Walk Through Fire (Prequel)

by Joshua P. Simon

  * * *

  Jonrell overlooked a deep valley as the first light crept in from the eastern sky. The floor of the valley descended in a gradual slope, covered in rocks. From his vantage point, he could see the rocks rested in a dry riverbed, likely to flood again with the next hard rain. Other hills overlooked similar views but no other valley was quite so deep or filled with such hazardous terrain. From the floor, the landscape did not seem as treacherous with small outcroppings of vegetation covering holes and rocks half-hidden beneath the plant life. Such terrain would twist a leg at best, cripple or kill at worst.

  Last night men, women, and children alike worked in the dusky gloom, first traversing the harsh valley, pushing and prodding animals and wagons. All got by with only minor injuries. The focus then turned to preparing for Melchizan. Jonrell assumed his former employer had no clue how close his outfit camped to them. If he had, last night would have been the time for an attack while we were scrambling around in the dark, hindered by the Byzernians. But Jonrell knew he could rely on Melchizan’s lack of experience.

  Sunlight crawled across the hilly land and spread into the valley just as the last of Jonrell’s men moved into position. The sound of soft footsteps approached from behind, but Jonrell kept his gaze set on the western entrance to the basin. If all went well, Melchizan’s outfit would enter there, riding into the sunlight. “Are we ready?” he asked.

  “Yep,” said Cassus.

  Jonrell turned to face his friend. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “I thought it best to bring you the news.”

  Jonrell grunted as he caught friend’s meaning. “They haven’t changed their minds then?”

  “No. Wiqua said that his people will not fight. They can help in other ways but it is against their beliefs to physically harm another.”

  “And they wonder why they were slaves,” Jonrell muttered under his breath.

  “I’m just the messenger. You do have to admire their resolve though.”

  “The One Above can have their resolve. I’d rather have fighters. Will their men still participate as decoys at least?”

  “Yes.”

  Jonrell shook his head. “Hypocrites. I ought to leave them here for Melchizan. That would buy us enough time to get ahead of his company.”

  “Many in your position would,” said Cassus. “But you won’t.”

  The commander paused, breaking his stare with Cassus. “No. I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t given it thought.”

  “Of course you gave it thought.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you always consider every scenario. But in the end, your decision tends to be the right one.”

  Jonrell considered his friend’s words, thoughts drifting back to a time in their youth. “Twelve years ago, Cassus. Did I make the right decision then?”

  Cassus frowned. “I…I don’t know.” He paused. “But I know you’re making the right one now by going back home.” He bit his lip. “I just hope that when the time comes, I make the right decision as well.”

  Jonrell opened his mouth, wanting to ask what he meant but couldn’t find the words in time. An arrow struck the ground no more than two feet from him, shaft vibrating to and fro. Red fletching told him the arrow belonged to one of his men. He looked up and spotted the archer waving from a nearby hill. He waved back and the archer let fly two more arrows. One landed near a group of men stationed around wagons on the eastern side of the valley. The second struck near a group of archers stationed on Jonrell’s hill, just below his position. In both cases men jumped, nearly falling over as the shaft struck within a hair’s length of them. The archer waved again before ducking out of sight.

  “Yanasi sure is getting bold, showing off like that.”

  Cassus grunted. “Bold as long as she has a bow in her hand, without it she’s still as shy as ever and will barely meet your eyes.”

  “I wish I knew why.”

  “You can’t be serious, Jonrell. As much as you notice everything else in this group, it seems you’d realize she wants your approval and can’t stand to let you down. Why else do you think she is so obsessive about that bow? She wants to be the best—probably for your sake more than her own.”

  Jonrell shook his head. “She knows how I feel.”

  “I don’t think she…” started Cassus.

  “Melchizan’s earlier than I thought he would be,” cut in Jonrell. Now isn’t the time for this, Cassus. “He isn’t known as an early riser.”

  Cassus let it drop. “Well, you always found a way to get him up before. Why should that change now?”

  At the base of the hill, men positioned behind wagons waited for the enemy to appear, staring into the dawn. The archers on the ridges stood in orderly ranks, waiting for the command to fire. Jonrell felt the tension rising from his men.

  “C’mon, we need to get ready ourselves.”

  * * *

  The sound of pounding hooves reached Jonrell’s ears as Melchizan’s men entered the mouth of the valley. The ground near the western entrance did little to reveal the treacherous slope that followed deeper after a small bend in the path. Jonrell suspected Melchizan would ignore the glaring sun and push on over the rough terrain, bent on reclaiming his slaves. Still, to encourage the poor decision from his former employer, Jonrell sent many of the Byzernians to fill in holes and clear away stone near the entrance of the gorge during the night before.

  Byzernians moved about on the opposite side of the valley, acting as if caught unaware by the sight of Melchizan rounding the turn on the other end. Some of the former slaves even fled and Jonrell saw Melchizan shout back orders to his men, signaling a charge and spurring his horse forward.

  Jonrell chuckled to himself as the plump man took the bait, nearly falling from his saddle at the sudden increase in speed. His men poured ahead of their would-be lord, impatient to wait for their leader to regain his seat. The wave of cavalry advanced, seeing what they wanted to see, easy prey fleeing on foot, a chance to seek retribution.

  But no sooner did the charge seem to come together, than it fell apart. Camouflaged holes snapped horses’ legs from the cavalry traps set the night before by Hell Patrol members while the Byzernians worked on clearing the valley entrance.

  Jonrell stood up, waving both hands above his head, signaling men on another ridge. Krytien stood, lifting one palm to the sky and aiming the other at what remained of Melchizan’s army. A flash of light shot from his outstretched hand, blinding man and beast alike. Then with a shout, the Hell Patrol loosed their arrows.

  Those still saddled wheeled their mounts and those unhorsed still able to walk, fled on foot. Among the later group Melchizan hobbled along, using his sword to support himself. Jonrell allowed himself a smile as he watched the man raise a fist in anger at every rider who passed him.

  Arrows continued to drop during the retreat as men perched on either side of the valley descended the slopes. A quick thrust from sword or knife silenced screams of agony from the dozens of riders. Man and beast alike had shattered their bones on the stone covered ground, nearly a third of those who entered the valley.

  Raker was among those on the ground, grinning ear to ear. He looked up as Jonrell neared, his left cheek puffed out with a mouth full of chew. “Woo, we got’em good,” he said, running another man through. “I can’t wait to find Lord Roundness down here. Think I’ll give him a stab whether he needs one or not for ol’ time’s sake.” He laughed.

  “Sorry but I saw him stumbling away with the others.”

  The mercenary’s eyes widened as he let out a string of curses. “We gotta get after him then.”

  Jonrell just shook his head. “He’s done. No sense in wasting more time. Those on horse that got away still outnumber us and we already know we can’t rely on the Byzernians to fight. We need to get moving in case they decide to attack again once we’re on open land.”

  Raker spat. “Ain’t that more of a reason
to go after’em?”

  “No. Those who came into the valley looked pretty beat up from the battle we skipped out on, but we don’t know if others still loyal to Melchizan survived the fight.”

  Slaves hurried about near the wagons, getting ready to move when the order came.

  Raker shook his head in disgust and stabbed another groaning soldier in the gut, twisting the blade until the man heaved his last breath. The mercenary spat on the man’s face when he was done.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Is what?”

  Jonrell gestured toward the body.

  “Oh that? That was personal. I remember this one calling me a cheater when we were playing cards once.”

  “Were you cheating?”

  “Of course. But that don’t give him the right to call me one,” said Raker.

  Jonrell shook his head.

  “Commander! Commander, wait. Please,” said Wiqua, sprinting across the valley with the grace of a man half his age. However old that is. Jonrell barely noticed the desperation in his voice, too busy watching the man negotiate the rough ground far better than he could.

  “What is it Wiqua?”

  “Commander, please. I beg you to stop these men from what they are doing.” He held a look of horror as Raker slit a man’s throat. “I can help those who have fallen as well as the horses.”

  “Why? Are you some kind of healer? We don’t have time for that,” said Jonrell agitated at the thought.

  “Yes. Many of my people are. It is our way to heal, not harm. I promise you it will not take long.”

  Jonrell considered what he said for a moment. “Then work on the horses, but leave the men.”

  “But, Commander, these men…”

  Jonrell cut in, his voice turning to ice in the warm morning air. “These men tried to kill you, your people, and mine. Before that, they treated you like scum. If we allow them to live, expect more of the same. Now, if you want to do something to feel better about yourself, heal the horses. We could use them.”

  Wiqua bowed his head, but the expression on his face said he was not pleased with the answer. “Very well. You have kept my people safe again and I am grateful. I will do as you command.”

  * * *

  The Hell Patrol made camp a day and half’s ride from Pontysor, the largest port on the continent, Mytarcis. The extra half day in distance pushed everyone far from the busy road to avoid undue attention. A mercenary group coupled with several hundred Byzernians would raise questions.

  Digging trenches and setting up palisades with the midday sun high overhead, men and women worked in a silent rhythm. The silence did not last long.

  “I’m too old for this, you know. Liable to catch a stroke or something,” mumbled Hag in a raspy voice. The squat woman paused for a moment, waiting for acknowledgement. With no response, she spoke again, this time louder. “I said I’m liable to catch a stroke with all this work.” The old woman threw a spade of dirt on Jonrell’s leg, punctuating the remark.

  The commander stopped and knocked the soil away, though he didn’t know why. I haven’t seen a bath in weeks. He met her eye. “Funny how you’ve got the energy for that young stud of yours, but when it comes to actually doing your job you start to gripe about being old.” He motioned to Wiqua, a man young enough to be Hag’s son, but old enough to be Jonrell’s father. The Byzernian was busy sharpening stakes. “You don’t hear him complaining.”

  “Yeah well, that’s why I like him. He doesn’t say much. If I wanted a bunch of useless conversation, I’d come looking for you.”

  “You ever thought he doesn’t say much because he can’t get a word in edgewise?” Jonrell looked to Wiqua and swore he saw the smallest of grins creep across his face.

  The short woman threw another spade of dirt on Jonrell’s leg. “Keep it up. I’ve never seen such ungratefulness after all I’ve done, taking care of them animals for all these years now.”

  “Aye, you know your way around a mule when the urge strikes you. Speaking of that, you’ve been growing lax on those duties as well.”

  “I’m doing nothing of the sort. Just doesn’t make sense to waste my time on all the ones we picked up from Melchizan if we’re going to turn around and sell them. I still mind your mount and the others I know that’ll be coming with us.”

  “Good. Since you are up on your other duties, then you have plenty enough time to help here like everyone else.”

  The old woman just grunted and grumbled again, flicking one last spade of dirt before returning to her task. Jonrell knew digging a third trench was over-doing it, but he wasn’t taking any chances as he expected Cassus back some time yesterday. Besides, it always helps to keep a soldier busy.

  Upon arrival, he sent Cassus and a small group of men into the city. They were to secure passage across the ocean based on what Melchizan’s goods fetched on the open market. Jonrell sent Krytien with the group for added protection, but he was also glad to have him out of his hair. The old mage had been acting strange since finding out Cadonia’s king had died, and stranger still since the skirmish in the valley. Krytien had said that he had never seen anyone heal with greater ease or knowledge as Wiqua had.

  Impressed over a bunch of horses. He shook his head.

  Hag remained quiet far longer than Jonrell would have thought possible before she started back up again. This time she directed her wrath elsewhere, taking her aggression out on the Byzernian women who cooked. She didn’t seem to care that most of them couldn’t understand a word she said. It only enticed her further. Before long, she began flinging dirt into the path of women as they carried firewood for the cook fires. Eventually, even those peaceful women showed irritation and sent icy stares in Hag’s direction.

  She hasn’t lost that magic touch. Jonrell grinned.

  A shout from Yanasi, signaling that Cassus and the others were returning, put an end to the strife. It’s about time. Jonrell jumped at the chance to send Hag to care for their animals and climbed out of the trench. He told Yanasi to have Cassus and Krytien join him in the command tent.

  * * *

  Glacar had been cursing under his breath for almost an hour. Kroke knew that was a record somewhere. He sure couldn’t imagine spending that much time talking, especially repeating the same four or five words. After an hour of hearing Glacar go on and on, he reckoned it was about time he at least asked what bothered him.

  Kroke threw his spade into the dirt and pulled out a dirk. He began picking at his nails, noticing a few specks of grime that had accumulated. “You gonna keep that up the whole day, Glacar?”

  The wild man from Thurum turned around, sweat soaked his hair and beard. He spat, most of it dribbling down into the thick tangled mess on his chin. “What are you jawing about?”

  “You ain’t shut up since we moved to this part of camp. What’s got you all worked up?”

  “Not what. Who.”

  “Huh?”

  “Jonrell’s lost it, Kroke. Sticking our necks out for these brown devils ain’t what the Hell Patrol’s about. And yet, we’ve been dragging them around for weeks. On top of that we’re going to buy them passage home. That’s money that could be in our pocket.”

  “You ain’t seemed to mind them Byzernians when they were Melchizan’s. I believe you visited a few of their women pretty regularly?”

  “Yeah, that’s about all they’re good for, too. But now, they act like they’re suddenly too good for that.”

  “And there it is,” said Kroke, clicking his tongue. “Since they ain’t slaves any longer, they won’t let you have your fun anymore.”

  Glacar spat. “Ain’t no woman gonna tell me what I can or can’t do. Especially not any of them brown-skinned dogs.”

  “But Jonrell did, didn’t he?”

  “You know he’s always been too soft. That background of his and his high and mighty standards.”

  “Ain’t nothing soft about showing some respect to women.”

  “That’s funny coming
from a killer like you.”

  Kroke shrugged.“Killing and raping ain’t really the same thing.”

  Glacar laughed. “Sure they are. They both get your heart racing and when I’m done, I’m the only one who’s happy.”

  Glacar went back to shoveling. Kroke sheathed the blade and followed suit. And that’s why you ain’t the one leading us.

  * * *

  Jonrell had just enough time to splash some cool water on his face and neck, washing off the day’s grime, when the two men strolled into his tent, looking ragged. Jonrell took a sip of tea and gestured for them to have a seat. “I was beginning to grow worried.”

  “No doubt,” said Krytien easing into a chair. “You’ve got a stronger camp here than I’ve seen in some time.”

  Jonrell shrugged. “Better safe than sorry. Was there any trouble? I expected you a day ago.”

  “Some, but nothing major. We scared off a few men looking to rob us as we left the city. Cassus thought it best to take a different route back. We covered our tracks in case they returned with more.”

  “Good. Do we have ships secured?”

  “Two. One for us and one for the Byzernians. The ships are owned by the same man. The price is reasonable and best of all he’ll organize the sale to pay for the ships after inspecting the goods we hauled with us.”

  Jonrell looked over at Cassus who had yet to sit down. “What kind of shape are the ships in?”

  Krytien answered though Jonrell had directed the question at Cassus. “Although they’re traders, both ships are strong and in fair enough shape.” The old mage glanced nervously about. “Given that we may have to improvise in open water if pirates attack, we spoke with the captains as well. Both are well-seasoned men.”