Walk Through Fire (6 page)

“Of course I like you. It’s just that an army is no place for a little girl.”

Yanasi shook her head and tears poured down her face. She wiped them away. “Father told me the same thing. He said he had no need for a little girl in his life,” she said as she backed away.

Jonrell reached out to her. “This will be better for you.”

She shrugged away from his touch. “No, it won’t.” She ran off, crying.

Jonrell stood and was ready to go after her when a voice called out.

“Wait!”

Jonrell stopped.

“Let her go,” said Cassus, running up. “She needs some time to process things.”

“She needs someone with her.”

“Then let me go. I know it’s not your fault. At that age she can’t see things as we do. I’ll try to explain it to her.”

Jonrell nodded and watched Cassus set off after Yanasi. He felt his own eyes well up as he remembered another little girl’s broken heart, his sister’s.

But it was for the best then. Just like it is now.

Jonrell wondered who he was trying to convince.

Chapter 6

By torchlight, soldiers cast flickering shadows across the rubble of another dead city. Tents sat between and against the remnants of those ancient walls, the white canvas giving the lost civilization a ghostly look. Jonrell walked between those half-standing structures, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.

The army was only three days from Asantia and although Jonrell should be happy, Yanasi held his mind. Cassus had been able to convince her not to run away and attempt life on her own. Since then, Yanasi avoided Jonrell, talking to no one but Cassus, and even then it was only to obtain instruction with the bow.

Staring at the ground Jonrell halted at the sight of thick boots in a patch of brown grass separated by the butt of a spear. His gaze drifted upward and saw that like most soldiers in Thurum, the man wore full bronze armor. Few could afford the more expensive chain mail and steel plate worn by the Hell Patrol. The soldier stood a handful of inches shorter than Jonrell yet outweighed him by at least twenty pounds, solid as granite.

“Excuse me, general,” said Jonrell, as he attempted to step around the man.
What is he doing in our camp?

Ahned moved to block Jonrell’s path. The man’s eyes betrayed a sense of mockery as the corners of his mouth twisted into a grin. “Hezen wishes to speak to you.”

“Perhaps at a later time, general. I’m afraid I have some things to take care of.”

“You will come with me. Now,” said Ahned.

Jonrell eyed the man through narrow slits. He and Hezen had rarely exchanged anything other than formalities. Jonrell considered the opportunity for a moment and realized he might be able to glean some information regarding Hezen’s intentions to report back to Ronav.

“Lead on, general.”

Ahned turned on his heels and headed toward the center of Effren’s camp at a quickened pace. Jonrell trailed a few steps behind, taking in as many details as he could. It was his first visit to Effren’s camp since the changes in the command structure. He didn’t like what he saw.

Soldiers wore full gear and the new squad leaders appeared on edge.

Even more troubling to Jonrell, men spoke in their local tongues, languages he was unfamiliar with. During Ronav’s command, all orders were issued through Thurum’s common tongue so the Hell Patrol and conscripts from other lands could more effectively communicate.

What are they hiding?

A large bonfire encircled by the tents of the army’s leadership dominated the center of camp. Around the various smaller fires, soldiers sharpened edges and polished armor. Ahned halted near the second largest tent where a man sat in a plush chair overlooking the men. He held an ornate wine cup, jewels glowing in the light of the flames. He wore only boiled leather and a shining breastplate emblazoned with a raised sun, the sigil of his family. Ahned bowed and Hezen set his cup down then rose from his seat.

Hezen smiled at Jonrell. “I’m glad you came.”

“I was told you wished to see me.”

“Yes. Ahned, leave us.”

“But. . . .” the general started.

Hezen glared. “Leave us now.”

Ahned hesitated, then bowed. He gave Jonrell a wary look and joined a group of his captains. Jonrell watched the general shove men in multiple directions.

It all runs downhill, doesn’t it? But the real question is when did Hezen become the person to order you around?

“A passionate man, isn’t he?” asked Hezen.

* * *

Something felt wrong. Kroke could feel the change as he worked the edge on his new blade, a dagger whose quality he’d never thought to possess. He questioned Jonrell’s motives for trading away such a fine weapon but, fair or not, he owned the blade now and it rarely left his hand. The more he handled the weapon, the more it became an extension of his body. He often relieved his anxiety by sharpening a blade or flipping one in his hand, but tonight those rituals weren’t working. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones, even in the steel of the knife. It ached to be used, and he knew it would get its chance. A smile crept across his face.

It’s about time.

Had anyone else felt the tension in the air?
Probably not. Their senses are too dull.

Normally, he wouldn’t care if they did or not, but for some inexplicable reason, he felt compelled to tell someone his concern. He tightened his grip.
But who do I tell?

His eyes drifted down to the curved blade with its blackened hilt and silver etching.

Kroke knew Jonrell practically gave him the knife under a guise of trade.
Fine. I owe at least you, Jonrell.

* * *

Raker felt off in a strangely familiar way. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but then again, he couldn’t put his finger on much of anything. Stumbling along, he worked his way back to the Hell Patrol’s camp. A group from Effren’s army had invited him and several others over to their fires earlier. Effren’s men talked about it being their last celebration before the army reached Asantia and the two groups parted.

A chance for us to put aside our differences, they said.

The army had been resentful of the mercenaries since the Hell Patrol picked up Effren’s contract so the change of heart seemed oddly suspicious. Raker was ready not to go with them until one mentioned the abundance of free beer, wine, and whiskey.

Who am I to turn down such hospitality?

But after only one hour, he felt like he had been drinking for ten. And that was what got him thinking. He wasn’t some young recruit. He could drink anyone under the table, even Ronav. Yet now, he groped around for support like the time he snuck into Krytien’s tent and mixed whatever he could find into his beer.

I almost died. In fact, Krytien said I should have. But I showed him. I showed them all not to try and out-drink me.

He paused for a second, swaying back and forth, as he reached the edge of the Hell Patrol’s camp. The familiarity he couldn’t place before suddenly made sense. This
was
how he felt after raiding Krytien’s tent.

But that’s impossible. He keeps his stuff locked up now.

Raker looked up, and through blurry eyes saw the black robed mage walking toward him with a concerned look on his face. Raker smiled.

I was just thinking about him. Isn’t that funny?

He tried to open his mouth and share the joke but the ground slapped him in the face.

* * *

Hezen walked with hands clasped behind his back like some great commander out of history. Jonrell followed, watching many of the soldiers bow as they passed, some even taking a knee. Hezen held his head up higher and puffed his chest out further with each step.

It takes more than obedience to make one a good leader, Hezen.

“So what do you think of my changes to the military structure?”

Jonrell feigned ignorance. “Changes? I hadn’t noticed any.”

Hezen chuckled. “Come now. You’re a smart man and obviously well educated. You’ve noticed what’s been going on.”

Jonrell conceded. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“And? Please, be honest.”

“I’m sure you have your reasons for the restructuring. However, I wouldn’t have made such a drastic change, at least not now, nor all at once. You’ve suppressed much of the established leadership and experience Ronav built.”

Hezen grimaced and for a moment Jonrell worried he’d overstepped himself. “Yes, I couldn’t agree more. Ahned, of course, does not understand such things. He simply does what he’s told like a good dog. I would never say this to him of course, nor to his soldiers. They respect him too much. He is the brawn while I am definitely the brains.” He stopped and paused. “But back to your point. Sometimes, drastic changes are necessary to accomplish one’s goals, and I assure you the restructuring was completely necessary for the future.” He started walking again. “Let me show you.”

* * *

Moving through Effren’s camp, Kroke felt more on edge with each step. His eyes held the hateful stares cast his way with a coldness that ensured the soldiers turned away first.

Kroke opened and closed his fists with each stride, keeping his fingers nimble, waiting for someone to give him a reason to draw a blade. None dared get in his way.

He headed toward the camp’s center where a large bonfire illuminated an otherwise dark sky. Shouts to his right gave him pause. He saw several dozen men from the Hell Patrol drinking around smaller fires with a few of Effren’s men. A large figure with arms folded across his chest and a double-bladed ax strapped to his back stood off to the side watching the idiots roll around on the ground in laughter. Kroke made his way toward him.

“You not drinking?” he asked.

Glacar, more than a head and a half taller and twice as large, shook his head. “Not this garbage,” he said, kicking at an empty cask. “One swallow and it made my tongue numb.” He gestured with his head toward the men falling over each other.

“Better to be thirsty than to act like these fools. Raker was worst of all. He must have had twice as much as anyone else before stumbling back to our camp,” Glacar rumbled.

“Does Ronav know about all this?” Although some from Effren’s army were drinking, the majority stood off to the side, watching the fiasco as intently as Glacar.

Glacar shrugged. “I assumed so. I saw Jonrell following Ahned not too long ago. Of course, his back was to us and he looked preoccupied trying to peek in one of those tents.” Glacar pointed. “Still, I figured if he was going off on his own into their camp, then Ronav probably knows about it. And if Ronav knew about him, then he had to know about this as well,” he added with another gesture.

“Fair enough.”

On some level, Glacar’s reasoning made sense, but Kroke knew that Ronav didn’t know where Jonrell had gone since he had asked the commander earlier. Ronav was too busy at the time to give it much thought, and assumed Jonrell had gone off with Cassus. Kroke found Cassus eating dinner with Yanasi and neither had seen Jonrell. On a hunch Kroke entered Effren’s camp.

Is Jonrell up to something he shouldn’t be? Nah, I’ve seen the way he looks at Ronav. Worships the ground he walks on.

“You gonna be here for awhile?” asked Kroke.

“I was about to go look for one of the camp whores when you walked up. I’ve had enough of these idiots.”

Kroke shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about the whores tonight.” He leaned in close. “Something’s up. Why are so many of Effren’s men not drinking? And why are they in full armor?”

Glacar spat. “Because they’ve wised up and learned you always need to be ready.”

“It ain’t that. Things are going to get ugly. I can feel it.”

Glacar’s eyes widened in realization and he started to reach for his ax. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s kill these. . . .”

Kroke steadied his hand. “Not yet. Try to get some of our men back to camp without making it obvious what you’re doing. And tell Ronav about what’s going on.”

“I ain’t no wet nurse.” Glacar scowled.

“Neither am I, but you know Ronav will be upset if we don’t at least try to save some of them.” He smiled. “Besides, I guarantee there’ll be plenty of time for killing later.”

“There better be.” He reached down and grabbed one of the delirious mercenaries by the shoulder, yanking him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s get back and play some cards.” He flashed Kroke a wink and headed off, dragging the half-conscious man as he went. Several of Effren’s soldiers cast odd looks Glacar’s way before shrugging.

Not very subtle, but better than nothing, I guess.

Kroke tried to appear indifferent as a guardsmen looked his way. He continued toward the center of camp, hoping Glacar could get at least a few men out before the fighting began.

The thought nearly stopped Kroke in his tracks.

What do I care if he does? These people mean nothing to me.

He shook his head and went off searching for Jonrell.

* * *

“Let go of his feet and grab the tent flap.”

“I ain’t your slave, you know. . . .

“One Above, Hag. Now isn’t the time. Complain all you want after we get Raker inside.”

She dropped Raker’s feet and the sudden shift in weight nearly sent Krytien sprawling. She waddled past him, mumbling under her breath and pulled the tent flap aside. “Well hurry up and drag him in. You don’t expect me to hold the flap and help you, do you?”

Krytien gave her a dark look and walked backward, pulling Raker into the tent by his armpits. Thankfully the old woman had the courtesy to help him put Raker on the cot.

“Well, what’s wrong with him?” she muttered.

He wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t seen the same symptoms from the man a year earlier. Blue lips, swollen eyes, trouble breathing, discolored skin. He quickly went to a cabinet, verifying its security, but noted that many of its contents were missing.

He couldn’t have drunk all of that by himself, he’d be dead if he had.