Legacy

by Daniel Pierce

  Flint suddenly erupted from where she’d taken cover to my right, lunging from high grass at something that had appeared from around a clump of bushes. I didn’t hesitate and leaped after her. I glimpsed her jaws slamming shut on a man’s throat, then her head whipping to one side, blood an arcing spray of black in the darkness. A second man followed the first, about five paces behind; I saw him freeze, then start to react, reaching for something at his waist.

  But I got my hands locked on his skull first, at the same time jumping and twisting, using my tech-pumped strength and my own momentum to twist his head until his neck snapped like a dry branch. Both men slumped to the ground like dropped sacks, the one whose throat Flint had ripped out gurgling into the dirt. I landed in a crouch and looked around, seeking both more targets and a quick escape route.

  There was nothing—just Flint crouched beside me and the two dead men. I still gave it a moment to see if anyone else might have been nearby and heard anything.

  After nothing still, I relaxed. So did Flint. I rubbed her head and whispered, “Atta girl. Glad you got my back.”

  She leered back at me, blood glistening on her muzzle in the night light.

  I turned back to the corpses and checked them out. Fortunately, they clearly were Osterway men; I wasn’t too surprised, because I hadn’t expected them to be anyone else, not this close to that camp. Besides, I’d yet to see Flint’s reflexive instincts be wrong. They were both dressed and equipped like the ones Kai and I had seen at the supply dump on Le’Kemeshaw’s shore, the ones she labeled Huntsmen. They clearly weren’t just sentries; they were too far from the camp. So they were either a roving patrol or on some other business. I’d assume the former, the worst-case scenario; it meant the Osterway force was pushing security out past their perimeter. We’d needed to factor that into our plans and tactics and take greater care starting further out.

  But, as I checked them out, it struck me this had an upside. The Huntsmen, Kai said, were an elite force. Assuming that meant they were relatively few in number, they were probably given a wide berth by most of the troops in the Osterway force. And that gave me an idea.

  The Huntsman Flint had killed was pretty much soaked in blood, and so were his clothes and boiled leather armor. The other one, though, had missed being spattered; his outfit did fit me, although I needed to make a few slits here and there to make sure I didn’t lose my freedom of movement. I rolled both bodies into a low spot filled with scrubby brush then headed for the camp. Flint followed me, stopping at the spot I’d indicated just inside a tree line. She’d stay here until I came back, or whistled, or called for her to come running because things had gone wrong.

  I then stood up and walked out of the tree line, heading straight for the Osterway camp as though I belonged there. I glanced back once, east, and judged that I still had a good amount of time before first light paled the sky.

  About twenty paces out from the nearest watchfire, I saw someone stand up, then a second someone. After ten more paces, a voice called out.

  “Who goes there?”

  I kept walking, making sure I put a bit of a swagger in my step. I could only hope these weren’t Huntsmen, reasoning they probably all knew one another. If they were, this was going to be a very brief bit of deception, but I just couldn’t see Huntsmen standing and shivering their asses off on sentry, and especially on the last shift of the night.

  Five paces away. The voice spoke out again.

  “I said, who goes there?”

  “Who wants to know?” I snapped back.

  “Who, wait. What?”

  I stopped and glared at the two men. Not Huntsmen, I saw, just whatever would pass for regulars among the Osterway. The shorter of the two yawned, while the taller, who’d been speaking, blinked and peered at me.

  I didn’t give him a chance to keep talking. “I said, who wants to know? Because, whoever you are, you obviously need some remedial training on how to be a sentry. You let me get close enough to break your scrawny neck,” I said to the taller one, then I waved a hand at the shorter and went on, “. . . and you look like you just woke up.” I leaned in on the man, who shrank back. “You were sleeping, weren’t you? Sleeping on fucking sentry. Sounds like I’ve got two scrawny necks I should break.”

  Both men shook their heads and started babbling.

  “No, sir, I wasn’t sleeping!”

  “Sorry, sir, next time I’ll make sure to call out sooner”

  “Shut your holes!” I growled, and they both did. I puffed out the most disgusted sigh I could. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’m gonna keep an eye on you two . . . pass the word around the Huntsmen, in fact. We find you sleeping on sentry again, you won’t be waking up. You understand that?”

  Two heads bobbed in unison. “Yes sir!” the taller said. “We understand! And thank you.”

  He said thank you in a way that told me everything I needed to know about the status of Huntsmen compared to regular troops. In fact, the whole incident was a good look into the internal discipline of the Osterway forces—they’d backed down from me immediately, even though they obviously couldn’t have known who I was; they were afraid of me, which meant fear was an important part of how this army ran; and then, of course, they’d been inattentive in the first place, shirking their duties and not doing the job of protecting their sleeping comrades from attack. It was all valuable information that we might be able to use when it came time to confront these invaders directly. I could leave now, and not push on, because each step I took deeper into the camp after this essentially amplified the risk . . . a lot.

  But I was inside the perimeter. I couldn’t just walk away now. With a final glare—which I knew they could see, even in the wan, predawn light, from the way they flinched back—I strode on into the Osterway camp.

  I had to make this fast and not linger. I took in as much detail as I could—numbers of tents and shelters, wagons and draught animals, types of weapons, how organized the camp layout was, even how tidy they kept it. Anything could be crucial, any fact the one that could prove decisive, even if apparently obscure and unimportant now. I steered clear of anyone who was up and awake, which wasn’t hard; the snores and coughs suggested most of the force was still asleep, and the heat-picture my tech painted for me confirmed it. It also told me that the vast majority of this force—several hundred, at least—were corralled into about half the camp’s total area, and that the jammed-up area had its own sentries. Those sentries, though, weren’t looking outward into the night. Their attention was directed inward, on those sleeping in what almost amounted to piles of bodies.

  Packed uncomfortably together and being watched by their own people.

  I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from cursing out loud.

  Slaves.

  Briefly, I considered trying to rouse them, agitate them, ultimately free them. They had to outnumber the rest of the Osterway troops here by at least four to one. After all, free men make great allies.

  But I dismissed the idea. Somehow waking up several hundred people who were probably used to being abused, even executed out of hand, and expecting any kind of useful massed action from them wasn’t a plan, it was wishful thinking. Sure, it would disrupt this entire force, but it would also get a lot of slaves injured or killed, and it didn’t guarantee the slavers wouldn’t just regain control and then really bring on the pain. I was sure the Osterway was permanently prepared to deal with slave revolts, and would do it with ruthless efficiency.

  Instead, I aimed myself at the largest tent in the camp, one near the center. It would be the command post, I figured, and would probably contain the most useful information. It took effort to pull myself away from that inner perimeter around those slaves, but I silently promised them—and myself—that I would see them free.

  Keeping my teeth gritted, I walked toward the biggest tent. My stomach tightened up, while my awareness flared like a wind-whipped grassfire, turning every sound and movement around me into the beginning of
a shout, an alarm being raised. My tech responded like it did right before combat, zooming everything into clear, sharp focus, flattening the worst, most jagged edges off my adrenaline surge, and just putting me on a razor edge of readiness and keeping me there. If I got discovered now, all I could do was run. I made sure I knew the quickest, easiest way back out of this camp, and what cover was available beyond it.

  Someone stepped into view, coming from the direction of the tent. It was a Huntsman.

  Shit.

  I pretended I hadn’t just noticed him, and I angled slightly right, aiming to put a stack of something under a grubby tarp between him and me as we passed. I also got ready to kill him.

  He saw me, raising a hand in a wave.

  Shit again. I hoped whoever he was, he wasn’t a commander among the Huntsmen. I’d already assumed I wasn’t, since I didn’t see anything on this outfit I was wearing to say I was, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

  I waved back, and the other Huntsman just kept walking, hurrying off on business of his own.

  My heart slowed a bit, my tech dialing my readiness back slightly. I carried on, getting as close as I dared to the tent and then, reasonably sure no one was watching me, turning between two wagons and crouching.

  I listened, focusing on the tent, now little more than a wagon’s width away from me.

  Nothing.

  No, wait.

  A voice, muffled, but clear enough I could make out words even without my tech’s help.

  “What the fuck does she want from me?”

  A deep voice, rasping and hard. Then, a quieter voice, more deferential--

  “Sorry, Egnor, I’ve got no idea. She was pretty clear, hold here until ordered otherwise.”

  Egnor. Kai had mentioned that name. Venari’s right hand, and commander of the Huntsmen. This was better than I’d hoped. A lot better. Something like Osterway, based on slavery and brutality, didn’t tend to cultivate strong loyalty or invest a lot in developing subordinates. If Egnor died, there might be no one to immediately replace him. It could lead to a power vacuum, then wasted time and effort as someone new clawed their way to the top.

  “Ridiculous,” Egnor said. “We have to keep moving. If we’re going to be in a position to come at that shithole town from the west like she wants, we’ve got ground to cover.”

  “Sorry,” the deferential voice said, “I’m just the messenger here, really.”

  Deferential voice had a nervous edge to his tone. Egnor probably was the type to shoot the messenger.

  “Yeah, I know that,” Egnor growled. There was a pause, a sound of liquid sloshing into something, then, “Shit. She just doesn’t want me to get there first, you know?” Another pause. I could picture Egnor drinking, something strong, no doubt. “She should just be glad she’s got me. Should be glad I even gave her the news about that Hightec. It was my boys that found it, after all.”

  “The ones you killed, you mean?”

  “Fuck you. News of something like that can tempt anybody. Had to be done. Something like that has to be kept close, not just advertised around.”

  I let out a slow breath and shook my head. Some of his Huntsmen apparently found Hightec being made somewhere, were loyal enough to report that to him, and by way of thanks he killed them, so they didn’t betray him or let word get out.

  Fuck you indeed, I thought, then almost laughed. That was the best part. The irony. Here Venari was apparently keeping him on a short leash for the very same reason he killed his own men, and he obviously thought that was unreasonable.

  “Anyway,” Egnor said, “fine. We’ll stay another day. But I’m moving on after that. You tell her that.” After another pause, I heard him slurping on something, then swallowing. “Eh, it’ll give me time to sort out my newest acquisitions.”

  “Shit, how many do you have on the go now?”

  Egnor laughed. “Lost count. In any case, the old ones are getting stale. Once they’re completely broken, they just lay there. It’s like fucking a corpse.”

  I clenched my fists, thinking I knew where this was going.

  “I wouldn’t know,” the other voice said.

  Egnor laughed again. “Yeah, when they’re new, still got fight in ‘em, that’s when it’s fun. When they think they can fight back. The way they curse and try to kick and bite and scratch . . .”

  “Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “Uh-uh. Makes it all the better. I cum a lot harder if I’m doing some punching at the same time. See some bruises. See some blood.”

  I was already starting to move before I’d even realized it, my hand going to my knife, one stroke to cut the tent open, another to slice open this vile man’s throat. I stopped myself, but not because I wanted to. The part of me that wasn’t seeing anything but pulsing crimson knew there was good information here, important information. I needed time to consider it, digest it.

  The rest of me, though, wanted to gut this piece of shit named Egnor. Gut him, then yank those guts out and strangle him with them, and watch his eyes, full of terrified agony, the whole time.

  I had to control my own breath, keep myself from gasping in frustrated fury. I glanced back east. The sky that way had gone pale. I had enough real darkness left to get out of this camp and back to Flint.

  I looked back at that tent and heard movement inside, but no more voices.

  One slit in the canvas, another in Egnor’s throat. It was all I had to do.

  Swallowing hard, I turned, slipped from between the wagons, and walked away.

  I would be back. I would rescue whoever Egnor planned to abuse and break.

  And then, I would kill him.

  Apparently, a Huntsman leaving camp wasn’t unusual. No one challenged me, and I could just walk away. That was good, because if anyone had tried to stop me, they wouldn’t have succeeded.

  My pulse still pounded in my ears when I reached the copse where I’d left Flint. She rose to greet me, but I just kept walking. A few paces along, though, I stopped, knelt, and rubbed her behind the ears, then gave her a hug. I couldn’t imagine coercing her to do what I wanted. Couldn’t imagine it at all. Couldn’t imagine it any more than I could with Reyna, or Kai, or any other woman I’d ever known. The idea wouldn’t even take shape in my mind. It was like trying to imagine myself sticking my own hand into a fire and holding it there.

  We carried on, Flint and I, but she hung back from me, despite my hug. She knew I wanted to draw blood, so she gave me my space, keeping an eye on things while I struggled to wind down my fury.

  I was still seething when we found another sheltered copse of birch and poplar, with a few oaks and a couple of pines mixed in, just out of sight of the camp. We could keep watch here for dust that might indicate they’d started to move, while being able to rest through the day. Flint stayed on her feet, telling me she’d keep watch first.

  “I’ll spell you off soon, girl, so you can get some sleep, too. We might just have a busy night ahead of us.”

  As I hunkered down, I was finally able to mollify myself by imagining killing Egnor, over and over, in different, horrible ways. I did it enough that I thought it might continue in my dreams, when I finally did begin to drift off.

  I really hoped it did.

  13

  The sun was sinking westward when something finally happened. Flint and I had moved back toward the camp, finding a standing of trees on a low ridge line where we could see it directly again. As Flint dozed in the shade behind me, I studied the cluster of tents and wagons and people, seeing occasional commotion, wondering if they’d finally found the bodies from our kills early that morning. Each time, though, it just turned out to be the regular comings and goings of a military encampment. I wondered when the two Huntsmen we killed would be missed. If they were more than just a roving security patrol, and had been headed off to do something that might last a day or more away from the camp, we might be good in that respect for a long while yet.

  But that changed late in the
day. I saw small group of people arrive at the camp and, through Gurdon’s spyglass, noted that several wore the distinctive armor of the Blackwings. Kai had said that was Venari’s personal guard, so for them to be here, it must mean something important was happening. I watched the Blackwings swagger into camp, then head for Egnor’s tent and disappear inside. Probably marching orders, the word to get moving. If so, I hoped they’d take long enough to get themselves sorted out that they’d be traveling in the dark, but that they didn’t wait another night and, instead, get rolling by daylight. I wished I could hear what was going on in that tent like I had earlier that day, just before dawn. My tech was good, but it wasn’t that good.

  It ended up not mattering. After just a short while, the Blackwings emerged from the tent. With them came a heavyset man who started shouting and gesturing around. Through the spyglass, I saw a wide, scowling face under dark hair that was thinning on top. His mouth worked as he snapped out orders; I couldn’t hear them, of course, but I did see him periodically turn and look at the three Blackwings standing nearby. They, in turn, seemed to largely ignore him and just talked among themselves.

  I lowered the spyglass. The scowling man barking orders had to be Egnor. He commanded the Huntsmen and, in particular, this detached force of Osterway troops. I looked back through the spyglass, allowed myself the luxury of imagining my fists slamming into his broad, flat face over and over, reducing it to bloody pulp, then pushed my nasty little fantasies about how to dispose of this human piece of trash aside. He’d obviously been ordered to halt by Venari, who I assumed was with the Osterway main body, further north. He seemed to think it was because she didn’t want him to try and strike out for their Hightec objective on his own—and he did have a point there; by holding him back, she was slowing the whole operation down. Now, the Blackwing, her personal guard, had finally arrived, telling him to get moving again. It didn’t look like they were in a hurry to leave and just let Egnor get on with business—and he kept looking at them, as though making sure they approved of his orders.