The Tower of Bashan

by Joshua P. Simon

  “It seems we’re stopping earlier each day.” He sighed. “Make camp and have Yanasi set up the watch.”

  Kroke shifted the knife from one hand to the other.

  Jonrell looked over at him, his gray eyes weary. “Why don’t you grab a dozen men to go hunting. I’m getting sick of salted beef.”

  Kroke nodded and rode off.

  * * *

  Night came quick and they finished camp by firelight.

  Kroke had come across a small herd of wild buffalo, almost getting himself killed while taking one down with only a pair of throwing knives he had sunk into each of the charging beast’s eye sockets. The men who accompanied Kroke told the tale to all who would listen, saying it was one of the most amazing things they’d ever seen.

  Stupidity can often be confused for amazing.

  Larger pieces of the massive beast roasted over spits while cooks sawed off smaller chunks to throw into soup pots. Soon after, Jonrell sat near one of the cook fires, spooning the rich stew from a trencher. Staring into the flames, his hand subconsciously reached for his breast pocket again.

  “Good stew,” said Krytien, sitting down beside him.

  Jonrell blinked away the glaze from his eyes, scratching his chest with the hand he had reached with. He took another bite and nodded. “A perk of dragging this group around with us. I’m surprised Hag has stayed out of the Byzernian women’s way. She can ruin a dish just by looking at it.”

  The mage chuckled and set a pair of cups down on the ground between them. “Oh, she’s tried a few times but with only a half-hearted effort. Too anxious to do some cooking of her own under the sheets with that old-timer.”

  “Old-timer? Last I checked Wiqua wasn’t much older than you.”

  “That’s uncalled for. I may be old but I’ve got enough of my wits not to go messing around with her.”

  “I’ll give you that.” Jonrell looked down at the tin cups. He picked one up and held it to his nose, smelling the contents. “I hope it isn’t your special brew?”

  “Insults and now, accusations.” The mage shook his head and clutched his faded cloak. “I am truly hurt.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s some tea that Wiqua made. I know better than to give you anything with alcohol in it.”

  Jonrell inhaled the contents again before taking a sip. He nodded in satisfaction. “I like it. Thanks.”

  The two men grew silent, watching the flames dance around a roasting leg, crackling as fat dripped into them. Men sat in smaller groups around the various campfires, some playing dice, others checking their weapons. The smartest slept while time permitted.

  “You need to talk to him, you know,” said Krytien.

  Jonrell inclined his head. “Talk to who?”

  “Cassus. The man has been a wreck ever since you mentioned Cadonia.”

  Jonrell snorted. “And that’s my fault? I’ve tried to approach him several times. I’ve known the man since we were boys. He’ll talk to me when he’s ready.”

  “He’s scared. Mentioned something about his father,” said Krytien.

  “The man has fought in more battles than I can remember and he fears seeing disappointment in the face of a feeble old man?” Jonrell shook his head. “Cassus has to face his fears one day.”

  “And this return home doesn’t bother you?”

  Jonrell opened his mouth, but a shout from behind cut him off. “Commander!”

  He stood up, seeing the young man running toward him. The youth was tall and lean with blond hair and blue eyes, face without even a day’s worth of growth. The boy looked more like some dashing knight or fabled prince than a scout for a group of mercenaries. Still, Rygar’s skills as a scout exceeded anything Jonrell had seen in years.

  “Three hundred and twenty horses are camped just a couple leagues away. Melchizan is leading them.”

  “The fool survived?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s looking pretty beat up, right arm in a sling, but it’s him alright.”

  “What about the rest? What shape are they in?”

  “They’ve been pushed hard. Most of their horses are ready to drop and some of the soldiers aren’t far behind. Still, they’re well armed and from the looks of it pretty determined.”

  “Looking to take their failings out on us it would seem,” said Jonrell.

  “Well, we did skip out on them,” said Krytien.

  “Take half a dozen men. Find a place we can make our stand.” Jonrell jerked his head back to his left. “Those hills we spotted earlier could be a likely spot. Start there and be quick about it.” Then he turned to Krytien. “Pass the word to break camp. We leave in half an hour. No exceptions. You and Yanasi have rear guard. Tell Cassus to arm as many of those slaves as he can. Melchizan has more than four times our number so we’ll need all the help we can get come tomorrow.” The men nodded and set off to their tasks, Rygar sprinting with all the vigor of youth and Krytien plodding along as fast as his frame would allow.

  * * *

  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 th
e 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.