Wayward Soldiers (31 page)

“One more,” said Cassus, still standing in the back of the tent. “What’s the job?”

Jonrell smiled, eyeing the man who had been his best friend since they were both boys. “We’re going home, Cassus.” There were several questioning looks and grunts at that. Jonrell paused to let them die down before continuing. “We’re going to Cadonia. The princess, soon to be queen, is hiring us, only she doesn’t know it yet,” said Jonrell, watching as his friend’s face went white.

* * *

“Where are Cassus and Krytien? They should be here by now.”

“You got me, Boss,” said Kroke, again cleaning his nails.

“We’ll give them ten more minutes and then we head out. They can catch up later.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Is what necessary?”

“That,” said Jonrell pointing at the dagger. “How can they be dirty if you’re constantly cleaning them?”

“They aren’t. Just habit I guess. Like the way a blade feels in my hand is all.” Kroke sheathed the knife and looked up. “Don’t sweat it, Boss. They’ll be here.”

Jonrell sighed.
They better.

“See, that’s them coming out the camp now,” said Kroke with a nod. He pulled out a different knife, picking at the nails on his other hand.

Jonrell shook his head and turned toward the encampment. He squinted and saw some movement but couldn’t make out more than a few shapes in the night. The distance was too great. “How can you tell it’s them?”

“I can’t.” Kroke shrugged his shoulders. “Just trying to be positive is all.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Kroke sheathed his blade and pulled out another that he started spinning in his hand, a small grin crawled across his face and he watched the blade dance in the moonlight.

“How about you do something useful and grab Yanasi? Something’s up and I need her eyes. That’s definitely Cassus in front but there is no way that many soldiers were worth bringing with us.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Jonrell watched the line continue to creep along, ending with several wagons in tow.
One Above, there must be over two hundred horses in that group. That’s near half the cavalry.
Jonrell twisted his head around as he heard a soft voice. “Kroke said you needed me, Sir?”

“I thought you said only a few men were worth bringing along?”

“Well Sir, the number was probably closer to fifteen.”

“Then I need you to get up that hill and tell me what’s going on because there are a lot more than fifteen soldiers coming this way.”

“Yes, sir,” said Yanasi.

Jonrell watched her scamper up the hill. She took a moment to position herself.

Jonrell gave her a few moments then asked, “Well, do we have trouble?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I need something more than that.”

“Well, that’s definitely Cassus in front and you can tell that’s Krytien way in back by the way he can barely stay on his horse. So if it was a trap, I don’t understand why Melchizan would let them ride unguarded. The real issue is what’s going on with everyone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they look more uncomfortable than Krytien on those horses, almost like they never rode one before. They’re all pretty small too and don’t carry themselves like a bunch of soldiers.”

Jonrell squinted into the night, thankful for the clear sky. His eyes weren’t nearly as good as Yanasi’s but now he knew what to look for and what she said made sense. He realized what was going on.

“Sir, is everything all right? Do I need to ready the rest of the men?”

“No, everything isn’t all right. But we aren’t in any trouble just yet,” snapped Jonrell. He sighed as Yanasi flinched from his tone and he realized he was taking his anger out on the wrong person. “Good job.”

Even in the dark, he saw the young woman blush. “Thank you, Sir. But I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

He muttered a curse. “Those aren’t soldiers in that train. Those are Melchizan’s slaves.”

Jonrell waited at the bottom of the small rise, watching in silence. With each step the horses took, he saw how awkward the riders were. Cassus came up to Jonrell. Neither said a word.

The commander watched each brown-skinned slave make their way past, noticing not only men, but women and children, tucked away in the covered wagons. Jonrell waited until Krytien neared before speaking. “You two. Come with me.”

The three men rode off and stopped just out of earshot of the others. Jonrell’s eyes went back to the slaves trying to keep control of their animals. His men were in the midst of the chaos, doing their best to manage the situation. The commotion could wake the dead. Jonrell’s face hardened. He spoke, ice lining his voice. “Start explaining.”

The plump mage cleared his throat and started to reply, “Well, you see…”

But Jonrell cut him off, scowling at the two men. “I wasn’t asking you.” He glared at Cassus. “I know this was your idea.”

“Well, you said we could take anyone who was interested in coming with us,” said Cassus.

Jonrell cut in again. “Don’t give me that. These people aren’t soldiers. What were you thinking? They belong to Melchizan and so do the horses and wagons.”

“Well, I figured he still owes us quite a bit on our contract. We could sell the horses and wagons when we make it to port. That should cover most of it.”

“And leave the cavalry even weaker than before? Very compassionate. What about the slaves?” said Jonrell.

Cassus spat, growing agitated. “That’s what I think about Melchizan, his cavalry, and his army. He was going to send the Byzernians to their deaths tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

“I overheard him talking to one of his captains. They were planning to have the slaves in front of the infantry. They were going to give them some crude weapons, and use them as human shields. He said it was becoming too costly to keep them alive.”

“And so you thought to take them with us?”

“Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Maybe. But it definitely wasn’t the smartest. This continent has kept Byzernians as slaves for decades. No one would find fault with Melchizan for doing what he liked with his property.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Jonrell.”

Jonrell shook his head. “He may have overlooked the Hell Patrol and a few deserters leaving, but almost three hundred slaves besides? Not likely.”

“I wasn’t going to leave them to their deaths,” said Cassus.

Jonrell sighed. He looked up into the night sky, speaking to no one in particular. “Why do you keep testing me?” He met Cassus’s eyes. “Then they’re your responsibility. You’re in charge of their organization, their needs, and their final destination because they aren’t coming with us to Cadonia and I won’t have them place us in any unnecessary danger.”

Cassus nodded. “I expected as much.”

Jonrell turned to Krytien, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re going to help him the entire way to port.”

“What? I just happened to be leaving camp at the same time as they did,” said Krytien.

“Don’t take me for a fool. You did something to the camp; otherwise they’d already be after us.”

“Well, I may have added some of my own special brew to their mugs. It’s designed to ensure a man sleeps soundly the night before a big day, you know. But I really don’t see what that has to do with anything.” The mage ran his fingers through the few wisps of long hair remaining on his head, trying to repress a grin.

“Of course you don’t. But they are just as much your responsibility as Cassus’s.” Jonrell glared at both men waiting for an argument, surprised there was none. He added, “When will your special brew wear off?”

“In a few hours, not long after dawn,” said Krytien with a sullen huff.

“Plenty enough time to prepare for their deaths then? You’re getting soft from hanging around Cassus so much.”

The sound of hooves approaching caught their attention and the three men looked back toward the disorder. Sitting astride a white mount rode one of the slaves. Like most slaves from the Byzernian Islands, the man was very thin, and average in height. As the rider pulled up, Jonrell could make out his age by the bright moonlight, late fifties by his estimate. The man had a spryness about him though, evident by the confident way he sat upon the horse.

The slave gave a bow, showing far more control at the reins then the others of his race. “Wiqua, good to see you,” said Cassus with a smile. “Your skills with a horse are impressive.”

“My previous master had me care for his animals. I am a bit more familiar with the beasts than most of my people.” He bowed again, addressing Jonrell. “Commander, I came to thank you on behalf of my people. Your kindness is unmatched for a man in your profession.”

“Keep your thanks, Wiqua, and give it to Cassus. This was his idea, not mine.”

“Even so, the final decision is yours as commander.” The old man’s eyes glanced to each of the three mercenaries. “And pardon my assumption, but it appears you will allow us to travel with you and for that I am grateful. We promise not to be too much of a burden on you or your men during our journey.”

A loud crash ripped through the night and they looked up to the shuffling mounts of the Byzernians. The mercenaries pointed and cursed at an overturned wagon, Glacar the most vocal of all. The bear of a man threw people around left and right for not moving quickly to rectify the situation. Jonrell snorted, “Well Wiqua, here is your chance to keep your promise.”

“Yes, Commander. I must return to my people. Very few speak anything other than their native tongue.” He bowed again before riding away.

“That bowing is going to get annoying,” said Jonrell.

“Well be prepared to see a lot of him. That’s uh, the one Hag latched onto,” said Cassus.

“What?” said Krytien, gagging.

Jonrell decided against saying anything as he watched the commotion of slaves fumbling with righting the overturned wagon. He nodded at the two men. “Your responsibility, remember?”

The two men looked at each other and mumbled something as they rode. Jonrell shook his head.
One Above, what did I get myself into?

* * *

For two weeks, the Hell Patrol struggled across broken terrain that hindered them at every move, and the coast still lay another week ahead. The journey should have taken ten days at most but with so many slaves and their families, they struggled each day just breaking camp, let alone traversing through the expansive plain and now into the rocky hills. Cassus had sworn to Jonrell that the slaves would not hinder his progress when they left Melchizan’s army, but that is exactly what happened.
I should leave them behind. Each day here is one less in Cadonia and one I can’t afford to lose.
Jonrell glanced back to Cassus who talked with Wiqua as they rode.
He knows I won’t leave them behind now.

Orange and red lines seeped across the horizon as the sun fell behind low lying clouds that lay over distant hills. Jonrell halted, and ran fingers through his long hair before scratching the stubble at his neck. His hand went to his breast pocket, feeling for the stone Krytien had given him.

Another day gone and yet I feel no closer.

Kroke came up beside him, spinning a knife in his hand, the eagle shaped hilt shimmering in the fading sunlight. He looked up, blade turning as he spoke. “I think those slaves are done for the day, Boss.”

“It seems we’re stopping earlier each day.” He sighed. “Make camp and have Yanasi set up the watch.”

Kroke shifted the knife from one hand to the other.

Jonrell looked over at him, his gray eyes weary. “Why don’t you grab a dozen men to go hunting. I’m getting sick of salted beef.”

Kroke nodded and rode off.

* * *

Night came quick and they finished camp by firelight.

Kroke had come across a small herd of wild buffalo, almost getting himself killed while taking one down with only a pair of throwing knives he had sunk into each of the charging beast’s eye sockets. The men who accompanied Kroke told the tale to all who would listen, saying it was one of the most amazing things they’d ever seen.

Stupidity can often be confused for amazing.

Larger pieces of the massive beast roasted over spits while cooks sawed off smaller chunks to throw into soup pots. Soon after, Jonrell sat near one of the cook fires, spooning the rich stew from a trencher. Staring into the flames, his hand subconsciously reached for his breast pocket again.

“Good stew,” said Krytien, sitting down beside him.

Jonrell blinked away the glaze from his eyes, scratching his chest with the hand he had reached with. He took another bite and nodded. “A perk of dragging this group around with us. I’m surprised Hag has stayed out of the Byzernian women’s way. She can ruin a dish just by looking at it.”

The mage chuckled and set a pair of cups down on the ground between them. “Oh, she’s tried a few times but with only a half-hearted effort. Too anxious to do some cooking of her own under the sheets with that old-timer.”

“Old-timer? Last I checked Wiqua wasn’t much older than you.”

“That’s uncalled for. I may be old but I’ve got enough of my wits not to go messing around with her.”

“I’ll give you that.” Jonrell looked down at the tin cups. He picked one up and held it to his nose, smelling the contents. “I hope it isn’t your special brew?”

“Insults and now, accusations.” The mage shook his head and clutched his faded cloak. “I am truly hurt.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Don’t worry. It’s some tea that Wiqua made. I know better than to give you anything with alcohol in it.”

Jonrell inhaled the contents again before taking a sip. He nodded in satisfaction. “I like it. Thanks.”

The two men grew silent, watching the flames dance around a roasting leg, crackling as fat dripped into them. Men sat in smaller groups around the various campfires, some playing dice, others checking their weapons. The smartest slept while time permitted.

“You need to talk to him, you know,” said Krytien.

Jonrell inclined his head. “Talk to who?”