Jeff Salyards - Veil of the Deserters

Soffjian looked down the road and nodded once. “I will do what I can. I can’t promise it will be enough, and do it reluctantly, but-”

“Duly noted,” Braylar replied. “Duly.” He looked at Hewspear and Mulldoos. “Ready the men. And lay out some caltrops, will you. There are some in the other wagon.” He started to turn away and stopped himself. “Oh. And keep Henlester chained inside. We had one priest escape us already. Do not let it happen again.”

Hewspear and Mulldoos nodded and rode back to alert the men. Soffjian gave her shorter comrade a look that could have melted steel and then rode ahead to survey the road, the land, or something else. Or maybe simply to wait and prepare herself in silence.

Braylar gave Skeelana an appraising look, as if taking her in for the first time. “Well done, small adept. I do sometimes forget just how adroit you Memoridons can be.”

She gave a mock bow and replied, “Some of us don’t possess the ability to level armies at a look, my lord, but we all have our uses.”

I had a number of questions swirling, so many it was hard to fix on one. So I blurted out the first that came to mind. “What is a caltrop?”

The answer came from over my left shoulder-Vendurro rode up, holding a large sack, and slipped his hand in. “Nasty little bit of business, that.” He pulled out a sharp iron object that had been painted a dull brown and tossed it to me-it was basically four long spikes forged together. It jabbed my thumb and I nearly dropped it at least three times as he said, “No matter how it falls, one of them spikes is always pointing to the sky. Might not always cripple a horse, but enough to hurt them plenty good, throw a rider, break up a charge, slow an advance.”

I held it up and looked at it, wincing as I imagine that in a horse’s hoof. “Why brown?”

“On account of most roads and earth being brown-like. Doesn’t do much good if you can see the sun glinting off it from a hundred yards out.”

Braylar said, “Spread them out, about seventy-five yards from our position, ahead of Soffjian. I want the Hornmen to see us, see our numbers, and salivate. They are little better than a local militia-they lack discipline and I suspect when they see their huge advantage, they will come in hard. They’ll expect to flank us, so they’ll likely ride at us spread out, so make sure you get those caltrops on a lot of ground.”

Vendurro nodded and he called out to another two Syldoon bearing bags and the three of them rode ahead, passing Soffjian. Only Vendurro acknowledged her with a nod.

I asked, “What is she going to do, captain? Is she going to kill a large number, or drive them mad? Like she did in Alespell?”

Braylar grabbed his helm, overturned it on the saddle in front of him, and pulled the mail out to make room for his head. “I do not know for certain what she intends. Not all war Memoridons have the same… skills. But-and the short Memoridon can correct me if I am wrong-killing a man with memorycraft requires intense focus. It can only be done singly, and it is draining, yes?” Skeelana nodded, and Braylar said, “So I expect she has something else in mind. If you will pardon the expression. A host of fifty-five is little better than a host of fifty-eight.”

He pulled his helm on, secured it, and said, “Stay with the wagon. Keep a crossbow at the ready. But if you are forced to loose it, it probably means Soffjian failed, we failed, and we are all doomed already. If the worst happens, I’d suggest getting on a horse and running. Only you wouldn’t make it very far.” He looked at Skeelana. “And you? Do whatever it is you do when not delighting me by tweaking my sister’s nose.”

Skeelana smiled and gave another small mock bow. “Each of us our talents.”

Hewspear and Mulldoos and the remaining Syldoon rode up on either side, crossbows loaded, lamellar and helms on, sidearms at the ready. Captain Killcoin turned Scorn about to better address them. Scorn took that as a sign to piss a steamy stream into the dirt. “Our Hornmen friends have come calling. Quite a few of them, as it happens. Seems they didn’t appreciate being cut down in Alespell or losing a border tower.

“My sister is going to run interference and do what she can to slow them down. I’m assuming a fair number will still come for us, too many to close and fight hand to hand. Rolling gears, soldiers. Rolling gears. Do not engage until we have whittled them down sufficiently to turn the battle in our favor.”

There were nods as several spanned their crossbows, and Braylar continued. “Hornmen might be good at scaring travelers and collecting taxes, but they are barely better than a bandit militia. Once we tip things to our advantage, I expect them to break and flee. If they do, run them down if you can, but don’t pursue overlong. Regroup here, and we ride hard for Sunwrack. Understood?”

The Syldoon called out “aye” or saluted or both and started spreading out in a line.

I recalled our encounter with the Hornmen in the Green Sea, and thought Braylar might have been overselling things-even if young, green, with several boys in their company, they were a much larger host, and I didn’t imagine they were going to simply break to pieces against the Syldoon like a listing ship on the reefs, no matter what Soffjian did.

After grabbing a crossbow and quiver, I returned to my seat. Vendurro and the other two horsemen returned from spreading the caltrops in the grass and across the road and rejoined their comrades in the line ahead of our wagon, waiting. Soffjian remained on her horse on the road, fixed to the same spot she had been in, staring straight ahead.

I finished checking the small steel sight on the crossbow, careful to keep it pointed out into the fields, made sure the fur-covered flap on the quarrel case was folded back, and tried not to count the seconds until the Hornmen arrived. But I wouldn’t have counted all that high, even if I had. Unlike the Syldoon, they didn’t employ scouts, apparently safe in their numbers and the privilege of being the protectors of the road. A large number of them rode over the small hill far ahead of us, six or seven at a time. It was hard to make out details at that distance, but while they all had armor caps or helms of some kind, the sun only lit on metal armor here and there-most must have been wearing gambesons or boiled leather. There were spear points aplenty, however.

As more Hornmen appeared, the sheer number of them was enough to make me catch my breath, even if they were a mish-mash force. They might not have been an army, but near sixty men on horse, armed and angry, intent on vengeance, was still an intimidating sight. I couldn’t imagine the bravery it must take to watch a huge enemy host fill the field in anticipation of a true pitched battle. I longed to jump on a horse and ride in the opposite direction.

And yet there Soffjian stood alone, ranseur in the leather sheathe alongside the saddle, watching them slowly arrive until their leader must have called a halt to evaluate. A single woman in scale armor, holding no obvious weapon, and a small force and some wagons in the distance behind her as if to parley-not exactly the stuff to induce fear or hesitation.

I saw two or three Hornmen at the front huddling as close together as they could while still on horseback, talking animatedly. There was some pointing, some gesturing, and then, exactly as Braylar had expected, they fanned out along the top of the hill.

Skeelana’s horse whinnied and I looked over, not even noticing that she hadn’t moved back to the rear wagon. “I will never understand men,” she said. “But especially those that play at war.”

She saw my questioning look and qualified, “I would think it odd that a much smaller group would stand their ground. Wouldn’t you? You’re a man, but not a martial one. That’s a compliment, by the way. But wouldn’t you suspect something?”