Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

Mulldoos nodded slowly. “Aye. Fooled that big bastard into thinking he had you and was about to pin you to the wall, when it was you working him the whole time.”

Captain Killcoin ignored his lieutenant and kept his eyes on me. “And while I grudgingly admit you helped save my life once, you nearly killed me just now.”

I was about to protest, but then thought better of it and clamped my jaw closed. But Mulldoos had no such reservations, and shockingly defended me. A bit.

“You should count yourself lucky you got a scribbler dumb enough to run into combat. The last couple would have been cowering behind a wagon wheel. Expected it of this one, too. Life is full of surprises.” He looked at the last Brunesmen riding back down the trail into the forest. “What now, Cap?”

“Now we see if this was all worth it.” And he started toward the wagon again.

The Syldoon had been outnumbered, more lightly armored, with a stone wall at their backs.

But they’d prevailed. Somehow. They’d felled their foes or driven them from the field. And while the relationship with Baron Brune was now irreparably severed, the Syldoon had their prisoner.

They won. Bloodied, injured, and fewer in number now, but they won.

Captain Killcoin looked around at our battered and bruised company. With the Brunesmen fled and combat over, it was oddly quiet, save for the odd moan or grunt, several coming from the overturned wagon. Braylar walked toward it, his byrnie and lamellar cuirass rustling metallic as he went.

All of the prisoners huddled as far from the bars as they could. Some of their wounded cried out as the men around them shifted, jostling whatever bone was broken. The captain unfastened his helm strap and pulled it up and off his head, the mail aventail tinkling as he did. His hair was drenched in sweat, and there was a red band across his forehead where the helm padding had pressed tight. And faint bruising around the noose tattoo around his neck.

Henlester locked eyes with Braylar, saw the noose, and said, “Ahh, so it’s the mighty Syldoon, is it? Now, this is a surprise. It was too much to dare hope for a rescue, and yet I allowed myself to, if only briefly. But it’s clear I simply only have new captors. Will you unlock my cage only to herd me into another, Syldoon?”

Braylar twitch-smiled and turned to Vendurro. “The men do appear uncomfortable, Sergeant. Let’s remedy that, yes? Finish cracking this wagon open. Immediately. Let it never be said that the Syldoon are uncharitable hosts. Even as captors.”

Vendurro said, “Aye, Cap.” He walked over to the group of soldiers and relayed the order to Benk and the other Syldoon who had been hammering and chopping at the wagon previously.

Benk replied, “Be a lot easier if we had two axes. Or a bigger one. Didn’t some Bruneboy have a big old axe, in the grass somewheres around here?”

Vendurro spat. “Cap said immediately. Know what that means? It means right here and now. Shut your yap and get to it.”

“I know what immediate means, Sarge. Not a halfwit. Just saying, we could finish quicker if-”

“Rip that wagon apart. Now.”

Benk gave a weak half-hearted salute, rolled his eyes, and said, “Come on, then,” to the other soldier. They were moving toward the wagon when Braylar stepped over and grabbed Benk’s arm. Hard from the looks of it.

Benk faced his superior, clearly uneasy. “Cap?”

“If I ever hear you disrespect an officer again, I will strip you of arms, armor, and horse, and leave you for the enemy to deal with. Do you understand?”

Benk colored up and the gulp was unmistakable. “Aye, Cap.”

“Very good.” Braylar released him and Benk all but ran over to the wagon and reclaimed the small hatchet and returned to chopping as the other Syldoon started pulling at a board.

It seemed a harsh reprimand, given how much latitude Braylar allowed his own retinue, but perhaps it was the public nature of the disrespect that rankled the captain so.

When the Syldoon finally ripped enough planks free, the captives filed out, Henlester first, followed by the priestguard and those uninjured underpriests who assisted with the wounded last.

Captain Killcoin ordered a man to ride ahead, then he faced Vendurro. “Get the good priest there on a horse. We ride out.” He turned to Benk and added, “You stay behind. Alert us if another Brunesmen force pursues. I expect they will. Captain Gurdinn will rage for a few minutes, but he will have them after us before we know it.”

Benk saluted much more smartly than before, rotating his arm in that odd fashion they had after pumping his fist on his chest.

The Syldoon were either mounting up on this side of the wall, or vaulting to the other to reclaim their mounts. Vendurro had Henlester up in a saddle, but the High Priest called out, “Syldoon!”

It was clear from the tone that he wasn’t speaking to anyone but Captain Killcoin.

I was spinning my horse in a circle, trying unsuccessfully to climb into the saddle, when I heard Braylar reply, “How may I help you, my esteemed cleric? Would you prefer some refreshment before the ride? Some honey cakes and tea, perhaps?”

As I settled in, sliding my foot into the stirrup, Henlester said, “What of my men? You don’t intend to leave them here, do you?”

Braylar looked at the small sad group. “That is precisely what I intend. As you so astutely pointed out, you have merely changed captors. They would be no better off in our company. In fact, they might not fare so well at all. We are cruel to the point of savagery, I’m afraid, and in quite a hurry besides.”

Henlester’s thin lips thinned further, and barely seemed to move at all as he said, “The Brunesmen might slaughter them.”

Braylar smiled. “Nothing would please me more, as the Brunesmen would have to catch them first. Recapturing prisoners, even those on foot, takes time. We could do with some time.” He looked at Vendurro. “He is in your charge. If he attempts to flee, bludgeon him into submission. If he attempts it twice, slit his throat. He is not so valuable that we can afford to waste time recapturing.” And then back to Henlester. “There-you see how this works now?”

The captain addressed the underpriests and priestguard, all of them staring at their high priest. “You are free men again. I suggest you run and run fast. For those too injured to flee… hide well. I suspect the Brunesmen will be too busy pursuing us to pursue you. But then you can never be certain, can you?”

Then Braylar’s horse was off, and our party followed his lead, leaving the overturned wagon, dead horses, huddled prisoners, and slaughtered men in our wake, as the last of the sun’s light still curved over the horizon and lit the clouds and the world for a few more brief moments.

I looked over my shoulder. Henlester’s group was unsure what to do, one guard pointing back toward the woods, another toward the stone wall. At least the captain hadn’t killed them outright. That was something.

We rode in silence, picking up pace as darkness came on. I moved up to the front, just behind the captain and his lieutenants. They were arguing, though it was difficult to make out all of it over the clap and clomp of hooves on the earth.

Mulldoos said, “You think Gurdinn leaves the convoy behind and tries to ride ahead and run us down?”

Hewspear said something I couldn’t hear and I caught the last part of Braylar’s response, “-rigid bastard. Follows orders to the letter. So, I’d guess Brune told him the prime objective was the old cleric. He’ll ride hard. So we’ll ride harder.”

Mulldoos replied, “What of our own wagons? Maybe ought to stow them and circle back. Seems like-”

“No. We can’t risk that. You know this, yes?”