Wagon Master

by Rex Sumner

high as a wheel went over his leg.

  The wagon sped up, the horses galloping now, and this time the arrows went for the horses. The near horse was hit three times, her scream coming out in a cloud of blood but, although she staggered, she kept going, the arrow deep in her lungs, as she swept through the gate into the yard, where she faltered, head down and blood pouring out.

  The dead haulier screamed. "Noooo! Chloe! Noooo!"

  The haulier fell over, and was revealed to be a sack of supplies in a jacket, with a hat tied on the top. Underneath it was a small space where the reins went, and a distraught figure struggled out, falling to the ground and running to the horse. Chloe was on her knees now, her life's blood pouring out, and she managed one last nudge to her master as Chad threw his arms round her, his tears falling into her blood.

  "Brave man, your lad," said Sergeant Major Hollis several months later, over a beer in the officer's mess with Sergeant Major Cuppold. "Didn't turn a hair at being shot at by elves, but cried like a baby over his damned horse."

  Cuppold swigged some beer to cover his thoughts at Chad being called brave. "So did the elves attack after that?"

  "No, they pulled away once they knew we had food. Saved our bacon in more ways than one. Didn't let your wagon go back until we had a strong patrol to go with him, though. Thought they might lay for him, you know what they're like for revenge."

  “Kind of you to put him up for a medal.”

  “He deserved it, least we could do. Here he tried to turn it down?”

  “Yes, he did turn it down. Princess turned up in person, she knows him, and made him accept. Used interesting language, you can tell she has spent time on the frontier. Chad was quite shocked.” Cuppold laughed at the memory.

  As the grey light of dawn crept through the saplings, Chad came up the hill with his wagon and stopped by a Company Sergeant.

  "Still hot, Chad?" he asked.

  "Should be, boss," replied Chad. "Got enough straw round the pots and some hot stones under 'em. Plenty of porridge to keep the lads warm."

  The Spakka had launched a sudden raid in force down the peninsula, overrunning the border forts and were deep into Harrhein. Chad had been called up to help get hot provisions to the front line and was delivering porridge, hot and salty, to exhausted soldiers who had been retreating for the last two weeks. Now they came out of the wood and formed a queue at the back of the wagon. Chad pulled the straw and lids of the pots and started slapping porridge into the proffered bowls

  "Good of you to get out of your pit, Chad!" cried a sergeant, an old friend. The soldiers always believed the hauliers lived a life of luxury with a warm bed and plenty of food.

  "Wasn't going to, but your sister insisted and kicked me out!" he replied instantly, although he hadn't even seen a bed in the last month.

  "Oi! Just now you said it was my mother!" laughed a corporal.

  "Didn't you know he was your uncle?"

  "Sergeant! Unload those pots, immediately." A crisp voice quelled the banter. "Wagonmaster, you are needed to collect some wounded." A brisk man jumped up onto the front of the wagon, and Chad suppressed a groan. One of those efficient bloody officers that get you killed before you know it, he thought to himself. And he's a bloody Pathfinder, no insignia to give away his rank.

  "Of course, sir," he replied, none of his concern and resentment sounding in his voice. Damnit, it was thirty hours since he'd last had any sleep and this sounded like it would take another thirty. He whipped round to the horses, removed the feedbags and climbed up onto the front seat as the Company Sergeant shut and fastened the tailgate. "Which way, sir?"

  "Down the track there and head north."

  Chad moved the horses down the track, keeping them well left to avoid the deep mud. The Pathfinder noted this and nodded approval which Chad didn't see.

  "We've about ten miles to go, wagonmaster. You're Chad aren't you? Glad to have found you, you did a good job back out west a couple of years ago. In fact, couple of my lads were amongst the lot you saved, told me about it."

  Chad didn't know what to say to that, and just grunted. He was thinking that the last he heard the Spakka were a lot closer than ten miles. The sky was lightening rapidly and they climbed a low hill. The Pathfinder had lapsed into silence. They didn't talk much as a rule, Chad avoided them when he could. Dangerous company. Sergeant Major Cuppold often tasked him with delivering to them in the middle of nowhere, far too close to the frontier, usually.

  Chad eased up the hill, leaving the path to go through some low scrub and avoid the skyline. The wagon's high wheels were designed for just such manoeuvres. He eased the wagon through some trees and crested where they could see down the valley but not be seen. It looked like normal to him, and he had been down this road many times.

  The Pathfinder slipped off the front of the wagon and jogged along beside it. Idly, Chad wondered if he actually was an officer.

  "Keep following the track. Over the hill you will go through a deep gully, then across an open meadow and you will come to a stretch of forest coming down to the road ending in pines. Stop there, the wounded will find you. Don't come back the same way." He pointed along the road and gestured with his hands, not looking at Chad.

  "You not coming with me?" asked Chad in surprise.

  "You will be safer without me. You'll get through; they wouldn't let you through if I was along." With this enigmatic comment he faded off into woods and disappeared, ignoring Chad's stuttering response.

  "Who's they? Who won't let me through? Where are you going? What's going on?"

  Chad strained to see into the woods and find out where he had gone, without success. The horses kept on going and he couldn't decide what to do, feeling naked and exposed without the Pathfinder. He went down the hill and up the other side, his skin crawling the whole way, despite the sun coming out and warming his back.

  Chad found the promised gully, which indeed he knew well. He hated it, in fact, always thought it was an ideal place for an ambush. With his shoulder blades shivering in anticipation of an arrow or, more likely, a thrown axe, he glanced up at the top of the gulley above him. And met the flat, implacable eyes of a Spakka staring at him.

  The Spakka didn't move, and Chad kept going slowly. He looked up into the trees, and realised that there were more Spakka there. Lots of them. All looking at him. Abruptly realising he was not breathing, he forced himself to take even breaths and tried to control the panic. The horses kept up a steady pace.

  Ahead he could see a Spakka sitting on a rock and watching him carefully as he came closer. As he drew level, he was looking him in the eyes, and another Spakka beside the rock moved slightly. The seated Spakka put up a hand, and belatedly Chad realised he was stopping the other man from throwing an axe. The seated Spakka nodded at Chad, who nodded back automatically.

  "Modig mann!" The seated man called, a great scar on his cheek gleaming whitely in the dawn's light, got up and vanished over the lip of the gulley.

  Chad came out of the gulley into the sunlight and wondered how he was still alive. He was conscious of warmth, and realised he'd pissed his breeches and hadn't even realised. He breathed deeply, wondering if he was going to throw up, and was glad he'd missed breakfast.

  By the time he reached the pines, he had himself back under control. He pulled up under the pines and unstuck himself from the seat, climbing down and automatically going to check the horses. He had the left mare's foreleg up and was cleaning out the hoof when a voice made him jump, drop the hoof and allow the mare to tread on his foot.

  "Now that's what I like - a man who cares for his horse when the woods are full of fucking Spakka."

  He started when he realised that a man was looking at him over a crossbow from just a few feet away. He was lying under a bush and almost invisible.

  "Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" the man snapped.

  "Uh, I'm Wagonmaster Chad, and I've come
to take the wounded back. Are you injured?"

  "You're funning me? Take us back?" A note of incredulity mixed with hope crept into the man's voice. "Chad you say? Heard of you. How many can you fit on that wagon?"

  "Quite a few, I reckon. How many of you are there? And who are you?"

  "We're the North Hallows Frontier Regiment, the Shield of the King." A note of pride crept into the man's voice. "We've 37 men here, all that's left of Lord Young's company. And every wound is in the front." He turned and called over his shoulder. "Sarge, stop digging your grave. We're getting out of here."

  Chad realised that 37 men would take a while to load, so he filled the feed bags and put them on the horses. As he finished, a large man pushed the bushes aside and came out, looked at him and the wagon carefully. He had a crown embroidered onto his sleeve, denoting he was a sergeant. There was blood all over his tunic and he moved very slowly.

  "You are most welcome, Mister Chad," he said in a soft Northern burr. "Kindly assist in moving the wounded. Not many of us up to that."

  "Course," said Chad and followed him back through the bushes into a hollow, lined with bodies, it seemed. He gagged at the smell, of rotting flesh and dying men. A cawing came from above and he looked up to see there were a large number of crows in the surrounding trees.

  "Waiting for tomorrow," said the sergeant, following his eyes grimly. "Come now; give me a hand