by Karen Nilsen
“I think he got stuck in a rock woman,” Gerard said.
“You and your rock succubus.” I chuckled and clambered to my feet. Behind us, I heard the sounds of the men breaking camp. It had been difficult to find a hollow large enough for all of us to camp together, six noble captains and a hundred foot soldiers. Of course, there weren’t a hundred foot soldiers left anymore. Roland and I had counted eighty-five last night after two of the men had vanished in the dark. And now, if Sirus was truly gone, we’d have five captains instead of six. I swallowed, the enormity of his absence sinking in. Sirus and I had practiced together some at home, enough for me to know he was a good swordsman and even better archer. He had a quiet, capable manner, a steadying presence on his men, and he was one of the best card players I knew, able to bluff with naught but a pair of deuces.
“Landers.” Gerard’s voice dropped to a hiss.
“What?”
“You don’t think the slavers took him?”
“We better hope they did--there’s a good chance then he’s alive. They don’t get any coin when they kill their captives.”
“But that’d mean they’re close.” Gerard glanced around as if he expected sinister forms to pop out from behind every rock.
“Good. That’s why we’re here, Gerard--to flush the slaving bastards out and teach them a lesson.” I clapped him on the shoulder with an enthusiasm I didn’t feel.
“Don’t be so damn pompous, Landers, not now.”
“I was being sarcastic. I want to be home just as much as you do.” I touched the braided lock of Safire’s hair I carried in my shirt pocket, swallowing. I dared not think of her now, I dared not, or I’d run down the path the way we’d come and stow away on a ship home. Quickly, I looked toward the men breaking camp, my comrades and my duty. Merdcai, a small, dark-haired sort who jumped five feet in the air at every pebble clattering to the path. His father was a fisherman in Calcors. Karl Silar, the blacksmith’s apprentice turned soldier, with the broadest shoulders and biggest muscles I’d ever seen. We’d had to find special chain mail for him. Wright Lorin, who sneezed whenever I asked him a question or gave him an order, as if I had the same effect as hay dust on him. Darle, the prankster of the group--he’d somehow slipped Marennese church incense into our pipe weed one night. Roland and I had each given him three lashes for that--it could have been a dangerous prank if we’d been ambushed in the middle of our incense-induced stupor. Late at night, though, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of Gerard, befuddled by incense, caressing a mossy rock because Roland told him it was Princess Esme’s breast.
Merdcai, Karl, Wright, and Darle were but four of the seventeen men under my direct command as a minor captain. Roland, the oldest and most experienced fighter at age twenty-six, was the major captain to whom all the men, including the five minor captains, reported. I quickly sought out my men amongst the milling crowd, reassuring myself that all seventeen were there. If Sirus was indeed gone, we’d have to split his men up amongst us remaining commanders.
“What have you got in your pocket? You keep reaching in there like you’re carrying the queen’s pearls.” Gerard made a grab for my shirt pocket, and before I could stop him, he’d pulled out the lock of Safire’s hair. Even after all these weeks of hard travel, it glowed copper in the harsh light, a boon of unbearably sweet memory in this desolate place. She’d been so serious when she gave it to me, as if I asked for her little finger or a vial of blood. She had knelt naked in the rumpled bedclothes as she plaited her hair. Then she’d leaned forward and let me cut the lock with my dagger--with the morning sun on us, it looked like I was cutting fire, a flame of her I could carry with me to the darkest ends of the earth.
“So, Landers,” Gerard leered, shoving me rudely back into my current reality. “Who’s the wench?” He held up the lock of hair. “I bet she’s a right tasty barmaid, with hair this color. I‘ve always wanted to try a redhead to see if they‘re as wicked as all the legends say.”
I snatched back the hair and hid it in my pocket. “Damn it, Gerard, she’s not a barmaid. The next time you pull a stunt like that, you‘ll be picking your fingers off the ground.”
“All right, settle down. I didn’t mean to insult your wench. I am curious though, something I‘ve always wondered about redheads--is her nether hair the same color as the hair on her head?”
I smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I patted my pocket one last time to make certain her lock of hair was safe, then donned my gambeson and chain mail with a loud clinking that rattled in my ears and echoed off the rocky sides of the hollow around us. I only took off my mail once a day--to wash as best I could in whatever spring we camped near. It could be a foolish indulgence if we happened to get ambushed, but I seriously doubted anyone would try to ambush us in the morning when we were most alert.
“You’ve been acting strange since we left Cormalen, but I’d no idea it was a wench.”
“Quit calling her a wench, Gerard.”
He grinned and subsided. We had to get ourselves and our men ready to march further into the mountains, and his ribbing would have to wait. I knew, though, he would bring it up again, likely around the fire tonight so all the others could get in on the fun.
We walked together back to the camp, moving through the men until we found Roland. He crouched on the ground, attempting to shave with the edge of his dagger. Blood dotted his jaw, and he swore under his breath, leaning closer to the pocked surface of the shield he used for a mirror.
“That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever seen.” Gerard could always be counted upon. “You don’t even have anything to shave, Roland. Your chin’s smooth as a boy’s.”
“Gerard, I’m your captain here. I could have you lashed till you don’t have a chin to shave, so shut up,” Roland said. “What do you want?”
“Orders would be nice, sir,” I said. “You know, I have a magic razor in my pack for shaving invisible hair.”
Gerard guffawed and elbowed me. Our running banter had grown more outrageous the further we climbed into the mountains, our way of whistling in the dark. Roland generally jested back, his easy confidence in his position as commander unspoken but present all the same. Gerard and I had met Roland our first year at the court academy, when he had been eighteen and in his last year at the academy. I had been a gangly thirteen-year-old at the time and remembered being dazzled by Roland’s graceful moves in the practice salon--he had garnered more oohs and ahhs from the ladies than any other fighter his year. I had never expected to become friends with such a paragon, but when Roland turned up to assist with training us in arms our second year, the paragon quickly became the older brother I had always wanted, a man and fighter I could respect but still jest with.
Roland smiled at his shield and straightened. “Watch it, or I’ll make you pack-donkeys carry my gear today. Any sign of Sirus yet?”
“No,” Gerard said, the mood suddenly turning somber.
Roland scanned the perimeter, shielding his eyes with his hand as if he expected to see Sirus come around the edge of a rock. “If we could, I’d scour these mountains till we found him and the other two, but we’ve already spent half the morning, and Herrod’s orders were clear: ‘No searching for lost men in the mountains--you’ll only lose more in the attempt.’”
“What do you think happened to him?”
Roland shrugged, tried to look nonchalant, though I could see the lines tighten around his mouth and across his forehead. “Probably the slavers. I think that’s what happened to the two common soldiers who disappeared last night as well. A bit odd that all three of them should go missing at once, unless the slavers took them.”
“What should we do?”
“Keep heading into the mountains--we’ve only had a few skirmishes so far. No sense in returning until we’ve driven back the slavers as far as we can. The best chance of finding the slavers who took Sirus and the other two is for us to continue further into the mountains, towards the SerVerin Empire. Herrod
ordered me to lead you men around the Gargin Mines, all the way to the Zarina River.”
I nodded outwardly, though my heart sank under the weight of all the days it would take to march to the Zarina River. What had I gotten myself in for? By the time I returned, Safire would be tired of waiting. I would be tired of waiting for me, after all of this. Some other man would have claimed her, and then I’d have to fight him. Or what if something happened to her while I was gone? What if her father forced her to marry? Fathers had a way of doing that with their daughters. Damn it, why had I left her?
“This isn’t the place to be in one of your trances, Merius. Stay alert,” Roland said.
“He’s thinking of his redheaded wench.” Gerard guffawed again, and I threw him a dagger look.
“What wench?” Roland demanded.
“We need to go everywhere in pairs from now on,” I said quickly, trying to change the subject. “There’s eyes all around--can’t you feel it?” The other two fell silent for a moment as the dark mountains brooded around us.
“That’s grim, Merius--you‘re as saturnine as your father underneath your cloak of jests,” Roland said finally. “Now, who’s this wench? Maybe she’ll cheer you.”
“Don’t call her a wench.”
Roland and Gerard grinned at each other in a way that did not bode well for my future peace of mind. I‘d have to watch my back now every time I wrote Safire a letter, lest I wanted it read to the whole camp before I had a chance to give it to one of the scouts who relayed messages between troops and Herrod‘s main camp by the sea.
“The only red-haired woman I know who’s not a wench is my mother’s housekeeper Wrennie. She’s almost fifty, with the muscles of a warhorse and a bosom that could sink ships. I should have brought her to command our troops--she has the voice for it.” Roland shrugged with a chuckle.
“Shouldn’t we be readying to leave instead of jabbering?” I said.
“So, Merius, this ship-sinking bosom sounds a bit formidable. How do you handle something like that?” Gerard was in high form today, so high I longed to shoot him down.
“Shut up.” I cuffed Gerard‘s shoulder, none too gently, and he cuffed me back.
“Quit, or I’ll lash you both for fighting,” Roland said, suddenly all business as he cleaned his dagger. “Ready your men--we leave in a quarter hour.”
“What about Sirus’s men?”
Roland considered for the barest instant before he ordered, “Merius, you take half of Sirus‘s men. Gerard, you take the other half.”
“Yes, sir,” we said in unison. Gerard added, “Since I‘m first today, which path do we take? I should get my men lined up before the others . . .”
“You’re not going first today.” Roland sheathed his dagger, then busied himself with tightening his pack fastenings, not looking at us.
“But it’s my turn,” Gerard insisted. In some places, the mountain paths were so narrow that we could only walk single file, and so all us noble captains took turns going first. There were wider roads that carried merchant caravans over the passes, but there we would have been sitting game for the slavers, so we stuck to the lesser known paths.
“We’re not taking turns anymore. I’m the commander here, and I plan to lead us on this path till we reach the river,” Roland said.
Gerard and I glanced at each other--I wondered if he felt the same tightening inside that I did, as if my ribs were caught in a vise. “Roland, at least let us draw lots,” I said after a long, tense moment. “It’s only fair we divide up the responsibility of who goes first.”
“I’m well aware of that, Merius.” Roland looked at me, his gaze narrow. “Are you questioning my authority?”
“No, I just . . .”
“Good--now you and Gerard best get your men ready. We have a long march ahead of us today.”
Gerard and I stalked back through the camp. “What’s he thinking?” Gerard muttered. “I was supposed to lead today.”
“Losing Sirus rattled him.”
“So he goes first because he’s scared?”
“No, he goes first because he’s a leader. Our leader. Think about it--would you order any of your men to go ahead of you into danger?”
Gerard kicked a stone. It flew over the ground and into a fissure in the side of the mountain, likely the entrance to a cave or abandoned mine. I was going to congratulate him on his aim, but the rattling echo the stone made as it bounced into the impenetrable darkness of the fissure made me feel so lonely suddenly that all I could do was swallow. To this ancient place, so far from any lasting human activity, we were but gadflies flitting over its harsh surface, our existence too brief for it to acknowledge. These mountains would be here, unchanged, long after we died, even if we survived this campaign and lived a hundred years. I shivered, my skin prickling, and hoped Gerard didn’t notice.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
We had been hiking hard for an hour. The path we took climbed steadily up toward the Gargin Pass, or at least what looked like the Gargin Pass on our maps. We had argued last night over those damned maps and which way we should go, finally resorting to a vote amongst the captains--the paths on the maps were little better than squiggly lines through darker squiggly lines denoting rivers that had long since dried up and other land marks we couldn’t identify. I longed to wipe my sweaty brow, itching under my helmet, and silently cursed the weight of my mail, weapons, and pack. I had taken Sirus’s pack as well as mine and now wondered if I could convince Gerard to take it when we stopped. What was Sirus carrying? Rocks? It hadn’t felt heavy at all when I had first hefted it, but now the weight of the strap bore into my shoulder through my mail, and I cursed out loud this time.
“Everything all right, sir?” Darle asked behind me.
“Everything’s . . .” my voice trailed off, my gaze caught by a dark outline of something moving down the side of the mountain to the left of the path ahead. I squinted. It resembled the shadow of a small cloud moving over the side of the mountain, but there were no clouds today. “Look out!” I shouted into the wind.
Roland kept moving--likely he couldn‘t hear me. He was first in line, followed by Gerard and his men, and then me, which meant there were about twenty-five men between me and Roland. He reached the top of the path at that instant, a tall figure against the distant sky.
“Look out!” I shouted again, louder this time, and Gerard turned and looked around wildly. But Roland continued over the crest of the path. He took a few steps down the other side, the top half of his body still visible. A black gleam sliced the air beside him--the sunlight glancing off the glassy black stone of a SerVerinese arrowhead. The arrow hit its mark, the narrow band of exposed flesh between Roland’s helmet and mail, the force of its flight burying its cruel point deep in his neck. He reached halfway up, his hand fumbling for the shaft, the blood already a crimson wash on his skin and mail. He bled so much so quickly, each heartbeat a fatal one. His hand suddenly stopped moving, and he stood for an instant, a man frozen in his last mortal moment. Then he crumpled out of sight, beyond the crest of the path.
Someone yelled unintelligible curses, so loud I wanted to cuff him for bursting my eardrums. Then I realized the someone yelling was me. Those bastards. They’d just killed Roland. I dropped my pack, Sirus’s pack, dropped everything except my sword and bow and arrow quiver.
“Go back!” Gerard shouted. “Everyone, go back!” He hurried back down the hill, urging his startled men to turn and retreat.
“Go back!” I yelled at my own men. “Darle, get them back to the plateau where we camped, now.” The other two captains and their troops behind us started doing the same, turning around and retreating as fast as they could. I made certain all the men started back to safety before I scrambled up the side of the mountain, loose rocks slipping under my feet. All I could see was Roland, falling like a deer. Bile rose from my gut, and I gagged, feeling the impact of the arrow in my own neck, the cold black point slicing through my throat. The bastard would regret his aim,
whoever he was.
The rocks cut my hands as I climbed in the steep spots, drops of blood the scarlet tears of the rage that consumed me. The wind blew even more violently up here than it did on the path, its keening wail echoing in every crevice. I welcomed its cool slap prickling away the sweat on my neck. The air thinned the further up I clambered, forcing me to pause to catch my breath. I glanced back, surprised at how far away the path appeared, the men a black line of upright ants. Then I swore, for I heard a distant spill of loose stones and saw the glint of a helmet bobbing over the edges of the rocks I had just climbed. Someone was following me.
“Gerard, you ass,” I muttered, just knowing it was him from the determined progress of the helmet. “Stay with your men, damn you--no sense in both of us risking our necks.”
I started to climb again, wishing I hadn’t looked behind me. Seeing the men and path so distant reminded me of just how high I had come--and how far I would fall if I lost my footing. Or how far Gerard would fall if he lost his footing. Why was he following me? We had an unspoken vow to watch each others’ backs, but this was strictly my enraged folly to pursue. Knowing Gerard followed, taking the same risks I took, made me consider turning around, and I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to find the whoreson who had shot Roland so I could slaughter him.
I slipped then, the stone under my foot loosening and then clattering down the side of the mountain. “Damn it!” I gripped the edge of the rock overhead and pulled myself up with a grunt, my knees finding purchase and then my feet. I dragged myself over the rock on my belly, discovering that I had breached the ridge top in this final attempt. I now could see over the other side and all around, everything blue and cold in the distance. If this was the mouth of the world, the world was a wolf--peaks like jagged teeth everywhere I looked, sharp enough they cut into the sky and made it bleed. Some SerVerin bastard had shot Roland with an arrow, but these mountains would devour his bones, and I hated them as much as his killer.
