Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

Vendurro nodded and ordered a few of his men to join him as he inspected the wagon. The gate was still locked, so they started testing the bars. Several of the prisoners got uneasily to their feet, while others still lay in a heap, shifting and moaning. Some of them were in the stiff robes of Truth, and several appeared to be soldiers, obvious from their bearing, even without the arms and armor.

But one prisoner stepped clear of the rest, moving gingerly, as if favoring some wound or afraid to accidentally bump one of the injured men around him. His white hair was in greater disarray than before, tufts sticking this way and that in a halo around his bald pate, and his face was as lined as parchment that had been dampened, crushed into a ball, and unfolded to dry, lines criss-crossing each other apparently at random. The blue veins in his forehead were alarmingly prominent, which together with his age should have given him a look of frailty, weakness. But there was an undeniable air about High Priest Henlester, and not simply because the others moved away deferentially.

He exuded an authority, a power, made even more impressive given his status and situation. Henlester was coldly appraising the Syldoon outside who were arguing amongst themselves about the best way to get the prisoners out.

None of the bars had broken free, even with Syldoon pulling hard on them. Vendurro pushed a Syldoon aside. “Ain’t coming loose, Benk. And you ain’t so mighty you’ll be bending iron. Plaguing idiot. Someone get me an axe!”

Benk took a step back. “You going to cut the iron then?” And when Hewspear glared at him he added a belated “Sergeant?”

“Wagon’s made of wood. I sort of had my mind set on cutting that, you dumb fuck.” It didn’t earn the immediate looks of respect and fear it would have delivered by the pale boar, but it was passable. “Now, you know what an axe looks like? Big metal end, long wooden end?” Benk nodded. “Fetch one. Quick like.” He looked at the men around him. “Rest of you, get those shields on your arms and hoist your weapons. Got company.”

I looked back down the trail toward the woods and saw Braylar, Mulldoos, and two other Syldoon riding hard, pursued by five mounted Brunesmen. A moment before I’d been thinking it looked like Braylar’s plan had worked-we had stolen the wagon containing Henlester and would win free with the awful cleric. Now, with Brunesmen appearing and more certainly on the way, I wondered if we wouldn’t be slaughtered against the stone wall.

The Syldoon around me readied their weapons. I wondered why they didn’t mount back up, but I guessed they meant to stay with the wagon, at least until they got the high priest free, but I remained in my saddle-I was a terrible fighter on foot or horse, but at least mounted I stood some chance of riding clear if necessary.

I looked back to the trail-a Brunesman just behind Braylar closed the gap and slashed at Braylar’s shoulder, the sword skidding across the lamellar plates as the Brunesman hadn’t gotten close enough when striking. Braylar slowed a touch, caught the next blow with his shield, and delivered one of his own, the twin chains whirling above the back of his helm, the Deserter heads striking the Brunesman’s forearm, just above the gauntlet. The hauberk prevented the spikes from biting deep, but the Brunesmen dropped his sword as Braylar whirled the flail around and brought the heads colliding back into the man, striking the side of the helm.

The Brunesman started to ride off, teetered, and then slumped forward, jostled off his horse’s neck, and fell from the saddle.

Benk ran around the back of the wagon. “Nobody got no axe, Sarge. None of the boys here favor one in battle, and nobody thought to be chopping wood during an ambush.”

Vendurro kicked the wooden bed of the wagon. “Plague me! Plague me tooth to toenail! Use your damn sword then! Gosswin, give him a hand, you two, smash some boards loose and-”

“A word, if you would.” Henlester stepped over an injured prisoner with a bloody scalp, stooping beneath the bars, his hands a breeding ground of brown spots, and face more deeply lined than the most gnarled tree. And yet his eyes were still sharp and commanding. “Would you be rescuers or new captors?”

Vendurro looked over at him. “What’s that?”

Henlester sighed. “I’m not sure it matters. A cage is a cage, out is better than in. I believe I saw a toolbox along the bottom of the wagon. No doubt full of tools. No doubt including a hatchet or axe or some such thing.”

Vendurro gave Benk an evil look and jerked his head toward the other side of the wagon. Benk ran the other side and then cursed. He poked his head around the corner. “Locked. Need an axe to get in to get the axe.”

“Plaguing idiot!” Vendurro drew his sword, and for an instant I thought he meant to cut down his man, but he raced around to the other side. I moved the horse far enough so I could see what he was doing-he knelt and drove his pommel into the lock several times before it fell free. He opened the lid and several tools spilled into the grass, among them a mallet and a small axe. “Benk! Get over here! Now!”

They each grabbed a tool and looked ready to assault the wagon bed. That seemed the strongest part, so I yelled, “The roof!”

The pair of them looked at me like I was mad. “The roof is thinner!”

Hewspear said, “The lad’s right. Set to, and be quick about it!”

Glancing back toward the woods, I saw Mulldoos and another Brunesman exchanging blows as they rode-though the racing horses made it difficult to land anything substantial for either man, as the slashes either missed completely or slid off shields, and Mulldoos was at a disadvantage, as the Brunesman was on his left, so he had to deliver blows across his body. But then Mulldoos jerked the reins and moved so close the pair of horsemen could have embraced. He knocked the Brunesman’s sword arm out of the way and struck the man in the helm with the shield edge, rocking his head back. Mulldoos slammed his shield boss into the Brunesman’s nose, spraying blood and nearly knocking the other man out of the saddle. Then Mulldoos brought his falchion down in a vicious arc.

The broad blade struck him on the neck, and while it didn’t shred the mail, the man dropped his sword and his shield arm fell limp to his side. The falchion came down again in the same spot and the Brunesman toppled from the saddle, his foot twisting and catching in the stirrup as he was dragged through the grass.

Vendurro and Benk continued hammering and chopping the wooden roof as the prisoners moved back or pulled their comrades away from the splinters and wood chips that immediately started flying inside the wagon.

Hewspear and his men loosed a volley, and another Brunesman fell. The remaining two had seen enough and turned, trying to head back to the woods. But the other mounted Syldoon still had their crossbows out, and the Syldoon around me had spanned again, and another volley was loosed. The bolts struck their targets, and both had gambesons rather than hauberks, so they fell from the saddle before making it halfway back to the trees.

Braylar and his men rode hard for our position. When the captain reined in, he threw his leg over his horse’s neck and vaulted to the ground. As ever, his eyes took everything in quickly-his soldiers armed and ready, the overturned wagon, the dead horses still in their harness. He addressed Vendurro and Benk. “Well, I am no wainwright, but it seems you’ve run into some difficulties here.” He looked at Henlester, who was leaning against the bars, shading his eyes to avoid stray wood chips. “At least the good cleric is alive and well. That is something.”

Vendurro kept chopping, sweat pouring down his face. “Have him free in a sec, Cap.” Two more blows and he dropped the axe, and Benk threw the mallet in the grass as well as the pair pulled planks away from the crater they made in the roof. Nails screamed in protest, but two boards finally came loose. “Plague me,” Vendurro said, wiping his brow, “but they built this thing good.” After pulling unsuccessfully on another board, he bent down and retrieved the hatchet.