Rob Scott - The Larion Senators

‘No,’ Mark wheezed, the pain in his chest too great. He saw exploding points of yellow light and then fell back into the space he had been allotted, his arms and legs paralysed, his senses dulled and his breathing jagged.

He watched through Major Tavon’s eyes as Gabriel O’Reilly disappeared inside what Mark guessed was one of the tears Steven had seen at the Idaho Springs Landfill. Mark hadn’t been able to see them before. He could now.

‘Blackford!’ Major Tavon screamed along the ragged line of Malakasian soldiers.

The lieutenant hurried to her side. One of the sergeants in Captain Hershaw’s company had built a small fire and was brewing tecan and preparing a hasty meal for the officers. Blackford gulped his tecan, scalding his mouth and throat, and hustled to the front of the line despite aching feet, blisters and a throbbing twinge in his lower back. As dawn approached the major had agreed to a much-needed break. The battalion had marched nonstop since the previous evening and the men were in sore need of rest. They had arrived at the glen where, unbeknownst to them, Steven, Gilmour and Nerak had battled to the death just a few days earlier. Major Tavon rode down to the riverside and stared as if expecting Bellan Whitward to peek out from behind the field of boulders. The ravages of Steven’s fire had been covered by new snow, likewise the chitinous remains of the dead bone-collectors.

‘We’ve made it here in a day and two nights,’ she said to Lieutenant Blackford.

‘I am impressed. You can tell the soldiers that.’

‘Thank you, ma’am. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear it.’

‘They are to have a full aven’s rest. My orders are to drink plenty of water – the river is clean enough – and have them eat their fill.’ The major herself had not rested since their departure from Wellham Ridge. She had twice dismounted to allow her horse to feed, but other than that, she had been in the saddle the entire time. ‘Feed them now, and have them go directly to sleep. I want to make twenty, perhaps twenty-five miles, before the dinner aven tonight.’

Like dozen, Blackford had no idea what a mile might be, but he didn’t question the officer, who had been saying indecipherable things for the past five days now. Lieutenant Blackford had resigned himself to the fact that made-up words must be another symptom of the major’s illness.

‘And have Captain Hershaw and Captain Denne ride up here for their orders,’ Major Tavon went on, oblivious to the lieutenant’s train of thought. ‘I want Denne here along the river and Hershaw’s men fanned out to our west. They won’t cross the river, but they might try to move out towards the Ravenian Sea. The terrain that way is unforgiving, but eventually it would bring them closer to Orindale and potential escape.’

‘Er, who, ma’am?’

‘Some old friends of mine.’ Tavon glanced back towards the river. ‘And Blackford, bring me some of that tecan.’

‘Tecan?’

‘Yes, lieutenant, you reek of it. I like mine with an extra pinch of leaves right in the goblet. Like they serve it at the Cafe du Monde.’

Major Tavon discussed the day’s march with Captain Denne and Captain Hershaw, the ranking officers after her.

‘It will be more difficult going, but I still think we can make twenty miles with your men fanned out to the west,’ she announced.

Captain Hershaw, a young man considered a bit of a rising star in the Falkan occupation forces, did not presume to correct the major. He had lost seventeen soldiers to fatigue, injury and illness since leaving Wellham Ridge, soldiers he had been forced to leave behind because the major would not hear of providing an escort to safety. He hoped they would survive the journey on their own; at least the snow had stopped and the trail behind them was clear.

It had been three days since they’d sent riders to fetch Colonel Pace and he expected the colonel to have arrived in Wellham Ridge by the time the battalion returned from this fool’s errand. The colonel would address Major Tavon’s unconventional behaviour and brutality, so until then he would keep his mouth shut.

‘I’d like your soldiers in a line, two-deep, running out from the river, maybe five hundred paces through the forest, longer if you can keep them all headed south at roughly the same clip,’ the major went on, pointing.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hershaw answered smartly. It was a ridiculous order, but he would ensure his men complied as best they could. Marching all day spread out in a line five hundred paces long would guarantee that by nightfall, he and his lieutenants would spend a half-aven retrieving everyone who had been lost or had fallen behind. No matter; they would weather this temporary storm, and Colonel Pace would reward him for it.

Tavon went on, ‘And you, Captain Denne, will remain here along the river.’

‘Why?’ Denne, a career soldier with more than two hundred Twinmoons’ service, was incredulous. ‘Why stretch Hershaw all the way out into the forest while my men remain bunched up here?’

A momentary look of irritation clouded Major Tavon’s face. She didn’t appreciate having her strategies questioned, even by a seasoned officer. ‘Because, Captain, we are tracking an extremely crafty and resourceful prey, a Larion Senator and a young sorcerer of tremendous ability.’

‘Two men?’ Denne said. ‘We’ve run the entire battalion down here for two men?’

‘Two very powerful men, Captain. And while I expect they will stick to the river, they probably know we are coming and might try to sneak off to the west and work their way around us. They are hauling a large and cumbersome cargo so their progress will be extremely slow, but I do not wish to lose them because I failed to dispatch at least a token force to keep an eye on western routes around our line.’

‘You’re mad,’ Denne said.

‘Captain, don’t-’ Hershaw interrupted, but Denne ignored him.

‘You’ve lost your mind; you realise that?’ Denne gripped his saddle horn with trembling fingers. ‘We’ve lost men coming out here. Our position north of Wellham Ridge is compromised. Our soldiers are collapsing with fatigue, and for what? For two men – one a Larion Senator? – hauling a wagon loaded with a cargo so large and heavy that we could take them with a squad, never mind an entire battalion?’ Denne’s voice rose as he continued, ‘Please, Major Tavon, I’m begging you to turn us back to the Ridge. You need to see a healer, a team of healers.’ He glanced at Hershaw and Blackford for support, but finding none, he pressed on. ‘People are dying, Major, our people, and more will die if we march all day today!’

The spell struck Captain Denne in the chest, ripping through layers of leather and cloth to his flesh, crushing his ribs, perforating his lungs and tearing his heart free with an audible ripping sound. Blood splashed Captain Hershaw’s face, but it was not the steaming fluid that caused him to shudder, but the unholy sound of whatever Major Tavon had called upon to eviscerate Captain Denne going about its work. He had never heard anything at all like the sound of his colleague, his friend, being torn to pieces in front of him.

Captain Denne, his body torn apart, pumping out blood, gurgled incoherently and tumbled from the saddle.

‘Captain Blackford,’ the major said, emphasising the field promotion, ‘see to it that your men are ready to accompany me along the river. Captain Hershaw’s soldiers will fan out, two-deep, to our right and make their way through the forest today.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ The newly minted Captain Blackford was quaking too furiously to hide it.

Major Tavon didn’t seem to care. ‘Very good.’ She looked down at Captain Denne’s carcass. Blood had bubbled up between his lips and one eye was half open. ‘I’m glad to see I can still do that.’