Brave Men Die: Part 2 (15 page)

‘Having trouble keeping up with the duties of a corporal, Castor?’

‘Just the one in particular.’

‘And that would be?’ Volans asked, raising an eyebrow. He was surprised that Castor would even admit that. The sleep deprivation was taking its toll.

‘What to write to all the families. So far it all sounds the same. Every one I’ve done sounds exactly like the last.’

‘No one compares them lad, the family just reads it, cries over it, and puts it away. They don’t wave it about the place and run to their neighbours and see what was written about their boy. It’s a personal thing, something to let them know that their son or husband or father died bravely doing what he needed to do to keep them safe.’

‘But I wouldn’t want to know that the person I loved was just fodder thrown at the enemy, a name that his fellows didn't really know and a face that will be barely missed. Whose death only meant that someone else got a longer shift on the wall or more food at the daily meal. I would want to know what they did, how they died, what difference they made doing their duty.’

‘Then write that.’

‘But I can’t even tell them that because half the guys who died I barely knew any better than to say hello and sit next to while I ate. I don’t know what they thought about this whole mess or why they got up each morning and stood at their post on the wall.’

‘It’s not important what they thought, all men’s thoughts are the same. I love my family. I honour them by serving. Please gods, don’t let me die here so I can go back to them. It’s their actions that speak for them. Their bravery and courage under fire, doing what was asked of them. That is what should be written in the missives.’

‘Will you read over some of them?’

‘Sure, any of them that you like. I served with these men too Castor, they are as dear to me as they are to you and I was with them for much longer than you realise. Do you have one on you?’

‘Yeah, I’ve started this one but it’s just too hard. I don’t want to make it … I don’t know. I really don’t.’

Castor took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Volans. The older man took it and carefully unwrapped it, being as careful with it as if were a precious gem. Castor watched as Volans read the first line.

‘This is Argol’s letter isn’t it?’ Volans asked.

‘Yeah. I just want to do him justice you know?’

Volans nodded and went back to reading. Castor just sat there, zoned out, staring at the ground while his friend read the most important thing he had ever written. He was broken from his thoughts when Volans sobbed and he turned to see tears streaming down his face. His hand went to cover his mouth as he wept uncontrollably over what he had just read. Castor watched as Volans carefully folded the letter back up and handed it back.

‘Was it that bad?’ Castor asked.

Volans shook his head. ‘His parents will know he was loved by his friends and he died bravely and with honour. If you write something half as good as this when I die, my mother will be so grateful. You don’t need to write any more for this. It's perfect the way it is.’

Castor took the letter and put it back in his pocket and the two of them continued to sit together in silence, remembering better times with their trouble-loving friend.

‘Hydrus wants to move out,’ Volans informed Castor.

‘Move where?’

‘Into the Empire, down to Black Claw. Somewhere, anywhere the fighting is heavier.’

‘Has he had enough of Pyxis yet?’

‘No, I don’t think it’s that. The main battles will not be fought here in the Gorgon Pass, the ones that make men heroes. He wants one of those. Something to leave his mark on the world before he goes.’

‘I’m not done here yet,’ Castor replied. ‘We have only fought the cavalry three times in the last few weeks and I haven’t got to her yet.’

‘Maybe you never will. Maybe Pyxis will be that one elusive target you never spot again. Perhaps destiny has already selected another killer?’

‘Others have tried and failed Volans. I’ve seen them die under her blows and I’ve been too far away to do anything about it. No one else here is good enough to take her and if we leave she goes unopposed.’

‘It’s not our decision to stay. We follow orders, corporal, and don’t you forget it.’

‘Yes sir. How long until we leave?’

‘Who can say? Depends on when the reinforcements arrive. We can’t leave this place defenceless.’

‘I’m sure Duncan would have something to say about that.’ Castor chuckled.

Volans noted the first sign of Castor’s humour for the better part of the week. The lad was slipping into a place that would be hard to crawl out of and Volans thought he’d sink further into the abyss before this was over.

The two men continued to sit there, waiting for a call to arms to send them running to the wall or for their shift to start. Castor had already done his drills and his sword lay resting beside him, the last of the letters in his hand as he wrote. He looked up at the sound of laughter.

Walking into the compound was the first of the reinforcements. All six of them. Dressed in primarily blackened armour, each man was armed with an assortment of weapons strapped tightly to his body. They were all different shapes and sizes, hair colour and complexion, but the one thing they had in common was their youth. More boys sent to the slaughterhouse, Castor thought.

Talk spread amongst the troops, muffled little quips that were easily overheard that sprouted more laughter that even some of the Nails started to laugh at. They knew better. Castor looked at Volans expecting him to do something but he only took another bite.

‘Hey fellas, shut up. At least it’s another body on the wall,’ Castor ordered.

‘There are six of them. Great bloody reinforcements,’ someone shouted back.

Volans piped up. ‘They are from Woolworth, armour gives it away. They are worth ten men each. Probably better than you lot put together.’

The others stopped and started behaving themselves, got back to eating. Castor looked at him, his jaw dropped. ‘Really?’

‘Trained to fight from the age of five. Six families in Woolworth, I say they represent each of them. They are brilliant fighters, watching them will inspire you to improve. One of them is probably even your girl’s killer.’

‘But some of them look younger than me.’

‘Probably are.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘I got about when I was younger, learnt a few things in a few different places.’

‘There are others behind them.’

Volans stood up and had a look. ‘You’re right. Guess we might be moving out sooner than I thought.’

The men moved into the compound, reported to the garrison commander, and were assigned posts. Others trailed in, dumped gear, and moved straight to the wall to relieve some of the longer standing troops. They came in groups, young, old, it didn’t matter, they came to serve. Soon enough several hundred men had streamed into the compound and found armour and weapons and been given positions to defend.

Hydrus came across and sat down beside Volans, sliding between the tired garrison soldiers who fell down wherever they could find the room. He took a sip of water and offered the flask to the others. Both Castor and Volans refused and Hydrus put it away after another swig.

‘You know what this means Volans?’

‘More sleep. Less food.’

‘No, it means we are shipping out. Duncan says we can head up into the mountain and run along a parallel line to the pass. Should take us all the way into enemy territory.’

‘And where does this trail end? In the heart of the Kyzantine camp or just where they all happen to be waiting?’

‘In the woods on the left of the pass. There might be a moment or two when we have to sneak past a few guards but that’s unlikely. We leave a few hours before dawn.’

‘We have unfinished business here Hydrus,’ Castor stated. ‘Pyxis is still alive down there. She’s not going to kill herself.’

‘We could only be so lucky.’

‘What do you want me to tell the men?’ Volans asked.

‘That we won’t be on home soil for a while so they should make sure everything is in order. Provisions for a long time in the saddle too but remind them that we will be travelling light.’

Volans nodded as Hydrus got up and left before turning to Castor.

‘Get those letters to a messenger by this afternoon and make sure everyone knows that this is their last chance to send anything home.’

Castor yawned as Virtue trod along the narrow winding trail in the mountains, following in single file as Hydrus led the Nails. The incline eventually flattened out and become easier on the horses when they joined the trail they had used to enter the pass weeks ago. There was an air of difference between the two journeys. The first was full of excitement, and this time … was different, odd. The mood was sullen. The Nails knew what they were riding toward.

There was an absence of laughter; too much silence. No one was whistling.

Argol was gone.

The light peeked over the mountains as they were nearing the Kyzantine camp. Castor wondered whether or not Duncan would still charge out along the pass like they had been doing every day at dawn. Or before dawn … way before dawn. Or at any other time that Hydrus thought it would be appropriate to charge into the enemy. He looked through the trees, hoping to see some sign that they would be charging, but there was just an empty silence. Castor looked away, back to the trail ahead.

Ducking under a low branch, Castor’s arm came up and rubbed the sleep out of the corners of his eyes. He yawned again. This was going to be a long trek before they actually got to do anything. Castor fidgeted in the saddle, he couldn’t quite sit still. Since Argol’s death, every morning he donned his armour and rode out to kill as many as he could. Nothing would bring him back, he knew deep down that Argol was gone forever, but he wouldn’t let it go just like that. Wouldn’t let him be just another dead soldier. He was worth so much more than that.

Each day, each ride saw another one of them fall — another Nail or one of Duncan’s. It didn’t matter who it was, they were one of the brothers. He lost more of himself on the days that many died. He wrote the letters. He knew their names. He grew closer to them in death than he ever did when they were alive.

The Nails were now directly above the Kyzantine camp. They were assembled and standing in their ranks expecting the charge to come. Castor figured they would be waiting for a bloody long time this morning. He looked for her, tried to spot her amongst the crowd of soldiers standing below, but from up on the ridge they all looked the same. He looked for the scar that she left, and hoped he would get another chance to challenge her.

The enemy camp disappeared behind the tree line as Castor started the descent along the trail. There wasn’t much to look at, except for the colours green and brown and grey no matter which direction he looked. Slowly they wound their way down into the forest below on the left of the pass. Castor looked off to his right through the thinning tree line and straight at the Kyzantine camp. It stretched so far back into the pass that they still hadn’t passed it. This was not part of Hydrus’ plan. Well, if it was, it was the stupid part.

They rode silently for what seemed like ten minutes before the order was given to stop and be silent. Castor looked frantically around, looking for the ambush. Finally he saw the reason for stopping. Two soldiers had wandered into the forest to go to the toilet. If they were spotted it would all be over, and they were too far behind enemy lines to make it back to the barricade.

Castor dismounted, slowly, quietly, and drew his dagger. The knight beside him took hold of his reins as he went off toward the pair. It had to be silent, they couldn’t scream, couldn’t call for help. They were close enough that the entire camp would come racing toward them. The two men parted ways as Castor crept closer, one for a thicket, the other to a larger tree. The one on the left took down his trousers and squatted, the other just flopped it out. Castor took the pissing man first. His left arm shot out and grabbed the man’s chin from behind, pulled it up as he brought the blade deep across his neck. A gargled noise escaped the dying man as blood poured out of the wound. Castor lowered the body to the ground and went after the other, moving behind the trees for cover.

The other soldier called out to the dead man and waited for the reply. It never came. He called again, the betrayal of nervousness in his voice. He joked about it being a hard one to get out as Castor stepped up behind him. He plunged the dagger deep into his neck, covering the man’s mouth with his free hand. The man looked up at Castor with complete surprise as he pissed and shat himself. As the blood drained from his body the man began to go limp and Castor dropped him into the pile of excrement that was the man’s last act on this earth.

Castor cleaned his blade on the deceased’s sleeve and walked back to the waiting Nails. He climbed back into the saddle and took the offered reins like nothing had happened. The order was given and they rode on in silence.

The Nails reached the end of the trail and a short distance in front of them was the end of the pass. Volans crept forward looking for any sign of the enemy. He reached the edge of the forest and stopped still, pressing his body against a tree trunk. An entire unit of Kyzantines was marching toward him. He cursed under his breath and remained watching. They all sat around and started talking and eating, relieved that the knights hadn’t charged this morning. Volans’ hand clenched into a fist at the thought that they all could die here because of Hydrus’ bloody plans to get into the Empire. The infantry had obviously been relieved from the front line because there was no threat and if they milled about here for the rest of the day the Nails would surely be spotted. It could only be worse if the rest of the infantry joined them.

Volans slowly retreated back into the forest toward the Nails. Hydrus was waiting.

‘Well?’ he asked in a hushed whisper.

‘A unit has returned from the front line. If we move now we will be spotted, and even if we get through we will be chased the entire way across the plains.’