K Parker - Memory

The sergeant didn't know what to make of that. 'It's you, all right,' he said. 'Wasn't sure just now, not with your face all fucked up like that, but I never ever forget a voice. So, they caught up with you at last, did they? Bloody good job, too.'

Poldarn shrugged. 'I'm a foundryman from Dui Chirra, I went AWOL and I'm being taken back. As far as I know, that's all there is to it.'

The sergeant laughed. 'And the bloody rest,' he said. 'Maybe you kidded Tadger Lock and the rest of 'em but you damn well don't fool me. I know you.'

Oh, for pity's sake, Poldarn thought, as he hauled himself clumsily into a rickety four-wheeled cart. 'Really,' he said. 'I don't know you from a hole in the ground, but there's a good reason for that.'

The sergeant glared at him. 'Don't suppose you do recognise me,' he said. 'Expect you've lost count of the poor bastards you've cut about over the years. But I know you,' he said, pressing a fingertip to his scar. 'Gave me this, didn't you?'

Fuck, Poldarn thought. 'I have no idea,' he replied. 'Truth is, I lost my memory a couple of years ago, and I can't remember a damn thing from before then. So what I'm saying is, if we have met before, me not remembering you is nothing personal-'

'Lost your memory?' The sergeant grinned. 'That'd be right. Dead handy, that'd be.'

'Not really,' Poldarn said mildly. 'In fact, it's a bit of a nuisance.'

Long silence. In front of them, the road was a thin ridge of mud and rock between the deep, water-filled ruts. Behind them, the troopers talked in lowered voices, like people at a funeral.

'Is that right, then?' the sergeant said eventually. 'You lost your memory?'

'Yes,' Poldarn said. 'As far back as a couple of years ago. I found out a few things about myself since, but there's still some pretty huge gaps.'

'That must be-strange,' the sergeant said slowly. 'Not knowing the things you've done. Like being lost in a fog, not knowing if you've come on a way or you're just going round in circles.'

'You get used to it,' Poldarn said. 'But you say I gave you that scar. What happened?'

When he replied, the sergeant sounded thoughtful; embarrassed, even. 'It was a long time ago, mind,' he said. 'And in this game, well, everything's always right up to the edge, right? I mean, if you and me's fighting, either I'm going to get you or the other way about, someone's going to get hurt. Doesn't really mean anything-like, it doesn't mean I'm better'n you, or you're better than me. Just luck, half the time, or one of you's got a headache or a pulled muscle, gives the other bloke an edge.'

'I fought you,' Poldarn said.

The sergeant nodded. 'General Allectus's rebellion, now, how long ago would that've been?' he said. 'Must be sixteen years, give or take. I'd just put up my second stripe, so that's about right. Anyhow, I was posted at Josequin, over in the Bohec valley. Our outfit was attached to the old Seventeenth, under Colonel Scaff; and you know how it is in a civil war, you go with your unit, whichever way your CO decides. Scaff was one of the first to go over to Allectus. Not saying that was right,' he added quickly. 'Basically, it was nothing to do with us, we just did as we were told. Anyhow, there was only really the one battle, not far from a poxy little village by the name of Cric; Allectus had got between the government bloke, General Cronan, and his supply lines, pretty well forced him to fight, because Cronan didn't want to, you know, commit himself. Didn't know which side the others'd drop in on, see; the irregulars, Amathy house and the other free companies. It was all to do with Tazencius-Prince Tazencius as he was then, and he was always a tricky bastard: which way was he going to jump, was he behind Allectus or not? No way of telling, one minute he was and the next he wasn't. Anyhow,' the sergeant went on, 'we knew whose side we were on, it was everybody else who was mucking about. Then come the battle, your lot-' He paused, frowning. 'Your lot was with the Amathy house, he'd rounded up a whole lot of freelances, bits-and-pieces men, more bandits than soldiers. I remember, our lot'd been sent out wide round a bit of a wood, sort of like a pincer movement. But we came in late, or someone else was early; anyhow, it'd all fucked up, and we weren't where we were supposed to be. So we push on into this clearing, find there's nobody there to meet us, and we're stood about like a bunch of arseholes, no idea what we're supposed to be doing; and then your lot show up, and we don't even know at this stage if you're on our side or theirs, because that bastard Feron Amathy, he hadn't made his mind up yet, see? So your lot come on in nice and slow and we're stood there; and we're just thinking, fine, they must be with us, then, when suddenly your lot start yelling like mad and come at us. Hell of a fight; and you were this officer, don't know if you were actually commanding the Amathy house outfit or second in command or what, but you were out front, giving the order to charge; and you came straight at me like an arrow from a bow, like you were crazy or something, and you rode right up and swung at me with this big inside-out curved sword, like I'd never seen before. Next thing I know, I'm sat on my arse in the mud, and there's blood all over me, and you're charging on carving up my mate the standard-bearer. You've got your back to me, right; and I'm thinking, I'll have you, you bastard; and there's a dead bloke lying next to me, one of ours, with his spear under him. So I roll him over, get the spear-and I never could throw a javelin worth shit, but just this once I get it absolutely right, smack between your shoulder blades. Only of course you've got armour on; the spear bounces out, but you lose your balance and fall off. I run over just as you're getting up, and there's a hell of a scrap. Anyway, long story short, I knock that fancy sword of yours out of your hand and give you a smack round the head, and you're out of it. Thought you were dead, and then some other bugger has a go at me; and then some more of the Amathy house comes up out of the wood and suddenly it's all over and we're running like buggery, and that's about it. Anyhow,' the sergeant said, 'that was the battle; and like I told you, I was damned sure I'd killed you, till the next time I ran across you.'

'Next time,' Poldarn repeated.

'That's right,' the sergeant said. 'About eighteen months after, it must've been, because the amnesty wasn't for a year. I got caught, along with most of Allectus's men who weren't killed on the spot or directly afterwards, ended up in prison camp-miserable bloody place, more of us died there than in the war-and then the amnesty came through and we had the option, stay there or join up with the regular army. Well, we couldn't sign up fast enough. Anyhow, practically the first job we're put on doing is clearing out all the free company blokes and bits-and-piecers, the ones who'd come to the Bohec valley with Feron Amathy for the war, then stayed on after to hang around looting and suchlike. Easy job it was, our lot weren't front-line, we were on escort duty, fetching prisoners back to Josequin. And bugger me if the second batch of prisoners we took on, there you were. Recognised you at once.'

'Oh,' Poldarn said.

'That's right. Of course,' the sergeant went on, looking past him, over his shoulder, 'it's human nature, really. Getting even, I mean. Like, this scar, it didn't heal up for a long time, went bad on me, had a hell of a time with it. And it's not pretty now; back then it was a right mess. Long and the short of it was, first chance I got, me and some of my lads-if an officer hadn't come by and made us stop, we'd have killed you for sure. I mean,' he added, 'we reckoned you were good as dead anyway, we might as well save the government the price of a rope. The officer said leave you where you were, it'd waste too much time carrying you; and that's the last I saw of you, sat up under a tree, all bloody. Like I said,' he added, 'no hard feelings. I mean, you were just another bloody bandit; and the stuff you'd been doing-'