Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

Vendurro leaned over toward me and lowered his voice, though the pair weren’t anywhere near close enough to hear anything except the tromp of their horses’ hooves. “No. And I expect Cap is real eager to keep it that way. Real. Eager. So don’t go mentioning the first thing about it around no female ears. Memoridon nor otherwise, when it comes to it. In fact, best not to talk about it much at all to anyone, excepting me, the lieutenants, or Cap. And Mulldoos might make you eat bark or drop you hard if you do. And Cap, well, harass him too much on that front and could be your memories devilling him next. Though he does seem to like you more than the last couple archivists we had. Still, best not to test that overmuch.”

With a wink, Vendurro rode ahead, leaving me to my thoughts. Which was always a dangerous proposition.

Braylar called for a brief halt to water and feed the horses. We moved off the road, and I followed the Syldoon lead of hobbling my horse and allowing it to graze on the grass, which wasn’t billowing in the breeze like any found on the Green Sea, but still seemed plentiful enough to feed the horses of a very small company on the move. I left my horse where it was and joined Braylar. He was absently patting Scorn’s neck while his other mount moved off a short distance, chewing some grass.

I had specific questions in mind, but hesitated to bring them up. Of course, I shouldn’t have approached until I was really ready, as my silent looming seemed to annoy him as much as someone shouting in his ear. “I have the uncomfortable feeling you intend to speak at some point, and yet there you mutely stand, like a nervous actor waiting for the curtain to rise, shifting feet, wringing hands, trying not to draw attention to yourself, and managing to do exactly that. Well, consider the curtain up. Out with it.”

Did the man always have to be so irascible? “I was just wondering, Captain, when we were going to reconnect with the wagons?”

His hand dropped from Scorn’s neck and he finally turned and faced me. “Were you? And why were you wondering that, exactly?”

“One thing in particular. Well, two really.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t three?”

I took a deep breath. “I’d been thinking about the crate you have, that you showed me. With the scrolls.”

He took two quick steps until our noses nearly touched. Braylar lowered his voice. “Now that I have shared the contents with you, all but two here know what lies inside. Can you hazard a guess as to the two ignorant parties?” He didn’t wait for a verbal answer, but continued when he must have seen it in my eyes. “I would like to keep it that way. Indefinitely. And before you insist on asking why, as I know you are wont to do, let me address that briefly: Do. Not. Ask. Now, the second particular thing? Provided it wasn’t connected with the first.”

I lowered my voice. “Well, without discussing the specifics of any contents, I was wondering when it was my services could prove useful.”

“When we reunite with the wagons, you shall have your opportunity to prove you are a better translator than sleuth. Though there is more than one crate to go through. Anything else? My horse is wandering.”

I looked off into the grass, and he had sensed the beast shuffling away from the road, or heard its munching growing fainter. This time I looked around to be sure no one was listening. “You struck someone down. In Alespell.”

Braylar’s eyes narrowed. “You do know what it means to actually ask a question, yes? Let me provide an example: are all learned boys so obtuse?”

I tried again, speaking quickly, “Are you… are you well? Hewspear tried to save you from using…” I looked down at Bloodsounder. “Back there. But you did strike someone down with it, didn’t you? I ask because, well, it seems without Lloi, drink is the only thing that helps. And not especially well. And you can’t exactly captain the company drunk, can you? So, with that girl Junjee failing to work out, and no chance to find another, might you consider-” I looked around before spotting Soffjian pasturing her horse some distance away from the others. “-asking for assistance?”

Braylar gave me a stare a ripper would have been proud of. “Several questions, at last, and yet each more ill-advised than the previous. Amazing. You truly should have stopped with the first unasked question I had to puzzle out myself. You’re the man who wins two coins at a gambling table, and then loses four more, never knowing when to walk away.” He shook his head in disgust and showed me how that was done, moving off quickly.

That wasn’t an answer, or even a semblance of one, but pointing that out couldn’t have led to anything good. So I headed back to reclaim my own grazing horse. I still didn’t fully comprehend the dynamic that was at work between the Memoridons and Syldoon-and with the way information was parsed out, it could be some time before I did-but clearly now wasn’t the time to ask about it, and the captain surely was not the person to ask.

I undid my writing case, sat in the grass, and proceeded to record everything as accurately as I could. Sometimes time passes slowly when writing, other times quickly, and this was certainly the latter. It felt as if I’d only settled down to record when Braylar gave the order to mount up again.

There were a couple of occasions I made eye contact with Skeelana, wondering what her slant would be, or if she would be more forthcoming. In university, there was no shortage of texts concerning the Syldoon. Mostly written from the Anjurian perspective, or other similar peoples who had been pillaged, conquered, decimated, or absorbed by the Syldoon Empire, so hardly flattering. And suspect, as far as veracity went. But the documentation about the Memoridons was far less voluminous, and what existed much more sketchy.

Who better to ask than a Memoridon herself, especially one that wasn’t openly hostile or capable of melting my mind into steam or mush or whatever it was Soffjian had done to the poor Hornman. Soffjian was probably a worse choice than her brother, but perhaps Skeelana, when I got the chance?

Then again, maybe I was just trying to find an excuse to speak to her at all. She was easy to chat with, warm and playful, even as she teased me. The prospect of doing so again was somehow both exciting and daunting. But she was also a Memoridon. I had to remind myself of that. And she was probably only humoring me, besides.

Braylar called out, “You are tarrying, scribe. You do not get paid to tarry. Mount up.”

After packing my quills in haste, I snapped the case shut, slid it back into the leather harness on the side of the saddle, and climbed back up, the insides of my thighs chafed and sore already.

I wondered if steady riding would result in calluses on my legs. I hoped not.

The column rode in silence. I was the only one shifting and sitting the saddle so poorly-even Skeelana seemed a more competent and comfortable rider. I tried not to look behind, trusting that the two riders Braylar had screening would ride up and announce any sign of trouble or pursuit. Still, we had fled Alespell with countless dead Hornmen littering the street, a ripper running loose, and a baron who didn’t take kindly to being disobeyed. Surely, someone must have been hounding us by now.

I fell back behind Vendurro, Mulldoos, Hewspear, and Braylar, not so close that I would intrude or crowd them (or draw more than the dark stare from Mulldoos), but near enough I’d be the first of the remaining men to know what was happening. Should anything noteworthy happen. Which of course it did, given who I was riding with.

We approached Martyr’s Fork as one road veered almost due north, and the other branch continued into the west. While I fully expected us to head north, as that was the direction Sunwrack lay, we stayed west. Away from Thurvacia. Clearly I was missing something. Again.