Small droplets of rain kissed his face, and a drizzle began. A mournful wind blew through the tree branches that so exactly matched the expressions on the faces surrounding him that he almost laughed.
“The heavens weep,” said Handsome Jan.
“As well they might,” added Toadface.
“We’re not dead yet,” said Sardec allowing a tone of warning to show in his voice.
“And even if we were we might not rest easy,” added Weasel. He sounded more thoughtful than mocking.
“We’ve got food, and vodka and some shelter,” said the Barbarian. “Things could be worse.”
“We’ve got bullets and blades as well,” said Sardec, “and we know how to use them. Let’s be grateful for that.”
“I’ll feel a lot more grateful when I’ve had some of that vodka the Barbarian is preaching about,” said Weasel.
“Drink it down,” said Sardec, “and then get ready to move out.”
“It’s my bloody vodka,” said the Barbarian.
Sardec looked over at where the children slept. Rena lay by them, looking just as innocent in sleep. It was only now that he realised how exhausted she must be. All of them were. The defeat and flight had drained them more than the long march and the strange weather was making things worse. He had never known a spring this cold.
What would become of them, he wondered? Would they ever manage to get home? Or would they all die on the long march? There was no way of knowing but they had to do something. Anything was better than simply waiting here for death to come.
He took an inventory of his resources. There were about ten surviving Foragers, four of them veterans that he could trust: Weasel, the Barbarian, Toadface and Handsome Jan. There was Rena, Sergeant Hef's wife and four children. It seemed like they would only slow the soldiers down but Sardec was not going to abandon them. He smiled sourly. There had been a time when he would not have hesitated for a moment to sacrifice a score of human children to ensure the safety of one Terrarch, particularly if that Terrarch was him. Times had certainly changed.
He looked at the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous and tinged with strange supernatural colours that that spoke of wicked magic being cast somewhere. He wondered where Asea was and Rik and Lord Azaar were. He could certainly do with their supernatural knowledge now, or even Asea's leadership to give him some clue as to what to do.
The whole vast structure of the Western armies had suddenly vanished, leaving him abandoned and alone. He had led units before but always there had been the sure and certain knowledge that there was something to come back to and a hierarchy to give him guidance and orders. All of that had disintegrated, vanished overnight in the face of the ominous power of the armies of the dead. It came to him then that perhaps there was no one left to give him orders, that he was on his own and entirely responsible for the survival of everyone under his command.
Was it all worthwhile, trying to be a soldier in an army that no longer existed? Was he fooling anybody, pretending to be an officer now? Surely all the humans could see that he was part of an officer corps that had led them only to destruction and defeat.
He studied the faces of the men around him and saw no trace of those thoughts there. They looked at him as if he was still in charge and as if they expected him to give them sensible orders. That seemed like a joke. How was it possible to give sensible orders in a world gone mad?
He pulled himself to his feet and walked around. He checked to make sure that everyone had some rations and enough water to at least see them through the day. He got the men to count the number of bullets they had and tell them how much powder they were carrying, and he was shocked to find that there was so little. There was no Quartermaster here to resupply them, and no way of telling when they would next be able to refurbish their supplies. The situation looked pretty desperate but there was nothing he could do about it so he pushed the thought to one side.
He made sure that the children had eaten and that the women got something too, and then he ordered everyone to their feet and told them that they needed to move out. He was not entirely sure where they were going to go but he knew they must get moving.
It would be best to keep away from the road for a while. Less chance of meeting enemy scouts even if the march was harder. Rena came over and stood beside him. He was glad that she had not tried to hug him or take his hand. It would not do to show too much intimacy in front of the men. He smiled again. As if such things muttered under the circumstances.
"Where shall we go?" she asked.
"We'll head North and then eventually strike due West and aim for Halim. Hopefully we can join the garrison there and if we can't, we'll head for the mountains."
"I'm glad you're still alive," Rena said. "I'm glad you found me."
"I am too. You've no idea how much." He took her hand then, not caring who saw it or what they thought. For a brief shining moment, he felt happy, which he found strange considering that he was standing in the ruins of a world. For a moment he felt hopeful, as if something good might eventually come out of all this destruction, even if it was only his ability to show his feelings to the woman he loved. Then he thought about the huge army of undead monsters and the moment passed vanishing like the warmth of a sun passing behind a cloud.
Weasel came over and stood in front of them. He showed no signs of having noticed the fact that they were holding hands. "I think we'd best be going, sir. I think I can see something moving along those ridges behind us and judging from the numbers and the speed with which their moving, I'm guessing it’s some deaders."
"Thank you, Weasel. You're the Sergeant now. At least until we can rejoin the army." Sardec have expected Weasel to grin but he didn't. He looked solemn and his shoulders slumped a little as if the new responsibility pressed down on him.
"Thank you, sir. You're showing a lot of faith. I'll try and not let you down."
"I'm sure you won't. I'm counting on you to back me up. I'll need that if we are all going to get home alive."
“I think we’re going to need more than that, sir, but we’ll do what we can with what we’ve got.”
“That we will, Sergeant. That we will.”
As the sun rose, Asea sorted out her gear. She set Karim to burying the things she could not take: the elemental flasks, the chests full of magical paraphernalia, the exotic weaponry usable only by a mage. Her hair she clipped short and she wore a soldier’s tunic and britches. She looked surprisingly convincing as a Terrarch officer. Such gear as she could carry she put in a holdall.
“What now?” she asked Rik.
“I am going with you.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“You will need someone who knows what they are doing to keep you out of trouble.”
“I can see how your skills would be useful.”
“I want to come with you as well,” said Tamara.
“Why should we allow that?”
“Because my knowledge of Sardea is greater than yours. Because I know how to get where you want to go. Because I have skills that will help keep you alive on your travels. And not the least because we are on the same side.”
“Are we?” Asea asked.
“We share enemies.”
“That is not the same side.” Rik glanced between the two Terrarch women. Hostility bristled in the air, ancient and instinctive. They were not two people who could ever like each other. If Tamara could be trusted she would be an invaluable ally, for all the reasons she had outlined and more. She could teach him things about the powers he had been born with. And that might help keep him and Asea alive.
“I think we should take her with us.”
“I am not sure I trust her.”
“She will be always within reach. You can kill her if she betrays us.”