A sellswords resolve, p.26
A Sellsword's Resolve, page 26
part #3 of Seven Virtues Series
He’d tried to explain it to his mother and father, but they’d only frowned, his dad shaking his head in that disapproving way he had. They’d never thought much of Gwendolyn, his mother saying that the girl’s vanity was much too big and her skirts much too small. Feddard had yelled then—something he rarely did and never at his parents—telling his mother that when he got back, he was going to ask for Gwendolyn’s hand, and they’d be married. His father had frowned at that, but his mother had only snorted, saying it would be better to marry a wolverine, at least that way he’d have some nice fur shoes when he was forced to put it down.
Feddard frowned, remembering that last night before he’d left, remembered going to bed angry and waking up to leave before his parents were awake, his way of getting back at them. He wondered now if maybe they weren’t being as unreasonable as he’d thought, if maybe some of the things they’d said hadn’t even been right. Not about Gwendolyn though, about her his mother had been wrong. She was the most beautiful girl Feddard had ever seen, and she had kissed him.
He sniffed and frowned, glancing over at Bennet, “Hey, do you smell something bur—” he cut off, gasping as the bushes and dead limbs that had lain on either side of the road—evidence, he’d thought, of someone coming through recently and clearing the road, though who would do such a job, he had no idea—blazed to life. In an instant, Feddard and the column of soldiers he marched with were surrounded in either side by walls of fire as tall as he was. No, not as tall, taller. And still growing. Men screamed and shouted in surprise, and the column came to a confused halt.
“What the fuck?”
Feddard turned to see Bennet’s head whipping around as the older soldier took in the flaming walls, “Bennet,” Feddard said, his bottom lip quivering, and Feddard realized he was close to tears now, very close. Closer than he had been since he’d been a child, “What’s happening? What is this?”
There was a monstrous crack and snap that he heard clearly even over the roar of the fire, and Feddard spun to see a massive tree, it’s trunk at least as thick as he was tall, come toppling down into the road, crushing several soldiers who got caught beneath it. In an instant, what had been an orderly column devolved into chaos, as the men on the outsides of the road tried to force their way away from searing fire, pushing and shoving. Men were trampled underfoot, and smoke was suddenly filling the air, and Feddard hacked out a series of coughs, shielding his mouth and nose with his arm. “Bennet,” he yelled, screaming to be heard over the roar of men shouting and crying and cursing as they fought to get away from the flames.
He turned to see that his friend, Bennet, had somehow got knocked away from the center of the column. He was pushing and struggling to get away from the flames that roared only a few feet behind him now, but even as Feddard watched, the writhing mass of people knocked the older soldier into the fire and, in a moment, he was wreathed in flame, his limbs flailing wildly, his screams of agony and terror clear even over the tumult.
“Oh, gods,” Feddard gasped, hacking at the smoke filling his mouth. He spun, disoriented in the mad panic until he finally saw the captain on his horse. “Captain,” he shouted, “captain what do we do?”
The captain turned, his eyes wide and wild within the depths of his helmet, then he jerked on the reins and his horse started forward. The animal had barely taken two steps when there was another deafening crash as a tree, at least as big as the first, fell across the road in front of the column, pinning several more unfortunate soldiers beneath it. Blood squirted out from underneath the tree, and Feddard gagged, his stomach heaving as puke and bile flew from his mouth.
It’s not supposed to be like this, he thought, gods it’s not supposed to be this way. He was pushed from the side and stumbled, barely managing to keep his feet and thank the gods for that, for he saw several men who’d fallen around him and been trampled to death by what had once been an orderly column and was now a crazed mob. He looked back and saw the captain’s horse rearing up, shaking its head madly, and then dashing toward the fallen tree. Feddard watched in shock, sure that the horse was going to crash head first into the tree and break its neck, but by some miracle it’s leap carried it over the fallen trunk, and he watched the horse and its terrified passenger land safely on the other side. He started toward the tree himself, thinking he could climb over it, but someone’s elbow struck him in the side of the face, and he grunted, taking two lurching, drunken steps toward the fire before he could stop himself.
He looked up at the captain again with the irrational belief that if he could keep the man and the horse in sight, he would be okay. It’s what they had told him often enough, during training for the last several months. Look to your commanding officer. He will tell you what needs to be done. But the captain didn’t look much like he was ready to tell anyone anything as he yanked on the horse’s reins again, trying to force the mad animal down the road, away from the chaos. He finally did get it righted, but the horse had barely taken two steps when an arrow flew out of the woods and stuck into the captain’s throat.
The man swayed around, drunkenly, and Feddard was possessed with the wild belief that the captain was staring right at him with eyes that were mad with terror. Then, in another moment, the captain toppled from his saddle, the horse bolting off into the woods. “Oh gods,” Feddard hissed, looking around him. The smoke was growing thicker now, and the line was a melee of flaming madness as far back as he could see. Several men had caught fire and stumbled their way back into the ranks and now blazes were burning everywhere, the flames searing and catching on anyone that was pushed or shoved too close like some malevolent living creatures out to devour and feast on the flesh of the soldiers.
Feddard stood there for a moment, terrified, frozen, and when he did move, it wasn’t thoughts of Gwendolyn that spurred him on, but of his mother and father. He threw off his chain mail shirt then covered his mouth and nose with his own sweat-stained, linen undershirt. Before he could think better of it, he charged toward the flames, his head down, shielding his eyes with his arm.
There was a brief moment of intense pain where he felt that his entire body would be cooked down to nothing but ash, that he would be burned beyond recognition and lay forever in this forest, never to be buried, his parents never knowing what had happened to him. But then he took a few more stumbling steps, and he was through the fire, frantically patting out several spots on his clothes and hair where the flames had caught hold. The forest stood before him, the trees thick and filled with menace, but he didn’t care as he began running, sprinting as fast as he could away from the fire and death that lay behind him.
An arrow flew out of the trees, so close that he heard the whistle of its passing, felt the wind from it before it stuck, vibrating into a tree trunk beside him. Unaware of the whimpering, mewling sounds that were issuing from his throat, Feddard ran on. Something struck him in the back, and he stumbled, the breath knocked from him, even as he lurched forward, not daring to stop to check and see what it was, too terrified to look. Let it just have been a rock, or a bird maybe, please, let it just be that. But his breath wasn’t coming back like it should. No matter how hard he strained, it came back in tiny increments, and there was a wheezing sound that he felt all the way in his chest. Still, he pushed himself forward, one foot after the other, and was so focused on it that he only caught the faintest glimpse of a figure moving out from behind the tree in front of him.
He saw something flashing toward him, something metallic that glinted in the sunlight, and he had a brief, flashing thought of his mother, smiling at him in approval the way she had when he’d been a boy, and he’d showed her a new trick or flip he’d learned. Then something struck him, and there was only him and the darkness and, in another moment, the darkness only.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aaron pulled his blade free and let the body drop, looking around at the flames and the chaos. The fires had been considerably larger than he had expected, in truth, but he made a mental note to thank the scholars at the university when he had a chance. He had only visited them on a whim a week back, thinking at the time that any advantage, no matter how slight, could make a big difference when they were so outnumbered. When they had told him of the amber liquid that would help to fuel a fire, he had not thought it would do this.
He felt a stab of guilt as he took in the inferno, as he watched men burning, their arms flailing as the troops, surrounded by fire, rushed around wildly, terrified and wanting to run but having no place to go. He had to admit to himself then that he could have used half of the stuff and got the effect he’d wished, as the fire began to set alight the leaves of some of the smaller trees. He had used all that they’d given him on the road, doubting even then that it would be enough, but it had been and more.
Still, a few men had made it out, rushing through the fire looking for some escape from the flames and the smoke and the chaos. Those who had so far had been met with arrows and steel, but studying the line of troops, Aaron could see that the fire line had been broken by what appeared to be several bodies lying on top of it and that a mass of troops was filtering through it now, spurred on by the furious shouts of a man on a horse. A captain then. And how many would make it through the breach? A hundred? More? Too many, that was certain.
He gave a loud whistle, calling to those men around him, and then he started back through the woods at a jog in the direction of Perennia, careful not to trip some of the other traps he and his men had laid for the intruders as he ran. It would be several days before he and the others made it out of the forest, and he hoped that Brandon had horses waiting, as he’d promised. Aaron was wearied beyond belief. Behind him, people screamed and died, and he ran on, carrying his shame with him. It was not a pretty thing, war. But, then, it was never meant to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Damnit they’re making fools of us,” Belgarin hissed. He was pacing back and forth in the space of his tent, General Fannen and Caldwell watching him. “How many did we lose?”
“It’s hard to say for sure, Majesty,” the general answered, “the fires are still going, you see, the captains still trying to gain control over their troops. We won’t be able to have an accurate number until—”
“How many, damn you?”
The general swallowed, “All told? Five hundred, my king. Maybe more.”
Belgarin stopped pacing and stared at the man, his body trembling with rage, “Do you mean to tell me that we’ve lost a thousand men before we have even seen my sister’s city?”
The general swallowed but nodded slowly, “Yes, Majesty.”
Belgarin nearly reached out to throw the new desk he’d been brought, but he hesitated, frowning. “A thousand men dead.”
“Yes, Majesty,” the general said, “but it is not all bad news. Some of the men escaped the flames and pursued the defenders.”
“Oh?” Belgarin said, “then where are they, general? Where are these defenders? I want their fucking heads on spikes outside of my tent, do you understand me?”
The general cleared his throat nervously, “Majesty, the thing is … well, they had set other … traps. Pits with wooden spikes inside them, their openings covered up by brush and undergrowth, trees that had been tied so that, when a man broke a piece of twine, they came flying down, crushing them. Others, too…”
“You might want to hurry to the point, general,” Belgarin growled, “for I am losing my patience, and I have yet to see where the good news is in this.”
The general’s mouth worked, though no words came, and it was finally Caldwell who spoke, “Your Majesty, those who pursued the defenders gave their lives, but they did not give them in vain. We have sent scouting parties, and each have returned. By this, we have determined that whatever force had been in the forest is there no longer. They must have been scared off when the soldiers broke through the flames.”
Belgarin snorted, “Scared off? Scared off?” He shouted, “are you really so stupid as to believe that Caldwell? What are they scared of? That they would win the war so far from home that their wives and children wouldn’t be able to see their glory? Is that it?”
“Majesty,” Caldwell said, “I only meant that—”
“Never mind what you meant,” Belgarin hissed, “only tell me how long until the army is able to move again?”
“My king,” the general said, “the road is still clogged with the dead and fires still burn in some parts of it. The men are busy putting them out now and clearing it, but it is slow going, and it will be a half a day, at least, before the thing is done. The men, you see, many of them balk at the idea of going into the forest. There are whispers of ghosts and more.”
Belgarin grunted, “There are no such fucking things as ghosts, Fannen. You get that road cleared, and you get it done now. In three hours, either my army is marching once more, or I will have your head on a pike. Do you understand me?”
The general’s face went pale, but he nodded, “Of course, Majesty.”
Belgarin studied him for several seconds then, “Well?” He said, “If I were you, general, I would be seeing to the troops just now. Now in the name of the gods get the fuck out of here.”
The general bowed and left without a word. Once the tent flap had closed behind him, Belgarin turned to Caldwell, “The Knower. You brought him, as I asked?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Caldwell said, “his tent is not far from here. I can lead you there, if you like.”
Belgarin knew that he should, that the Knower might have some news or some information that could help him, but the thought of dealing with the monstrosity that had once been a man just now was too much to bear. “Go to him, Caldwell,” he said, “ask him if he has any ideas for what Isabelle and Adina might be planning.”
“The guards will not let me in, sire, not without you accompanying me.”
Belgarin sighed and drew a parchment and quill from the small desk, hastily scribbling a note and stamping it with his seal. “Go,” Belgarin said, “see what that creature knows that might help us.”
“Of course, sire,” Caldwell said, taking the note as if it was some precious gem he feared dropping, “I will see to it now.”
In another moment, Belgarin was alone. He stared at the flame of the lantern sitting on the desk, thinking. A thousand men dead and nothing to show for it. He’d had other losses, of course, when fighting the armies of his other siblings, but never so many, and never without some gain. The thought made him angry, but he told himself that even a thousand lost was no great thing, not in an army of fifteen thousand fighting men. They were difficult losses, sure, but they did little to change the inevitability of the outcome. He would be king over all Telrear, as was his birthright, as the gods themselves had decreed by making him first born.
He was still standing there, staring at the flame, when a voice came from outside of his tent. “Majesty,” the guard said, “may I come in?”
Belgarin sighed, “Yes, Clause, what is it?”
“There’s a woman at the camp’s perimeter, sir, says she wants to speak to you. She’s bears a letter with your seal.”
Good news, at last, Belgarin thought. “Very well, send her to me, Clause.”
“Of course, sire,” the guard said, and he started toward the tent’s flap.
“Oh, and Clause?”
“Yes, Majesty?” The man said, turning.
“Let none other come in the tent while she is here. No one, do you understand?”
The man bowed his head low, “As you wish, my king.”
Then he was gone, and Belgarin was alone with his thoughts once more. It took nearly an hour for Clause to make it back with her, having had to negotiate the camp’s perimeter defenses, and when she stepped inside the tent, her head was covered with the hood of her cloak, her neck tilted down to hide her face.
Clause hesitated until Belgarin waved him away and then he vanished outside of the tent flap. Once they were alone, he rose, moving to her and wrapping her in his arms, “You came.”
“Of course, my love,” she said.
He held her for a moment then released her, moving back to sit behind his desk, “And my brother? Does he know that you’ve left?”
“Oh, he knows,” she said, smiling, “He believes that I am spending my hours in prayer at a town some distance from the capital.”
Belgarin grunted, “It is good to see you.”
She smiled, “And it is good to be seen, my love.”
“Tell me,” he said, “what news of the alliance? Ellemont has refused?”
Her smile faded and died, and she met his eyes, “No, my lord. My husband … accepted the alliance.”
“What?” Belgarin said, his anger flaring, “How did this happen?”
She swallowed, and he could see tears gathering in her eyes, “Please, my love,” she said, “I tried everything, I swear, but he would not relent. I had thought it would be an easy matter, Ellemont being a coward as he is, but he accepted the alliance and refused to listen to me. I tried everything—”
Standing there listening to her whining excuses, thoughts of the thousand dead men still fresh in his mind, Belgarin felt the anger rise up in him, and he reached out and slapped her, hard. Lyla cried out in surprise, falling backward on the ground, her hand going to her face, her eyes staring at him wide and terrified.
“Majesty?” Clause said from outside the tent, “is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Clause,” he said, “the lady was just surprised by an insect, nothing more.”
Everyone, he thought, is either a traitor of a fool. I am surrounded by them. Even my brother, Ellemont, chooses our sisters over me, the first born and rightful heir. Belgarin stared down at Lyla for several seconds, his chest heaving with rage, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Then, in another moment, the anger was gone, and the guilt came welling up in its place as he watched tears pouring from her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair and crouching down beside her. “It has been a trying few days, my love, that’s all. I do love you, and I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”
