Leaving no trace.
Gull sat up, propped by one hand. The distant bonfire had died, unattended. The black riders were gone, as were the dark wagons, the lions, the avatar, the smoke, the skeletal goblins, the nightmare. Only a jumble of zombies and a meandering wall of swords, pitifully thin, remained.
The battle was over.
From his perch on the wagon seat, Towser peered around the horizon. The sun leaked through shattered trees in the east. The warm light was encouraging, for it revealed the brave greenery, the renewal of hope.
"We beat him!" the wizard crowed. "Let's pack up and git!"
But the sunrise, and the return to sanity and normalcy, also revealed the aftermath of battle: wreckage, wounds, and ruin.
Most of the entourage had only slept a few hours after a day of digging, then suffered a night of fighting. They were baggy-eyed, bruised, dirty, half-naked, crow-voiced. Gull couldn't count his wounds: a triple rake on the shoulder that needed the nurse's stitching, a pinked ham, scabby forehead, sore ribs, mashed fingers, and more.
Yet they must move on. Though Towser wouldn't confirm their suspicions, the mana vault might attract magicians from miles around, as Morven speculated.
As Felda spiced ale and sliced bacon for breakfast, the bodyguards and Gull inspected the chuck wagon. It was a loss. Axles and wheels were broken, the side smashed, the tongue snapped off. They righted the men's wagon, which was intact, and pushed it alongside. They hauled out the bodyguard's rucksacks and bedrolls-soldiers of fortune, they owned little-and hung them outside the wagon. The bodyguards would have to sleep outdoors in cold and wet and mosquitoes.
Silently they transferred the chuck supplies to the new wagon. Most cooking goods were intact, being of iron, but plates and crocks and bottle had smashed, barrels had leaked, some dry goods had spoiled. There was room enough in the new wagon, though things were heaped on the floor instead of nesting in cupboards, and everyone feared short rations later.
All went smoothly until Gull, exhausted, stumbled and banged shoulders with Kem. Instantly, every man dropped his goods and reached for a knife, Gull for his drover's whip.
Kem the Scarfaced growled, "You're too clumsy for this work, shit shoveler! Let men finish the job!"
"I didn't see you slay any dragons last night!" Gull grated. "Were you guarding the women from the rear?"
"Gut him, Kem!" shouted pretty-boy Chad, too loud. Their dulled nerves were rasped raw. "I can handle the horses! Let him feed beetles!"
Morven shifted his feet. "You're fast with your mouth, Chad, urging others to brawl. Mayhap you'd dance a hornpipe with me-"
Actually, Gull thought, if anyone swung a fist, he'd probably fall down and stay down. Then a high-pitched shout from Towser interrupted them. "I don't pay you to stand and talk! You're all docked a day's wages! Knoton, take note! And next time'll be a week!"
None answered back. It was only the generous pay that kept them here. With snorts and muttered threats, they picked up tools and victuals. Kem hissed, "We'll settle later, Gullshit!"
"You'll talk me to death, eh, Kem-pletely Helpless?" Gull threw his load inside and stalked off to count livestock.
Only a half dozen animals had returned to camp. The rest were scattered through the forest. Gull needed help, and said so to the clerk. Sorting his own papers and supplies, Knoton nodded. "Take Jonquil. She came from a ranch and knows how to ride. And Chad. He worked with horses on the plains. And the bard. She can do everything."
So Gull got the yellow-bedecked Jonquil, a big woman with solid arms and legs and large hands and feet, freckles and red-gold hair, as well as the berib-boned bard, Ranon Spiritsinger. Civil enough under Towser's eye, Chad agreed to hunt south in the woods for the animals, while Gull and Jonquil would hunt north near the crater. Everyone rode bareback, for there were no saddles. They used the long wagon traces as reins, which meant a lot of leather draped over the withers. For the pain in his rump and the burn in his shoulder, Gull had to hold the animal's mane too.
With the forest so open, it didn't take Gull long to locate two stray mules, a pair of horses normally yoked together, two black cavalry horses with shiny black saddles and tack, as well as his axe, which lay near the rim of the pit where he'd hurled it at the black captain. He frowned at the dew rust on the blade.
"Is that him down there?" asked Jonquil. Her voice was plain and uncultured, not trained for singing. She reminded Gull of the farm girls of White Ridge, and- a pang-the lost Cowslip. A sturdy finger pointed into the crater where sprawled a black corpse.
"Aye." Gull picketed the black horses to a lead. "Something will eat him soon enough."
Jonquil swung from the saddle with easy, if chunky, grace. "He won't need whatever's in his purse, then."
As Gull worked, she slid down the crater and looted the body. Upon her return, he asked, "Find anything?"
"Not much." She brushed back her hair, but her casual air was forced. Idly Gull wondered how much the captain had carried. He should have looked himself. But warfare-and scavenging-were still new.
"Here. You can have this." She handed Gull a sheathed knife. Curious, he took it, then remembered. It had caught fire last night. The handle was jet, black leather wrapped with black wire. The pommel was diamond-shaped: a skullpopper. He drew the long white blade gingerly, expecting it to flare up, but nothing happened. Had the enchantment been linked to the man's life force? Shrugging, he tucked it in his belt, thanked her. Though he guessed she'd never have surrendered it, had she known it was magic.
"Do you love Lily?" Jonquil's sudden question jarred him.
"Eh?" Gull stalled as he remounted. "Love? Oh, I don't know… I… like her very much…"
Gull frowned. In truth, he didn't know how he felt. Lily was pleasant company, comforting. Starved for simple affection, she'd latched onto him. Was that love? He had panicked when he'd thought to lose Lily. Was that love?
Jonquil shrugged big shoulders, grabbed the mare's mane, hoisted her broad butt. "She loves you."
Gull flapped the reins, suddenly unsure what to do with them. "If you say so."
Jonquil rolled red-rimmed eyes and clucked to her horse. Expertly, she wheeled her mount to circle the crater.
On the way back, Gull dismounted, secured the string of horses to a tree, and inspected the wavering line of stone spears that jutted incongruously from the forest floor. By day, they were not white, but shimmering rainbows of pale earth colors: white, tan, brown, red, blue-gray. What part of the Domains grew these, he wondered? Shaking his head, he snapped a spear off, a present for his sister. She liked pretty oddments.
Back in camp, Gull gave the stone spear to Greensleeves, was rewarded by a happy cooing.
He found himself fairly happy when he counted the livestock. They'd lost four animals to lions or flight, had found two cavalry horses with saddles, so were down two, but less one wagon, were actually two ahead. The bodyguards were pleased, for they could ride the saddled blacks. Towser decided to put one bodyguard on scout, but also one in the rear to see they weren't followed.
Gull was less pleased, for the new chuck wagon had a mixed team, two horses and two mules, always trouble. Different heights, different gaits, and who was ahead got their tails bitten. But his mulewhip would break those bad habits.
Eager to be away, Towser pushed, berated, insulted, threatened to fire the lot-an empty threat out here, Gull thought. Still, everyone picked up, dumped stuff in the wagons, looked around for anything left-only the dead knight Morven had shot-then rolled off through the blasted forest. Within two hours they were out of the burn zone, back in natural forest. By noon the wagons slowed as the drivers fell asleep at the traces. Towser relented, allowed them to camp the night. Everyone dropped where they sat and slept the afternoon away.