Honor Found (The Spare Heir) (10 page)

Jorem was a bit surprised by the offer.  Fighting beside the others was one thing, but leading them was another.  His last great plan had gotten two men killed and several others seriously injured.  He had a feeling one day he’d have the responsibility of leading others, but it just didn’t feel right happening like this.  He wanted to be promoted for what he could do, not because another man was no longer able.  Besides, he didn’t feel ready yet.  Maybe if there were a real need.

“Thank you for the offer, Captain,” Jorem said.  “With as many injured men as we have, I think you’d be better off eliminating a squad and spreading the men to other squads.”

“I suppose you’re right, for now,” Jonas said, nodding.  “I’ve sent a message to the King requesting a healer.  Hopefully in the next sevenday we’ll be back at full strength.  Maybe then you’ll reconsider.”

Jorem smiled.  “If a healer comes, you’ll have Clay back.

“True enough.  Keep it in mind, though.  Right now, you’d better get something on those cuts before they get infected.”

“Cuts, sir?” Jorem asked in confusion.

“Terence,” the captain said loudly.

“Sir?” a man responded, sticking his head inside the tent.

“Escort Mr. Rim to the sick tent.  See that his injuries are taken care of.”

“Right away, sir.”

As the captain’s aide led him from the tent, Jorem noticed several dark stains on his shirt and pants.  Where there was a stain, invariably there was a small cut in his clothing. 
“Funny,”
Jorem thought,
“it doesn’t hurt.”
  Not feeling pain, however, was a situation that soon changed once the soldiers working as medics got a hold of him.

Chapter XV

On one of his scouting assignments during the next sevenday Jorem went out with a squad to investigate a fairly large canyon.  The higher they got into the canyon the fewer trees there were.  Midway up the trees disappeared altogether, and soon even the brush was gone.  Jorem suggested cutting across the ridgeline to the next canyon, but the lieutenant in charge of the squad insisted they continue to the top.

Jorem moved out ahead of the squad.  Even if there were no chance of bandits, it was still his job to check the trail ahead.  Not that there was a trail to follow.  At this point all he could do was mark the safest route for those behind him.  The man in charge of this particular squad was disliked by all of the other scouts.  He tended to ignore their advice and ridicule their warnings.

The ground was a jumble of rocks and boulders.  The sides of the canyon were getting closer together even as they grew steeper.  The bottom of the canyon became impossible to traverse due to the numerous boulders piled there.  Jorem moved up the side of the canyon
, were the way was not so impeded, dutifully marking the way as he went.

A bit further on a boulder the size of a small house blocked the way.  Using the side of the boulder for handholds to keep upright, Jorem skirted around the downhill side.  When he’d finally worked his way around the boulder he was faced with a large stretch of loose shale.  Thin grey slabs of rock the size of dinner plates and smaller were piled loosely together.  Normally, if you were careful, crossing shale wasn’t too bad, but on a steep hillside such as this, it could prove quite a challenge.  One misstep and the entire hillside could turn into a river of moving rock.

Two steps in and the shale beneath him shifted and he lost his footing.  Before he knew what was happening he was on his hands and knees.  The sliding rocks slowed and stopped.  With great care Jorem slowly edged his way back to solid ground.  There was no way the squad following him was going to be able to cross this area without serious problems.

Back at the boulder Jorem worked his way uphill until he stood atop the boulder.  From this vantage point he was able to see several more patches of shale along their intended route.  The other side of the ravine looked much the same.  The only way they were going to make it up the canyon was to cross back and forth from side to side several times.  It would take more time, but it would be far less dangerous than trying to traverse the shifting shale.

Jorem quickly jogged back down the canyon to report his finding to the lieutenant.  The man was not happy with Jorem’s suggestion and gruffly told him to stop trying to shirk his duties.  With great effort Jorem held back a hot retort.  The man was in charge even if he was an idiot.

“I’ll mark a safe route for the men to follow,” he said through gritted teeth, and headed back up the canyon.

Working as quickly as he could, Jorem marked a path that avoided the loose shale by cutting back and forth across the canyon.  He was just finishing his second circuit across the canyon when he heard a shout behind him.  Turning he found the entire squad attempting to cross the first patch of shale.  One man was already down and the other seven were scrambling to escape the trap they found themselves in. Before his eyes the entire swath of shale began to move.

The patch of shale was a good four wagon lengths wide and the men were right in the middle.  It started as a slight rumble and grew to a deafening roar.  There was nothing he could do but watch as all eight men were engulfed in a torrent of sliding, churning rock.  The slide seemed to take forever, and the sight would haunt him for years to come.  The billowing dust, the sound of rock crashing upon rock, and the screams of the men as they looked death in the face, was indelibly etched into his memory.

When the slide finally stopped the silence was unnerving.  As the dust settled Jorem could see what looked to be rag dolls half buried at the bottom of the canyon.  Heedless of injury to himself, Jorem raced to the scene.  There was no doubt in his mind that some of the men would be dead.  If he was to be of any aid to those still living he was going to have to work fast.  His knowledge of binding wounds was mostly from reading, but also from tending to the multitude of his own minor injuries over the years.

When he got to the bottom of the slide area his heart sank.  Many of the men’s bodies were half buried under the rubble. Here and there an arm or leg could be seen.  Panic began to overwhelm him.  With a force of will he squashed the panic down.  He had to keep his head.  Knowing he’d pay for it later, Jorem pushed his emotions to the side.  After this was over, when he had time alone, he would deal with his own trauma.  For now he had things to do that couldn’t wait.  If any of these men were alive it was up to him to keep them that way.

The first man he came to let out a slight moan as Jorem knelt beside him.  That was all the encouragement he needed.  With a fevered pitch he began moving the rocks away from the man’s torso.  The rocks he could lift he threw to the side.  The larger rocks he was forced to drag or roll away as best he could.  Despite the chill in the air, sweat began to drip from Jorem’s brow and in a short time he was forced to remove his coat and helm.

Finally, after moving what seemed a mountain of rock, Jorem was able to pull the man free from the crushing grasp of the slide.   The man obviously had a broken leg.  Legs just don’t bend the way his were bending, especially where there were no joints.  Fortunately the man was still unconscious or he’d likely have been screaming in agony. A quick search revealed nothing else more serious than a large bump on the man’s forehead.  Jorem knew he should brace the broken leg, but there were no sticks long enough or strong enough to use.  Instead he stacked rocks on either side of the leg and hoped it would do for now.

The next man had a deep gash in his forearm.  Jorem stripped off his own shirt and tore it into strips to bind the wound.  This man regained consciousness but stared about as if lost. Jorem led him over to the first man and had him lie down then started digging out another man.  Of the eight-man squad Jorem could only find seven.  They all had bumps, bruises, cuts and broken bones.  He did for them what he could.

Jorem had t
hose who were conscious and capable tend to the more seriously injured.  Swords and daggers were used as splints where possible, but there was no way they’d be able to get back to the main group.  Jorem was the only one able to travel, so he knew he would have to go for help.  As a last precaution Jorem had all the men gather together as close as possible.  If there had been enough wood he would have started a fire, but they would have to make do with body heat.

Picturing the captain’s map in his mind Jorem tried to estimate where the main group would be.  Deciding that a straight route would be the quickest if not the safest he headed straight up the ridge.  He was exhausted from digging the men out, but he knew there was no choice.  It was already past midday and the squad might not survive a cold night without help.  The day had already been long and it didn’t look to end anytime soon.

Without coat, armor or weapons to weigh him down he was able to move quickly.  His mind seemed to go numb as he jogged along, and he let it.  After the training Neth had put him through, his body knew how to react to the terrain better than he did.  Time lost its meaning.  Rocks, trees, brush and deadfall were the only things that existed in his world.  Somewhere along the way he must have crossed a stream because his feet were now wet.

The creaking of a wheel and the muttering of voices caught at the edge of his senses and roused him back to reality. And with reality came the realization that he was spent.  He couldn’t even feel his legs.  That would change shortly when the abuse he’d just put himself through registered with the rest of his body.  Stumbling to a stop he listened closely, his eff
orts hampered by his own raspy breathing.  Just a little way off he could hear the sound of men, horses and wagons.

When he caught a glimpse of movement Jorem moved to a small clearing in their path and sank to his knees.  A burning sensation started in his calves and move
d up to his knees and thighs.  He knew he should stand and stretch but he just didn’t have the strength.  Judging by the sun, he’d been running for two, maybe three marks.  Added to his efforts earlier and the fact that he hadn’t eaten since before sunrise, all he had left was his determination to get help back to the stranded, injured squad.

A shout rang out when he was spotted by the front ranks.  Soon he was the center of attention for the captain and several others.  As quickly as he could he explained what had happened.  There was a lot of shouting and rushing about as a group prepared to go after the wounded men.  Jorem just sat where he was.  His mind was fogged and his energy spent.  There was little more he could do to help.

At some point some thoughtful person put a sandwich and a canteen of water in his hand.  Jorem didn’t even care what it was, just that it was food.  Mostly he needed the water and he finished off the canteen in short order.  He was just thinking he might be able to crawl to a wagon when someone led a horse up to him.  Before he knew what was happening he’d been thrown into the saddle.  Captain Jonas rode up beside him and stopped.

“I know you’re tired,” Jonas said, “but we’ll get there much faster if you lead us to them.”

As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the captain was right.  Precious hours could be wasted with a wrong turn.  He didn’t even bother responding.  Gathering up the reins he urged his mount forward.  With a last resigned look at the line of horsemen and wagons behind him, Jorem signaled for them to move out.  It would be well into the night before any of them found their beds.

It was a good thing the captain had sent a messenger to the capital requesting a healer.  The messenger had been given the fastest horse and just enough food and water to get him to the nearest town.  There was no way these men would arrive at the capital any time soon with the pace they would be making, if they got there at all.  Several of the more seriously injured were getting worse.  Without help, these men would die.

Chapter XVI

A few days later Jorem was scouting for the first squad to split off.  The captain was there when they left.  At the morning meeting, he had stressed the need for caution.  “You’re leading inexperienced men,” he’d told them.  “Don’t take unnecessary risks.  Call for another squad if you need it.  Getting these men through alive is your job.  The King won’t be very happy if we’re all too injured to fight.  See to it.”

Jorem led off.  The canyon had a gradual rise, but he could see it got steeper further on.  It was still too cold for the trees to sprout leaves and the pinions were scarce in this area.  Animal trails wove up and around the canyon walls.  Small mounds of snow still lingered in the shadier spots of the lower part of this canyon.

A blanket of clouds covered the sky, giving a grey backdrop to the skeletal branches of the trees.  A few birds flitted from tree to tree, searching for whatever morsel they could find at this barren time of year.  Most of the animals had yet to emerge from their winter hibernation.  Even so, Jorem kept watch for tracks or signs.

Whenever the canyon split, he would double back to the squad.  After informing the squad leader of what lay ahead, he would head off again.  By two marks till midday he was halfway to the top.  If they continued at this rate, they’d make a short day of it.  The downhill part of the march always went faster.  For having grown up in a city, Jorem had come to love the wilderness, especially the mountains and wooded areas.

Suddenly something didn’t seem right. Since the last branching of the canyon he’d been very careful to watch for sign of any animals.  He’d used every trick he’d learned from Neth and the other hunters and yet he had found nothing.  With as much land as he had gone over, he should have found something.  Yet he’d seen sign of nothing larger than a mouse.

There should have been sign of larger game.  Even old sign would have made him feel better.  Rabbit, deer, and elk should have passed this way, not to mention the various predators common to this part of the land.  From what he could see, only a few birds inhabited the entire area.  Had there been signs of man it might have made sense, but even those were not to be found.

Jorem crept quietly up the canyon.  A carpet of dead leaves muffled his footsteps.  The silence was unnerving.  The only sound came from a slight breeze whispering through the trees.  A jumble of boulders forced him to weave back and forth across the canyon.  At a few points it was so steep he was forced to crawl up the rocky incline bracing himself with his hands at several points.

Cresting above the boulder-strewn area, Jorem came upon a small clearing bordered by a scattering of trees.  Here he found sign, but not what he’d expected.  No tracks or trails were to be found, just bones, and not just a few.  The smell of death hung in the air.  A fetid odor of both old and recent death clung to everything.

Scattered all across the clearing were bones.  Not just wild game, but cow and sheep as well.  Many looked to have been here for several years.  Others were recent enough to still have bits of meat clinging to them.  The carcasses were strewn about the area randomly.  Still there were no tracks.  It was as if the
piles of bones had been dropped from the sky.   The truly worrying part was the obvious gnaw marks evident on the bones.

Against the hillside there stood the dark maw of a cave.  Jorem skirted around the clearing, picking his way carefully over the cluttered ground.  On the far side, he found another rise clogged with rocks and boulders, passable, but just barely.  He’d have to check out the cave before the squad could pass, but for now he decided it best to head back and check in with the squad leader.  They needed to know there might be danger in their path.

He was almost back across the clearing when a dry bone snapped beneath his foot.  Instantly a sharp tingling ran up the back of his neck.  Something was here, something with magic.  The only place of concealment was the cave.  Spinning around to face the cave, he saw nothing, but the tingling grew sharper.

Closing his eyes, Jorem saw a blotchy yellow light racing toward him.  Whatever it might be it was large and moving fast.  Reflexes pounded into him by Neth’s relentless training had his sword out before thought.  He slashed down at the approaching light, and felt his sword strike something solid.  At the same instant, he was struck and flung across the clearing. 

His back slammed into a tree and he sagged down at its base.  Looking up, he saw a creature unlike anything he had seen before.  He’d never even read of such a creature.  He struggled to stand, but his legs refused to respond.  A burning sensation was spreading across his left shoulder, but he dared not look at his injuries.  He’d deal with those if he lived long enough.

Burning yellow eyes glared at Jorem.  A spine-chilling howl issued from a wide, gaping mouth filled with sharp jagged teeth, more teeth than should have fit.  The creature stood half again as tall as Jorem.  Long matted fur covered its body, dingy brown and grey in color with dirt and leaves clinging in large patches.  Its arms were long for its body.  Long black claws glistened darkly from both hands and feet.  But those feet somehow didn’t reach the ground. The creature hovered a hand span from the ground.  Some absurd portion of Jorem’s mind mused, “
Hmm… no tracks
”.  The rest of his mind screamed, “
IT’S COMING!
”

The creature glided slowly toward him.  Thick saliva dripped from its fangs.  Dark red blood was oozing from a gash on its chest and seeping into its fur.  A harsh, dark, fetid odor filled the air.  Were it not for the fear piercing his chest, Jorem would have lost what little food he’d eaten earlier.  Even so, he felt bile rising in his throat.

Unable to stand, and with pain lancing through his chest and left shoulder, Jorem felt trapped.  Panic crept into his mind.  He was going to die.  No one would save him.  No one would come.  Despair cast its dark shadow over him.  Would anyone even miss him?

The creature was but four or five arm-lengths away.  Jorem’s breath came ragged and harsh.  His vision began to blur, his heartbeat pounded in his ears.  The thought of the squad of men coming up behind him flashed through his mind.  If the creature could hide itself in magic those men wouldn’t stand a chance.  Eight men would die, men who were counting on him.  More good men would die if the others came looking for them.

“NO!” Jorem screamed through gritted teeth.

His desperation gave way to determination.  He would do what he could, whatever he had to, to stop this beast.  He would likely die, but maybe not the others.  Not if he could help it.  Reversing his grip, Jorem held his sword like a javelin.  Drawing on every ounce of strength he possessed, Jorem threw his sword at the approaching creature.  The sword sank deeply into the creature’s chest.  Convulsing, the creature screamed and slowly sank to the ground. Its eyes, still fixed on Jorem, dimmed and went blank.

Jorem felt like sobbing, but it hurt too much.  Looking down at himself, he saw where claws had ripped through his uniform.  The leather armor had parted like butter.  His flesh was torn and bleeding; several ribs showed through the seeping blood.  He looked at his arm and wished he hadn’t.  A few bits of flesh and scraps of his sleeve were all that attached it to his body.  Bile rose in his throat from the sight of the wound.  The clearing began to spin around him.  Something went numb in the back of his mind and he drifted off into a bottomless black pit.