Braylar gave Gurdinn a small nod and then addressed what remained of the company. “We depart this forsaken place. Now.”
Gurdinn was in the middle of saying something to one of his soldiers, but hearing Braylar’s announcement, turned to him. “Two of the underpriest’s guards escaped. We’ve wasted enough time already. Let’s hunt them down, and then we can gather our dead and wounded and return home.”
This had clearly been the source of the argument I heard riding up to the ruins. Mulldoos answered him, “He told you already, we got no time at all. None. And we got less time to argue about it.”
Gurdinn glanced at Mulldoos for a moment and then looked at Braylar again. “Your man said the surrounding area was clear. The guards-”
Braylar was as grim as I’ve ever seen him. “My man’s name was Glesswik, and he’s dead. And we’ll be his rearguard in the afterlife if we delay here another moment. We mount up. Now.”
It was only then I realized that Glesswik wasn’t among the group of survivors. Gurdinn said, “We’ve both lost men here today. I only pray it was worth it. But the underpriest has no reinforcements nearby. The two guards are on foot, or were when they escaped, so if we track them down, we can capture them. But only if we head after them now.”
Braylar’s patience, rarely bountiful, was now completely depleted. “This underpriest had men planted for an ambush at least two days in advance, and planned it for some time before that. Do you really believe he’d have reinforcements so far from the engagement? I’ll answer for you, he wouldn’t. And if he doesn’t, then we have no assurance that’s where his men are heading. In all likelihood, they’re running straight towards a grove or cave a few miles from here. My best tracker is dead. We couldn’t possibly hope to catch those two guards in the wildlands in time. So, we return to the city as quickly as possible. Thanks to my man,” he gestured at me, “we have what we came here for. Put the dead on the free horses. We ride hard. We ride now. That is all.”
Gurdinn replied, “There’s time-”
“This discussion is over. Mount up. That’s an order.” Braylar pointed at the Brunesman who just finished tying the underpriest’s hands together. “Get those two on the spare horses. And tie their legs together underneath. We wouldn’t want to lose them along the way.” He regarded the underpriest. “I advise you and your man to keep your legs clamped tight, holy man. Should you fall, it will prove a most uncomfortable ride to the city.”
Gurdinn turned and walked over to the men, most of whom were already in their saddles. Braylar looked at Gurdinn, practically daring him to dispute his rule in this matter again, and when no protests were forthcoming, he climbed onto his horse and led the way back up the hill. I climbed onto my own horse and moved alongside Lloi as we headed up. Glesswik was laid across his horse like a sack of grain, just like the other Syldoon next to him-Tomner-and the two Brunesmen behind. Tomner had been struck across the back deep enough to sever his spine if not decapitate him completely. With every movement his horse made, his head wobbled.
I gagged and turned in my saddle, stomach heaving, though nothing came out of my mouth except some residue of bile. My shoulders rocked forward again, and I looked around, glad I was in the rear and seen by nobody save Lloi. I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve, wondering if the vomit was truly going to come then, willing it out of my body so I could be done with it. But all I could manage was some heinous bitter spit.
Finally confident the spell was over, I sat back up. Lloi handed me a leather flask. I pulled the stopper and took a small swallow. It was old tart wine that spoke of abandoned orchards and dried-up vines, but it was an improvement over the bile, so I took another grateful swallow.
I handed the flask back to her with shaky hands, thanking her. She nodded and took a swallow herself. “Glesswik hated wine. Said he hated it, that is. But he drank more than most any two men.” She lifted the flask to her lips again, swallowed enough that some drained down her chin, and handed it back to me. I took another small swallow before returning it.
Lloi seemed about ready to tip the flask up again for another swig but then decided against it. She held the flask back out to me a final time, but I couldn’t stomach another and worried that I was in danger of keeping what I’d drunk in my stomach, so declined.
More than halfway up the hill, I was looking over my shoulder at the temple retreating behind us, half expecting more of the underpriest’s guards to suddenly emerge from the ruins or surrounding woods. There were bright splashes of blood at the entrance, most obviously on the steps leading to the arch, but also spattered here and there among the outer columns. Before meeting Braylar, I never imagined I’d witness such a scene of carnage, let alone somehow be a part of it. I wasn’t really a scholar anymore, having walked off that path now forever. Regardless what else occurred, I knew I’d never return to that life the same-though what I’d become or was becoming, I didn’t know.
Lloi said, “You did well. Back there.” I didn’t respond right away, and she pointed ahead. “Capturing the priest. All this, for nothing, less than spit, we return without him. Captain Noose might say it-probably not, most like-but capturing that priest, could be you saved some lives, whether you fought or no.”
I leaned forward as the incline became more pronounced. “What do you mean?”
She lowered her voice so the closest Brunesmen couldn’t hear. “Returning to their baron, no priest in tow? Well, might not have sat too well with him, is all. All loss, no gain? Bad trade, bookmaster. Nobles like gain, like it fierce. All they live for, most of them. And those that rob them of it tend to not be living long at all. So, you and me, different as we are, we’re two…” She hunted for the right word, and grinned when she found it, “retiainer who got something in common. We might not be Syldoon, but we might not be anything else now, neither.”
That gave me a shiver, and I didn’t know how to respond, so I only nodded. Braylar and Gurdinn led our small column through the woods, our passage muffled by the thick carpet of needles on the forest floor. I began to say something else to Lloi, but before I had three words out, she reached over and grabbed my arm.
I glanced up the column and saw that the riders, both dead and alive, rode through the forest in total silence. Only the closest Brunesmen had heard me speak and had turned around, no doubt to tell me to shut my mouth before seeing that Lloi had been quicker. I looked away from him and waited until he was facing forwards in the saddle again before looking up, my cheeks again flush.
I cursed myself, silently, of course. It was possible that I truly was one of the Syldoon now, by proxy if nothing else, but I wondered if I’d ever learn to conduct myself in a way that was more… military. I always seemed to be doing something or other to elicit either scorn or chastisement. It was easy to see how Braylar’s other archivists hadn’t survived long with his company.
The trek back to the road seemed to take less time than it had to get to the temple. Suddenly, the trees gave way again to tall yellow grass, and our group was moving with more speed as we made our way to the road. I looked back at the trees behind us. We were alone.
Braylar wheeled his horse around and held up a hand, and we all came to a stop. Voice still hoarse, he ordered Hewspear to remain behind as a rearguard while we continued ahead. Hewspear saluted and rode off to the trees on the opposite side of the road to take up a hidden position. He sat stiff in the saddle, and I wondered what injuries he’d sustained.
Braylar looked up and down our small column, then fixed on Vendurro, his horse alongside the body of Glesswik. “Ride until you sight Xen. Tell him we’re on the move and he’s to scout the road ahead. Report back when finished.”