The Mercenary's Path part 19

Every day after lunch had settled Thom would challenge Davros. It was good exercise, but Davros saw no improvement in his new friend. He wished he knew how to teach, for it would do them both good to see Thom improve. He wasn’t even getting faster.

“Hey, stop,” Davros said, dropping his improvised weapon. “You’re not getting faster.”

“Screw you Dav!” Thom said. “I’m getting better and you’re just afraid I’m going to beat you one day!

“No. I mean it. We’re not eating any meat or milk. I’m no apothecary, but I think we’re not getting the right kinds of food. I’ve had to survive on cut rations in the past, and it’s a lot like this. Even if we have been eating plenty,” Davros explained. “Haven’t you noticed you get tired sooner than you used to?”

“I…” Thom stopped to think. “You’re right. How had I not noticed?”

Davros shook his head. “I think we need to stop our practices. They’re making us weaker. Little by little, but we’re growing weaker every day.”

There wasn’t nutrition science, but Davros seemed to be onto something. Their bodies were not getting everything they needed. Unfortunately for them, they were already eating as well as they could be.

Davros and Thom decided to visit the twins and see if they knew of any potions that might help.

“That’s an interesting theory,” Tink said.

“Yes, unfortunately neither of us ever studied the healing arts. There are indeed all sorts of herbs and powders in the lab,” Clink started.

“But we don’t know how to mix them for medicines,” Tink finished.

“Very well,” Davros said. “How is the research coming? Have you found anything in these books that might help us find a way out?”

Tink shook his head. Clink hung his head and sighed.

“Sorry boss,” the twins said in unison.

“We’ll keep looking,” Tink said.

Clink looked out at nothing, closed his eyes, and shook his head in agreement.

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Zand awoke in a thick fog. He could not remember going to sleep, and wasn’t sure where he was. He tried to look around to make sense of his surroundings, but it was just whiteness everywhere more than a few feet in front of his eyes. He started walking, but realized he could step off a cliff and not know until it was too late. He dropped to the ground crawled twenty feet and found someone’s sleeping body. He tried to shake the man awake.

“Hey! Where are we?” Zand asked. “I don’t remember anything after setting the wagons on fire.”

The man groaned in response. While there were no words, it could best be translated as, “Piss off!”

Zand looked around, saw no one else, then proceeded to shake the man harder.

“Hey! We’re all alone! This isn’t good.” Zand said while putting some real strength into the shaking.

“-seven hells with you!” the man half-shouted, sleep still in his mouth.

“Damn it man, we’re alone and in the thickest fog I’ve ever seen. You can sleep once we’re safely with our comrades!” Zand shouted, banging his fists on the man’s arm.

Slowly, the man opened his eyes and then looked to Zand. His face was a question mark. “Zam, right?”

“Zand, but close, yeah. We gotta figure this out. I can’t see more than a couple of feet. And you’re the only person I’ve been able to find so far,” Zand explained.

Zand looked at the man, but could not remember his name. Had they even met before? Honestly, if it weren’t for the merchant robe, he might not have recognized the connection between them at all.

“How hard did you look? It’s not like we set up camp miles apart from each other. I’m sure the rest of our unit is around here,” the man said.

“Very well, but we have to be careful. I recommend crawling if you want to make sure you don’t fall from a cliff. Um, by the way,” Zand paused while he tried to think of the best way to ask, “what is your name? There were just so many of us in that caravan and I feel bad because you sort of remembered my name.”

The man snorted and shook his head. “You can call me Dell. I’m not surprised you don’t know my name. The commander had you holed up half the trip.”

Zand nodded in agreement. “That I was, Dell. That I was.”

Zand crawled forward another twenty feet but found no one. The fog was so thick though, that for all he knew he passed three on the way. Dell did not take Zand’s caution to heart and walked upright the way the four gods intended. At least he had the good sense to stay within sight of Zand.

“Let’s move over several feet and then comb back toward where we woke up,” Zand suggested.

“This is a waste of time. Why don’t we just call out to them and see if they respond?” Dell asked.

Zand shook his head in disbelief. Was this man truly that stupid?

“We are being pursued by a large armed force, as you should recall. We may have lost them for now, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to give away our location by yelling,” Zand said while trying to not sound annoyed.

“Oh, yeah,” Dell said, softly.

The two men moved back in forth, sweeping over a space large enough to hold a good sized feast. Zand’s stomach growled at the thought. While everyone else had raw horse beef steak, he had been too exhausted to even chew. He looked at the dry grass he was crawling through and wondered what it tasted like. Thankfully, he still had his faculties to tell him it was a bad idea to eat strange plants.

“Can’t you cast a spell to find them? Or like summon you familiar to scout the area?” Dell asked.

“Not everything in the storybooks is true.” Zand said, then suddenly remembering something, “but I might have a different kind of spell that might help. Keep an eye out for any danger while I prepare.”

Now how was it? Zand thought back to the last day he saw his mercenary crew, remembered how the clouds seemed to have cleared away. He had been trying to tap into his invisibility spell, but had been unsuccessful. Still, it seemed like other things had happened as a result. Zand sat and let the magic rise within himself. Once his skin began to tingle, he tried to picture a sunny day with clear skies and green grass. Nothing happened. Ah, now he remembered. He settled his mind and let the magic tingle once more. He imagined a rainy sky, the drops falling fewer and fewer and then stopping, the sun parting the clouds and warming the ground. He looked around and saw that the fog was still present, but it seemed a little brighter. Maybe. He gathered the magic inside, stronger this time. His muscles began to burn slightly. He went through the same imagery in his head, focusing on how clear the sky had become and the sun shining warmly. Could he see further in the fog?

“Dell,” Zand said, looking for his companion, “where are you? I want to test something. Dell?”

Zand looked around but could not find him. He stood and spun in a circle. Dell was nowhere to be found. He decided that the spell seemed to be working and set out to further strengthen it. He sat back down and let the magic rise still further. His bones were, well he was aware of them, could feel the magic surging through his body. Again he pictured the rain stopping, the sun parting the clouds, the ground warming. He kept channeling more magic and kept repeating the imagery in his mind. Just before losing consciousness, he thought he felt the heat of the sun on his exposed skin and a gentle breeze.

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I hope you're enjoying this story. I also have a zombie e-book on Amazon that I'm rather proud of.

The Mercenary's Path part 18

While the city’s forces were being rallied, the caravan managed to make it into the forest a little ways, where the trees hemmed the road in. Once the wagons were readied and the horses freed, Zand began his magic. He let the magic build inside of him, then raised his and imagined flames shooting out. A stream of fire sprayed out and ignited the wagon’s cover. He aimed his hand at the next wagon and repeated the process. The rest of the wagons’ covers were burning nicely. Then he noticed that the wagons themselves were not igniting properly.

“Seven hells! They must have treated the wood with yggdr sap!” Zand shouted to no one in particular.

Zand let the magic build even higher this time, focusing on wood itself, picturing it splitting open and exposing the untreated innards to the flames. Nothing happened, of course, as Zand had no idea how to affect wood directly with his magic. He wished the twins were with him to lend their knowledge - and their bombs! - to the situation. He pictured small explosions fragmenting the wood, a giant flame glowing and consuming like when dumping a handful of sawdust on a flame for theatrical effect. Nothing happened. He shook his head and then resorted to his known fire spell. He raised both hands this time and aimed them both at the side of the wagon and unleashed twin streams of flame. The yggdr treatment was not perfect and small amounts of wood were left exposed. The flames ate into these pockets and eventually the flame exposed enough of the insides to the flames that they began to crack open. One wagon lit.

Zand walked to the next wagon and performed the same lengthy fire spell. He walked slowly to the third and eventually it was ablaze. He staggered to the fourth, which took the last of his energy to ignite. Two soldiers grabbed him under the arms and legs and lifted threw him onto a horse like a sack of potatoes. He was too exhausted to right himself.

The men mounted two to a horse and rode until the horses refused to move. Unfortunately, this was only a few hours. They then dismounted and managed (with much effort and goading) to get the horses an hour off the road and into the forest. At that point, most of the horses laid down and refused to budge for anything - carrot or stick, not that there were any carrots.

“You there, Sims, lead your horse around that copse of trees,” the commander called out.

The commander stalked over to the horse. It was tired, but one of the only horses still standing. He could see it in its eyes. He rubbed its muzzle and stroked its mane. He looked at Sims and asked him to tie the reins tightly to the tree. Then he pulled out his dagger and brought it to the horse’s neck. With the same speed he had used on the guards, the commander slit its throat. It reared up, and Sims backed away, falling in the process. The horse bucked and kicked, and the commander held back a tear. Eventually blood loss caused the horse to falter. It tried to stand, but it didn’t have the strength. The commander approached then, kneeled, and widened the opening with his dagger. Finally it stopped breathing.

“Tell the men we have meat, but they must be quick. I don’t want to light a fire, so they have to eat it raw and right away.” As the commander spoke, he sliced into a leg and removed a hunk of flesh. “It’s a delicacy in some places,” and with that he took a bite.

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Thom learned that the other men had already scouted the grounds during their time there. Aside from the hall of cells that he woke up in, the library, and the room of strange powders, there was a laboratory (he had found the supply room it seemed), a larder with a dwindling stock of dried fruits and root vegetables, a kitchen, a large dining room with long tables and benches, and many offices with simple desks, chairs and their own small bookshelves. Tink and Clink had been reading the books in the library but had yet to find anything important. There were farming manuals, best practices when breaking a horse, the lineage of several lesser noble families, a few books of fairy tales, and a book that just had a series of seemingly random numbers. So far they had only read maybe a quarter of the books (though truthfully they had merely skimmed the lineages). The books were written in a slightly different version of the common language which sometimes included extra letters unnecessarily and certain letters were changed, though the meaning was largely the same. As he couldn’t read, Thom was unsure why the twins had even brought it up.

Davros could read, but was not very good at it. He decided to let the twins do the research, though he was slowly making his way through a farming manual. “A man should know how to provide food for himself,” his father had told him as a boy. Davros had taken that to mean be able to afford food and decided to walk the mercenary’s path. But maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to work the land instead. When he got older, of course. Not that anyone had ever heard of an old mercenary.

As he could be of no help to the research, Thom spent his hours getting used to walking and running with his new knee. The weight of it was more noticeable when he was tired. After a few days, he was able to walk without noticing it. He decided to test it more rigorously.

“Davros, would you do me the honor of sparring? I fear my skills will rust without use,” Thom asked one afternoon.

“You know, that sounds like a good idea. I could use the exercise, too,” Davros replied. “But with what? We have no practice swords, and I do not wish to cut you down with a real blade.”

Thom suggested breaking one of the chairs and using the legs. They weren’t the right size or weight, but at least it would give them something to do. Davros considered then agreed. Thom was grateful that Davros went to fetch the chairs.

Once the legs liberated, Davros suggested they wrap the ends with strips from the blanket he had also brought back. It wasn’t perfect, but it might make the difference between life and death should someone get hit in the head. Davros hit his palm a few times and shrugged. He motioned to Thom that he was ready to begin and Thom took his ready stance.

They eyed each other for what seemed like minutes. Thom was growing impatient, but didn’t want to rush into Davros’ superior reach. Davros stepped forward; slowly, deliberately. His breathing was similarly controlled. He took another step. Thom retreated a half-step, stopped, then retreated another two steps. Davros cheek twitched ever so slightly, betraying his smirk. His reach and experience were superior, and Thom knew it. Thom tried to remember how to beat a superior opponent. Numbers were handy, but this was a duel. The element of surprise could work, but again, duel. Terrain. If he could gain the high ground or put Davros on a treacherous surface, the benefit would be huge. Then Thom remembered there was only the single level, and there was no mud or ice around. Thom retreated another two steps and was grateful this was only practice.

Davros took another step forward, and then another. When Thom’s foot moved backward, Davros charged. Thom tried to dodge, but his footing was unsteady and he faltered. Davros landed the club on Thom’s hand, disarming him. The next hit was a kick to the midsection that sent Thom several feet back. Davros picked up the leg and tossed it to Thom.

“Again.”

The two men dueled for an hour, each time Davros would best Thom in some way. It wasn’t even close most of the time. Davros’ experience and physical prowess was just superior to Thom’s youthful energy and limited strategy.

“OK, I think this has been enough for today,” Davros said.

Thom started to speak, then stopped. He nodded. He was not even getting a good workout for his legs, which is what he wanted in the first place. He moved away and then got into his ready stance. He began advancing and retreating, side-stepping and dodging imaginary blows. Davros watched. He could tell that Thom had the potential to become a good swordsman. He would need real world practice though. Thom continued practicing a few more hours until he was covered in sweat and his breathing became ragged.

The Mercenary's Path part 17

Four of the guards approached and began to inspect the wagons. The commander realized that this meant a few stayed behind, there would be no way to strike them all down at once. He shook his head slightly. He was grateful his men were at least armored under their robes. He strode over to the guards remaining behind under the guise of finding out about the departure tax.

“It’s… to cover the cost of keeping the wagons safe. While you’re trading, you know? We patrol the grounds outside the city walls… for your safety,” the lying guard offered.

The commander didn’t believe any of it. He looked at the other two guards and saw confusion on their faces. His fingers ached to grab his dagger and slit this man’s throat, but what of the other two? He realized he could not take all three men without their raising the alarm.

“I see. Yes, that does make sense. I did see some of your company patrolling the wagons. It seems we did not pay this particular tax. Very well then, how much is the departure tax? I do not wish to withhold something due to you,” the commander said.

“It’s… based on the size of your caravan and the value of your supplies. Some merchants deal in ivory and precious gems, and so they pay more. This is why we must search your wagons, to determine the cost,” the lying guard continued.

“And if we can’t pay?” the commander asked.

“Then… we... confiscate your goods,” another of the guards joined in on the lying.

The commander turned back to his men and yelled, “They seek to know what we carry. Show them, show them quickly!”

And with that, he turned and slit the throat of the lying guard. The commander moved with great speed and was upon the second liar before anyone could react. The dagger found its way to the man’s neck with similar accuracy. As he turned on the third man, the guard managed to react. The guard withdrew as he reached for his horn, the commander pouncing. They both fell to the ground, the commander doing his best to keep the horn from the man’s lips, his other hand trying to cut short the guard’s life. For his part, he was tough to pin. The guard was unable to draw his sword, and so did his best to keep the dagger away while trying to pull the horn to his mouth.

Meanwhile, Fezzle had seized on the commander’s meaning and grabbed the bow and arrows. From his vantage, he could see only one guard. While he was certain he could put the arrow through the guard’s eye, he knew that would leave three more to blow their horns. He needed a better vantage point. He crept away, hoping to not be seen. His luck was with him and he made it to the caravan’s edge without issue. Along the way he made sure that those he saw understood the commander’s meaning. He instructed the one archer he came across to head to the other edge so that they might pincher the enemy.

Once at the edge, Fakir made his way to line up with the inspecting guards. In the distance, he saw the other archer. He held up two fingers, and pointed to the guards. He hoped the man’s prowess with the bow was equal to his own. He drew an arrow, so did the other man. So far, so good. He lined up his shot, pulled the bow taut, and then released. The arrow found its way to a guard’s neck. The guard next to him turned and saw his dead comrade. Before the man could pull up his horn Fred quickly nocked another arrow, aimed, and fired. It too hit its mark, through the man’s eye.

The other archer was apparently not his equal. The first arrow hit the man’s shoulder. The second went wide. The guard managed to pull his horn and blow a short blast before the third arrow finally went through his neck. The other guard was already running and blowing his horn. Fergus and the other archer fired arrows after him, but he zigged and zagged as he ran and they had trouble hitting him. Finally they both stopped; better to save the arrows for the impending fight.

Zand watched his commander kill those men in cold blood. Regardless of their intent, they had not drawn their weapons or blown their horns. He watched the commander finally wrest the horn from the guard and begin to beat the man’s face with it. It was savage and vile. He could not condone such actions. Now was not the time though. He understood that there would be more men coming. Well-fed men, no less. They needed a plan if they were to survive.

The commander finally stopped his assault and looked at what was previously a man’s face. His breathing was hard and ragged. Without turning, he spoke.

“Zand, I told you to be ready. To use your fire when you saw them pull their horns. This one,” the commander spit out the words, “pulled out his horn.” He turned his head and looked at Zand out of the corner of his eye. “Why didn’t you do as you were told?”

“You were too close together,” Zand said, truthfully. “I didn’t want to hit you, too” Zand lied.

The commander breathed heavily for several moments before nodding his head gently.

“I suppose that would have been bad,” the commander said, seeming to have bought the lie. “Alright, we have bigger problems now. Do you have any magic that might save us? Or are you just along for the good eatin’?”

“I do have an idea, though I don’t think you’ll like it,” Zand said. “We’re obviously not winning this fight, but we might be able to retreat. If we sacrifice the wagons, we can leave them as a roadblock.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it. But for the sake of arguing, let’s say we do it. They’ll just move them. It won’t slow them that much,” the commander said.

“Which is why I’ll light them on fire,” Zand said. “We turn the wagons sideways,  cut the horses loose and take any supplies we have left. I then say the magic words and foom! The heat will be too much for them to get close to try to break a way through.”

The commander considered the plan. He didn’t like it, but it was probably better than anything he could think of. He tried coming up with another plan just in case, but nothing was anywhere near as good.

“Alright, we’ll go with your plan. Get ready. I’ll tell the men,” the commander said.