The Beacon: The Wedge (1)
Episode 34: "Riverside Camp"
Except for the emanation more than two days before, the journey along the River Road had been uneventful, even dull. At the draft horses’ plodding pace, the company had put about eight leagues of road behind them each day, and Bandrick and Sergeant Stag agreed they had at least that far to go before the road degenerated into a game trail in the mountains. Passing through a few tiny towns along the way did little to enliven the trip. Adon had not allowed them to linger in them for more than a brief rest and a quick exchange of news.
The Palace Guard soldiers rotated watches through the night, joined now and then by members of Adon’s crew. Gamila woke at odd times to slip into the minds of nearby owls, which she gently compelled to sweep the area for signs of unwelcome activity, much like her work with hawks and eagles during daylight hours. In both cases, during the last few days, her avian overwatch suffered from the thickening of the forest canopy, which in that way had proved just as much of a curse as a blessing.
This morning, the muffled sounds of the changing of the night’s last watch woke the Nuha. The silvered coals of the fire provided no light, and dawn’s first rays would not illuminate the mountain peaks for another hour. Sitting up, her blankets falling to her waist, she cast her awareness outward, a habit she had developed over the past few years of using her gift. Practice had taught her to ignore little creatures like bugs, rodents, and small birds perched in the trees about the camp, but the many horses and other large animals and birds stood out to her mind like torches glowing softly in the darkness.
Humans were a different story. Even though eighteen others lay or stood around her, her inner sight noted them as mere ghostly silhouettes, their minds inaccessible to her gift. Depending on the closeness of the relationship, some of their shapes she could identify as particular people, but most were just human-like forms, which frustrated her. But she knew taking control of human wills was forbidden to her and beyond her, not that she desired to exercise such power over others. All she wanted was to understand how to utilize her awareness to identify people better. She would have to work on that skill.
Gamila frowned. At this time of the morning, more wild animals and birds were usually about. A quick shift of focus showed her that most of the horses were also awake, alert, and restless. One of them nickered as if in greeting. Casting her awareness out farther, she spotted more horses and a line of slinking, gray human shapes approaching through the thick tangle of brush near the far end of the camp. The nearest one crouched behind a bush just two strides from one of the watchmen.
She screamed as loud as she could. “Wake up!” she shouted. “Attack! Upstream!”
The camp exploded into motion. Soldier bolted upright, flinging their blankets and grabbing swords or spears. A few picked up shields. Close to the riverbank, Sergeant Stag began shouting, “To me! To me!” as Lieutenant Linus dor Finan joined him, stringing his bow and nocking an arrow. Those on watch raced to join their comrades. As well as they could in the darkness, they assembled a double line, those with shields in front, across the north end of the camp.
Adon’s crew was equally swift to rise and reach for weapons. Mast threw the small woodpile and all the kindling on the coals, following it with oil, and the fire roared into life. Only then did he slip two long knives from their sheaths. Grabbing his bow, Mat sprang onto Mast’s wagon seat and looked for targets, and more slowly, Adon climbed up the rear of Artema’s wagon for its higher vantage point, looking out toward the road and sweeping his gaze south. Mia and Artema, armed with whip and staff, gathered around Gamila, while Ren and Bandrick pulled swords and joined the soldiers.
Sensing movement, Lieutenant dor Finan’s bow hummed, and they heard a scream from only yards away. Then, a dozen or more figures leaped out of the shadows, howling and screeching like beasts. The lieutenant from the right and Mat from the left steadily shot arrows at the attackers, wounding several. A few Leitani threw hand-axes and lances, all of which fell harmlessly but for one of the latter, which pierced Bandrick’s thigh. He fell back with a cry.
Seeing Bandrick wounded, Ren strode through the front line with a savage shout to meet the charge, killing two with as many blows of his sword. The lines of Palace Guard soldiers followed a few paces behind, meeting the Leitani’s weapons with sharp steel, sending them reeling back. Ren’s blade took another rebel in the throat, yelling, “Where are you, Genubah? Coward!”
A lance came out of the darkness, and despite the dim light, Ren batted it contemptuously aside. They heard what sounded like the yipping of a coyote, and all the remaining Leitani, some bloodied, turned and fled into the woods. A few of the Palace Guards made to give chase, but Ren called them back. Sergeant Stag commanded them to form a cordon around the camp and to keep a sharp lookout. He and the lieutenant jogged away to secure the horses.
Sending out her awareness again, Gamila closed her eyes and saw several shimmering shapes moving away to the northwest, and she informed Adon that the attackers were fleeing the area. Thanking her for her warning, the captain asked her to continue her watch just to be sure they were gone. “I will put a hawk on patrol as soon as I find one,” she assured him.
Before the Leitani fled, Artema already knelt beside Bandrick, assessing his bloody wound. She called out to Mast for spirits and cloth for bandages. With her knife, she cut away his pant leg. The narrow, leaf-shaped lance head had entered the scout’s outer thigh just below his left buttock, digging deep into his muscle. It appeared he had spun away at the last instant, causing the lance to miss both artery and bone. Her concern lessened, knowing it had hit nothing vital.
“Bandrick,” she said calmly, smiling, “I know it hurts like the fires of hell itself, but you’ll be fine as long as we clean it out well and keep it from getting infected. I’m going to take the lance out and try to stop the bleeding. It’s the washing with spirits that will hurt the most. So, just lie there and try to take deep, calming breaths. Can you do that for me?”
He shuddered as he nodded, trying to relax and breathe. Seeing his distress, Mia stepped over and held his hand, telling him a long story of how, when she had first learned to use a bow, her arrow had missed the target, accidentally hitting one of their cows in the rump. She went into profuse detail about how she and Mat had painstakingly removed the arrow, covered the wound, and nursed the cow back to health. With a triumphant flourish, she declared that cow the best milker ever! Though Artema was painfully staunching the blood flow throughout the tale, Bandrick listened patiently and even smiled slightly at the conclusion.
That was when Artema poured liquor into his wound, and he fainted. “Nice story,” she said with a grim smile, glancing over at Mia. “It was just enough to distract him for a minute or two.” She looked up at her father, who had been watching her work. “Do you think I should cauterize his wound?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m no doctor, as you are well aware,” he answered. “Is the bleeding under control?”
She shrugged. “Mostly.”
“Well,” he continued, “whether you stitch him or burn him, the wound will leave a scar, and he’ll be unable to ride for weeks. Do what you think best.”
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She leaned back on her heels and looked at the wound again. Mast helpfully brought over a small lantern. By it, Artema could see it was still seeping blood, but the flow had diminished significantly. Bathing it again with the remaining whiskey, she made up her mind.
“I’ll stitch him up and keep an eye on it,” she said firmly. “Send over a couple of soldiers to help hold him while I work. Mia, hold this cloth against the wound. Press hard. I must get my needle and thread.”
Lieutenant dor Finan and Sergeant Stag returned with the first rays of the sun, reporting to Adon that none of their horses were missing, and there was no sign of the Leitani. Circling northward, they had found four horses with Leitan ornaments on their tack grazing nearby, evidently left by the fleeing warriors. He and the sergeant had stripped them of their saddles and added them to their remuda.
“If you don’t mind, Captain,” Linus said, “I’d like to call the troops in and take a headcount. With the light, I think we can reduce the guard.”
Adon nodded. “Call them in, but send four back, one of them a bowman as an overwatch. Gamila has a bird up already, I’m sure, but I don’t want to take any chances that Genubah won’t double back. He may have others with him we don’t know about.”
Sergeant Stag called the Palace Guard to the campfire and took a quick count. Including himself and the lieutenant, he counted ten. “There should be eleven of us. Who’s missing?”
Corporal Wilfrid answered immediately. “Private Spilek is not here, Sarge. I’ve missed seeing him all morning.”
“What sector was he guarding?” the lieutenant asked, his blue eyes intense.
The corporal straightened. “He was on my rotation, sir! I positioned him to the north, sir!”
“By the Shepherd’s crook!” dor Finan swore, pounding a heavy fist into his thigh. “He was in the line of attack! Corporal, take three men and search for him.”
The corporal took Privates Rafal Bonewood, Rast Serapion, and Scoot Wains with him to the northern edge of the camp, where they spread out and stepped slowly away, sweeping the thick mass of trees and underbrush. Only a minute later, Corporal Wilfrid called the lieutenant. “Sir! We found him!”
When Adon and Lieutenant dor Finan arrived, they saw what they had hoped not to find. Private Spilek’s body lay sprawled at the base of a tree, his throat slit, drying blood covering the front of his uniform nearly to his knees. His sword rested undrawn in its scabbard.
The lieutenant swore again, this time under his breath, his shoulders slumping. “Oh, what a loss! He was a good soldier and a happy fellow, always telling jokes and funny stories. I will miss him.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “Corporal, you and these three are his burial detail. After breakfast, find him a pleasant spot overlooking the river. We’ll give him a proper send-off. Gather his effects and bring them to me when you’re done.”
“Yes, sir!” Wilfrid answered, saluting, and began giving orders to the three privates.
Heads down, Adon and Linus trudged back to the camp, each troubled by his thoughts. They stopped just short of it in a grassy patch among the trees where several Leitani rebels lay dead, sprawled like Private Spilek in their blood, flies buzzing, the smell of death in the air. A few had arrows sprouting from their heads, necks, or chests.
Adon regarded the young lieutenant soberly and sighed, running a hand through his gray hair. “I count seven bravos. We won, Linus, seven to their one. But it still feels like we lost. I knew Spilek. I liked Spilek. He will never joke and laugh again.” He dropped his head as he cleared his throat, thick with emotion. “Lieutenant, let’s make sure we end this war soon. I don’t know how many more Spileks we can afford to lose.”
A note:
According to the ancient covenant between the King of Margonne and his dukes, the River Road, running along the western bank of the White River, lay within the territory granted to Duke Forsettis. However, about seventy-five years later, the Dukes Forsettis and Thorne of the time struck a deal transferring the land between the North Road and the White River, commonly called “The Wedge,” to Duke Thorne. In return, Duke Forsettis received a steep, twenty-five-year discount on hardwoods, which grew sparsely in his territory, and a bride, who bore him three sons and two daughters. To his dying day, Duke Forsettis bragged that he had gotten the better of Duke Thorne.
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Always sad to hear about the loss of a good soldier.