by Selina Rosen
Tarius took three quarters of the able-bodied men and rode on to the Amalites' camp, making sure there was no one to follow them. They couldn't afford to leave the enemy at their back. They spent the remainder of the day caring for the injured, burying their dead, and stripping the Amalites' bodies. The next day they rose early and rode on till almost dark, trying to reclaim as much ground as possible.
On Tarius's instructions their badly wounded were sent to the nearest village to recuperate.
"Why carry the wounded with us?" Tarius had asked Persius. "It does them no good; they can not heal on the battlefield. Load them into wagons with the spoils stripped from our enemies, the weapons, and the armor. Send them to the nearest village to heal. Hand the weapons and armor out to the villagers as payment to nurse our men. Then choose from the villages enough men to make up for those lost in the battle and have them come back to base camp. We will leave a quarter of our men here to deal with the remaining dead, train the new men, and prepare to defend this area should we be pressed back. Meanwhile, let us move on to push the Amalites back. When we have won the next battle, we will pull this detachment of men up behind us to hold our ground. If we need them, they will never be more than a day behind us. We will send pages out four times a day, and they will likewise send them out four times a day. In this way we will always know what is going on there, and they will always know what is going on here. If we feel we need part or all of this force for reinforcements, then we call on them. In the meantime they can be training the new recruits and refining their own skills since we will leave the poorest of our fighting men behind at base camp. Only take care not to let them know that we have chosen them to stay behind because of their lack of skill. Point out to them that it is because they are such grand fighters that we have left them—a much smaller group—to guard our retreat. In this way they will try hard to be worthy of your respect."
Persius gave out the orders, but the plan of action was Tarius's to the very letter.
* * *
Three days later they encountered another Jathrik troop. The men were battered and battle weary. They were up against an Amalite force possibly half the size of the one they had slaughtered a few days ago. The men were all sick with fever from the mosquitoes that seemed to be everywhere. This camp, like the other one, was filled with the stench of death and human waste. Again their first order of business was to move camp, but this time they didn't even bother to wait for cover of darkness. Tarius feared that the disease would spread through their own ranks if they didn't move and do it quickly.
It seemed to Tarius that the Jethrik people were idiotic when it came to the simplest things. Yes, it was easier to make camp in the flats. But when it was raining and pooling up all around you, running your own shit out of the latrine trenches and up over your feet for you to walk in, it didn't make any sense. And it was raining again. It was the part of the country they were in—an almost subtropical region. The filthy water had pooled up making a breeding ground for the mosquitoes. It shouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that water didn't pool up on a hillside.
She immediately sent the sick and injured away in wagons bound for the nearest Jethrik village. Any able-bodied men would be sent back to their base camp. They moved and set camp, and the rain poured down.
"Sir Tarius!" She recognized the young soldier as Gudgin's page, Dustan. He held a shovel. "Master Gudgin sent me to ask where you want the latrines dug, Sir."
Tarius rubbed at her wet neck, then she looked at the river and smiled. It ran away from their camp towards the Amalites. There were no Jethrik villages downstream, because the river ran straight into Amalite lands. Tarius spotted a small gully that ran with rainwater; it met the river just past their camp.
"Tell Gudgin to put the latrines on that gully. No digging will be necessary. A nice little surprise for our enemies. Just make sure that everyone knows to get water from above the gully, not below."
The boy laughed and ran off to get Gudgin.
The portable latrines had been Tarius's idea. She had wanted them mostly because having them made her life easier, but had insisted that having privacy helped with morale. Holes were dug, a box with a hole was set over it, and a four-walled tent with a roof was placed over this. Twenty of them fulfilled the needs of their camp.
Gudgin had at first balked at the idea of being literally "Captain of the Latrine," but soon realized that he could delegate all the work, and that few things were as appreciated by the men as having a good clean place to take a crap. Gudgin followed Tarius's instructions to the letter, making sure that latrines that got full were quickly moved, the dirt piled on high, and a marker placed there.
The Kartiks and even the Katabull knew more about how disease spread than the Jethriks did. Tarius knew that disease could be spread through unchecked waste disposal. Of course, this was what she hoped to accomplish by feeding her enemies their shit.
Gudgin walked up to her then. He smiled. "Just to make sure . . ."
"Yes, I want them put on the gully."
Gudgin laughed out loud, slapped her on the back and walked away to direct his men.
Because of the rain, and because they were on the side of a hill, this time Tarius put the horses at the bottom of the camp. Thus ensuring that they wouldn't be walking through horseshit, either. There wasn't much fear of attack from above, since their camp spread to the top of the hill.
She was wet. She hated being rained on. Strange, she loved the water as all Katabulls did, but she hated being rained on. Maybe because she had no control over whether she got wet or not.
She made her way down towards the cooks' pavilion and saw that they had succeeded in starting a fire. Several of the Swordmasters, the king and Hellibolt stood under the pavilion out of the rain. They were laughing, and when Tarius joined them they laughed even louder. She looked at herself to see if she was anything but dripping wet.
"Tarius, did you really tell Gudgin to set the latrines on a gully that flows into the river?"
Tarius grinned sadistically. "Let the bastards eat shit."
They laughed still louder. They respected her now, but respecting her didn't mean they liked her, and she knew that many of them didn't and probably never would. She told herself she didn't care whether they liked her or not, but that wasn't exactly true.
At times like this when she felt not just their respect but their approval, she felt warm inside. Warm enough to almost—but not quite—forget that she was wet and cold. She moved closer to the struggling fire.
The head cook himself pushed a bowl of hot soup into her hands, and she took it gratefully.
"Thank you," she said. All the men just stared at her the way they always did when she thanked someone they considered to be an underling or worse yet a servant. She drank the soup down, marveling at the warmth it sent coursing through her body. She chewed the chunks and swallowed. Then she addressed a man named Yolen who had given her a downright scornful look when she had thanked the cook.
"Yolen, answer me this question. Can a hungry man fight as well as one who has eaten?"
"No, of course not."
"What happens to a man who has no food?" she asked.
"Eventually, he starves to death," Yolen said.
"And if some one saved your life in battle, wouldn't you thank him?" Tarius said.
"Why of course, but . . ."
"So why wouldn't I thank this man, who gives me strength to fight, and who saves my very life on a daily basis? No one in this camp is any more or less important to our effort than are the men who cook and serve our food. They are as heroic as any who take the field in battle. They endure the same hardships and dangers with none of the glory. The least we can do is let them know that they are appreciated." Tarius handed her empty mug back to the cook. "Thank you again." She walked away.
"Why, that insolent little Kartik bastard! I'll have his head!" Yolen muttered and started after Tarius.
Persius grabbed him by the arm. "Tarius has a goo
d point. Let us all thank our cooks and servers."
Yolen looked as if he had been mortally cut, but joined along with the others as they repeated the king's words of thanks.
* * *
Tragon had been resting in his tent when Tarius walked in dripping water everywhere. She looked for and found her cloak, and Tragon knew before she looked at him with expecting eyes that he was going to have to go back out into the rain.
* * *
Tarius snuck into this Amalite camp more easily than she had the last one. She walked around the camp looking and listening. These men were in as low spirits as their own troop had been earlier today. Their camp was even filthier, and they seemed to have as many if not more sick and wounded. No doubt they had seen the reinforcements and knew they were up against more units.
Tarius went to where the horses were corralled, and she heard the guttural words of an Amalite at her neck. She turned, flinging back her hood and glaring at him. He froze in fear, and she grabbed his head between her hands and hit his head with her own, killing him instantly. She grabbed the logs of the makeshift corral, tore them out of their rope ties and threw them like they were firewood. Then she ran into the corral and chased the horses out. The horses, terrified by the Katabull in full hunting mode, ran kicking and screaming out of the corral. She herded them towards the encampment.
The terrified horses stampeded through the camp at an unstoppable pace, destroying everything as they trampled it. The men panicked, not knowing whether to run for their lives or try to catch their horses. They had barely had time to register the destruction caused by the stampede when the Katabull came ripping into their battered camp, swinging steel and killing everything it touched. When it left, they huddled together like men who had seen their own death.
* * *
The screams of terror from the Amalite camp were so loud that they were heard clearly across the killing grounds.
"What the hell is going on over there?" Yolen asked.
"Tarius and Tragon must have gone to scout out the enemy's camp," Persius said. "Tarius simply can't walk away without killing some of them."
Hellibolt stared at the king, but said nothing.
"What?" Persius asked harshly.
"Nothing that you have not forbidden me to say, Sire," Hellibolt said.
"Good, keep your madness to yourself," Persius said.
"Tarius is as black and tough on the inside as his armor is on the out," a Swordmaster named Jerrad reflected.
"Exactly," Hellibolt said. Then when he got a glare from the king he added, "Of course, I only mean that in the very nicest way."
Persius smiled. "It suits him. Tarius the Black."
* * *
When they woke the next morning it was still pouring. Tarius placed her forces. Shield men first, pikes and spears next, and then the horsemen. They marched at a quick forced march, and by midday they descended on the battered Amalite camp.
The Amalites started to flee, and Tarius changed tactics quickly. "Shield men break!" she screamed, and the shield men broke away to leave openings for the horsemen. The horsemen went after those who were fleeing, and the shield, pike and spearmen got the others. The battle was over in moments.
After they had rested for two days they left the troop that had been there. They would follow just behind the king's army, and the base camp would follow them with pages running from them to the others and back, so that each troop knew exactly what was happening with the others.
They moved to the east as word had reached them that there was a huge Amalite contingent forming on their eastern border. The first week they met two troops of Amalites. Each time they easily cut them down. One day a page brought word that the base camp had run into a troop of Amalites some one hundred strong. They had taken a number of casualties, but had slaughtered the Amalites and were now—after having sent their wounded to the nearest village and picking up new recruits—on their way again.
Also they heard news that one village that had been attacked by marauding Amalites had beaten their attackers back and sent them running.
The trek was long and exhausting. They traveled close to the border, making sure it was clear of Amalites as they made their way east.
The journey tired Tragon. It was slow going, and they moved camp almost daily. It was as arduous on the days they didn't do battle as it was on the days that they did. He was ready to go home—a couple of months ago.
It was close to the end of the day, and as always this meant they were all exhausted and ready to do the work of making camp, get a meal and fall into their bedrolls. Not even Tarius heard or saw them until it was too late. The arrows rained down upon them from above. They were on a narrow section of road and had walked right into an ambush.
Persius was safe in his carriage, but wouldn't be for long if his men fell around him.
"Shields up!" Tarius ordered. "Dismount! Bowmen, take aim and fire on the archers."
For once, Tragon didn't argue. The men had been trained as to what to do in case of just such an attack, and they responded like the well-trained force they were. The horsemen dove off their horses and hid under their bellies while the shield men who marched alongside them put their shields over their heads and moved to help protect the horses and riders. The shutters on the king's carriage were slammed shut.
Tarius had to think quickly. Archers in the trees, and no doubt ground troops and horse men waiting in the tree line. She decided on the one course of action they probably wouldn't count on.
"Foot soldiers, attack!"
The commanders down the line echoed her orders, and the shield, spear, and pike men on each side ran into the trees, leaving the horsemen behind.
"Horsemen, mount up and attack!"
No doubt the Amalites had counted on the fact that they would immediately protect themselves only from the hail of arrows. Then with their bellies wide open, the Amalite sword and pike men could descend on them. Tarius hoped to throw them off by reacting in an entirely different way. With all the men—except those charged with protecting the king's carriage—running into the woods, the archers would have a harder time finding targets, and they would have the element of surprise.
Tarius left her horse behind and ran into the battle, sword in hand. The crossbow men dropped one archer, then another. Then the bodies of Amalite archers started to rain down from above. No Amalite archer could hold a candle to a Jethrikian crossbow. Since the Amalites had no crossbows, they had nowhere near the firepower or the accuracy.
She found Harris and Tragon engaged by three spearmen and a man with a great sword hiding safely behind four scoot-ems.
* * *
A spear gaffed deeply into Tragon's leg, and he lost his seat and fell from his horse, losing his sword in the process. The spearman stabbed at his fallen opponent, and Tragon knew that he had breathed his last. From out of nowhere Tarius appeared, and her blade came down on the spear shaft, severing the head from the pole. She slung back with her blade, all but decapitating one of the shield men with the backstroke. Harris jumped off his horse and joined her. Tarius jumped up and kicked at the top of one of the scoot-ems. She rode it and the fellow holding it to the ground, landing on the shield on top of his head. As he lay lifeless under her, she killed the greatswordsman and then, spinning, took out the last shieldman. Then Harris ran in and between them they killed the spear and pike men easily.
They stood there over Tragon, shielding him with their very bodies, fighting over the top of him. Tarius yelled commands, but she did not leave his side. Tragon tried to reach his own sword and could not. He was paralyzed by pain and fear. If they left him, he would be killed, and surely they would have to leave him.
But they did not. When the battle was over they had taken many casualties, but they had won. Tarius had not left his side, and because she hadn't, Harris had stayed with her and Tragon had survived. Tarius reached down and helped him to his feet.
* * *
Tarius and Harris had started tak
ing Tragon back to the surgeon's wagon when a soldier ran over.
"Sir Tarius!" he shouted. There were tears streaming down his face. When Tarius saw that it was Dustan, Gudgin's page, a sick feeling washed over her. "Sir Tarius, come quick! It's Master Gudgin. He's hurt, and he asks to see you."
Tarius nodded. "Yolen, help Harris with Tragon."
When Yolen had taken her place, Tarius ran off after Dustan.
Gudgin was lying in the woods with a spear sticking out of his chest. His chain hadn't been able to stop it. His gambeson was stained red with his blood. She knelt beside him, and her tears started to flow. For a second she wondered if there was a way to remove the spear so that Gudgin could be saved. When she realized there was no chance for him, her tears flowed more freely. She took his hand, and it was unusually cold. She squeezed it tight.
"Gudgin, my brother." Her voice would hardly work for her. "I have failed you. I led us right into an attack."
"Don't be a fool," Gudgin coughed. "None of us saw them. We won the battle; what else matters?"
"You matter." Tarius wiped her face with her free hand, wiping blood across it.
"I feel honored . . . " Gudgin coughed. " . . . that Tarius the Black, the great Kartik bastard, would cry on my account." He coughed again.
"Don't talk," Tarius said gently.
Gudgin laughed painfully. "I won't get any other chance. Tarius . . . I didn't like you."
"I know that," Tarius cried.
"Now I count you my best friend. Never have I known such a man as you. I'm sorry that I taunted you." Gudgin coughed again.
"Don't worry about that now," Tarius said.
"I feel so stupid. I practically jumped on the spear. I never was very good, was I?"
"Gudgin . . . You are one of the best. Certainly, you are one of the bravest."
Gudgin smiled and then the light started to leave his eyes. He squeezed Tarius's hand one time, forcing his lifeforce back in him for one last moment. "Look after Dustan for me. He's a good lad."
"I will, my brother. I will," Tarius promised. The light left Gudgin's eyes, and he went limp. She pulled her hand from his and closed his eyes. Then she threw back her head and screamed one long angry cry that seemed to be dragged from the very depths of her soul. When it finally stopped, the silence was deafening, and the look in her eyes wasn't sane. Spying an Amalite body still moving, she sprang to her feet, drew her sword and started hacking at the body until it looked like it had been run through a grinder. When she finally stopped she stood back looking at what she had done and the wild look slowly faded. She took three deep, rattling breaths, and then sheathed the blood-covered sword. She looked quickly around at the crowd that had gathered around her, and they all quickly pretended to be doing something else. She walked over to Dustan, who was on his knees bending over the body of his fallen mentor. She helped him to his feet and embraced him, then she put her arm across his shoulders and led the sobbing boy away.
