pride, but I’ve also got my life. I know which of the two I’d rather hold onto.”
I warned him that there was little left of Gold, if that’s where he had a mind to travel. He said he had family in the outskirts that would look after him. I didn’t want to ask him if they were to the south of the town, since there was nothing left there. Some things you just have to find out for yourself, so I bade him farewell.
The old man had seen these soldiers almost two days ago, which I estimated would put them a little over two days in front of us. They’d been moving slower than I’d anticipated, not that they had anything to rush home for. As soon as they got back to their station, they’d be mixed in with other units and sent straight back to the north west. Such was the life of a soldier in Duke Warmont’s army. I doubted if more than a third of them reached the age of forty.
Eventually, this dreary day ended and everyone was grateful when I directed them away from the road to a hidden place where we could pitch our tents and take refuge within. No one bothered to try lighting a fire. It would have provided some cheer, but there was little fuel available and the rain continued even in the darkness. I swear that some of the men could get a fire going underwater, such was their skill, but no one looked willing to give it a try and we huddled away in the darkness, waiting for morning.
Since we’d been changed by the dark magics of the Emperor, our bodies had stopped giving off much in the way of heat. Consequently, when we broke camp the next day, most of us were still as sodden as we had been when we’d gone into our tents, since there was nothing to make the water evaporate. I found my clothing still clinging to my skin in the same way as it had been when I’d settled for the night. It was cold and unpleasant, but I’d felt worse before.
“Fuck this for a march,” grumbled Chunter, living up to his name. In reality, we’d found ourselves in this situation dozens, if not hundreds of times, but it wasn’t something that any of us looked forward to.
“Shut up you whinging sod,” said Weevil. “The rain’s gone this morning and the wind will soon have you dry.”
Weevil was right – the clouds which had been heavy with rain the day before were now nothing more than gloomy above us and their cargo of rain appeared to have been spent. If the sun had broken through it would have lifted all of our moods, but the clouds remained a persistent blanket over the sky. The wind continued to be an annoyance, but now that the rain had cleared we all felt a slight relief at the knowledge that it would blow the moisture from our armour and the clothing we wore beneath.
We headed on our way again, at the mile-destroying pace that had long ago become natural to us. Within an hour, the wind had driven out the wetness from our clothing and our packs, but we weren’t grateful for it and I’m sure most of us hoped that it would ease and the sun appear instead. There was the occasional grumble about the weather, but we were none of us dedicated complainers. We’d camped not far from the road, but I decided not to continue along it. Instead, we journeyed parallel, trying to keep to the valleys, so that we’d not be easily spotted if we came across a large band of armed men. Every so often, I’d send someone to run up to a hill top in order that we could be sure we were going in the right direction and also to see if there were any signs of danger that we should be aware of. I couldn’t imagine that we’d have gone any faster if we’d stuck to the road, since the scouts I sent out reported that it had degraded into little more than a quagmire after the rains of yesterday.
By the middle of the afternoon we’d passed several small farms, with a smattering of sheep grazing in fields out of sight of the roads. Even so, I thought it risky in the extreme to keep livestock so close to a place where Warmont’s soldiers regularly marched. His men had an army’s discipline in most cases, but it was not unheard of for them to commandeer food and supplies when they thought they were in need. Naturally enough, they rarely paid for what they took and I knew they weren’t punished for what they did. Warmont had a few captains who I would have counted to be honest men, but they were a minority. Now that I was on the outside looking in, I found it strange that an upstanding man would be able to live with himself as he ordered his men to kill in the Duke’s name. There again, I had been in that situation for many years and although I’d known disquiet, it had been like I was seeing my actions through a thick gauze, hiding the truth from my eyes.
We came upon a village – a god-forsaken collection of thirty run-down wooden huts. It lay to the far side of a broad stream that was swollen from the rain. The ground was thick with trampled mud and the place had an air of neglect. We were high above the huts on a steep hillside which had a couple of tracks worn through the scrub.
“No movement,” I told Ploster.
“And no sign of bodies either,” he said.
We both knew that something was wrong and we watched for a few minutes. I didn’t feel like making a large detour on the basis that there might be something threatening below and we’d have plenty of time to escape or make preparations to fight if we saw something.
After half an hour in which we saw no movement, I signalled for us to advance. Weapons were readied and shields held close as we came down the hill. In other circumstances, I’d have likely avoided the place altogether, but our path led us straight through. It
took only minutes to cross the ankle-deep stream and reach the closest of the huts. They were shabbier than they’d looked from afar, and must have housed the poorest of the poor. I had never understood why even the most unambitious of people would put up with living in such squalor, when the perils of the unknown would be little worse.
I pushed open the door of the nearby hut, with three men at my back. The rest split off in groups of four to see if anything lay within the other dwellings. Shafts of daylight came in through numerous imperfections in the wall, allowing me to make out the contents once my eyes had adjusted. There was nothing inside, apart from a straw-stuffed bed and a couple of roughly-made wooden chairs. There were a few dark shapes on the floor which I took to be pots and pans. I left the hut and watched the other men to see if they’d found anything. I saw a few shrugs and heard Linster call out that his hut was empty.
“There’s something over here, Captain,” shouted Nods.
I came over to where he was standing. There was a well in the middle of the village, its walls made of misshapen stone, chipped away from who knew where. Even before I’d come within ten yards, I saw the clouds of black flies centred over the well shaft. Closer still, the smell became apparent. I looked inside, already knowing what it held.
“Who’s done all that, Captain?” asked Nods. He knew I had no definitive answer, but he had to ask someone the question.
“Warmont’s soldiers,” I said. In truth, I didn’t know if it was the remains of Leerfar’s army which had slaughtered the people from this village and thrown their bodies into the well. They made as likely a culprit as anyone else.
“Going from the number of huts, there could be a hundred people down there, Captain,” said Bolt, who’d been the next to arrive.
I didn’t think there was room for a hundred people inside the well, but there was little point in speculating. Those at the top of the pile came nearly to the rim. They were still clothed, but had been butchered with something sharp. The blood was dried and crusted. I doubted they’d been dead for more than a few days.
“These have been dead too long for Warmont’s army to have killed in passing,” I said to Ploster.
“Who’s to say that many of Leerfar’s men didn’t flee the town during the fighting, when the opportunity presented itself to them?” he replied. “Such men are likely to have been lawless and desperate. It would be no surprise if they turned to murder.”
I was in agreement with his conclusion. The Duke’s lands were a harsh place to live for the poor. If you were wealthy, you had it easier – it was ever thus – but even rich men could find themselves conscripted if Warmont’s need for soldiers was severe enough. I had begun to develop a hatred for an existence where the only escape from poverty was to join the army and by doing so ensure that subsequent generations would be entrenched in that same poverty. A never-ending circle of death and despair.
“Come on,” I said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here. And keep an eye out for deserters.”
Before we could leave, I saw Ploster shudder, as if he’d noticed something which had evaded him until just that point. “What is it?” I asked.
“It wasn’t men that killed these villagers,” he said. His face looked hollow and sunken as he spoke. “It was something else – something old and powerful.”
“Is it here?” I asked, cutting to the chase.
“Whatever it was, it’s gone,” he said. “It seems there are more terrors in the Duke’s lands than the Duke alone.”
We hurried away from the village and its well filled with bodies. Whatever it was that had been responsible, we had no fear of it, but it wasn’t our battle. Not yet, at least.
4
After another two days of fast marching, I guessed that we were coming close to the anticipated position of Leerfar’s army. I would have gladly risked much for a chance to settle the score with her, but I had no intention of throwing ourselves in a suicidal attack against vastly superior numbers. I didn’t even know if Leerfar was with them. I knew her to be impatient and I thought it likely that she’d have gone ahead, rather than trudge for weeks through the rain and the mud. With all of the uncertainty, I thought it best if we put a greater distance between ourselves and the road and we spent the best part of half a day travelling more east than south, until I felt that we’d be well away from their scouts and outriders.
The land remained bleak and uninviting. Here in the centre of Warmont’s lands there was little to appeal to settlers and as far as I knew, there wasn’t a large town for several hundred miles around us. Had we been anywhere else, there’d be hub cities here and there, benefitting from trade and travel. The Duke cared little for infrastructure and I’d often wondered why Malleus tolerated this part of his Empire being so poor and undeveloped. The Emperor wasn’t stupid, so I’m sure he had his reasons. They just weren’t something I’d ever been able to fathom.
We passed within sight of two more villages, huddling in places far from anywhere. I doubted they’d appear on any map and I doubted that anyone who grew up in them would ever make their mark upon history. I was not usually so dismissive of human potential and endeavour, but I found these places to be depressing in their lack of progression. They would never grow to become towns or cities and they’d never provide a surplus in order to engage in trade, nor to help any other people in the vicinity. Ploster caught my mood, as he so often did.
“These people deserve better,” he said, as we crossed a wide ridge, two miles away from one of the villages.
“They’ll never get better than what they have now,” I said. “And possibly it’ll get worse for them. Can you imagine a life like that?”
“Even so, they will have hopes. It is not their fault to have been born into such a place. You can’t condemn their children for not knowing something which they have never been told and might never experience.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Jon,” I told him. “I wonder if my own fear of being one of them is what clouds my judgement and makes me so disdainful. After all, these are the Saviour’s people.”
“You need to keep reminding yourself of that, Tyrus. Otherwise you might find yourself treating them differently to how you treat others, simply because you believe them to be unworthy.”
I knew he was correct and the First Cohort’s sorcerer made a fine adviser. His input often helped clear my head and let me bring things into focus, when I might otherwise find myself struggling to be sure of the best course of action. Even without him I was not at all indecisive, but I appreciated what he had to say on most matters.
Twelve days into the journey we were now travelling directly south, on a course that I hoped would lead us straight into Blades. We’d travelled east as well as south for the first week or so, but I was now sure that we’d not stumble across any remnants of the army that was retreating from Gold. I was correct in that assumption, but we still found trouble.
Early evening on the twelfth day, we overlooked a village that was much larger than those we’d encountered up until now. This village showed signs of industry and even had a long street running through the middle of it. There were several larger buildings to either side of this street, though none of them were exactly what you’d consider to be large as such. Two wide dirt tracks snaked out of the village, wending along valleys away from where we watched. There was traffic along these unpaved roads and I watched half a dozen carts trundle along, pulled variously by hand, horse or ox. There were also people on these roads, walking with purpose to whatever destination they had in mind. Fields surrounded the town, many planted with crops and others left for grazing.
“Eyeball,” I said, waving forward the man I’d brought with me for the sort of mission I was about to send him on.
“What is it, Captain?” he asked. His eyes studied the village below.
“I want you to go down there without being seen and find out if there’s a tavern or an inn. And see if there’s anything else we might need to know about.”
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p; “Will do, Captain,” he said with a salute.
With that, he was gone. Our vantage point was amongst a number of smooth boulders and we hunkered down to wait, as the light slowly faded from the sky. I watched Eyeball for a few minutes as he darted through the long grass and stones that had made this side of the valley unsuitable for farming. The soldier’s outline was somehow hard to keep in focus and when I glanced aside at something else, I couldn’t see him again when I looked once more.
Magic was rare in these lands, but it came in many forms. Ploster could burn a man alive at a distance. He could seek out hidden forces of the enemy, though with difficulty if they were far away. There were other sorcerers – vastly more powerful than Jon Ploster – who could suck the life from your flesh, or burn towns and cities to the ground. What Eyeball could do was different. I never knew where he’d learned to do it, but he could become almost invisible to human sight. He wasn’t the only man in the Cohort to have this skill, but we’d lost two of the others in the recent fighting.
“Are we going to sleep somewhere warm and dry tonight, Captain?” asked Noose. He couldn’t keep the hope from his voice. We were accustomed to sleeping in the cold and on hard ground, but it wasn’t every man’s preference.
“Only if it’s safe,” I warned him.
“What about some ale and a fresh loaf or two?” called Weevil.
“I’m sure we can fit those things in, all being well,” I said with a smile. We’d marched for in excess of twelve hours each day for twelve days. While we didn’t need bread, ale or a room for the night, I wasn’t so foolish that I’d deny the men these comforts just for the sake of it. As captain, I had to look after them.
Eyeball returned within the hour. “It looks good, Captain,” he told me. “That big building halfway along the street is a tavern downstairs, with rooms upstairs. It’s busy, too, but mostly farmers. I couldn’t see anything more deadly than a pitchfork.”
Strength of Swords (First Cohort Book 2) Page 4
