I wasn’t trying to rub in his loss by saying as much, simply looking at the strategy he had employed at the time.
Hamath grunted. “Yeah. Losing took the desire out of me to keep raiding. But then I heard about an army moving south. Once I learned Balak was at the head, I decided to look into it. I re-enlisted pretty quickly.”
“I don’t understand that either. You hated him.”
“Still do.”
“Then why re-enlist?”
“Because this is who I am, Tyrus. Returning home and seeing Bilhah made me realize how uncomfortable I was in a normal life. The person who might have once enjoyed that was long dead. The soldier is the only thing left.”
I’d hardly call raiding the same as soldiering, but I bit back the comment. “So you want war?”
“Don’t sound surprised. I think if you were honest with yourself you’d want the same.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? When have you felt the most comfortable, the most like yourself since we were discharged? Was it dragging a bunch of whiny civilians along with you over miles of harsh land? Was it dealing with idiots like Jareb who mistreated those you loved? Was it learning what happened to your wife? Was it dealing with mending a decade apart from your kids?”
I didn’t say anything. None of those things had been comfortable. All were difficult, some more than others.
He continued. “I bet you felt the most comfortable when you were strategizing or commanding. Probably when you were fighting people like me. Am I right?”
Sadly, he was. I also knew I hadn’t been the only one to think that. Dekar and Ira had both echoed those sentiments.
He took my silence as my answer.
“That’s what I thought,” he said in a judging tone.
I shook my head, unwilling to concede his point. “Just because something makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t mean that isn’t the path you should choose. There’s more to life than just doing what you’re comfortable with or what you want to do. Life always was, and always will be full of tough decisions and things you don’t want to do. You have to accept that.”
“No, I don’t. The army taught me how short life can be. The last thing I’m going to do is waste what little time I might have left doing things I don’t want to do.”
“And this is what you want to do?”
“Why not? I’m respected and valued. Plus, I’m good at this.” He paused, and smiled in a way that gave me a chill for I knew it to be sincere. “And when I want a break from soldiering, there’s always a camp follower at hand who’s ready to spread her legs for some coin. What more is there?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I realized I had no idea how to respond to him. My best friend had changed so much, become so selfish, that he was a stranger to me.
“Captain Hamath!”
A young soldier, probably near Myra’s age, came running up. The way the soldier’s voice cracked, tugged my heart. A boy that age had no business being in the army.
The boy stopped and handed over a slip of paper. “General Balak has orders for you to ride out northwest and scout ahead.”
Hamath sighed, then stopped, and climbed back onto his mount.
“There’s more to talk about,” I said dumbly.
Hamath grunted. “Later. Considering that look on your face, it might be best if we take a break.” He paused, situating himself in the saddle. “Hol is a long way off. We’ve got more than enough time to finish our conversation. I’ll be seeing you, Tyrus,” he said before clicking his reins.
“Yeah. I’ll be seeing you.”
But did I really want to?
CHAPTER 2
Hours later we made camp for the night. Hamath hadn’t yet returned from scouting. It saddened me that I felt relieved. I had spent most of the day’s march thinking about our conversation, and despite working through several scenarios of how things could go in our next discussion, I couldn’t find a direction that was satisfying. I hoped a night of sleep would help.
Balak had made no move to talk to me yet. Even though no one heard me making demands on the terms of my re-enlistment, I knew he wouldn’t let my behavior slide without some repercussions. Withholding information was an easy way to get back at me and something he had done before.
I didn’t care. My kids and my sister were safe. Well, as safe as they could be given the state of the world.
Besides, some information I could gather on my own.
I found Dekar setting up his things near a small fire. I hadn’t spoken with him, Ira, or anyone else from our group since leaving the outpost. I did this in part to give those new to military life a chance to acclimate themselves. In the case of Dekar and Ira, I had asked them to walk among the ranks to determine which veterans we had served with. It’d be nice to know what level of experience the army had. I also hoped to glean some information about morale and the general state of the army from them without my opinion tainting theirs.
Dekar looked up at my approach. “You look rough. Tired?”
“Talked to Hamath some,” I said, setting my things down next to his. Despite my mood, it felt good to see a familiar face, one that I could trust.
“That bad?”
“Pretty much. I’ll fill you and Ira in later. I want to walk around for a bit first. Have you made sure that everyone that came from the outpost knows where we’ve set up for the night?”
“I passed the word. Others should be along soon. I haven’t seen Boaz, Zev, or Caleb though. I was actually just about to go looking for them. I already stopped Captain Habak from giving Boaz a hard time earlier today.”
Boaz, the former innkeeper of Denu Creek, had become a friend after the war. He and his family had treated me and mine with respect and kindness from our first meeting. I was not the sort of person to forget that. Zev and Caleb were two people we picked up on the road south after leaving Denu Creek. Both seemed like decent enough men, but I hadn’t much of a chance to get to know either in depth.
Hopefully, I’d find time to remedy that.
“Why would Habak go after Boaz?”
“Because he doesn’t like you very much on account of Balak coming all the way out here to find you. By extension, he doesn’t like anyone associated with you.”
Habak was a bitter and angry man. To my knowledge, he didn’t particularly like very many people, period. He had taken a brutal injury during the war, a mace to the head that had left him permanently malformed. Those that knew him before the injury said that like his face, his disposition never fully healed either.
I clenched my jaw. “Where is he? Best if I go set him right before things get out of hand.”
“I believe he was on the south side of camp. I can stop what I’m doing and come along.”
“No. I’ll take care of it. Better you stay here and watch over our things. I’ll see you in a bit,” I said over my shoulder.
Flint struck steel as soldiers lit fires fueled by the abundance of dead wood around them. Scents of burning pine filled my nose, muting the sweat and grime of the army. The smoke was strong, almost as strong as the memories from my past.
It wasn’t that long ago I walked through another camp with men who looked and smelled just as bad. The only difference was then the war had ended. Here, a new one was about to begin.
That defeated look of men moving closer to their deaths sent shivers up my back. Every soldier carried a sense of dread and uncertainty that they might not live through the day. However, the faces I saw walking through camp wore that look too strongly, especially since many hadn’t seen a real battle yet.
That wasn’t good.
If the fear of death was getting to them already, how much worse would it get when death stared across from them with a weapon raised?
Confidence and even a good dose of arrogan
ce helped the fighting spirit of any soldier. If neither was possible to instill, a cause to believe in also worked. Considering what little I knew of our cause, confidence seemed like the better way to go.
But that was a problem for later.
I heard Captain Habak long before I saw him. I didn’t understand much of what he said since the mace that had once rearranged his face made it difficult for him to enunciate. Still, what Habak lacked in clarity, he made up for in volume.
That voice had been a trademark of his during the Geneshan War.
Habak’s clarity increased, albeit slightly, as the path to him cleared. The captain stood before three men he had on their knees with arms up high, holding weapons over their heads. Boaz, Zev, and Caleb winced beneath the strain, faces twisting. Those faces held bruises from a recent scuffle.
My anger flared as I closed.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. Get those arms up higher!” he said. “You’ll learn that—”
“Captain Habak!” I yelled. Heads swiveled my way. “What do you think you’re doing to my men?”
He flashed a crooked smile. “I believe these are General Balak’s men, not yours. And I’m teaching them some discipline.”
“Any discipline that needs to be taught will come from me.” I looked at the three men. “Put your hands down.”
They eyed Habak, then me, and lowered their arms.
Habak’s face reddened. “Who do you think you are undermining my authority? These men started a fight with members of my company and need to be punished because of it.”
“Boaz, what happened?” I asked, doing my best to keep a controlled demeanor.
“One of his men stole something out of my pack. Zev and Caleb tried to help me get it back.” He lowered his eyes. “We were outnumbered.”
Which meant that whatever had been stolen was still in the possession of the other man.
“What did they take?”
“A blue ribbon.”
Habak laughed. “A ribbon?”
“Dinah gave it to me,” hissed Boaz while shooting Habak and venomous glare.
I understood. Dinah was a sweet woman, and more importantly, his wife. I thought of Lasha’s letters and how they had gotten me through the Geneshan Wars. If anyone had ever dared to take that connection to her away, I’d have killed them.
I spoke to Boaz. “Who took it?”
Boaz gestured toward a tall man. To say that the man had me by eight inches was being conservative at best. The man wasn’t wide, but he had that strong, wiry, build which hinted at hidden strength. He also had mastered a smug stare which told me he was the sort of man who liked to intimidate and push others around.
I hated him immediately.
The difference in size between the tall man and Boaz was even greater than me. The fact that he hadn’t let himself be walked over made me feel good about his chance for survival in the army. It also spoke to how much he loved his wife.
“Give the ribbon back, soldier,” I said.
“I ain’t no soldier. And you can lick my crack,” the man spat.
That brought a round of chuckles from others in Habak’s company who had gathered to watch. Habak laughed with them.
A crowd gathered.
“Tyrus,” Habak began, closing the distance between us. “You’ve got balls the size of boulders coming here and ordering my men to—”
My arm lashed out the moment he was within reach, fingers cutting off his comment as they squeezed the air out of his windpipe. It was an effective way to make a point. It caused far more pain and used far less strength than trying to squeeze the entirety of a man’s neck.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I said to Habak. “But since you interrupted, let me make sure everyone understands the order of things, including you. You will not order me about or intimidate me in any way, shape, or form. I answer to one man. Balak. You have an issue with that, take it up with him. You will treat me with respect, and I will do the same to you. If at any point you fail to do so, you will be reprimanded. By me.”
Habak mouthed a swear, but a lack of air prevented any sound from escaping.
I swept his back foot out and drove him to the ground with my hand still at his throat. He struck his head and was out cold.
I released my grip and stood straight, eyeing the towering solider who had taken Boaz’s ribbon. He didn’t seem upset or surprised at me taking out his commander. Instead, he looked eager for his chance to put me down and prove he could succeed where Habak had failed. I spoke to him, but my words were meant for all who had crowded around to watch. “Try me, and I won’t be so easy on you.”
“Then don’t be,” he said flatly.
I walked over to him with quick determined steps. I wanted to make sure everyone knew there was no hesitation on my part.
The look of surprise on his face quickly turned. I imagined he probably thought himself lucky to have an opportunity to put me down. It would definitely increase his reputation.
He acted the second I got within his long reach, swinging a punch. I stepped to the side, avoiding the attack, moved in close, and hit him hard in the gut. Air whooshed from his lungs.
Some might have stopped there, and under normal circumstances I probably would have as well. However, the tall solider seemed like the sort of person who might attribute my first strike as getting off a lucky punch. I couldn’t have that. Besides, I said I would not go easy on him, and the last thing I wanted to be called was a liar.
My knee came up, striking him three more times in the gut until the man vomited. I struck the side of his face with my fist as he bent over heaving up his last meal. The blow sent him to the ground. He managed a groan.
“Stand up, soldier,” I said.
The man only rolled over and moaned some more.
I grabbed him by the hand, and bent a finger back until it snapped audibly. He found enough air to scream, then worked himself to his feet. Tears filled his eyes.
“Good,” I said as he fought for balance, cradling his broken finger. “Now, I gave you an order. The ribbon.”
He looked at me, face twisting more. Somehow he found both the strength and stupidity to charge. I caught him by the arm, snaked it around, and snapped his elbow joint backward. He wailed again. I pitched him forward, and threw him on top of a still unconscious Habak.
I eyed a nearby soldier who had watched the entire exchange. “Do you know where the ribbon is?”
The man blinked. “Uh, yes sir.”
“Get it.”
He bent over and fumbled around in the tall man’s pockets without hesitation. After a moment, he produced the blue strip of cloth.
“Give it to, Boaz,” I growled.
Boaz accepted it immediately.
The soldier took a step back.
I looked at him. “Thank you.” Then I gestured to the ground. “Get some medical help for the captain and this man. Let Habak know that I hold no hard feelings against him.”
I gave them my back and gestured for Boaz and the others to follow. They grabbed their things and fell in beside me. I ignored the stares from others.
In the past, those stares would have led to regrets for getting into an altercation with another soldier. Early in my soldiering career, when I was cocky and called on it, I felt no remorse for the fighting I did.
As I got older and wiser, it caught up to me. It was a shame that many who had hated me died before seeing me mature into what I had hoped was a better person.
Nowadays, any altercations were necessary. I glanced over my shoulder at Habak and his men. I doubted I’d carry any regrets over this one.
“Dekar’s got a fire going over that way,” I said while we walked. “Get yourself something to eat and have him or Ira take a look at any injuries you might have picked up.”
Zev and Caleb walked on
ahead. Boaz hung back.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.
“I’ve got a few other things I wanted to do first.”
He still seemed to be processing what had just happened when he said, “That was pretty impressive. A little different than how you handled things with those who left Denu Creek.”
“Different circumstances call for different solutions.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I continued walking through camp, taking in more of what I had only seen a piece of earlier. I exchanged greetings with several men I recognized from my earlier stint in the army. They seemed about as thrilled as I was to be back grunting it for some other fruitless cause.
Making my way over to the infirmary, my heart began to speed and my stomach flipped.
I hated the infirmary.
Not because of the people working there. I had nothing but respect for those healers and cutters who worked themselves ragged, sometimes to death, under horrifying circumstances. Trying to save the life of a man who just wanted nothing more than to die was no easy task.
I didn’t hate the infirmary because of the soldiers housed there either. They didn’t ask to be in that situation.
I hated the infirmary because of the thoughts it stirred. Coming to terms with my own mortality was not an easy thing. Obviously, as a soldier, I knew I could die at any moment, whether in some epic clash of swords, or an unexpected arrow in the neck. But dying that way wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. The last thing any soldier wanted was to be stuck in a bedroll, slowly wasting away from some infection the healers couldn’t cure. With my resistance, that outcome held a greater probability. Healers had to work much harder when treating me. Even a particularly strong healer could struggle. Among those with a resistance, few could match the level of strength my talent had. And like most talents, depending on the situation, it could be a blessing or a curse.
I put a clamp on that fear as I pushed the tent flap aside. As much as I hated the infirmary, it was crucial I understood its condition.
The first thing that struck me was the smell. Only a few injured occupied bedrolls, but old death had still permeated the tent to such a degree you’d think it was packed tight with bodies.
Resurrected Soldiers: The Tyrus Chronicle - Book Three Page 2
