Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

The captain made it abundantly clear he wished to be left alone with his wine, and sentenced me to the interior of the wagon. I might have been glad of it if the wagon had been hauling the scrolls he wanted translated, as I could have at least gotten started, but the supplies were all entirely mundane, and the chests were all in the wagon behind us. So I moved to the rear and watched the mostly uninteresting countryside roll by, hills and woodlands occasionally broken up by small villages and communities tucked away in them, with farmsteads here and there surrounded by narrow pines, broad lindens, and stern oaks.

The further we got from Alespell, the less traffic there was heading in that direction, particularly since we were more than a half day’s ride away. No one was going to risk traveling the road at night, even given the alleged protection of the Hornmen who rode and patrolled. The few travelers we did encounter hastily gave way to the large armed party.

We continued heading southwest, away from Alespell, away from the road north to Sunwrack we’d chosen to pass up, and toward… something. Henlester holed up in some hunting lodge somewhere, and likely Brunesmen trying to dig him out, and almost certainly more combat and casualties. I couldn’t believe it, but Sunwrack actually seemed like the safer, preferable choice at this point. Even with the alleged poisonous politicking and vicious infighting among the factions there, it was unlikely combat would spill into the streets. Often, at any rate.

But it didn’t really make much sense to be bemoaning my fate. I had made my choice to ride with the Syldoon and their captain, so I would go where he led, for good or ill. Though ill seemed more likely.

I massaged a sack of grain in an unsuccessful attempt to make it resemble a pillow or anything remotely comfortable, laid back, and decided to try to sleep the miles away if I could. I twisted and shifted, and it felt like my eyes had just shut when our wagon slowed, which seemed odd, since I didn’t think we had traveled far enough to require a reprieve-Braylar mentioned we would arrive at our stopping point around dusk, and it was still in the center of the afternoon. And that’s when I noticed the two Syldoon sitting in the wagon with me. They had tunics over their armor and hoods covered their inked nooses. They were both cradling crossbows.

They were familiar, but only vaguely, as most of Braylar’s men were strangers to me-waking up to unexpected armed friends would have been disconcerting enough. Clearly, I’d slept harder than I imagined, but was fully awake now, and suddenly very nervous.

One with large ears protruding almost straight out of his head said, “Sleep well, princess?”

The both laughed and I made my way through the supplies to the front as quickly as I could, pulled the canvas aside, and leaned over the bench.

A hundred or so yards ahead, there was a tower constructed of wood and stone, with a few smaller one-story wooden buildings around the base. The tower looked old and was leaning ever so slightly. I shaded my eyes and couldn’t make out much more. “What is it, Captain?”

Braylar pointed at the banner hanging limply on top of the tower. “Unless one of my scouts has grossly deceived me, we are approaching a Hornmen outpost.”

He said this calmly and without care, as if he were commenting on the quality of the gravel beneath the horses’ hooves.

The captain had covered up his armor with his tunic and scarf as well, and as I climbed over the bench and sat next to him, looking around, I noticed our company had thinned considerably. It was the captain, myself, the two in the wagon, and whoever was in the wagon to our rear. That was all.

Braylar didn’t have a blanket on his lap, so at least I didn’t have to worry about him shooting anyone. Just yet.

I looked ahead at the small cluster of buildings, watching a thin line of smoke listing out of a crooked chimney, and imagined the Hornmen inside. I suddenly craved wine. A lot of it. “Captain?”

He didn’t look at me, eyes still trained on the Hornmen outpost, assessing, measuring, calculating. “Archivist?”

“Is it… that is… is it wise? To approach a Hornmen tower like this? What if they know what happened in Alespell?”

“One of the buildings is likely a stable. I strongly suspect that houses Hornmen horse. Do you recall a Hornman on horse racing past, its mouth foaming, the rider slathered in sweat, wide-eyed as he passed a company of the very men he was about to report to the border patrol? No, of course not, you’ve been sleeping. But I can assure you, someone in my company would have noticed just such a rider. We are tremendously observant like that. Quite a bit of intense training, just to ensure we don’t miss these little details. I also see no rookery there, so the odds of a winged messenger somehow beating us here are also nominal.”

“So you don’t think they’ll be suspicious?”

“Of what? Two wagons and a few men? They encounter such things every day.”

“Where are the rest of the Syldoon?” I looked around both sides of the road, clear of trees in both directions, with a large bank of woods on the opposite side of the Hornmen outpost, several hundred yards away.

He saw me and replied, “Your deductive reasoning is exemplary.”

“Why not simply take the wagons through the woods, though? Avoid the outpost altogether?”

Braylar rapped his knuckles on the bench. “You see-that is what a lack of expertise and training gets you. The woods are too dense for wagons. At least to move quickly. And there are probably patrols besides. So it didn’t warrant spending an extra day just to navigate around a lone watch tower. And as to why those men aren’t with us, a smaller, poorly guarded caravan does not seem quite as threatening as twenty-five armed men on horse.”

“Has Bloodsounder… have you felt any-”

“Cease your nervous prattling. They’ve seen us in any event-we would rouse a great deal more suspicion if we suddenly turned about and sped off in the opposite direction, wagons and horses in a mad flight of terror. Now, whatever you do,” he turned at me and twitch-smiled, “don’t act as if you killed one of their brave soldiers in Alespell. If you think you cannot calm your nerves enough to manage that, I suggest hiding in the back under a large sack of figs.”

He laughed then, and slapped me on the back. All I kept thinking about was where they would execute prisoners out here. They didn’t have any gallows-did they hang them from the gnarled apple trees, or cut off their heads in back? Perhaps they were target practice for bolts of arrows. That would be fitting.

“Even the chronicler who betrayed me wasn’t so dour. You’re a mystery to me, little scholar. A mystery.”

We rolled closer and I saw two soldiers above the crenellations at the top of the tower, watching us as we approached. A small breeze stirred the banner just long enough for the white horns on the green field to show. The tower appeared to have been built for observation across the fields and the solitary road rather than for defense, as the gate and walls surrounding the compound were wood, and not high or thick. But the outpost looked like it could still house a fair number of men, and my nerves were jangling as three Hornmen stepped out of the barracks and walked over to the road, hailing us.

Braylar waved back, smiling, and then turned to me and said, very quietly, “I don’t suppose I need to remind you to keep your mouth shut? I know it shouldn’t be necessary, but I somehow feel as if I still should.”

I shook my head.

“Very good.” He kept waving and smiling.

A Hornman with yellow teeth, a yellowed surcote, and an old yellow horn hanging from his chapped baldric addressed us, looking around at the wagons and horses tethered to the side, “Any difficulties on the road?”