Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

Mulldoos leaned on his elbows, looking back and forth between his captain and the edge of the ravine. “Ayyup, Sure enough. Surrounded by a whole lot of stone and a whole lot of men who got no love for us at all.”

“You’re more right than you know.”

Mulldoos worked on that for a moment, then said, “Right, am I? So I’m more confused. If it were me hearing me say we should head on out, and I agreed with what I had to say top to bottom, then the pair of us would hold hands and march down this hill and ride hard to put some miles between before night came on strong. But not you. You hear me out, tell me I got the right of it-which, I got to say, Cap, I get so seldom, just not sure how to take it-but then you seem more dug in than ever. Real, real confused.”

Braylar pulled Bloodsounder off the hook on his belt, the chains rattling against each other like an animal giving a warning signal just before the attack, and then he picked up one of the Deserter heads, staring at the agonized face. “Gurdinn is down there.”

Mulldoos said, “OK, you seen him. And? Still not sure how that ties one thing to the next. Might even be more reason to leave. Seemed a competent commander on the whole. If even more bullheaded than you.”

Braylar brought the flail head closer to his own. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Then, why-” Mulldoos stopped himself and nodded slowly, the pale stubble on his face like flecks of gossamer. “Ahhhh, should have guessed. Bloodsounder whispering secrets in your ear again.”

We all waited for Braylar to say more, and when he didn’t, Mulldoos asked what we were all thinking. “So, you want us to beg for scraps? What did you see, Cap, that’s got you so willing to dismiss real sound advice to do the opposite of what we’re actually doing?”

Braylar moved away from the ridge and slowly stood, joints popping in his knees, and slipped the flail back on his belt. “I can’t say for a certainty. Bloodsounder was not especially forthcoming, and the images were far from clear. But this much I can say-if the flashes foretold anything, an opportunity to steal the High Priest might present itself without me ordering us in a futile charge to our doom.”

Hewspear spoke up, “Captain, while I’ve learned to put great stock in your warnings and premonitions, as they’ve turned the tide of a battle on more than one occasion, I have to say, even if what you saw is accurate, we don’t have the luxury of time. And the Brunesmen and the priest are locked in a stalemate-neither will engage the other anytime soon. Henlester isn’t sallying out to meet his foe, not with the strategic benefit of a solid defensive position. And Gurdinn has little choice but to try to starve out the garrison, as he brought no siege engines, and likely no engineers to build them. Either way-”

“Nobody’s moving,” Mulldoos finished. “They’re going to stare at each other just out of bow range and dream up real nasty ways of killing the other, but no one’s making a move just now. And if we sit here too long, that bitch of a sister of yours will be sure to make our lives hell when we get back to Sunwrack. So we aren’t getting any kind of opportunity anytime-”

It was Braylar’s turn to interrupt, and his tone suggested the discussion was no longer a discussion of any kind, but a prelude to a mandate. “I expected more imagination. Both of you have been involved in enough sieges and studied countless more to know better. While the majority are prolonged, and eventually end with one side starving or diseased enough to surrender or quit the field, with only a few requiring an all-out assault, there are also numerous occasions when something quick or unexpected decides men’s fates. A poisoned well. Treachery within the stronghold, a sally port unbarred. A daring raid by an elite squad. The arrival of rescuing forces that drive off the besiegers. The arrival of more besiegers that tip the balance. And while I can’t say which of these things is going to occur, I do know that there is a strong likelihood we will have our opportunity, and have it soon. Bloodsounder is sometimes wrong, or my interpretation faulty, but I feel strongly this is not one of those times.”

We all scooted back from the ridge top and then Braylar looked at Hewspear. “We watch and wait. A day at least, possibly two. If nothing happens in that time, we leave without our quarry, and with no blood spilled. Assign two men to haunt this ridge and monitor the incredibly hostile multitude down there.”

Mulldoos had a sour look, but Braylar didn’t give him a chance to object. “Have the men alternate watch. I believe the Brunesmen are fully occupied, but as you say, Gurdinn might not be an absolute fool-it’s possible he’ll have a patrol in these woods. Counter that with our own. Understood?”

Mulldoos couldn’t have liked the orders any at all, but he knew he had pushed as far as he dared. “Aye, Cap.”

Braylar nodded to all of us. “Cold rations, voices silent, armor covered, weapons at the ready. We might need to move fast when the time comes. And you can be sure it will.” He marched down the hill without another word.

Mulldoos got up and slapped the dust and dead leaves off his legs. “Well, that’s that, then. You heard the Cap. Let’s go find a bush and get some rest. Vendurro, hold the ridge until you’re relieved. Won’t be long.”

He started down as well.

Hewspear pulled himself up to his full height, again moving gingerly. I was about to offer him a hand but didn’t want to insult him. “Shall we, Arki? There is banquet of dried goat, dried dates, and stale water waiting for us below.”

He dug the butt spike of his slashing spear into the dark earth with each step, using it as a staff to make sure he didn’t lose his footing. I gave

Vendurro a quick look-he was crawling on his belly back up to the edge of the ravine. He looked back at me and gave me a smile before returning his attention to the lodge and camp below.

I never had any cause to know soldiers particularly well before riding with the Syldoon, I’d overheard enough of them and in enough places to know the majority were exceptionally gifted grumblers, with no shortage of things to complain about. While the Syldoon were no less human than the rest, and certainly must have detested some of their duties, assignments, or discomforts, they took a queer pride in braving the worst of them, as if simply by being Syldoon they had developed a much higher tolerance for all things nasty, cold, and loathsome, and seemed to take any piling on as just another challenge to surmount.

I hurried to catch up to Hewspear, and it was him who actually reached out and caught me as I stumbled, tripping over an unseen hole in the ground. My jostling must have sent his ribs grinding, as he winced with the effort of stopping my fall, but it came and went before he assumed stoicism again.

Yes, they were a peculiar breed of men.

At the bottom of the hill, everyone was finding a place to bed down in the brush, eating what rations they had on them, all in silence as the dark came on.

I was scouting out the best spot myself, which was to say the least worst spot with the fewest roots or rotten foliage, when I spotted Braylar and the recently relieved Vendurro standing together apart from the rest.

I approached slowly, reluctant to interrupt if they were deep in conversation, and when it was obvious they weren’t, cleared my throat.

Both men looked at me, and Braylar said, “One thing you will learn traveling among soldiers-always bed down or close your eyes when you have opportunity, as sometimes it can be quite hard to come by.”

“Well,” I replied, smiling, “Being soldiers yourself, you aren’t doing a very good job of leading by example.”