With the distinct possibility of an arrow plunging into my chest depending on the next words out of Braylar’s mouth, I was more than terrified. The captain leaned down and said, “You carry out your duty as you see fit. I can never fault a military man for acting decisively. Even if it turns out such a decision is rash in the extreme. You see, I expect the baron would not react so kindly to news of us being cut down at his gates, particularly since he summoned us to Alespell in the first place. I had the pleasure of attending the baron just the other day, in fact, as he interrogated one of his men who’d made the unfortunate mistake of acting rashly and disobeying orders. Have you been to Baron Brune’s dungeons or met his interrogator? Lovely man, though not especially chatty, with a delightful purple birthmark on his face?”
The guard didn’t respond but slowly loosened his grip on the reins. If he didn’t know the man personally, he obviously knew him by reputation. Braylar continued. “No, I expect not. Only traitors and malcontents are brought before him. With the only occasional audience being evil bastards like myself, summoned here to root out and deliver those working against your good baron. So, by all means, if you’d like to experience those cells and the delightful methods of passing the time therein, give the sign to you men, loose your bows. Cut us down to a man. Be decisive.
“Or be prudent and don’t condemn your men to torture and death. Entirely your call, gatekeeper.”
Braylar slowly straightened back up, and the older guard stood where he was, rigid. Unlike a crossbow that did the work for you, you couldn’t draw a bow for long-they would need to shoot or release the tension. I held my breath, waiting for the twang of the bowstrings and the horrible pain to follow.
But the guard released the reins, took two reluctant steps back toward the guard tower, and then slammed the end of his spear on the cobblestones, the crack reverberating, echoing off the walls of the gate and making me nearly piss myself. But when I glanced up a few seconds later, the archers had withdrawn, and the shutters were closing again. Without another word, the guard turned and headed back in the tower, no doubt choking on rage at the inability to unleash some personal vengeance on the men he held responsible for his young brother’s death. I hadn’t envied him before, but I definitely didn’t envy the next man or woman who did the slightest thing to irk him later that day. They would pay a hefty penalty.
Skeelana looked at me, face pale but forcing a smile. “Well. What an exciting morning. And still so early.”
“If nearly soiling yourself is exciting, then yes. All kinds of excitement.”
I wondered if either Memoridon had been readying to do something to help us escape the potential disaster Braylar seemed inclined to invite. But I imagined there was very little they could have done to stop the first volley of arrows.
We started moving again, passing underneath the gate and over the drawbridge and I breathed easier. A man, a woman, and a donkey moved as far aside as they could as we approached, the people wide-eyed as they saw the inked nooses, the donkey oblivious to it all.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I wished I was a donkey.
As we headed west down Rover’s Road, away from Alespell, presumably for good, the couple and the donkey weren’t the only ones to shy away or give us the road entirely as they made out the noose tattoos. The Syldoon didn’t seem overly concerned with hiding now, as none of the soldiers wore anything over their armor, and their necks were entirely too visible. I supposed there wasn’t much point anymore. We were out of Alespell and heading to Sunwrack, capital of the Syldoon Empire. Nevertheless, we were still in Anjuria-and as the guard at the gate had proved, Syldoon were not loved in Anjuria, truce or no-so I wondered why the captain didn’t order the men to hide the nooses for a bit longer. But it seemed a foolish thing to risk wrath over, so I kept the question to myself.
Everyone was quiet for the first mile or so, until we’d put Alespell truly behind us. Braylar instructed two men to fall back and screen the road to the rear, and he sent two Syldoon ahead of us as well. We pressed on and I had to resist the urge to look over my shoulder, to see if the Syldoon were racing to catch up and alert us of pursuit. More Hornmen, maybe Brunesmen, possibly even someone else Braylar had inadvertently or intentionally offended, stolen from, lied to, or encountered slain relatives of. It wouldn’t have surprised me if a mad mob of pilgrims was kicking up a cloud of dust on our heels.
As we put more distance between us and the city, bloody fountains, and beaked horrors, with the farmlands and homesteads slowly coming and going, soldiers began chatting together, here and there, though briefly, and without much enthusiasm.
One soldier ahead of me with a big pulpy nose that had seen more than its share of breaks said, “Did you see the look on those Horntoads when the ripper ripped into them? Plaguing hells, but they shit themselves good!”
The solider alongside him, who had sleepy eyes and a bit of a drawl, replied, “Only reason you didn’t brown your breeches was you knew it was coming. Don’t tell me that thing didn’t shrivel your balls. You’re a liar if you do.”
The first sounded offended. “Weren’t nothing but an animal. Weren’t nothing more.”
“A giant animal that liked tearing people in two like wet paper.”
“Yeah. So. Still nothing but an animal. Just bigger and meaner is all. Weren’t like it was a monster or nothing.”
“If that wasn’t a monster, than I hope to never see one.”
Pulp-nose paused and then said, “Should have brought it with us. Some kind of secret weapon, eh?”
“That secret weapon tore Bulsinn’s arm off, you plaguing bastard.”
Pulp-nose looked at Bulsinn up the line, slumped over, but still riding. “Yeah. Well. His hand mostly, weren’t it? But that’s my point. Thing deals some serious damage. Maybe we should get an egg. Hatch it, raise, it, train it. Turn it loose when-”
“Plaguing idiot.”
“What?”
The second soldier shook his head. “You’re a plaguing idiot with pig shit for brains.”
“Well. Make a hell of a weapon is all. That’s all I’m saying.”
That was that. Most conversations seemed to last that long or less before lapsing into silence. I didn’t overhear anyone whispering about the Memoridons or their part in the battle. Or paying them any attention as they rode in the company now. The pair of them might as well have been wraiths. Soffjian had fallen back from the head of the column, and Skeelana had ridden forward to keep pace with her.
I watched Bulsinn wobble a bit several riders ahead before another Syldoon moved over and steadied him, asking him something as he offered a flask of wine or water. Bulsinn shook his head, but then took the proffered flask, reaching across his body awkwardly to take it with his off hand. Well, what used to be his off hand. His only hand now. I wondered if he would live. I’d seen plenty of scarred and broken veteran soldiers in Rivermost, on the dole from the burghers who ran that city-missing digits and limbs, talking about old battles with rheumy eyes and sandy voices. They’d lived. But I wondered if they’d had to ride right away after losing a hand. I suppose so. It wasn’t like battles or wars would stop for a single soldier. Or ten thousand of them.
It was strange-when I witnessed Braylar’s alarming behavior in the Green Sea, nearly got stabbed to death in the wagon, and watched the captain beating down his foes and crushing them, not with rage or even anger, but simple cold viciousness, and later saw Lloi tend to him, I’d been shocked and unnerved beyond anything I’d ever experienced. But today, I’d seen things that were beyond any reckoning at all. A giant predator tearing armored men to pieces, setting bladders free with its piercing screech. Most animals, suddenly free from captivity, would run, or fight their way to freedom. But the ripper had been far more interested in taking vengeance out on the humans in front of it, killing as many as it could. There was malice there. Maybe even hatred.