Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

We started moving again, passing underneath the gate and over the drawbridge and I breathed easier. A man, a woman, and a donkey moved as far aside as they could as we approached, the people wide-eyed as they saw the inked nooses, the donkey oblivious to it all.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wished I was a donkey.

As we headed west down Rover’s Road, away from Alespell, presumably for good, the couple and the donkey weren’t the only ones to shy away or give us the road entirely as they made out the noose tattoos. The Syldoon didn’t seem overly concerned with hiding now, as none of the soldiers wore anything over their armor, and their necks were entirely too visible. I supposed there wasn’t much point anymore. We were out of Alespell and heading to Sunwrack, capital of the Syldoon Empire. Nevertheless, we were still in Anjuria-and as the guard at the gate had proved, Syldoon were not loved in Anjuria, truce or no-so I wondered why the captain didn’t order the men to hide the nooses for a bit longer. But it seemed a foolish thing to risk wrath over, so I kept the question to myself.

Everyone was quiet for the first mile or so, until we’d put Alespell truly behind us. Braylar instructed two men to fall back and screen the road to the rear, and he sent two Syldoon ahead of us as well. We pressed on and I had to resist the urge to look over my shoulder, to see if the Syldoon were racing to catch up and alert us of pursuit. More Hornmen, maybe Brunesmen, possibly even someone else Braylar had inadvertently or intentionally offended, stolen from, lied to, or encountered slain relatives of. It wouldn’t have surprised me if a mad mob of pilgrims was kicking up a cloud of dust on our heels.

As we put more distance between us and the city, bloody fountains, and beaked horrors, with the farmlands and homesteads slowly coming and going, soldiers began chatting together, here and there, though briefly, and without much enthusiasm.

One soldier ahead of me with a big pulpy nose that had seen more than its share of breaks said, “Did you see the look on those Horntoads when the ripper ripped into them? Plaguing hells, but they shit themselves good!”

The solider alongside him, who had sleepy eyes and a bit of a drawl, replied, “Only reason you didn’t brown your breeches was you knew it was coming. Don’t tell me that thing didn’t shrivel your balls. You’re a liar if you do.”

The first sounded offended. “Weren’t nothing but an animal. Weren’t nothing more.”

“A giant animal that liked tearing people in two like wet paper.”

“Yeah. So. Still nothing but an animal. Just bigger and meaner is all. Weren’t like it was a monster or nothing.”

“If that wasn’t a monster, than I hope to never see one.”

Pulp-nose paused and then said, “Should have brought it with us. Some kind of secret weapon, eh?”

“That secret weapon tore Bulsinn’s arm off, you plaguing bastard.”

Pulp-nose looked at Bulsinn up the line, slumped over, but still riding. “Yeah. Well. His hand mostly, weren’t it? But that’s my point. Thing deals some serious damage. Maybe we should get an egg. Hatch it, raise, it, train it. Turn it loose when-”

“Plaguing idiot.”

“What?”

The second soldier shook his head. “You’re a plaguing idiot with pig shit for brains.”

“Well. Make a hell of a weapon is all. That’s all I’m saying.”

That was that. Most conversations seemed to last that long or less before lapsing into silence. I didn’t overhear anyone whispering about the Memoridons or their part in the battle. Or paying them any attention as they rode in the company now. The pair of them might as well have been wraiths. Soffjian had fallen back from the head of the column, and Skeelana had ridden forward to keep pace with her.

I watched Bulsinn wobble a bit several riders ahead before another Syldoon moved over and steadied him, asking him something as he offered a flask of wine or water. Bulsinn shook his head, but then took the proffered flask, reaching across his body awkwardly to take it with his off hand. Well, what used to be his off hand. His only hand now. I wondered if he would live. I’d seen plenty of scarred and broken veteran soldiers in Rivermost, on the dole from the burghers who ran that city-missing digits and limbs, talking about old battles with rheumy eyes and sandy voices. They’d lived. But I wondered if they’d had to ride right away after losing a hand. I suppose so. It wasn’t like battles or wars would stop for a single soldier. Or ten thousand of them.

It was strange-when I witnessed Braylar’s alarming behavior in the Green Sea, nearly got stabbed to death in the wagon, and watched the captain beating down his foes and crushing them, not with rage or even anger, but simple cold viciousness, and later saw Lloi tend to him, I’d been shocked and unnerved beyond anything I’d ever experienced. But today, I’d seen things that were beyond any reckoning at all. A giant predator tearing armored men to pieces, setting bladders free with its piercing screech. Most animals, suddenly free from captivity, would run, or fight their way to freedom. But the ripper had been far more interested in taking vengeance out on the humans in front of it, killing as many as it could. There was malice there. Maybe even hatred.

The second solider had been right. It was a monster.

And then there were the Memoridons, using some kind of invisible sorcery to melt men’s minds like wax, driving them mad or striking them down without so much as a touch… that was something I could do without seeing ever again. Or not seeing. And that actually made it worse-if fire had leapt off Soffjian’s fingers and set the man’s skin ablaze, or if lights had danced in front of the Hornmen attacking Skeelana, blinding him not with illusions in his mind but something real, something I could have seen… it would have still been unnatural, awful, but at least it would have made some semblance of sense. What the Memoridons did was beyond unnatural. No wonder the Syldoon wanted as little to do with them as possible.

And even beyond those things, I saw a man die in front of me, by my hand. Maybe it would have been worse if I’d driven a blade between his ribs or cut his throat. Of course it would have. But his life ended by my hand. Did he have a family? Children? He had parents, at least, unless they were in the ground waiting for him. Friends, no doubt. Whoever he left behind would never have the opportunity to say goodbye to him, to tell him a kind word. Had he been kissed on the lips by a lover before riding through the predawn streets of Alespell to his death?

I was very glad I didn’t possess Bloodsounder. It was difficult enough to think about the man I killed without knowing the first thing about him. If I’d known who he really did leave behind to grieve for him, what his passions had been, fears, dreams, compulsions…

It was too much.

My silence clearly wasn’t companionable-downright inhospitable, truly-so I took the opportunity to move alongside Vendurro, who was riding alone. I’m sure he would have been arguing with Glesswik about one thing or another. Had Glesswik been around. I forced myself to smile as I called out Vendurro’s name.

Vendurro nodded when he saw me, freckled face briefly breaking into a grin. It wasn’t the broad and engaging smile I’d first seen, but that was several battles and one lost friend ago, so it was better than the grim greeting I expected. I shifted in the saddle, my legs and back already uncomfortable, and then realized that there were some benefits to not wearing armor. Although these soldiers were no doubt accustomed to the extra weight pulling on the shoulders, extra load was extra load.

I wondered how much blood Vendurro had to clean off. How many men had he killed? In Alespell, just that morning. Ever. It seemed a question better left unasked, so instead I opted for, “How long since you’ve been to Sunwrack?”