The Beacon: Blayne (3)
Episode 26: "Butcher's Bill"
“What’s the butcher’s bill?” Adon asked the approaching Sir Lyle with a sigh, bracing himself. After seeing the carnage inside the Blayne fortress, he had given orders and returned to the wagon train outside, insisting that his crew wait by the road. Sending the rest of the First Platoon into the fort to assist their captain, he told Mast to prepare food for the company. Artema and Gamila helped the old ship’s cook while Mia stayed with her unconscious brother under the shade of the wagon’s oilcloth cover. Bandrick and Ren took on the task of watering the horses.
Dismounting, the big man frowned deeply. “I’m grieved to report: about half the company,” he answered, his voice tight and his face drawn. “Sergeant Stag counted twenty-one dead and a handful more with serious wounds who may not survive. The garrison’s commander is among the gravely wounded, and the more experienced of his two lieutenants is among the dead. Three of the four sergeants still live because they came late to the melee, reluctant to leave their posts despite the wave’s influence.”
“A credit to their training,” the captain said wearily and not without irony. Bearing a pitcher, Artema approached and handed each of them a tin cup of water, which they drained with gratitude. Both took refills before returning the cups empty. Looking at the cloudy sky, Adon growled, “Even the weather’s against us today! We’ll have a storm before evening.”
“I’ll get Lieutenant dor Finan to organize burial duty,” Sir Lyle said. “It will keep the troops busy, and there are enough of them to get the job done in a few hours and get the worst of the gore cleaned up. In the meantime, I will question the survivors to get an idea of what happened here when the emanation struck.”
Adon nodded. “We should report it, but it’s just academic now. What a shame! The emanation blindsided them.”
Sir Lyle’s gaze traveled to Artema’s wagon. Waving a fan over her brother’s face, Mia appeared to be telling him a story, perhaps what she knew about the tragedy inside the fort. “I’m thankful we had young Mat with us, or half of us might be dead like the soldiers in there,” he said, indicating the fortress with a thumb.
“And you see the toll it took on him,” Adon said gravely. “I am confident he’ll pull through, but it may be a week before his energy returns. I pray another emanation doesn’t roll through in the meantime.”
“The Shepherd forbid!” Sir Lyle said with a shudder.
Adon agreed. “Aye. We can only hope and pray none is forthcoming.” Taking a deep breath, he decided to change the subject. “Speaking of reports, if one of the fort’s birds is available, I will write a note to the king. If he was angry at the rebels before, his ire will be incandescent once he hears about this.”
The captain wiped his brow with a damp shirtsleeve. “If you will, see if you can get any intelligence about the movements of the Leitani rebels from the commander, if he’s conscious, or if not, his lieutenant. Ransack his office for reports if you must. We’ll be heading into the teeth of the rebellion, and I’d rather not go in blind.”
“Yes, sir,” Sir Lyle said with a nod.
“Once they eat, I’ll send Ren and Bandrick out to scout the perimeter,” Adon added. “I’d hate to be surprised by unwanted company.” He scratched his beard as he considered. “Report back in about two hours, Lyle. We’ll need to discuss what to do with the fort, especially if the commander dies. As tragic as it is, I really do not want it to delay us too long. The sooner we climb into the uplands beyond Blayne, the more cover we’ll have to slip unseen toward Essela.”
Sir Lyle saluted before mounting his horse and riding back into the fortress. After giving orders to Ren and Bandrick, Adon spent a long while studying the bridge and the walls of Blayne. From his position, he could also see the town’s gate, and it occurred to him that far more people entered it than exited. He did not know what his observation meant, but he thought it odd. He was too far away to discern any details of the people who moved along the road and into the Blayne. Perhaps people from the country seek the safety of the walls, he thought.
Mast brought him a plate of food—a hastily made stew and a few slices of two-day-old bread—and a cup of ale, for which the captain was grateful. Eating gave him the opportunity to take his mind off his predicament for a few minutes. He drained the ale in one gulp.
Mast kept silent until Adon handed him the empty plate and cup. “We’re in a pickle for sure, captain,” he said. “So, half the fortress’ company is dead. Is that what I heard?” When Adon nodded, the cook said, “Even if you left Captain Manton here with his platoon, that’s not enough men to defend it against even a small army. But you can’t do that because the king’s orders are that the First goes with us. That means what? We send the survivors back to Palisade and lock the place up?” He laughed bitterly. “We might as well hand the keys to the rebels.”
Adon grunted. “Or we wait here with them until the king sends reinforcements, wasting days twiddling our thumbs or dying with them if your small army comes against us.” He shook his head. “We need to go into Blayne to resupply and gather information to send to the king. But I have a feeling the rebels will want to capture Blayne in the worst way—and soon. The place is symbolic to the Leitani as their oldest settlement. I fear it will be their first objective.”
“If you want my advice,” Mast said gruffly, “and it’s not worth much, but you need to send a bird to Palisade right now. The king needs to know to send more soldiers sooner rather than later. At least two companies, maybe three. And at a gallop. Then we—without anybody looking like a soldier—go into Blayne for more food and take a look around.”
“And what do we do about the fort?” Adon asked, arms crossed.
“Lock her down tight,” his old friend said firmly, “and pray nothing happens until more troops arrive.” He shrugged. “I can’t see an alternative.”
“Thanks, Mast,” the captain said, placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. “I can always count on you to give your opinion.”
Mast smirked. “Never had a problem doing that.”
Digging in a saddlebag for a pen, ink, and paper and using his saddle like a desk, Adon jotted a quick but detailed note to the king, asking for soldiers. After the ink dried, he rolled it tight and placed it in a small tube for dispatch. He handed it to Mast. “See that it goes out immediately.”
“Aye, cap’n,” the cook said with a grin and a wink, walking quickly away.
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Artema and Gamila had filled plates for a steady stream of soldiers from the fortress. Once the last of them had been served, the young Leitani Wise Woman found Adon pacing along the riverbank. She waited for him to notice her, and when he did, she smiled apologetically and curtsied, as she had done when he had visited the Prophetess’ longhouse just a few weeks earlier.
He gave her a brief bow, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you glad you joined us, Gamila?”
“I’m not sure ‘glad’ is the right word, sir,” she said, “but I’ve enjoyed the company. Artema and Mia are like sisters already.” She paused, reluctant to continue. “Do you mind if we sit? I need to tell you something important.” He gestured to a small boulder, and they sat side by side facing the flowing water, allowing Adon to continue observing the activity across the river.
She seemed uncertain about how to begin. Finally, she breathed deeply and plunged ahead. “Before I left, my mother instructed me to tell you this alone. She said it should be a secret between us unless you choose to tell others should they need to know.” Gamila looked at him expectantly, and he nodded his acceptance.
She cleared her throat, then giggled, reminding the captain just how young she was, the same age as Artema. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s very serious, but telling someone else about this makes me very happy—and relieved. My mother and I have kept this secret for several years, and I’ve always wanted to share it with somebody else. I’m finally getting the chance.”
Taking a moment to compose herself, she asked, “Do you remember the stories about Qadira and her gift from the Creator?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he remembered. “She was what the Leitani call a skin-changer, right?”
“She was,” Gamila said, her dark, almond eyes looking straight into his, “and so am I.”
The captain’s eyes widened. “This talent, this ability to control other creatures, is a rare thing, isn’t it?” Adon asked.
The young woman nodded, looking down at her hands in her lap. “As far as we know, I am the first since Qadira,” she said with a shy smile. “My mother says it means that the Creator is gifting His people to help in coming events, just as He did with Qadira and the conquest of Margonne. So, she sent me with you, believing your mission needed my gift more than the king and his army.”
One side of Adon’s mouth lifted. “I trust your mother. The Prophetesses have never steered my ship into a maelstrom.” He remained silent for a moment, then looked at her out of the side of his eye. “Can you give me a little demonstration of your gift? Do you mind?”
Gamila grinned, her white teeth flashing. “Not at all! I enjoy it!” Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she adjusted her skirt and relaxed. “There are many birds here. Point one out to me and then hold out your hand.”
He did as she asked, indicating a striking, canary-yellow warbler with black markings pecking for insects among the grass several yards away. Smiling sweetly, she closed her eyes and tilted her head. Her peaceful and joyous expression so entranced him that he jerked in surprise when tiny claws suddenly gripped his finger, and the little bird sang the quavering greeting of its kind. Gamila laughed, and a half-dozen other warblers flew toward them, landing on the captain’s hand and outstretched arm. At the same instant, they all lifted off and winged away.
“That was incredible!” Adon said, now grinning himself, his mood lightened.
“I can call a hawk to do the same if you want,” she said teasingly.
The captain laughed. “No need! I believe you! I suppose you could do the same with animals?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice confident. “Big and small. Tame or wild. One or many. But not dragons!” She laughed.
“Not yet, anyway,” Adon said, smiling. He sighed. “Though we could use one about now.”
A note:
Dragons did not live on Osegra—at least not anymore. Leitan myths told of numerous dragons living in the northern Dragon’s Teeth Mountains in ages past, feeding on the bison that roamed the plains below. Then, they say, Osegra was warmer and more conducive to cold-blooded dragon-kind. But the land grew colder over the centuries, and the dragons moved south, eventually flying over the Southern Ocean to still warmer climes. Their memory passed into legend, kept alive in Ghostmen’s tales. When, two hundred years before, Qadira and Chogan sought dragons for their colossal battle over Palisade, they came from the Summer Islands far to the south, where a colony of them thrived in the equatorial heat. Mariners claim they are there still, their archipelago avoided by all but the most intrepid captains.
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I'm anticipating great things from Gamila! What a gift!