From The Breach Chapter 9: As Commander

Chapter Nine:
As Commander

The sun rose and the company of soldiers moved slowly along the road, flanked by trees hiding more soldiers who watched the perimeter. Tyollis looked to the treeline and nodded, having glimpsed one of his watchers.

He sighed and looked to the Dragon Guard, Branston. The man sat staring at his bound hands, looking defeated. His shoulders drooped and his neck was limp.

“Cheer up,” Tyollis told Branston. “The weathers great!” The air was warmer than previous months, though still cold and breezy. It felt like spring by comparison.

The soldiers spoke among themselves, adding to the dissonance of the company. Between the wet thumps of the horses’ hooves on melting snow and the wind blowing through the bare branches, the road was loud today.

“Sir!” A soldier charged along the side of the company and steered his horse toward Tyollis. When they were riding side-by-side the soldier continued. “Some of the others are sick, sir.”

Tyollis crossed his hands over the saddle-pommel and frowned. “Sick with what?”

The young soldier scratched his scruffy chin and said, “Stomach problems, they say.”

“How many?”

“Two dozen, I’d say.”

Tyollis nodded. “Go back and gather the sick on the side of the road.”

“Yes, commander.” The soldier turned his horse and bolted away, kicking up the melting snow.

Tyollis cupped hands to mouth and bellowed, “Halt!” The order was carried farther back and the company obeyed.

“What are we doing?” Branston asked, straightening in his saddle.

“Stay where you are, and remember what I told you about escaping.” Tyollis turned away from the head on the force and spurred his horse alongside the still company. He ignored the soldiers who watched them pass, even if one asked a question.

A group of men had been herded off the road, and now sat with slumped shoulders and miserable faces. The soldier who had reported the sickness led his horse to Tyollis’ side.

“Here they are, commander.” He gestured with a sweep of the hand, as if Tyollis couldn’t see them right there.

He drew his horse to a stop before the cluster and looked each man in the eye. Eack of them had bloodshot eyes and pale skin, shining with sweat.

“You all are sick with stomach illness, I’m told.” He frowned; one horse had vomit down it’s left flank and caking its neck.

“Yes, sir,” said Athern, an old soldier whose graying fringe of hair was slicked back with sweat. “It hit us about the same time.” He put a gloved hand to his mouth, his eyes widening. After a moment, he put down his hand and nodded slowly. “We think we had some rotten food. Maybe some bugs were in that deer.”

Tyollis’ mouth tightened, he had eaten some of that deer. He looked back to his company, who sat patiently but didn’t hide the fact that they were watching. Tyollis’ eyes fell on one of the newcomers. The old man sat with shoulders even and head high, surveying the soldiers.

Tyollis turned to the healthy soldier at his side and muttered, “Keep an eye on that one,” pointing toward the old man.

“Yes, commander.”

A cool wind rustled through the trees behind the sick men, and Tyollis stroked his stubbly chin. “It seems we’ll have to rest somewhere. The road is no good. Maybe there’s –“

A soldier broke from the force, with ten men at his back. The man in front was a big man who had only one eye, and he sat tall in his saddle. The men following him were slumped and groaning.

“More?” Tyollis asked as the pale men were led to the other sick men.

“Yes, sir,” said the man with one eye.

Tyollis cursed, the deer hadn’t been big enough for this many men; it had been a puny thing. He turned to the young soldier and said, “Get a map, maybe we can find a town or something.”

The soldier nodded and rode away.

Tyollis ran a hand over his head, feeling the familiar cord of the eye-patch that covered his ear. “Does anybody have an idea on how it spread, or where it came from?”

Nobody spoke. Most looked like they would empty their guts if they tried.

“Sir.”

Tyollis turned his horse to look at a man who held an exasperated look. “What is it?” he asked the man.

“The oldest of the men we captured is asking to speak to you.”

“Bring him over then.” Tyollis looked to the old man sitting in the midst of soldiers. The old man was looking right back. Tyollis lifted an arm and summoned the man with a flick of the hand. The old man looked to the soldiers who were bound to him by rope. All three soldiers attached to the man’s belt looked to Tyollis, who nodded and put down his arm.

After much maneuvering, the soldiers led the man out to the side of the road, and they sat in their saddles before Tyollis.

“What do you want?” Tyollis asked.

The old man jerked his head, long locks of gray hair flopping out of his eyes. “I am Faldashir, and I work for King Dendlo. I was sent here to retrieve the Dragon Guard that you’ve captured. Right now you are hindering my mission. I ask you let us leave and get to Veresses.”

The corner of Tyollis’ mouth lifted, the man spoke like a noble. Very formal and pleading, somehow making it sound as if he were a friend. Tyollis hated nobles and the way they spoke.

“Veresses, huh?” Tyollis stroked his chin, the soft leather of his glove cool on his skin. “Your charge Branston said that he and the other Guard were heading to Sal’Tathern.”

Faldashir’s bright blue eyes narrowed, but otherwise he showed no sign of emotion. “Whether it’s Sal’Tathern or Murindin, we need to get north. This company is slowing us down, and it’s better to have two Guards up there then down here.”

“We had this discussion already,” Tyollis said. “You three will stay with me until I can give you to my king. Branston said the younger Guard was a coward. It’s better I have a coward in my pocket than to let him loose. Who knows where he’ll go? And Branston isn’t a trustworthy person. Thanks to you I know he’s lying to me, and he could be lying about wanting to fight. So, get back in line, and don’t bother me with your pleas again.” Tyollis twitched a finger, and Faldashir’s guards nodded, pulling on the ropes and leading him back into the company. At least the man had the good sense not to protest.

If Faldashir was telling the truth, and he was an agent of Dendlo, Tyollis would have to be careful. Mistreat the man enough, and Dendlo might consider it an act of war. At the very least Tyollis himself would be persecuted.

A soldier came riding out of the throng, and trotted to Tyollis side. It was the young man who had left to fetch a map. He held a scroll casing balanced in the saddle in front of him.

“I got one, commander.” He drew rein and opened the lid, sliding out map that was half his height. He unrolled it as best he could with his short arms, and the soldier at Tyollis’ side took one end of the map, unrolling it the rest of the way. The soldiers were on either side of Tyollis, the map right in front of him.

He looked over the marks and lines and notes jotted down in thin blocky lettering, finding their rode. His eyes glanced to the legend, and caught the measurements. One inch=fifty miles.

Judging by a bend in the river, he found their relative position. Using his fingers, he judged distance to the nearest settlement.

“Fort Anher,” he said aloud. “Who knows about it?”

The man who had brought him Faldashir spoke. “A tower in the hills, owned by a retired veteran. I hear Lord Anher is a hospitable man, if you’re thinking of spending time there, he may let us. Probably for a price.”

Tyollis craned his head to look back at the sick men, who weren’t looking back, but at their saddles. Some held hands over their mouths, one man was retching over the side. The poor man’s stomach was empty, his voice pained and loud.

Returning his eyes to the map with a frown, Tyollis said, “Our men need rest, and medicine. What are the chances Anher will have that?”

“Some advice, commander,” the older soldier said.

“Go on.”

“I think we should leave these men behind.”

The younger soldier’s head shot up. “Commander, I don’t think-”

“Don’t worry,” Tyollis held up a hand. “We won’t.” He looked to the older soldier, whose thin black mustache curved with his frown. “We’re not leaving sick men out here to die of their illness, or be killed by creatures. I won’t hear another word about it.”

“Yes, commander.”

“Now,” Tyollis soothed his tone. “Will Anher have medicine?”
He looked to the old soldier, whose face resembled an old dog, down to the sun-darkened skin. Now the man looked like a dog who had been put in his place.

The soldier kept his eyes on the map. “I don’t know that, commander. Anher does keep crops and livestock here–“ he pointed to a field north of the tower. “– so we may be able to buy food from him.”

“Good. That’s where we’re going then. We’ll stay a day at the tower, let these men recover and we’ll be on our way.”

The map was taken away, and Tyollis ordered everybody back in line. He rode to the front, and as he rode the rest of the company prepared, putting away food or waterskins.

With Tyollis at the head, the force spurred forward, trampling the snowy road. Tyollis looked to the sky, seeing gray clouds hanging overhead. The daylight grew murkier as they progressed, and men behind Tyollis muttered their worries of snow.

Tyollis looked to Branston and said, “Is it true you were heading to Sal’Tathern?”

Branston looked at him, and nodded. “We were on our way to fight. We had heard the dragons had fled. My plan, if I had my way, was to capture dragons and bring them to Krassos.”

Tyollis chuckled. “I spoke to your friend, Faldashir. He said you were heading to Murindin.”

Branston’s eyes widened, but his face smoothed quickly. It was a moment before he responded. “Murindin may have been a stop, but Sal’Tathern was my destination.” His voice was blank, but strained. He was afraid. “We were going to find Dendlo and ask him to negotiate with Krassos. I wanted a pardon, but I wasn’t going to go directly to the man who might kill me.”

“Well, there’s no need to get Dendlo.” Tyollis looked away. “I’ll negotiate the pardon for you. Besides, Krassos sent orders specifically disregarding his orders to kill your kind. You’re safe from him, and you’ll be safe with me as long as you behave.”

“What of the wraith?”

A chill wind blew through the trees on either side of the road, drawing Tyollis’ eyes. He could see his scouts in the wood, even if they were only shapes behind low branches and thick trunks.

Returning his gaze to the road ahead, Tyollis spoke. “The wraith can try to kill us, and it will fail.” He spoke without doubt, his men were some of the best fighters Takinthad had to offer. They had to be, they were sent to protect a king. “It’s as I said, Branston. You are safe.”

The man was silent after that, and the day wore on. The gray clouds drifted overhead and kept south without bothering the company. As they stopped at the river, Tyollis frowned. He could hear the sound of retching, and men rushed to the water, emptying their guts or dry-heaving. What had made them sick?

One soldier, Hallis was his name, approached Tyollis.

“Sir,” he said, “I’m scared, I don’t want to end up like those men.”

Tyollis looked at the chubby-faced young man, and said, “How did they get sick?”

The man blinked, and said, “I – I don’t know, sir.”

“Then there’s nothing you can do, is there?” He led his horse to the bank, turning his back on the young man. “Ask around, see if anybody has ideas.”

“Yes, sir.”

Within the hour they were back on the road, having passed through the trees, and one of Tyollis’ scouts approached him.

“Sir, I’m here to report,” the short man said, looking up at Tyollis from his saddle.

“Go on.” Tyollis patted his neighing horse.

“We’ve seen no sign of life in the woods, sir. No tracks and no sounds beyond our horses. That is all, commander.”

“Good.” He met the man’s weary eyes. “Do you know what it is your looking for?” Branston’s horse nipped at his own, and his horse snapped back. Tyollis jerked the reins, and his horse obeyed, continuing its trot.

The scout gulped and said, “Yes, sir. A wraith, sir.”

“Good, get to it.” Tyollis huffed irritation.

The day continued on with men vomiting and crying out. Evening came quickly, and the stray clouds turned slowly into thick purple shapes. Tyollis reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone fish-pendant saldacrosse. Branston’s eyes drew to the stone, though he tried to hide.

“How did you get one of these?” Tyollis asked, bouncing the fish on his palm.

Branston’s gaze was locked on the stone now, his eyes hungry in the purple light. “It was my father’s,” he answered. His eyes returned to the saddle-pommel, a look of resignation marking his face. “I’ll want it back when I’m free.”

“Maybe.” Tyollis stuffed it back in his pocket. “You’ve got to be a high-born to have one of these. Legally, that is. So how did your father come by one?”

Branston kept his head low, but pride marked his voice. “It was given to him by King Krassos.” Sadness, as well. Tyollis frowned.

“He’s dead now, isn’t he?”

Branston nodded.

“I’m sorry about that. I hope it was peaceful.” Tyollis remembered the day he found his own father dead, his body was riddled with arrows, his killers dead at his feet. Margolan soldiers, they had been, trying to push the border.

“No,” Branston said. “He died by my hand. A spirit had attached to his body, and my father knew it was bad.”

Tyollis winced. A horrible thing, to have to kill your dad. “So who was your father, to get a saldacrosse?”

Tyollis looked away as tears filled Branston’s eyes. He intended to drop the matter, no point bringing up grievances. But Branston answered.

“He was a wizard. A Breach Warden, specifically.”

Tyollis scowled at the irony; the man had been killed by the things he was sworn to keep from the world. Fitting, in a way. But the mention of Breach Wardens brought up a new issue.

“Breach Wardens have been dying, as of late,” he told Branston. “Their throats cut, or their drinks poisoned.”

Branston looked at Tyollis, and blinked the tears from his eyes. “Why are you telling me?”

“We already think the spirits are planning something,” Tyollis said. “And with the Breach Wardens’ murders, we may be right. Do you have anything to add?”

Branston nodded slowly, his eyes distant. “My companion, Olivar, told me a report he heard in Takinthad. Some wizards were in the Second World and found something. They called it a cage, apparently. They said it held millions of souls. More, when the spirit was in control of my father, it was desperate to not go back. It pleaded to not go back.”

Tyollis stroked his chin in thought. Bad news, yes, but was it connected? How?

Night came on them, and Tyollis steered the company towards the river. There they stopped and made camp. Handing his horse off to somebody else, he ordered horselines be spread among the treeline, and soon after the animals were fed and watered, the order was carried out.

Campfires came to life up and down the river bank, and the men went to work cooking food. Tyollis sat in front a fire and spoke to his friend Stanson.

“I can not wait to be off the road,” he told the man, who nodded. Stanson scratched at the tip of his nose, which had been cut off in a battle.

Stanson crossed his legs and said, “When we get home, by the king’s allowance I will spend a week in bed.”

The group of soldiers gathered around the fire laughed, and voiced their agreements.

“Commander,” came a voice behind Tyollis. He twisted and looked up at the petite soldier.

“What is it?”

“One of the prisoners wishes to speak to you.”

Tyollis groaned and stood up. “Lead the way.”

He followed the man with hand on his sword toward the trees, where the guests had been tied. Away from each other, of course. The soldier who led Tyollis walked away once they reached the trees.

“What is it?” he asked Branston, who sat with his wrists bound by separate ropes to two different horses. Here the light wasn’t as good as the orange glow that enveloped the riverside, but the moon allowed enough to see.

“We need to get away from the treeline,” Branston said. “The horses were nervous and were looking into the forest.”

“Is it true?” Tyollis asked the soldier who was on guard.

“Yes, commander. They were stamping the ground and snorting and the like. They stopped once you stood up.”

Tyollis crossed his arms and frowned. “There’s nowhere else to put the horses. I have people watching the forest, nothing will sneak up on us.”

“If it’s the wraith it won’t have to sneak up on us,” Branston snapped. “It’ll cut it’s way through and we won’t be able to stop it.” The man was afraid, Tyollis realized. Desperation marked his eyes, and his voice had shuddered.

Tyollis pressed his palms against his eyes and sighed, muttering a curse. Pulling free his thick sword, he crouched before Branston and placed the tip against his throat. The man’s breath stopped, and he stared into Tyollis’ eyes.

“I won’t kill you,” Tyollis said. “If you don’t give me trouble.” He looked to the guard and said, “Untie him.” He met Branston’s gaze and firmly said, “Be good.”

The man was untied, and on Tyollis’ orders his hands were bound behind his back.

“Stand,” Tyollis commanded.

Branston glanced down toward the blade, and rose slowly, with Tyollis mirroring him, keeping his blade out the whole way. Once upright, Tyollis pointed toward the river. “Walk.”

Branston started forward, eyeing the sword.

“You’re bleeding,” said the soldier.

“What?” Tyollis looked to the soldier.

Branston slammed into his left side, and Tyollis stumbled and cried out. As he slammed his sword into the ground to keep himself upright, something fumbled into his pocket.

“No!” he bellowed, regaining his balance. But Branston was gone. He growled a curse and reached into his pocket. So was the saldacrosse! He spun to the soldier, kicking up snow. “Go! Get his friends!” The man ran away.

Tyollis held his sword overhead. “To arms, men! To arms!” His soldiers sprung up, blades in hand.

END OF CHAPTER NINE