He landed on his legs, and I heard a loud crack as he crumpled under his weight and lay there groaning, his leg broken, and from the horrible angle underneath him, badly.
Mulldoos shook his head and then the Syldoon disappeared back into the tower. A few moments later they all filed out. One was wrapping a makeshift bandage around his arm, and another was limping a little, but they seemed to have survived the assault with no other serious injuries.
I stood up and walked slowly toward them, giving a wide berth to the Hornman on the ground with the bolt in his chest, still wheezing and alive, but eyes closed, his entire tunic soaked in blood.
The Syldoon were chatting amongst themselves, one joking about how the Hornmen needed to train a little harder to resist an actual attack. I overheard Vendurro say, to no one in particular. “Holy hells. That went to shit in a huge hurry.”
Mulldoos wiped his blade clean and replied, “Always turns to shit sooner or later. Mostly sooner. Could have been shittier though.”
Braylar was surveying the scene and stopped when he saw the Hornman with the broken leg. Mulldoos looked in the same direction and sighed in disgust. “Just wiped her down, too.” Then he turned to Vendurro again. “Best thing about being an officer is the delegating bit. See to it, Sergeant.”
Vendurro looked at the man groaning in the dirt, saw the bone jutting out of his leg. “Plague me. He jumped?”
Mulldoos laughed. “Like a baby bird that didn’t know it couldn’t fly.”
Vendurro shook his head. “Plague me.”
A Syldoon was walking by and Vendurro grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him in the direction of the badly wounded man. “Best thing about being an officer is delegating the shit jobs. That right there is a shit job. See to it.”
Mulldoos barked a laugh as the Syldoon sighed and started marching toward the broken Hornman, drawing his long-bladed suroka.
Braylar saw me as I approached, and no doubt recognized the sentiment in my eyes, because he cut it off brutally. “Before you even consider pleading for another life, Arki, recall, if you would, that a great deal of blood was spilled in Alespell two days ago all because of the life I foolishly spared at your pleading. There will not be another. No prisoners. No witnesses. That is the Syldoon way.”
I heard him, but couldn’t pull my stare away from the Hornman at the base of the tower, his horribly shattered leg preventing him from even crawling as he saw the man coming to finish him off. The Hornman pulled himself up to a sitting position against the tower wall, screaming once as he shifted. As the Syldoon got closer, he raised his hands up, palms out, supplicant, and started pleading for his life as he shook his head.
I heard Mulldoos mutter, “Pathetic little baby bird.”
The Syldoon stopped a foot in front of him, said something I couldn’t make out, and the Hornman was still shaking his head, more violently now. When the Syldoon repeated it, the Hornman very slowly lowered his hands to his sides. The Syldoon said something else to him, and the Hornman closed his eyes, lips barely parting. I wondered if he was praying or saying goodbye to someone.
After dropping down to one knee alongside the wounded man, the Syldoon was bringing his blade forward to kill him when the Hornman was suddenly overcome with panic again, and tried to grab the blade. The Syldoon sliced him across the palm and the Hornman yelled and flailed even more, trying to grab the Syldoon’s arm and protect his neck and face at the same time.
I heard one of the soldiers around me laugh as the Syldoon tried to free his arm and was pulled off balance by the victim’s surprising surge of strength.
Mulldoos shook his head. “Gods.” Then he marched forward as the other soldiers watched the pair struggling, blood from the Hornman’s wounded hands and leg smearing both men as the Syldoon tried to wrestle him into submission, unprepared for the sudden and furious resistance.
The pale lieutenant pushed the Syldoon out of the way and kicked the Hornman in the temple. The man immediately went limp, his head dropping to his chest after bouncing off the stone behind him. Then Mulldoos chopped his neck nearly in half with the falchion and stepped back quickly to avoid the blood.
The Syldoon wasn’t so lucky, caught in some of the spray as he scrambled to his feet, sheathed his long suroka, and went to rigid attention, clearly expecting a serious dressing down. Mulldoos didn’t disappoint, yelling, “Clean yourself up, you stupid horsetwat. Seen battlefield surgeons less bloody than you. And while we’re on the topic, we’re not in the mercy business. You weren’t sent over to ease that dumb cunt’s suffering or passage to the great beyond. You were told to finish him off. Quick. Clean.” He looked him up and down, shook his head at the blood spatters. “So remedy that right quick, son. And when you’re done,” he grabbed the soldier’s wrist and pulled his arm up. The soldier’s eyes widened, but Mulldoos slapped the hilt of the falchion into the palm and yelled, “Clean and hone this thing until it shines like you just picked it fresh from the armory.”
The soldier gave one quick nod and Mulldoos turned on his heel and started back toward the captain, glowering at the rest who stopped to watch the scene. “And you lazy lepers better find something to do besides gawking or squawking, or I swear to every whore that made the mistake of birthing you miserable wretches, you’ll wish you had.”
Most said “Aye, Lieutenant,” and started back to their respective horses before Braylar halted them. “It so happens, I have just the thing. Pluck the bolts out of these bodies and take the Hornmen to the stables. Set the horses loose and burn the thing to the ground.”
One of the Syldoon-the one with the face that looked like it had been hit by a shovel, eyes set too far apart, nose flat and pulpy, said, “Fire, Cap?”
“Aye. Fire. The thing that burns other things.”
Pulp-nose said, “Begging your pardon, Cap, but what I meant was, the tower’s stone. Not like to light up real well.”
Braylar slowly pivoted to face him and hissed. “The stable and barn, you ass. Large wooden buildings, just alongside the tower there, full of four-legged beasts. That you will set loose first. Set fire to that. And be quick about it. I want to be away from this place immediately.”
The Syldoon saluted and set to work.
Vendurro scratched the back of his neck, still staring at the Hornman at the base of the tower covered in blood with a pale bone jutting out of his torn hose. “Shit job, that. Shit job.”
Mulldoos turned on him, about to shout something at him as well, but then reconsidered, cursed, and stalked back to his horse. Maybe he was going to harass him for passing the job off before he remembered he’d done the very same.
I turned and watched as a Syldoon approached the Hornman that was behind the wagons. He grabbed him under the arms and started to drag him toward the barn, heard him groan, and dropped the body. Then, not wanting to repeat the bloody performance from a few moments ago, the Syldoon spanned his crossbow and nonchalantly planted another bolt in the middle of the man’s chest. The Hornman jerked once and went still for good.
The Syldoon swung his crossbow around out of the way on its strap, and went back to work moving the body to the barn.
I felt my stomach twist. The captain was right, as awful as it was-those deaths in Alespell were my fault. In saving one life, I’d managed to end several more. Though Braylar had clearly chosen to try his luck with the outpost. I couldn’t be held accountable for the aftermath of that.
The captain was eyeing me, measuring my expression. “I can see it on your face, Arki. Writ as clear as if put there in ink by a stylus.”
I readied myself for mockery or a cruel jibe. “Oh?”
“Yes. It’s the quills, is it not?”
Worried I was only being baited, I asked carefully, “I’m sorry-the quills?”