Coyote Chronicles (The Veteran Book 1)

by Anton Le Roy

  I cannot look away from Sephan’s gaze. The hatred there is intense enough to light up his eyes. Yes, something there, glowing, growing. A spark igniting on gas fumes. I knew it! I bloody well knew there was something else here in Blackwater Platoon, something beyond normality. Not the amazing leadership shown by the Captain, not the unnatural talent of Gurny and his bow, nor the simple heroism of Jones, or the mighty presence of Razor, or the stubbornness of any others still alive, even the eerily unsurpassed skills of the Twins pales to this; awakening within that young boy, just another teenager destined to die on the front line, there is magic and it’s ready to be unleashed!

  Flames pop and glint upon Sephan’s body as somehow he stands. Snow fizzes and steams when he turns to the enemy and the Twins respectfully step aside. Ellen soldiers watch in horror. They know what is coming. They know what Sephan is. They know this is the end.

  The first ball of fire explodes on the ramparts, sending rows of Ellen soldiers flying, their bodies char and ash. The heat is incredible on my face. Further down Dead Man’s Drop more fireballs erupt like hidden mines. Boom, boom, BOOM! Screams and the wet sound of falling body parts. Sephan stumbles onwards, blood pouring down his legs as he strolls through the rampart remnants. More explosions, this time at the valley floor too where horses whinny and oxen moan, where wagons are torn into splinters and more men tossed like sticks.

  He’s destroying them. Men are dying in the hundreds. My god, what is he? I think I hear a trumpet, the sound of retreat, and I stumble down to Sephan who has collapsed once more. I fall with him, exhausted. The flames that once surrounded him now dim to a faint glow leaving no mark upon his skin. Beyond him, amidst the chaos below, the great Ellen army flees.

  “You did it,” I whisper, “You saved us, bought your homeland some time.”

  Sephan looks up at me and the anger is gone. He’s just a young boy again, confused and eyes brimming with anguish. “I didn’t know, didn’t know I could do this…”

  There’s power in all of us to do mighty things, if only we believe. Surely I should’ve realised this? Should’ve taken more notice of Gregor’s brooch once owned by Fussby, which I bet has been glimmering like a hot coal all this time we’ve been in Sephan’s company?

  Sinking in the melted snow mixed with blood and gore I rest a hand on his warm shoulder. I’m sorry, Sephan. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you for longer than I did.” That sounds daft – in the end it was he doing the protecting and maybe he was the reason no Ellen mage attacked us. Maybe his magic unconsciously neutralised theirs!

  He smiles. “It’s strange, the feeling I always had – it’s gone. Now I’m… unafraid… I’m lighter!”

  I smile back. “Because you’ve discovered yourself, who you were meant to be.”

  He doesn’t hear me, though, because he’s already dead.

  Standing over us Gregor looks grim, looks damned old, blood flowing freely from a gash to the forehead. “Yep, just like old times alright.”

  And now Sephan is just another corpse amongst the many out here. Who else in Blackwater Platoon died in this last battle? I have no idea, although I can see the Twins watching us. Whoever else remains will become legends, I suspect. No, that’s wrong. Not just the survivors. The dead too, their names will also live on, I know it.

  “Reinforcements!” someone exclaims, sounding like Sergeant Jones, “Our army’s here!”

  A resounding cheer from other survivors.

  We did it. Blackwater Platoon made up of soldiers, mercenaries and simple men and children (plus a couple of wandering old codgers). In the end we were all the same. In the end we all stood as one and with each dying comrade, a little of our souls died too.

  I lay there, leaning on my elbows, letting the weariness consume me. Gregor joins me, dropping down clumsily to sit beside me. Across the way, beyond the smoking piles of bodies and those final fleeing Ellen, beyond this mountain pass of death, stands the Coyote. Watching. Bah, I do not care about what it does or why it follows. More important is Vim’s scent. We took too long: it’s gone, and without it we have little hope of finding them or Satipo.

  We are lost.

  Chapter 11

  Before.

  Sweat poured down my body, mixing with the dust and the dirt. The sun was high and sucking the moisture from my tanning skin. And still I toiled. I didn’t care that I was doing such a menial task and I didn’t stop while others flagged because I enjoyed the feeling of burning muscles, knowing that all the while I was strengthening my body for the battle ground. Another spiked post sunk into the hard earth: fortifications. The great army was camped and we had to protect our borders.

  I looked through the ever growing forest of posts at the milling crowds beyond. Tents were erected. From the wagons our supplies were metered out between man and animal. Even out here in the desert sun there were campfires lit to cook meals. Some soldiers rested and others worked while some cleaned their kits and others gambled. The bustle of life was incredible – funny to think that when our job centred around killing.

  I carried on with my work. Regular grunts like me, Satipo and Gregor were usually first in line for such tasks because we were just kids and relatively new to army life, I suppose. I grabbed my spade and dug into the crusted hard ground till my muscles screamed. Once this work was done my day wouldn’t be over – there was still time to weapon train with my small unit or with old Goudo, our instructor. I wouldn’t shirk my duties, unlike some I know. My persistence would pay off and I wanted to prove that I was more than just another normal soldier. My battle experience would grow and so too would my talents. One day this army would know my name. I would be great! I would be revered! I would be a hero!

  A nudge at my shoulder. “Look!” hissed Satipo, gesturing to our right, “There she is!”

  Wetlock. General Daida’s daughter. She dutifully followed him as he mingled and spoke to the troops, her eyes always inquisitive.

  Gregor made an approving sound. “By the gods, she wouldn’t be able to walk for the rest of the day if I had her in my tent, even for just an hour.”

  Satipo cracked up at that and the two shared a bit of banter while my mind drifted elsewhere.

  She was a young girl, dark of hair with skin much too pale for the sun. Her hair reminded me of the black iridescent feathers of a crow and her skin was surely as soft as fresh cream.

  Satipo gave me a playful shove from my daydream. “Ha! I don’t care what you say,” he chuckled, “You don’t stand a chance!”

  Didn’t answer, just grinned to myself, knowing the truth of that. And then she looked over and our eyes met and she smiled too. The warmth that filled me at that point was greater than any sun and I knew then that there would be no finer fight than winning her heart.

  Now.

  I’m naked. Submerged in hot water. And the feeling is glorious. The steam rolls and curls and for a moment it’s in the form of a female body. Thoughts of her. Wetlock, the girl whose heart I vowed never to break. The girl I failed. Repeatedly. The girl I ended up abandoning. That damned day the Six was torn apart had long lasting repercussions that finally saw us torn apart too. I was too lost in my own troubles that I ended up pushing her away when all she wanted to do was help. In the end she gave up and I let her. In the end I walked away and never went back. What an idiot I was. By all the Gods, how I miss her.

  Dunking my head back underwater clears my head and she dissipates along with the ice forming in my hair and beard. Re-emerging again I watch tiny snowflakes die upon the surface of the hot pool. Such perfect little things destroyed so easily. They’re the snowstorm leftovers that had blighted us and now the remaining clouds slowly disperse while the setting sun finally sinks into oblivion.

  Others surround me. Gregor is here along with the remnants of Blackwater Platoon: The Captain; Jones; Razor; Gurny; The Twins; a competent merc called Thumbs; and a man called Siek, who is currently having a whole map of wounds stitched up and has long ceased screaming his dissa
tisfaction at the pain. Six men and two girls: all that remains out of the platoon of thirty from half a day of fighting. We’d come here in the morning and now it’s late afternoon, which is weird because it feels like that battle had gone on for days.

  Although most of Blackwater are injured none are too bad as to be fatal. We’re joined by medics from the reinforcements who sit amongst us with needle and thread, patching us up as best they can. Me, Gregor and a few others also gave our light beards a good trim to thin them down.

  It’s said these pools have healing properties and I’m inclined to agree. Once the adrenaline had subsided, my body had threatened to shut down from fatigue while the pain from my old and new wounds was intense. I know Gregor felt the same. Once in here, though, my body feels like it has floated off to another dimension leaving only my mind behind. This natural elixir was further intensified by the helpful hand of a young mage, who dashed a flash of magic into the waters. Haven’t felt this good in ages!

  We’re all naked, even the girl Twins, although they relax in a secondary pool a few feet from ours for a little privacy. Truth be told, I doubt any of the Blackwater men would give them a second glance in that way anymore after what we went through together today.

  None of us speak. We just sit there, resting our weary bodies and minds, letting the magical waters heal us and, more importantly, just savouring being alive. There’s something unsaid within a group of people that have survived potential death together and pulled through as a team. A bond has chained us and it will never break. Blackwater are indeed the stuff of legends now. A shame me and Gregor can no longer be a part of it. It’s time to move on. Only thing is, I don’t know where to move on to!

  Thousands of reinforcements mill all around us and also at the foot of Dead Man’s Drop. After Sephan’s chaotic end to our siege the Eiseggar had flanked the Ellen and taken the opportunity to give them a good spanking before the Ellen forces had quickly fled to fight another day – licking their wounds and their pride no doubt. This Eiseggar army look no better equipped than Blackwater – maybe they’ll make good use of all the armour and weapons they loot from the dead Ellen and deserted wagons.

  Sometimes the big toe on my left foot needs a good rub to loosen it up and I dig my fingers deep into the underside of the joint to give it a rather violent massage. Can hear the clicks of the joint even from deep within the water. After a while it eases up and I leave it be. Hooking one arm up and onto a rocky edge of the pool I look over to the collection of bodies that had previously been our comrades: the Blackwater dead. I absentmindedly stare at Sephan’s corpse, which me and Gregor had carried back up earlier.

  Gregor nudges me in the ribs and that hurts. It’s sore there. That soreness threatens to filter out across the rest of my body and I stifle a groan until the hot magical water draws the pain away again. “You did all you could for him, Vet,” he chides.

  Perhaps.

  Opposite us Razor hauls himself out of the water and walks over to the nearby fire pit to dry down. With a grin he drops a piece of wood into the fire pit and from across those sparking flames his naked muscular body glows like a big bad demon. With everyone listening he calls out to me, “The Newborn you seek. You’ve lost their tracks?”

  Well deduced. After a second I slowly nod.

  He wraps a thick fur cloak about himself and walks over to sit on the rocks beside me, his feet hanging in the water. “Something else my dead old buddy said might help, then. Mentioned he was heading to meet his pals in Almaz.” He shrugs. “This was a while ago but they might still be there.”

  Never heard of it. Must be a town of some sort. “Where’s Almaz?”

  He thumbs over his shoulder. “That way.”

  Ah, the valley beyond Dead Man’s Drop: the same heading that Tolvik and Vim took. Well that would make sense then.

  “Didn’t fancy telling us this earlier?” I ask.

  He grins. “No not really, but I think you deserve it now.”

  I chuckle to myself.

  “And all we had to do was survive a suicidal battle against a whole damn army,” says Gregor.

  Razor reaches down to slap a big hand on his big shoulder. “I have high standards, old man.”

  The Captain huffs from behind a big knife he’s using to shave his face. Sitting here listening to the comings and goings I finally got to learn that his surname is Booke. “My superiors will be damn disappointed to see you lads leave. Ganer’s balls, you’ve done more than enough for us! I’d understand any reason to leave. If you want to find Almaz then I’ll get a map drawn up for you. Gurny, see to it, will you, lad?”

  “Um, yes, Sir, I’ll just,” and he lethargically attempts to pull himself up from the water. A strong hand from Razor helps lift him up to solid ground. “Thanks!”

  Gregor and me may be leaving but Razor will stay. He’s linked to them forever now regardless of the mercenary branding. I bet Thumbs will remain too. This is their family now.

  Captain Booke points his knife at us. “You boys ever need anything we’ll do our damnedest to help. You got that?”

  The rest of them agree whole heartedly and that makes me smile.

  The forest embraces us as we plunge into its depths while cold winds pepper down slivers of ice and frozen pines from the canopy overhead. Our flaming torches turn snow into orange lava. Daylight has faded away as has Vim’s magical trail. Now, our only means of finding them is the map to Almaz, which sits beneath my cloak and furs rolled up in the same fancy looking scroll tube handed over by Tolvik.

  We pass an Eiseggar scout who watches us keenly from the shadows as she gives us a compatriotic nod. That look in her eyes mirrors that of all those who’d watched us pass through the army camp. When word spread that we were leaving they all appeared; the soldiers and the engineers and the cooks and the servants. We were two random strangers that had helped Blackwater Platoon hold against impossible odds and in their minds was confusion about that strange fact, the wonder of why we did help. It left a deep rooted respect, so much so that they assisted us as best they could. We were given plenty of provisions, our horses fed and cleaned and we were allowed to descend Dead Man’s Drop the easy way: as if revealing a secret road, hundreds of workers had already begun clearing a path for the troops to use. Traversing it was a doddle and those Ellen corpses we passed on the way down was a stern reminder of just how deadly that killing ground truly was. I glance over my shoulder and can just about see part of the incline through the trees, bathed in moonlight. I won’t be sorry to leave that place behind.

  Still, one momentary event in that final battle haunts me. I’d seen all of those figures from my past as if they were really real. Like disturbed silt in a pool of once clear water my past has been stirred awake, clouding the waters, until all I see and think of are memories once discarded or hidden for years. It’ll take much time to settle once more. I’d always thought my footsteps plagued by ghosts and now that feeling is intensified. Everywhere I look and in every shadow and reflection there is a glimmer of them. Hundreds of them, at a guess. More and more of them joining each day. Blank faces staring back at me. Expressions unreadable. Watching and waiting for me to react, to crack, to fall to my knees and blubber like a baby. I’ll never escape them all, no matter how far I run and I was a fool to ever think that.

  “You think the priests know we follow them?” Gregor asks all of a sudden.

  I shrug. Don’t care. Let them know. Either way the priests will lead us to Satipo.

  A fog begins to roll amongst the dense vegetation and thick tree trunks until it appears that our horses are swimming through a mystical sea. A place not of this world. A curse under my breath at the sight of more phantoms in the murk. Why won’t they leave me alone? Many of them in crowds, their faces hidden and only their eyes bright. Unblinking. I hang my head and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to try and rid them out of my mind. That’s where they are, no? To think otherwise would be madness.

  Onwards, we are travellers
once more and, for now, the path to Almaz is obvious. There’s only one way out of the valley in this direction and there’s an aisle of sorts through the forest to reaffirm that fact. We disappear into the gloom, the mist soaking us up until we’re nothing more than shadow and sound.

  Chapter 12

  For days all we see are trees. Huge beasts that pierce the very sky. Their roots must be vast and expansive enough that they bind the ground and, I wonder, if all of these trees were to die or be chopped down would the earth beneath our feet crumble and disintegrate? Would the world collapse and the sky fall? They’re beautiful, their barks thick, rugged and coloured a deep red like blood. Perhaps they’re the arteries of the natural world, keeping the land alive with the flow of life. A breeze flaps the thinnest of branches and the map in my gloved hand. Although melted snow has smeared the ink in places it’s not enough to ruin the important details. It’s nearing dusk again and my failing eyesight is struggling to see the map properly in this light. We’ll have to stop for camp soon.

  “We go up,” I say to Gregor, nodding at the ascending path to our right. In truth, up is all we’ve done for the last two days.

  Gregor sighs. “Up again. Into those damned mountains. I’m starting to forget what the world looks like without fucking snow all over it.”

  Spurred on, the horses plod their way upwards, their hooves crunching heavily through fresh snow. Thank all of the gods for horses. Those healing spas back at Dead Man’s Outpost had done enough to return a lot of my strength and soothe many of my injuries, even eradicating pulled muscles, and a hearty meal with Blackwater had sorted me out too. However, lack of any proper rest means that for the past couple of days the traumas I’ve gone through have finally caught up with me and I’ve been feeling terribly tired and sore. If it weren’t for these trusty steeds I’d have been dead on my feet ages ago and I know Gregor is the same, even though we both try to hide it. That’s what men like us do. Yes, it’s obvious we’re not as young as we used to be: this life on the road is hard on the body and if you add into the mix a load of fighting to the death then it really takes its toll on us these days. Usually by now we’d have found a nice town to rest up in for a week or so. No time for that now. We just have to get through it and ignore our unhappy bodies. Gets harder every year though, especially in bad climes. Maybe that’s why I depend more and more on Redleaf nowadays as a quick fix.