Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

I would never be a man of martial prowess, or wealth or power, or even an important one in most circles. But if I could uncover some treasure in the midst of all those pages, then, for the moment at least, I would be worthy, practically invaluable. Yes, Braylar could find another scholar, but he’d already gone through some, and I’d managed to secure a spot in the company, even as I broke into the crate. Maybe because of it. Maybe the captain had even been waiting for me to take initiative. But either way, whether I’d passed a test or he’d forgiven me my failure, he was giving me a grand opportunity. And no matter how few men would understand, or appreciate, it was one that kept my mind abuzz. It felt like I was finally realizing my purpose.

Perhaps tethering myself to the Syldoon hadn’t been the most foolish decision I’d ever made after all.

It seemed like I had only just drifted to sleep to that thought when I felt a hand roughly shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes, blinded by lantern light. “What… is it… what’s happening?”

Vendurro stood back, though I recognized the voice before the blurry silhouette came into focus. “Got to move, Arki. Cap says we got to move.”

I looked out the window, and didn’t see the faintest hint of dawn, which didn’t stop me from asking, “It’s not dawn-is it? I thought… the captain said we were leaving sometime tomorrow. Later today, I mean. During daylight, that is. What’s changed?”

Vendurro started for the door, looked over his shoulder, the lantern casting wild shadows on the wall as it swung in his hand. “Bloodsounder.” Said alone like that, it sounded like the ominous clap of a great leaden bell. “Cap says there’s a fight of some kind coming to us. Right quick, from the sounds of it. Cap ain’t like to rouse us and set us in motion unless he had real good cause. You know that as good as any. I can’t explain it, not a lick, guessing you can’t, nor nobody else for that matter, but we all seen that when he feels a thing, it’s got as much chance as coming true as not. Better, if he feels it strong enough. And if you saw his face just now, you’d know there weren’t nothing subtle or slight about it. So we’re heading out to meet it. All of us. Get dressed, grab your things.”

He left the lantern on a hook, still swinging crazily, and pulled the door shut behind him. I heard voices on the other side, as no doubt the rest of the Syldoon were up and ready to move. To head out. To meet some unknown foe in the dark.

All thoughts of scrolls and happy translations disappeared faster than spilled water in the sand. Precious, and gone in an instant, as if it never existed at all.

I jumped out of bed, tripping on the blankets, nearly landing on my face. I hoped the captain was wrong. He’d been wrong at the Three Casks. Well, half wrong. Violence had come, it just hadn’t involved the Syldoon. And when they were ambushed in the temple ruins by Henlester’s soldiers, he hadn’t been able to discern or decipher whatever flickers he might have sensed. Braylar had misgivings, those borne of a naturally distrustful and calculating nature, and he’d certainly expected something. But Blood-sounder hadn’t given any warning at all, or not enough to persuade him.

However, the captain had been right out on the steppe. Eerily so. That was impossible to dismiss as coincidence. And he’d been far more certain before that violence occurred. So if he was equally convinced now…

Dressing as quickly as I could, I still clung to the thin hope that maybe he was mistaken, but dreading the reality that he likely wasn’t. Fortunately, I’d already stowed my writing supplies and clothes in advance of our planned trip, so it didn’t take very long. When I had it all together, I took one last look around, and was about to head to the door when I saw I’d nearly left Lloi’s curved sword behind. It was in its scabbard, leaning against the wall at the foot of the bed.

I knew I was likely to do more damage to myself than any opponent, but it would feel good to have some means of defending myself. Plus, I couldn’t simply leave it behind. Well, I could have-no one else would have known or cared. But it was hers, which made it mine by default now. So along it came. I set my writing case down long enough to buckle the scabbard belt around my waist, gathered everything again, and suddenly felt a sharp reluctance to leave.

There shouldn’t have been any pull at all-it wasn’t that great a room, and I’d only been there for a few days. Part of it was the fear of whatever unknown threat was not far beyond the door, the bloodshed I’d see or be a part of. But it was more than that. Maybe it was the fact that I was only slightly less nomadic than the Grass Dogs, never inhabiting a place for long. It was foolish-I knew the Grieving Dog was a temporary abode, and we wouldn’t be in Alespell forever. But even accustomed to being on the move, I wasn’t prepared to quit the room yet.

Vendurro’s voice startled me. “You about ready? Doesn’t matter, either way, time to go.” He poked his head in the door and saw that I had all my belongings and nodded. “Alright then. Let’s have at it.” And then he disappeared again.

The common room was a flurry of activity. Syldoon I’d only seen once or twice were carrying supplies, and doing it in a hurry, shouldering past each other, armor jingling, boots scuffling, cursing in harsh whispers when there was an impasse at the main door leading to the hall. It was amazing the whole inn wasn’t awake. Maybe it was-I heard a door open down the hall and someone start to tell the Syldoon to keep it down before being shouted at and shutting it quickly. Clearly, Braylar wasn’t intending to slip off in the night like wraiths or overly worried about appearances now. He must have been certain indeed to put all his soldiers into action before dawn. That didn’t bode well at all.

I held my writing case to my chest, a satchel slung over my shoulder, conscious that I was the only unarmored man in the room. And the only one standing still.

Braylar marched out of his quarters, and I noticed immediately that he was more heavily armored than at any point I’d seen him. Where he’d worn his scale cuirass underneath a tunic both in the grass and during the battles around the ruined temple, he now had on a mail byrnie with a lamellar cuirass on top, and vambraces of an unusual splinted design on his forearms, and splinted greaves on his lower legs. Clearly, he was expecting a full-on fight, and in no hurry to disguise his intention to meet it head on. Captain Killcoin said something quickly to Hewspear, who nodded and headed out into the hall as well. The captain saw me and strode over, eyed me up and down, stopping only briefly on Lloi’s sword. I almost expected him to tell me to unbuckle it right then and there, but instead he said, “Ahh, so good to see a seasoned veteran in the command room. Always inspires the troops. Given that you are ready for the road, I take it Vendurro briefed you.”

I looked around quickly, bearing in mind Hewspear’s point about revealing only what was necessary about Bloodsounder. “Vendurro told me violence was coming. And seemed certain. Or certain you were certain. Which amounts to the same thing, I suppose. Is it like… the Green Sea, then? You are certain?”

He took a step closer-his breath wasn’t as fouled by ale as it had been of late, but wasn’t free from the vapors either. He managed a whisper and growl together, “Very little in this world is certain, but my temper is one of them if you don’t keep your voice down. As to what is coming, it is enough that I am unwilling to gamble on being wrong.”

Two soldiers bumped into us, carrying the case of scrolls-my treasure! — and mumbled and apologized to the captain before colliding with the table.