by Damien Lake
The rest, except for Sloan, expressed similar attitudes, so the group climbed the earthwork’s slope to retreat from the labor and the heat. They passed several camp whores waiting in the wagons’ shade for the men who would soon call it a day.
Dietrik had explained they were a normal part of army life, following the larger deployments to set up their own meager campsites outside the army’s. The women made rounds inside the encampment, providing a luxury the men could spend their coin on.
He had teased his younger friend, saying they would be happy to leave him alone in the tent for awhile. One look at the women discouraged any notions Marik might have had in that area. Theirs was a hard life, and they showed every bit of it. Once Marik had asked what happened to them when the fighting started. Dietrik had laughed, saying he would never believe how fast they could disappear until he saw it for himself.
They reached the cook area after retrieving their eating utensils. The line moved fast, though Marik wished the soldiers had not cut down every nearby tree for firewood or building material. Shade would have been much appreciated.
When they returned to the Kings’ area, they found Landon emerging from their tent with his gear in hand while Edwin waited for him, already loaded down with his own.
“What’s happening?” asked Marik.
Edwin answered. “Orders came in. We’re heading on out on recon duty.”
“We haven’t heard anything about it.”
“Just the two of us. The colonel told all his officers and the like to send him their men with woodcraft or tracking skills.”
“Which meant us, most of the Second Squad and a handful of others from the rest of the Kings,” Landon added while he lashed his gear together.
“We’ll have some peace tonight then,” joked Kerwin. “I’ll be able to catch up on my sleep!”
Landon ignored the ribbing. Marik moved around him to sit inside the tent flap in the shade under the canvas roof. He put down his water skin and bread, then rested in his lap the bowl of mixed provisions the camp cooks had the nerve to call stew.
“How long is your tour?”
Edwin resumed. “Don’t know. They didn’t say anything except we’d be going out to take a look at what the Noliers are up to and reporting back.”
Dietrik jostled Marik on his way past, almost spilling the balanced bowl. “Don’t sit in the threshold if you don’t want to be stepped on, mate,” he commented when Marik shot him a look.
“Anyway, I’d rather be out there than back here with the rest of you.”
Marik turned back to Edwin. “I guess too much hard work is more than your poor old back can handle.”
“Naw, that doesn’t bother me. But Balfourth decided to stick in his two coppers when we were leaving the colonel’s command tent.”
“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”
Dietrik added from behind, “And after we managed so well to avoid his sterling presence during the entire march here.”
“You’re right. He’s got a thorn in his paw about us.”
“You mean the Ninth?” Marik wanted to know.
“I mean the entire band.”
“What did he say?”
“The general meaning was that we’d better not screw up again and make him look bad, since he’s the one we’re reporting to out here.”
“What in the hells is that supposed to mean?”
“Apparently,” Landon took over, “he doesn’t like us very much. Well, no surprise there, right?”
“We took out that dam, neat as you please,” Marik stated. “What delusion is he entertaining?”
Edwin replied, “He’s upset because Fielo’s still running around causing problems for his daddy. I guess he decided somewhere that we were supposed to take down the baron along with his dam and end all of his family’s problems right there.”
Marik turned to Dietrik and Kerwin, his fellow tent residents. “Is this making any sense to you? First he loses it because we starting fighting in the middle of the night before the sun could break. You remember that?”
“Yes, indeed,” Dietrik said. “He was furious at the thought anyone might think he ordered a sneak attack in the dead of night. Honor among nobles, or some such.”
“That’s it,” Marik agreed. “Now he’s mad because we didn’t kill Fielo after all? I don’t get it.”
“Don’t bother trying to see the world through their eyes,” Landon offered. “Nobles always have one view of the world for them and a different view for everyone else.”
“If we had taken down the baron, we’d have been in all kinds of hot water with the king, right?”
“If it had been in honest combat, I think we would have been all right, but other than that you have the gist of it.”
“And another thing,” Marik fumed. “Our contract was to destroy the dam! Where in the world did that moron get the idea we were supposed to kill Fielo?”
“That’s what I meant. Don’t apply logic to people like Balfourth. It doesn’t work. Simply accept that he is a fool, but one in a position to cause us trouble.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” Kerwin promised. “Was that all he had to say?”
“Mostly,” Edwin allowed. “He said he never would have wasted gold on us if it had been his decision, and that he couldn’t believe he’d been stuck with us.”
“He can’t believe it?”
“Yeah. Then he stomped off in that way he does. I think he thinks it makes a point. It only makes him look about five years old.”
“In any case,” Landon interjected. “We’re going off with the scout parties, so you’ll have to look after yourselves. I don’t think Balfourth will cause trouble. He doesn’t like us and doesn’t want to be near us, and if he wanted to cause us extra trouble, he could have already done so.”
“Where are you off to?” Marik wanted to divert himself from thinking of That Moron, as he now thought of Dornory’s son.
“Into the Green Reaches.”
“That’s the forest between us and the Tenpencia, right?” Marik recalled what facts he knew regarding the forest.
The Forest of Green Reaches was one of the larger forests in Galemar. Long, though narrow, it ran along the southern stretches of the Cliffsdain Mountains. From the mountains’ southernmost tip it followed the Tenpencia down to the Hollister Bridge where it ended. When Marik had studied the map in the records office, he’d seen that it stretched approximately a third Galemar’s length from north to south.
Its width varied from place to place, at times extending from the Tenpencia banks as far as twenty-five miles. In other spots it barely reached twelve. The trees were not bunched together as thickly as in the Rovasii. Within the Reaches in many places, the trees thinned and disappeared entirely, creating hidden meadows of substantial size. The forest resembled a cloudbank slowly shredded by the wind, still thick in areas but thin in others with several holes where the sun shone through.
“Almost all the land the Noliers took is within the Green Reaches, isn’t that right?”
Edwin nodded. “It’s nearly a straight shot up to the mountains and the gold strike. The forest provides good cover.”
“They wouldn’t need to come inland very far,” Landon agreed. “The main supply line for transporting goods to the men and gold back to their own kingdom probably hugs the river. All the fighting forces we’ve encountered so far are most likely to prevent us from reaching the line.”
“Well,” Kerwin said, “why don’t you fellows bring us back a nice haunch of venison from the forest?” He raised a now empty bowl. “This army swill and hardtack are getting pretty damned old.”
Landon smiled. “No promises on that, friend. We need to get moving.”
Everyone offered farewells when the two left. Marik turned his attention to his bowl of limp vegetables and the sliver of meat in watery gravy, wishing Kerwin had kept his mouth shut.
* * * * *
A loud thwapping noise outside made Marik forc
e one eye open. Dim light filtering around the tent flap suggested the sun still debated the wisdom of rising so early.
A sharp crack came next, followed by Nial’s shouts from the next tent over. “Gods damn it, who is that? You must be looking for a thrashing!”
“Get your sorry hide moving and pack up, Nial! You’d better be ready to go in a quarter mark!”
Fraser’s voice. Now what?
The side of Marik’s tent suddenly pounded inward when Fraser slapped his hand against it, causing the entire structure to shake and wobble. He did this several times, creating the flat thwap, thwap, thwap noise Marik had heard a moment earlier.
“You boys too! Everyone better have their tents broken down and their gear hitched up in the next fifteen minutes!”
Dietrik rolled over, there being room enough to do so with Landon’s departure two days before. “This had better be one bloody bad dream,” he mumbled into his pack which served secondary duty as a pillow.
“It’s not,” Marik assured him, wishing he could have agreed with him instead.
Fraser continued his bellowing outside. Marik crawled through the flap into the early morning dawn. The sergeant had reached the fourth tent in the row. Further down the tent line, Sergeant Giles could be seen performing the same service for his unit’s men.
“What’s going on?”
He had meant to get his bearings rather than ask a serious question. Fraser heard him. “I don’t see you breaking down that whorehouse, Marik! You’re down to thirteen minutes!”
Marik muttered under his breath as he crawled back inside. Dietrik and Kerwin were rolling their bedrolls into tight cylinders. With nothing to say, he worked on his own.
Eleven minutes later, he stood where the tent had been, wrapping its tie lines around the canvas bundle while Kerwin yanked stakes from the ground. Dietrik elected to stand guard over the packs and watch. The parallel tent row behind theirs disappeared as the First and Second Units also made ready to leave.
The tents were dismantled in order down the line. Nial’s group finished theirs a few moments before Marik’s, while Talbot’s finished a few moments after. At the end, the tent with only two residents exceeded the fifteen minute time limit, uninterested in Fraser’s shouts and exhortations to hurry the hells up. Pierce rushed to satisfy the increasingly apoplectic sergeant while Sloan seemed perfectly willing to go at his own pace.
Finally, with everyone ready, Fraser shouted, “Follow along! We’re drawing mounts and heading out!”
The other three units joined them in their march across the camp to where the army kept its herd. When they arrived they found Lieutenant Earnell waiting for them.
“Throw the tents into the wagon over there,” he ordered, “then go in and choose a mount. We’re heading north along the supply base line. We’ll be riding patrols and guarding them while the army men set up and fortify. How many archers do we have?”
About fifteen men called out.
“Good. You’ll all ride center while the melee men ride point and drogue. We’ll arrive tonight as long as we don’t run into anything. We leave in a quarter-mark, so be saddled up.”
The quartermaster opened the rail gate leading into the temporary stables. One of the first projects upon arriving at the site had been to rail in the field where the horses would be kept. Most of the herd roamed the other side of their acreage this morning, but the handlers had separated a number, which were currently penned near the entrance gate.
Numerous wagons with canvas coverings were stationed nearby. Men inside passed out saddles, blankets and bridles to the Kings. Marik accepted a set, then walked to where the horses ate from long troughs. He recalled his handling experiences and thought to use his knowledge to find the best mount. Walking down the line revealed none significantly different from the others. They were all well cared for.
Little would be gained by being choosy, he finally decided. Marik settled on a dappled brown gelding whose variations in color appealed to him, like watching sunlight across a forest floor after it filtered through the branches. He tossed the blanket over the gelding’s back. The horse turned its head to look at its new rider.
“You’re not going to give me any trouble, right?”
The horse whuffed, ruffling the still short hair on Marik’s forehead before returning to its breakfast. Marik accepted that as agreement and placed the saddle over the horse’s back, pulling the straps under its belly. It wanted to eat and chose to be unhelpful, so he kneed it in the stomach to force out its breath. He finished affixing the various tack, working around the animal’s indifference, just as Earnell shouted to move out.
“Sorry fellow, but we need to get going. Besides, I think you’ve had enough breakfast, and it can’t be much fun trying to eat with a bit in your mouth. And anyway, is that stuff really so appetizing?”
The horse might have disagreed but after a firm tug on the reins, it allowed Marik to lead it out the gate.
Marik mounted with his friends. He used the last moments before riding to adjusted his sword’s position and made certain the water skin hung in easy reach.
When they drew near the gate in the western fortifications, Fraser shouted instructions at same time the other three sergeants shouted as well. “We’ll be joining up with army men once we’re outside the camp. All of us are heading north together, so be nice. Grab a package on the way out the gate. Enjoy your breakfast.”
To the left and right of the earthwork gate, men handed out small bundles wrapped in cloth strips. Marik grabbed one while he followed everyone else across the collapsible ramp spanning the trench. Inside he found a doughy lump of bread, a strip of hardtack and an apple so wrinkled from a long winter in a storage cellar he almost mistook it for a prune. He looked down at his horse.
“I take it back. I think you’ll be the better fed of us after all.”
The horse snorted.
* * * * *
It rained on them again. That might have been annoying if Marik could not still remember the previous days of heat. Still close enough to the experience, he enjoyed the cool respite.
Rain made the world look strange to him. Vertical black streaks slashed the healthy green glow of land covered in spring grasses and trees, as well as the faint purple glow of dissolving energy filling the air. The landscape became a scored painting, scratched relentlessly by a jealous artist.
Marik closed his mage senses. Sunlight little brighter than the constant illumination from the etheric’s mass diffusion filled his vision. A gray day, overcast with rain clouds that only let fitful swatches of sun through. Wrapped in his foul-weather gear and riding endless patrols, the single-most activity which might be worse was hacking dirt and mud from the ground with the army men digging fortifications for the Sixth Supply Depot.
A depot had been placed roughly every thirty miles from the gold strike to the Southern Road, making thirteen supply areas that needed guarding. Only ten if he discounted the three major strongholds serving as the base of operations for the combined forces. Existing holdings housed half the remaining depots as well.
So only five new depot sites needed to be constructed, yet they would be the most vulnerable to attack. This resulted in endless patrol rides hoping, or not hoping, to find enemy units.
They had arrived on the front nearly two eightdays ago and Marik had yet to see one sign of the Nolier forces. He had asked Fraser about that.
“Don’t be so eager for a toss up. Maybe you haven’t seen any action, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. You’ll get your share.”
Marik took that to mean reports of fighting between other Galemaran elements and the Noliers had arrived, though why the sergeant refused to share the specifics puzzled Marik. Any fear that spies might take reports back to their officers seemed foolish. Wouldn’t the Noliers know as much about the fighting as the Galemarans? Probably the sergeant enjoyed knowing things his men were in the dark about.
A rider from the north reined in before the c
ompany head. Captain Peet ordered a halt. While the army officer spoke with the messenger, Marik and several others slid from their saddles to stretch. He rubbed his rear to restore circulation, asking Dietrik, “So how does it feel to be back in the army?”
His friend made a bitter face. “I thought I’d left all this behind me.”
“What, riding in the rain? Looking for men eager to kill you? You shouldn’t have joined the Kings then.”
“I was referring to all this ruddy stiff-necked regulation and adherence to ridiculous procedure.”
Marik nodded. “We’d ride out, find the nearest group of enemies, figure out the best way to crush them and do it. We wouldn’t be riding back and forth like a pendulum between the depot and the main camp.”
Dietrik shook his head. “Actually, that’s not entirely correct. I understand the reasons. We don’t want to leave any stretch of ground unprotected for long.”
“What did you mean then?”
“All this ‘yes sir’ and ‘stand up straight boy’ and ‘polish that bit of mud off your boot before you can eat’. We are mercs after all, not bloody soldiers. Why do we need to act like them whenever the army officers drop by to make our lives miserable?”
Marik shrugged. “It’s their way of proving they’re better than we are, I suppose. I can see why you left. I’d have gone crazy after an eightday as an army regular.”
Smiling, Dietrik added, “Not to mention the food.”
“Luiez spoiled me. I’m about ready to run across the kingdom on the edge of a golden coin if I have to look at another lump of hardtack.”
“I might go barking mad with you as well.”
“Heads up. The captain just ordered a remount.”
“Then duty calls.” After he hauled himself onto his mount, Dietrik added, “Though what I miss most is a bleeding fireplace.”
“Oh? I think this is nice and refreshing.”
Dietrik gazed at him a moment. “I think perhaps you have started to balance that coin on its edge already.”
