Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

An arrow thunked into the wagon a few feet behind me and another tore through the canvas covering, and then the Imperials were gone. I realized that it happened so fast, I flinched after the side street was behind us. At least our horses hadn’t been struck. Or us. I was closest, and armored in linen.

I turned to Vendurro. “Will we make it? To the gates? Will they be closed?”

His jaw was set as he hunched over, holding tight to the reins. “Can’t say, can’t say, and can’t say.”

We passed two more side streets and there were no more injured scouts or Imperials shooting at us. We were on horse and wagons and so far the Imperials were all on foot. Maybe we could outdistance any warning. Maybe we could still ride clear.

After another scout joined us, reporting something to Braylar, he led our convoy down the next side street, heading toward the eastern gate. And directly into a much larger group of Imperials a hundred yards ahead. There were several lines of infantry with bows and spears in a phalanx, and a dozen cavalry as well, one holding the double Sun and Leopard standard. There were also two Memoridons on horses in front of the soldiers. Both had scale corselets on, one with short blonde hair, the other with a crimson cloak, wielding a ranseur with what appeared to be a red tassel.

Rusejenna. Soffjian. We were doomed.

Braylar called a halt. Two scouts raced past us on either side of the wagon, one still bleeding around the arrow in his arm. They reported to Braylar and his lieutenants. The captain turned his horse in circles, looked back past the convoy and behind us. I craned and looked down the side of the wagon as well. They were still at least three or four hundred yards out, but there was a large battalion of Imperial footmen, and they were marching for us.

Vendurro was doing the same on the other side, then sat again and drove his fist into the bench. “Guessing that answers your questions, bookmaster. Not making it to the plaguing gate.”

We might have been able to fight through men alone, despite bad odds-Braylar had survived worse before-but taking on two war Memoridons as well…?

No. We were captured or dead men. Knowing Braylar, likely dead. I imagined the order for a mad charge at any moment.

The Imperials hadn’t begun loosing arrows at us yet. Then Rusejenna rode her horse down the middle of the street toward us. Very deliberately. Clearly savoring the moment. She might not dance to the captain’s tears, but she was obviously the victor, and in no hurry to see it end.

I expected Braylar to order one of his men to shoot at her, or do it himself, but perhaps he was unwilling to allow his entire company to be slaughtered, as no bolts flew. Instead, the captain, Hewspear, and Mulldoos rode out to parley, crossbows hanging from their saddles.

Rusejenna stopped, waiting for the three of them to approach. When they were fifteen paces away, she raised her hand and the Syldoon halted as well.

Vendurro slammed his hand into the wagon again. “Plague me. Didn’t even make it to the plaguing gates. Can’t believe Cap is giving hisself over. Better to die fighting then hung from…” He stopped, leaned forward.

“Plague. Me.”

Rusejenna was gesturing at the Imperial phalanx behind her when Soffjian spun her horse around and faced the lines of soldiers, arms outstretched. Even from so far away, I thought I saw the warping around her splayed hands, and before the Imperials could draw their bows she had used her memory magic on them. They were falling, staggering into each other, the lines breaking apart, as dozens of men were wracked by whatever unseen thing she’d done to them.

The captain and his lieutenants kicked their heels in, tried to close the distance to Rusejenna, drawing their weapons. But the Memoridon was already turning back to them, got her arms up. Hewspear dropped his slashing spear, fell over against his horse’s neck as he rode past her and Mulldoos didn’t even manage that, falling out of the saddle, hitting the ground hard, rolling once onto his stomach, hands on his helmet.

But Braylar was completely unaffected. Rusejenna pushed out at him with both arms, focused everything on him, but it did no good at all-whatever sorcery she worked on the lieutenants failed on him. And then he was on her, Bloodsounder whipping around, the flail heads arcing out, the Deserters taking off nearly half her head as he rode past. She dropped from the saddle, the last movement she would ever make.

The captain beckoned us on, and our convoy was moving forward again. I looked behind us, and the Imperials were marching, drawing their bows from their quivers, but they were on the edge of bow range and still moving closer. We started forward as the captain rode up to Hewspear, grabbed his horse’s bridle, led him to our wagon, and ordered two Syldoon to get him inside. I looked back as they did-Hewspear was stunned and dazed, but could sit up, though barely, with his chin on his chest. Two more Syldoon got Mulldoos to his feet ahead of us, and while he walked drunkenly for a few steps, he was able to climb back into the saddle, cursing when they offered assistance, but still shaking his head and wobbling, and favoring one side of his body.

Down the street, Soffjian was gone but some of the Imperial Syldoon that hadn’t been completely blinded or incapacitated were forming back up, and Braylar’s company charged, loosing crossbows first and then drawing their other weapons. The Imperials didn’t have the men or time to reform a phalanx, but they did their best at small impromptu shield walls here and there, their long spears angling out.

One Jackal Syldoon took a spear in the chest and was vaulted out of the saddle right into the overlapping shields, and another had his horse speared out from underneath him and went rolling across the stones, trampled under the Jackal horse behind him. But the other Jackals made it past the spear points, knocked men over, hooves smashing, swords and axes and maces bashing and cleaving the small pockets of Imperials out of the way.

When Vendurro drove our wagon through, we rolled over a body and I nearly flew from my seat. An Imperial on my side pivoted, shield up, the spear tip coming at me. It struck the bench right behind me and I trained my crossbow and loosed. The bolt struck him in the face, and he staggered back and fell as we raced past.

“Nice one!” Vendurro hit me in the arm. “Next time, try shooting the whoreson before he has a chance to stab you though. Reload.”

I looked at him for a moment, then grabbed another bolt as we rounded a corner, nearly running down a Thurvacian carrying a wicker basket on his head.

“Out of the way, you dumb bastard! Jackals coming through!” Vendurro laughed, laughed like a madman, and I felt myself giggling as well.

And then the stunning dawn clouds were more visible everywhere as this street was wider, the buildings crowding less of the sky. And the immense wall and the eastern gates were before us. The captain slowed, arm raised, and our entire group followed his lead. There were far more civilians about now, their bright colored coats and long tunics everywhere, some leaving the city, others coming in, so the portcullises were up. And it was early still, so the path wouldn’t be congested.

The eastern gate. The sun rising before us. Surely that was a good sign.

I glanced around the wagon and looked back-the Imperial infantry were nowhere to be seen. We had a chance.

Our company rode forward, Thurvacians turning to object as they were driven aside, until they saw not only Syldoon soldiers, but several covered in their own blood or someone else’s.

We crossed the small plaza just before the gate, riding into the shadow of the wall. I glanced up at the wooden hoardings that lined the top of the high walls, and imagined rocks or boiling water dropping out of the trap doors above us. I started to look behind us again when Vendurro hit me in the arm. “Easy does it, Arki. And point that bolter downside, would you? You shoot a Syldoon in a gatehouse on accident, we ain’t never seeing the other side.”