Resurrected Soldiers: The Tyrus Chronicle - Book Three

by Simon, Joshua P.

  “I’m not sulking,” snapped Ava.

  “It looks that way.”

  “More grumbling, than sulking.”

  “Same thing.”

  Ava raised an eyebrow at the tone. “You seem to be the one in the foul mood.”

  Myra frowned.

  Ava wondered how she could have made the comment differently. She was used to talking to people her age, soldiers mostly. Or her brother. People who either understood her and didn’t take offense, or people she didn’t care about offending.

  I should be happy she’s talking at all. All she’s done is mope since Tyrus left. Her self-doubts about parenting began to surface again. I’m not cut out for this.

  “I guess I am in a foul mood,” said Myra. “We should be on the road.”

  “You heard Sivan. We’ll be on the road day after tomorrow.”

  She snorted. “You don’t believe that one bit.”

  Ava flashed a grin. “That obvious?”

  “You clench the right side of your jaw when you’re putting up with something.”

  Ava shook her head. Just like your father. Starting to read people already.

  They reached the steps and started climbing.

  “That’s it?” asked Myra.

  “What more do you want me to say?”

  “How about why we’re still here?”

  “You know why. We can’t just leave Nason and his kids behind, nor Dinah and Abigail, nor several others.”

  “Who said we had to? They wanted to leave today. We could have split supplies.”

  “A larger group would make others hesitant in attacking us on the road. We leave with just the minority, and we’re mostly women, children, and old men. Not exactly as intimidating as we would be with everyone else. The Southern Kingdoms are a long way off.”

  “You’ve got your sorcery.”

  “It’s erratic and only a fraction of what it was.”

  “Maybe if you practiced more instead of—”

  Ava stopped on the stairs and spun. She had enough pressure from herself and the phantom presence of her brother. She didn’t need more from Myra.

  “Practice more? What do you think I do? Walk around with my thumb up my rear? I’m always practicing whether you realize it or not. Don’t lecture me about sorcery. You’re a sharp girl, but that’s something you know absolutely nothing about. You have no idea how frustrating it is to lose the power you once had. If I still had it, we wouldn’t have had to deal with half the hardships we have. Tyrus knew that too, but he had the grace not to mention it. He knew I wasn’t just sitting around wasting time.”

  “Sorry.” She put her head down. “I’m not Pa.”

  “Neither am I.” Her anger died quickly, tone softening when she saw Myra’s reaction. “You’re more like your father than I am though.” Myra looked up. “You have a knack for the tactical, and you’re starting to read people like him. You just don’t quite have the rest of it down yet.”

  “Like?”

  “Talking to people. If you want to make a point, you have to do so with finesse or make people listen through strength of will. All those good ideas of yours will go to waste if you’re not willing to talk to more than a handful of people.” She paused, seeing Myra looking hurt. “Now, if you’ve got a suggestion, tell me. But I don’t need to hear criticism from you of all people. At least not the accusing way you said it. Understand?” She started walking up the stairs again. “Ao-be-damned, I feel bad enough as it is.”

  A moment later, Myra’s footsteps followed hers.

  I guess that means I didn’t totally screw that up.

  Ava reached the top and moved out onto the wall. Unsurprisingly, the dead land remained unchanged.

  Myra cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry again.”

  “I know,” said Ava, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I’m not really angry with you. I’m angry with myself and everyone else. The whole blasted world.”

  “Especially Pa, right?”

  Ava tilted her head. “You really are getting good at reading people.”

  “Not really reading you this time so much as assuming you feel the same as I do.”

  “Do you fault him for what he did?”

  Myra shook her head. “No. I’ve thought about it and I know it was the only thing he could do under the circumstances. I can’t fault him for his decision. I just didn’t want him to be right.”

  Ava snorted. “Better get used to it. His ability to make you crazy with sound judgment isn’t likely to change.”

  Myra took a deep breath. “I hope I get the chance to get used to it.”

  Ava winced. There was a possibility they’d never see Tyrus again. She put an arm around her niece, not sure what else to do. Myra leaned in.

  “You’ll get the chance.”

  “A lot can happen in war. You know that.”

  Too well.

  “But I also know my brother. He made a promise. And he’s too stubborn not to see it through.”

  She squeezed Myra in tighter.

  CHAPTER 4

  Alone, I internally debated whether it made more sense to breath from my mouth or nose as my stomach, hips, and chest dragged through the latrine. In the end, the nose won. Better to have someone’s waste go into my nostrils than down my throat.

  My arms were out in front, pulling me along through the human sludge. I winced as my fingers slid through the sides of the slippery embankment, fighting back every urge I had to gag.

  I’ve always said that I would never order one of my men to do something I wouldn’t do myself. But after crawling through the most foul place in any army’s camp, a place ripe with disease, I decided that there could be an exception to every rule.

  Ava had wanted to cast a spell on me that would block my sense of smell to make the experience more bearable. I wouldn’t allow it because the last thing any soldier needed when sneaking into an enemy camp is one less way to sense the enemy. Besides, I doubted the spell would even work given my resistance.

  I took a slow breath and nearly choked, bile creeping up my throat. My reasoning had been sound at the time, but in hindsight the spell would have done me good. I couldn’t smell anything other than the waste around me anyway.

  The latrine itself was a long, winding, shallow ditch of stagnant hell. We received intelligence that at the end of it was where the Geneshans kept a large cadre of recently arrived D’engiti soldiers. Over eighty of the massive creatures. More than enough to have a huge impact on the battle both sides were prepping for on the morrow.

  Naturally, if there was something that could be done to take away that advantage, then it needed to be done. Balak managed to send word to the king who somehow convinced the Council of High Mages to get off their rears to help. Thinking of that help, I reached for the pouch tied at my right hip. Inside, was a fist-sized globe that contained some sort of magically enhanced chemicals that when activated would cause a lot of destruction.

  Balak gave my group the task of getting the globe in place. However, as I had surveyed what we knew of their camp, I realized that sending in a small squad was a greater hazard than just one person alone.

  Still, there was a lot riding on the outcome. Balak felt like winning the battle tomorrow could be the turning point in the war. We could push the Geneshans back to Wadlow Hill and then finish them for good.

  I needed to be the one to do the deed. Still, I had a great squad and took advantage of their talents. So while I worked myself through a river of filth, they busied themselves creating small distractions throughout the Geneshan camp. Misplaced weapons, lost supplies, a couple of strange injuries, maybe even a death that no one could determine whether it was accidental or not. Enough to keep everyone on edge. Therefore, anyone needing to answer nature’s call would run to the latrine, do their business,
and get back to a post while probably not paying much attention to anything but the stream coming out of them. After all, who would be stupid enough to do what I was doing?

  I made my way to the top of the embankment and peeked over the side to gather my bearings. The target, a large tent, was less than a hundred feet away, just past a final twist in the latrine.

  The pattering of someone taking a long, hard piss into wet mud sounded right behind me. I froze as the stream continued. A long sigh, and a satisfied grunt followed as the last few dribbles found a puddle. Only then did I glance over my shoulder as a Geneshan soldier slowly drifted away. He made no sound as he moved. Only the angle of the embankment and probably the fact that I had Hamath mud up my back before starting my journey was what saved me.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, then wished I hadn’t as another whiff of the latrine grabbed me.

  * * *

  I woke with a start, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. Dreams had haunted me all night long. Real, vivid dreams of men dying and men killing. Dreams of pain. Dreams of fear. Dreams that were once not dreams at all. Dreams that I continued to relive.

  “Gods, don’t lose your mind, Tyrus,” I said low under my breath so that no one nearby heard me.

  My lips smacked and the taste had my stomach rolling. Apparently, my last dream, a mission that held no fond memories, was more vivid than the others because I swore I still tasted the air around that latrine, its smell crawling deep into the back of my throat.

  I grunted, while climbing to my feet.

  At least I had woken before seeing that dream through. It was one of my least pleasant recollections from the first decade I spent in the army. I wondered what could have triggered that memory.

  Then I heard a pattering to my left, followed by a low hiss. I turned and saw a soldier standing not far from our unit’s fire with legs spread wide, head up at the slowly brightening sky. A stream arced outward and he let out a satisfying sigh. The smell of steaming urine filled the air.

  “Molak-be-damned!” I yelled, suddenly hot with rage.

  The rest of my group sat up quickly from their slumber. Hands went to weapons. The man relieving himself on my fire spun at the noise, whipping his stream outward before it cut off completely and dribbled down his leg.

  He paled, “What’s going on?”

  The words came out slurred.

  “What do you think you’re doing? That’s our fire.” Ira cursed.

  The soldier looked around dumbly. “Sorry, I guess I just got turned around. My mistake.”

  “Your mistake, you piece of—”

  I raised a hand. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I already said—”

  “Sir,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “When a superior officer addresses you, you will answer him back with ‘sir’ or his rank. Is that understood?”

  “I didn’t know you were an officer. You don’t have the markings.”

  “You don’t have the markings, sir,” I repeated.

  He stared at me dumbly as I came forward. We were drawing a crowd as people woke from my yelling. Like yesterday with Habak, I needed to get my point across as soon as possible, and the poor fool made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Repeat it, soldier!”

  “You . . . you don’t have the markings, sir,” he stammered.

  “I don’t. But now you know, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I glanced down, then quickly back up. “You going to put that thing away?”

  “Huh? Oh right. You cut me off before I was done and—”

  My open hand slapped his face. His head rocked to the side. I expected him to swing in return. Thankfully, he seemed a little slow on the uptake. Also, he smelled like he hadn’t helped his intelligence much the night before. The homemade brew began to overpower the hot urine in the air.

  “Didn’t I just tell you how I expect to be addressed? I am not your friend, soldier. I am your commanding officer, and I expect to be addressed as one. Now, how much did you drink last night?”

  My yelling and the subsequent question helped it so he never fully got worked up over the slap. He was so confused, he stood dumbly with one hand gripping his manhood. If I hadn’t woken up in such a bad mood, I’m sure I would have struggled to maintain my composure. I could almost hear Ira retelling the events later as he rolled with laughter.

  “Well, sir,” the man said slowly. “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re meaning.”

  “I didn’t ask what you’re not, soldier. I asked how much you drank.”

  “Uh, I just had a couple, sir.”

  “And you decided that after a night of getting drunk you’d come relieve yourself on my fire?”

  “Sir, I never said I was drunk and I-I didn’t realize it was your fire. It was an accident. I must have gotten turned around. I really don’t see what the big deal is, sir. We’ll be marching soon anyway.”

  I wanted to smile. That was two sirs in one response, completely unprompted. But I wasn’t done. And thankfully, his last comment about not knowing what the big deal was gave me enough fodder to keep up my rant.

  “I’ll explain the big deal. One, we are marching to battle and the last thing this army needs is people drunk and unfocused. In fact,” I said louder, “All alcohol from this point forth shall be turned in to the healers and used at their discretion when treating injuries.”

  “You can’t do that!” someone shouted among the congregating crowd.

  “I can and I will,” I said louder. “If anyone would like to have a more detailed discussion about it, we can always step off into the woods for a couple minutes. I’m sure it won’t take long before I change your mind.”

  No one said a word. My work on Habak and Ittay must have spread quicker than Ira thought.

  Not that I expected the reputation to hold forever. Someone would test me again.

  “Second,” I said, turning back to the soldier, “pissing wherever you please is what an animal does. Next thing you know you’re going to be dropping trousers and crapping in the stew. Such a lazy attitude is what contributes to disease. Next person I see not using the latrines when relieving themselves will be sleeping in them for the night.”

  I paused, waiting for someone to challenge me, but no one did.

  “Now,” I said, addressing everyone. “The third reason is that we aren’t marching this morning. At least not right away.” I gestured. “Everyone is to line up over there, by company and rank for inspection. You have ten minutes. Anyone not dressed, in line, and ready for drilling will be going on a nice long run to better help wake themselves up.”

  Everyone stared back like I was an idiot.

  I narrowed my eyes, and gave my voice an edge I didn’t use often. “By Molak, let’s move it!”

  “You heard the captain!” yelled Ira, jumping in. I could hear the elation creeping into this voice. That man lived for this stuff. “Get your rears moving or you’re going to find my boot up it,” he said shoving several men forward.

  It looked as though some thought to argue, then more wisely reconsidered and got going with everyone else.

  Dekar came up beside me and cleared his throat. “Rough night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Any other kind?”

  “Not these days. Want to talk about it?”

  “Nah. They’ll pass.”

  I hoped. I had seen enough soldiers lose their grip on reality due to the stresses of war. I didn’t want to be another.

  “You’ll let me know if they don’t, right?”

  I saw his genuine concern. It touched me. I patted his back. “Of course.”

  Boaz approached me on the other side. “Do we need to call you ‘sir’ and ‘captain’
too?”

  “In front of others, yes. When it’s just our unit, Tyrus is fine.”

  He nodded in understanding. “All right.”

  “You probably want to get dressed and get over there,” I offered. “Ten minutes isn’t as much time as you think. In fact, I expect more than half the people will be going on a run.”

  “You meant that for us too?”

  Ira joined us, grinning wide as he slapped his hand down on Boaz’s shoulder. “One thing you’ll learn about Ty, there ain’t no taking it easy on us. If anything it’s worse.”

  Boaz gulped.

  “But,” added Ira seriously, “you’re going to be the most prepared when stuff starts happening. Remember that.”

  Though it felt good to hear Ira say that, whether for my benefit or the newcomers to the army, I had my doubts on just how prepared we’d all truly be. My old unit had been comprised of veterans. Even a newcomer that might get transferred over when a spot opened would have at least been through several months of training in Hol and possibly spent another six months either on the front lines or acting as a messenger.

  Eight weeks were going to go by quickly.

  * * *

  “Dismissed!” I shouted.

  The sigh of relief from the soldiers was immediate. I hoped I didn’t look as worn as them. I had appearances to maintain.

  The day had dragged on slowly. Two hours of drills. Four hours of a disciplined march. One hour of stretching and light drills. Another four hours marching. Then two more hours drilling. Somewhere between all that I threw in a few food and water breaks.

  That was my first full day back in the military.

  Based on the hateful glances being cast my way as soldiers filed past me without a word, many had issues with my schedule. I didn’t intend to let up though. Not yet, anyway. They were far from ready.

  “Get lots of rest tonight!” I added. “We pick back up at first light.”

  I heard a few muttered curses from passersby, but I let them go since it wasn’t to my face or said in a way to challenge my authority. Just men complaining. Better to let them get it out. The last thing I wanted was for the pressure to build. Otherwise, that could lead to a slit throat.