Wayward Soldiers

by Joshua P. Simon

  After the second eruption, it had been a hassle just to convince the townspeople to burn the dead. Explaining my intentions in preparation for our confrontation with the bandits had made that previous argument seem trivial.

  Sivan and Nason had helped calm everyone’s anger as I suggested we douse the flames on the funeral pyre. But it wasn’t until I cited some religious doctrine I recalled from discussions with an old army buddy about where we go when we die that people relaxed and listened to my proposal.

  The Turine religion taught that the body became useless at death and only the soul made the trip to either heaven or hell as decided by Xank, god of death. Most people believed the rule, but that didn’t stop the emotional connection people held toward the remains of their loved ones. People might have believed in a soul, but they still only saw the body.

  I felt bad for using Turine dogma against its own believers but I did it anyway.

  Wearing a layer of cloth around their faces, and gloves on their hands, Ira and three others threw a few more smoldering bodies into a push cart as we walked up to what once had been a funeral pyre almost twice as high. The three helping Ira were the only ones in the entire town comfortable to work on the grim task I had thought up. Oddly enough, all were once Jareb’s men. Despite the fact none seemed to hold their previous boss in high regard, Ira hadn’t been a fan of using them.

  I couldn’t blame him, but we lacked workers. Beggars can’t be choosey.

  I cupped a hand over my mouth from the smell. I saw Zadok getting sick and motioned him to stay back. He obeyed without protest and retreated to where the smell lessened and got comfortable. Apparently the curiosity of youth extended only so far.

  Two of the men moved off with one of the push carts. Ira and another, a short, squat man, lifted a body from the pyre toward the second cart. They only made it halfway as the short man lost his grip and one of the body’s arms came loose at the shoulder. The corpse hit the ground head first, snapping the neck and causing Ira to lose his hold.

  “By Prax, I told you to grab them under the arms, not by the arms,” said Ira.

  The squat man said nothing, and tried to pick up the remains. However, he tripped and kicked the body’s side. Steaming innards spilled out the cavity and onto the ground. A brand new wave of putrescence took to the air.

  Ira jumped back and swore. The other man took two giant steps away, lifted the cloth over his mouth, and heaved.

  “Bit of trouble?” I called.

  Ira wheeled. Only his eyes were visible with the cloth covering his mouth and nose. Still, I could read their displeasure. “You came over to finally do some work?”

  “I’ve been doing work.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Just so you know, I’m not going to forget this one.”

  “What do you mean? You liked the idea when I came up with it. Said it was the best thing I ever thought of.”

  “That’s before I knew you’d have me working on it. Guess I should have figured that would be the case though.”

  “How many of the bodies have you moved?” I asked.

  “Around twenty, I think.”

  “That’s more than enough to make my point.” I gestured to the body with the missing arm. “Throw that one back on the pile and re-light the pyre. Then get yourselves cleaned up and into position.”

  “How much of that oil you want us to use?” he asked.

  “All of it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. It will add to what I’m going for.”

  Ira shook his head with what looked like admiration. “Man, Tyrus, I never seen this side of you before.”

  “It’s amazing what you’ll do when your back is against the wall and you’re trying to protect loved ones.”

  “True enough. You got time to see what we did?”

  “It’s why I’m here.”

  “All right, Efram,” he said, talking to the man wiping vomit from his face. “Enough of a rest. Pull yourself together and drag that body back on the pile. Then light her up.”

  “Got it,” said Efram with a wet belch.

  Ira led the way up the road where the other two men had stopped and unloaded their bodies. They sat the corpses on the ground and leaned them facing outward against either side of two pieces of broken siding someone had hammered into the ground.

  As we kept walking, the rest of the hellish scene I had in mind came to life. Bodies of the townspeople stood and sat either beside the road, or in the middle of it. Ira and his small crew had propped many of them up with wood, rope, pieces of iron or anything else they could find.

  Some held weapons tied in their hands while others boasted newly inflicted wounds caused by those weapons.

  I walked up the road to the first figure, farthest out from town. It was the body of a woman based on the length of her singed hair and the remains of her tattered clothes. She lay on her stomach with arms extended, hands in the dirt. It looked as though she was clawing herself away from Denu Creek. A spear impaled her through the back. The biggest corpse Ira could find among the pyre held the spear, charred legs widened and planted on either side of the woman. The pose not only added stability to the body but also emphasized the intended killing thrust I wanted to portray.

  I was amazed Ira could make the scene so lifelike with what he had to work with.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  I grunted. “You’ve outdone what I had in mind. How’d you even get this one to stand?”

  Ira pointed to the back of the legs. “I jammed metal rods into the ground and tied his legs to them. The rods run up his back as well. Lots of twine under his clothes you can’t see. The spear is helping too.”

  I held up a torch Ira had set on the ground to work by. With its light, I took in the rest of the bodies. All had been positioned in a similarly gruesome scene. Corpses looked like they were trying to escape while others attacked them.

  “I’m impressed.”

  He grinned. “I didn’t show you the best part.”

  Ira turned and headed back toward the two corpses positioned against the wood hammered into the ground. Originally, I thought the boards they leaned against were simply there to provide support for the bodies. But from the front I saw someone had wrote a message on the wood.

  “I came up with this myself.” Ira said, beaming like a proud child.

  “Welcome to Hell,” I read.

  A shiver ran up my back.

  “Ira, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  CHAPTER 6

  A couple of hours into morning, I stood atop the roof of the Hemlock Inn. I shielded my eyes from the orange glow of the sun as light sifted through the haze over the landscape. This position allowed me to take in what would become the center of the conflict.

  A town I once called home was going to become a battlefield.

  The more I thought about that, the crazier recent events seemed.

  Past the still burning funeral pyre where wisps of smoke joined the haze, I scanned the broken and battered trees that lined the road. They were the only thing visible beyond the road’s natural bend.

  Sivan had returned some time ago, letting us know that the raiders were awake and moving about with purpose. Instincts told him they would attack. But, he expected it to be some time before hangovers wore off enough for them to head our way.

  I blinked and scanned the horizon, looking for any sign of movement that might give us a better warning of their approach. Ira had wanted me to send Sivan back out. If we had mounts in good enough shape to do so, I might have. However, the old man’s skill with a horse would only go so far. Most of the animals were still recovering from all the chaos after the sorcerous attacks from the artifact and Sivan had already worn out the healthy ones.

  I wondered how the raiders and their mounts seemed to be doing so well in the eruptions’ aftermath. I assumed a minor healer or someone resistant to sorcery must be among them. It was the only reasonable explanation.

  I hadn’t thought abo
ut the men in my old unit in some time. However, as I looked over what would become our field of battle and considered all that could go wrong, I thought long and hard about each man I used to know. All had been good men, well-trained and highly skilled. Several had knowledge of skills and tactics the rest of us knew little of. Omar, with his understanding of engineering would have been especially useful in the preparation of Denu Creek.

  Hamath was another person I’d love to have at my side. Besides his leadership skills and effectiveness as a scout and fighter, I just missed his company. Ira and Dekar were great friends. Ava knew me better than anyone ever had, but the relationship I had with Hamath was something far different. I could talk to him about things I’d never mention around others.

  Unlike Sivan, Hamath wouldn’t have needed a horse. I’d send him out on foot, knowing he could warn us and get himself to safety without being killed. Sivan may have looked like he was in his twenties on horseback, but once the ride was over, he walked like someone every bit in his fifties.

  I let out a slow breath while recalling the ghosts of my past, hoping it might lessen the knot in my gut.

  It didn’t.

  “Is it always like this before a battle? All this waiting?” asked Zadok.

  I gave my eyes a break from the strange glare and looked down. “Not always. There’s no waiting when someone ambushes you. One moment you’re minding your own business, the next an arrow is sticking out of your shoulder.”

  He paled. “That must be scary.”

  “Believe it or not, it all happens so fast you don’t have time to be scared. No time to think. You just act. Afterward though, you’re scared once you realize how close you came to dying.”

  “I’m scared now.”

  I glanced over the edge of the roof where he and I stood. Men and women waited behind the barricades created by Nason. A small squad led by Ira hid in the remains of an alley near Denu Creek’s center. Farmers, butchers, and clerks held bows with arrows notched while perched on rooftops across the street.

  I was defending a town with people who had never tasted battle against a band that included veteran soldiers. Definitely not the best of odds.

  The knot in my stomach grew.

  “I’m scared too. But that’s all right,” I added, trying to ease his mind and my own. “Fear keeps your senses sharp.”

  “Fear is a good thing?”

  “So long as you know how to use it and don’t let it dictate your actions.”

  His face twisted in confusion. “I heard one of Jareb’s men say he wasn’t afraid of anything. Even death. What does that mean?”

  “Well, if you don’t know how to use fear, I guess it helps to just be stupid instead.”

  Zadok grinned. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Some people succeed because they never realize what’s at stake in the middle of a struggle. They can fight without inhibition. Others succeed because they do understand what’s at stake and find a way to think clearly amidst the chaos.”

  “I know what’s at stake so I’m definitely not in the first group.”

  “Good. Few in that group keep succeeding. Before long, their carelessness usually gets them killed.”

  “But I also don’t think I fit in with the second group either.”

  “How so?”

  “Because I’ve never won a fight before. And those were only fist-fights.”

  He unsheathed the dagger at his side and looked at the blade.

  I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I promised to show you how to use that and never did. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve kinda had a lot to deal with.”

  I chuckled. “Still, I gave you my word.”

  He shrugged. “You can teach me after this is over.”

  The words “if we’re still alive” flitted across my mind, but I refused to voice them.

  “You and Myra are important to me. I can’t let things get in the way of showing that. Even if it is the supposed end of the world.”

  Zadok humored me with another smile. “Ira gave me a piece of advice earlier when I asked him about using a dagger.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, he said when in doubt, aim for the balls or eyes. Balls in my case since I still have some growing to do.”

  I snorted. “That’s good advice to live by in any fight. Those places are the most crippling.”

  He frowned. “Those stories I used to love about heroes sure don’t match the way things really are.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. It was good to see Zadok face the truth, but at the same time it wasn’t a pleasant thing watching his illusions crushed. “Maybe one day they will. Or better yet, maybe one day there will be no need for those stories because people will just learn how to get along with each other.”

  More wishful thinking. Maybe my son’s optimism was starting to rub off on me.

  I caught a change in his expression and turned back to the road. Dust floated up behind the trees in the distance. I cupped my hands to my mouth and imitated a black-footed falcon, the agreed upon signal to announce the arrival of the raiders.

  I heard Hamath guffaw in my mind. He’d always given me a hard time about my animal calls, especially the birds.

  Those thoughts faded quickly as the dirt cloud approached, widening and growing thicker. I had no way of knowing exactly how many were in the group, but the dust lifting from the trees hinted that Sivan’s report of ninety-one was about right.

  I cursed Molak inwardly. Not good odds at all compared to our sixty barely capable of fighting.

  The sounds of horses whinnying, and hushed curses took the place of the pounding hoof beats as the cloud of dust stopped just before the bend in the road. The bend was too far away for me to hear what was being said, but the occasional raised voice had me thinking that my hellish idea with the corpses was having an effect on the raiders.

  Several shouts carried through the distance, then I heard horses galloping away, retreating down the road away from town.

  “They’re leaving!” whispered Zadok, excited.

  “Some are. But not all. Still, our odds just got better.”

  “Wow. Your plan worked.”

  “In part.”

  “What are the others doing?” he asked, staring at the bend in the road.

  “Probably deciding how to handle us. I doubt they’ve seen anything like that before. With any luck it made them jumpy.” I paused, squinting at the road while ducking behind the peak in the roof. “Get behind the chimney with the flags. Be ready to signal when I give you the information.”

  “Got it.”

  I poked my head over the top of the roof and focused on the bend in the road where the raiders would emerge. To their credit, they came out slowly in two long columns. The caution spoke well of the man leading them, a rider in dark gray mail who wore a squared helm, visor down.

  As the cover of trees fell away, exposing the entirety of the group, I estimated fifty men among them, all mounted. Given the scarcity of animals that had survived in our area, I wondered how they found so many.

  I decided that my earlier hunch of a healer or someone with a minor resistance among them had to be correct. Nothing else made sense.

  “Fifty men,” I said in a low voice over my shoulder. “They’re near the pyre now.”

  “Green and black,” said Zadok.

  His response wasn’t a question, but rather a confirmation that he knew which flags to use to signal the rest of the town. It wasn’t just showing the flags either, there was also a bit of gesturing or waving involved, depending on my calls. Five waves of the green flag would convey the fifty men approaching. Black would let them know their location so that each squad leader could plan accordingly and adjust their positions.

  We had gone over the directions earlier and I didn’t doubt his ability to get the signals right. Still, a quick glance over my shoulder to confirm his actions brought both relief and pride.

  The leader paus
ed briefly at the funeral pyre, bones and flesh still smoldering. Ira had added one last touch of warning, propping up another body, one mostly a skeleton, near the pyre. The corpse had a supported arm pointing at the flames. A sign hung from its shoulders that read, “You’re next.”

  The square-helmed figure drew his sword and cut off the skeleton’s head with a swipe. The man behind him kicked the rest of the remains over from the saddle. There would be no more intimidating those who had stayed. These were the best or worst of the raiders depending what side of the conflict you stood. I squinted, trying to discern any physical features that might identify any men I had served with or accompanied on the road home. The distance was still too great and shadows masked any details I might have seen otherwise. I only knew they were hard men all.

  They paused briefly as the leader signaled with his hand. Two horses peeled off from the group, one going left, the other right, circling around the back of town.

  No time to signal Zadok, I cawed like a crow. Loudly. The call was meant for Ira alone as his men were the only ones in position to do anything. We hadn’t talked about me using the call beforehand, but Ira would understand.

  Shortly after each of the two riders disappeared around the edges of town, their screams cut through the air.

  The raiders started to react, ready to gallop over and investigate the fate of their comrades. A sharp gesture and a bark from their leader settled them.

  I grunted. “Smart and strong-willed.”

  “Who?” whispered Zadok.

  “The man leading them. It’s not easy to keep that many men calm in a situation like this.”

  “He’s not that strong-willed, Pa.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He lost half his men earlier.”

  He had me there.

  The square-helmed leader turned in his saddle, pointing to the tops of several buildings and open windows as well as a half dozen of the barricades Nason had set up. I assumed he was prepping his men for what he thought they should expect.