Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

"You're right," she said after several moments.

"About what?"

"This horse…in fact, most of these horses. This climate is not ideal for them, but there is something else, a malaise."

"Maybe they're homesick," Konowa said.

Visyna continued to hold his hand. "That is part of it, but there is more, something I don't understand…"

"Speaking of things unexplained, what did you do to me? That was more than just leaves and herbs you used," he said. Her grip tightened on his hand then loosened again.

"No more than understanding the natural order," she replied.

"Ah, I thought maybe there was more to it than that."

"You thought wrong," she said, letting go of his hand and pointing to the saddle. "It's time to go."

Konowa sighed and nodded, gathering up the reins and climbing up without her help this time. He found the stirrups without looking and settled down on the horse, cringing as his muscles protested at being back in the saddle. She jumped up behind him and they joined the already moving line of horses. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the roadway grew to a steady drumbeat that, he thought despairingly, would be tattooed into his brain forever.

Fortunately, this leg of their journey was mercifully short, and before Konowa was prepared for it, a shout up ahead signaled they had reached the forward piquet of the army encampment.

Passing through the line felt like being swallowed whole. The orange glow of cook fires was already fading as the sun came up. As its first rays stretched out across the land, they revealed a white-capped sea, the frothy waves coalescing into fields of canvas tents set in neat rows for thousands of yards in every direction. Men moved about them in that slow, stilted gait of having spent a night bedded down on the earth. Konowa rubbed his own backside in empathy.

A pungent tang caught the back of his throat and he gagged for a moment.

"Anything wrong, sir?" a trooper asked.

"Quite the opposite. I forgot what an army in the field smelled like, that's all."

Meat, most likely goat and rat dragon, roasted on spits and bubbled in pots. Somewhere nearby an armory sergeant had opened a barrel of black powder, the distinctive foul-egg odor hanging heavy in the air. And over it all were the more earthy scents of bootblack and pipe clay mingling with the ever-pervasive aroma of manure and animal sweat, of both the two- and four-legged variety. It was a world away from the dank mold of the forest.

"Companeeeeee! By the wheel, form square!"

Konowa twisted in his saddle. Two rows of Imperial infantry, more commonly called siggers, a bastardized nickname picked up long ago for the silver-green color of their coats, wheeled smartly into a four-sided square. Each side faced out, their bayonet-tipped muskets glinting in the sun. It was the time-honored defense against cavalry, and almost always successful, if done properly. More sounds vied for his attention, and he looked away as a building surge of shouted orders, smithies' hammers, and lowing oxen grew as the camp came alive.

A line of horses bent their necks to drink from a trough made of sailcloth fashioned by a stand of bushy-looking trees covered in moss. Farriers took the opportunity to examine the animals, and any lame or in need of shoeing were selected out. In a grass square surrounded by canvas tents another company of soldiers paraded with bayonets fixed so that they looked like a large, bristling porcupine trundling about in search of an exit.

"It must be strange to be around so many people again," Visyna said, behind him.

"I'm getting used to one, at least."

He felt a gentle squeeze around his stomach and smiled. He turned in the saddle to face her, but before he could respond a trooper rode up with a riderless horse in tow.

"If you'll get on this horse, ma'am, the Trading Company has a headquarters over yonder where you can get a message to your father."

"And you, sir, can follow me," Sergeant Lorian said, his face betraying obvious disappointment that Visyna was going with the troops. "The Duke's quarters are this way." Without waiting for Konowa to acknowledge Lorian, he spurred his horse into a trot.

Visyna slid over to the other horse without touching the ground. "Perhaps you'll stop by?" she asked.

"I'll find you," Konowa said, reluctantly urging the gelding after Sergeant Lorian. After a few yards he turned in the saddle to look back at her, but she was already trotting away.

"Major, the Duke is waiting."

"I've been gone over a year, what's a couple more minutes?" he muttered, and gently kicked the gelding in the ribs to get it moving.

They rode through the camp faster than Konowa would have liked. He noticed several troopers pointing, and he recognized the uniforms of several regiments. A murmur swelled in their wake, and by the time they rode up to the Duke's tent it was a dull roar. Pennants on the end of lances stuck in the ground on either side of the tent fluttered in a stiff breeze. They were the colors of enemy regiments, captured in battle and now displayed as trophies, but a few were unknown to Konowa. Clearly, the Duke had been busy.

Konowa wasn't so sure he wanted to dismount, but he followed the lead of the sergeant and climbed gingerly to the ground.

A crowd of soldiers jogged up to surround the tent, jostling each other for a look. "It is him," a voice said from the crowd. "Like hell," said another, "they sent him south with the rest of them." More claims and counterclaims flew back and forth. Konowa was considering taking bets on the matter when the Duke's tent flaps flew open and a man of singular distinction stepped into the light.

The crowd of soldiers disappeared faster than mead on payday.

Konowa was tall, close to six feet, but the Duke made him look like a child. No one dared question the Duke's parentage within earshot, but popular rumor supposed that there had been a mountain troll in the family woodpile. Dressed in riding boots and breeches and wearing an undershirt that might have been white in the distant past, he did nothing to dispel that notion. Wolf's Tooth, naturally, was slung over his shoulder.

Konowa threw the reins of his horse to a trooper and walked forward to stand in front of the red-haired giant. He searched the man's face, looking for a sign, but the blue eyes gave nothing away. Silence radiated out from them like ripples in a pond.

All at once the Duke lunged forward and wrapped Konowa in his arms, lifting him off the ground. "You sorry excuse for a soldier! I'd given you up for dead!"

The grip was as strong as the rakke's, albeit with friendlier purpose. Konowa struggled to breathe and finally had to pry the massive arms open enough to regain his footing and take a step backward to look up at his old friend. "It's great to see you too, Jaal," he said, smiling at the Duke. A row of white teeth beamed back at him from the scarred visage of his friend, and Konowa realized how much he'd missed him.

A scream sounded from off to the right and several horses spooked. Two privates, a dwarf and a man, came running toward the tent followed by a large bengar. Konowa shook his head. Jir cornered the two soldiers against the side of the tent and was advancing on them, his snout high in the air, sniffing.

"Jir! They're not for eating," Konowa yelled.

"Sweet knobby-kneed nuns! Is this monster yours?" the dwarf yelled. The other soldier kept wiping at his spectacles as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Konowa briefly considered asserting his officer status, but the dwarf was already having a bad day and there was no good reason to make it worse.

"In a manner of speaking. He doesn't normally react like this. The last time I saw him this agitated was a few nights ago, when he ate some rakkes."