Kings of the North (66 page)

Andressat realized that the banter was rehearsed when he saw one of the soldiers stare fixedly at another, who startled and then spoke up. “Captain, how far from the road must we go?”

“That’s up to your field commanders—that’ll be Sergeant Devlin and Corporal Arñe. I’ll expect a rough map of your route, with hazards, trails, watercourses—”

“But sir … we aren’t good—”

“You’ll get better by doing. Arcolin wants more of you able to map. And a journal about each day’s journey. I’ll review those on the way back to Valdaire from Foss.”

“You won’t be with us?”

“I’ll begin with the south group, but then I must go to Andressat. Selfer brought word: Tsaia’s king wants a message taken.”

“You’ll want an escort—” This rather hopefully, from one of the oldest veterans.

“Yes, of course. Especially if the count refuses to see me, I must have someone who can hand over the message. It’s probably just a formal announcement that he’s been crowned, but—kings are kings.”

Andressat squirmed; that had to be a dig at him. Yet he could see how it implied that he was there, in Cortes Andres, and not here, if anyone were listening. In that copse to one side of the camp, for instance.

“I should be at Foss in plenty of time to meet you,” Burek said. “All I have to do is ride there and back. Now as to escort—” His eye roamed over the troop. He named four, and Andressat—presently under the name of Kerin—was of course one of them.

They started next morning as soon as it was light enough, a chill wet dawn. Winter in the south was never as sharp as in the north, but in this season what fell as snow in the Dwarfmounts fell as cold rain on the lands below.

“Takes somebody really interested to go stand in the rain this time of day,” one of the others muttered when they were across the road and onto the fallow ground beyond.

“Maybe they thought we’d like breakfast with them,” another said. A low chuckle ran through the troop. Andressat soon heard all about Cam’s gambling, Selis’s prodigious capacity for strong drink, Dort’s intention to stay in the south when he retired. He felt isolated:
he did not want to talk to Burek even if, in his present guise, he could have done so. He had never listened to soldiers’ banter; he had no way to join in. Besides, if any ears were listening, his accent would give him away as Andressat-born.

When Burek led his small group away from the others, it was still raining. If there were spies in the folds of land, behind rocks, in the trees or bushes, Andressat could not see them—he hoped any such were cold and miserable. The ground lifted away from the river, and soon they were riding inside the rain clouds themselves, hardly able to see a horse-length away, hearing only the clop and suck of hooves in mud, the creak of leather. Andressat tensed. Easy to get lost on these slopes; easy to stumble into a rough ravine; easy to be ambushed—five horses made enough noise for anyone to notice.

They made a wet cold camp that night, and Andressat woke when the wind changed and blew colder through his damp cloak.

Dawn broke with high rose-colored clouds and a peculiar clarity to the air below that meant, Andressat knew, western weather for a day or so. To the north, clouds still lay in the Honnorgat valley, but where they rode, they could see the shape of the land, now sparkling with wet in the thin sun. Water trickled musically into every depression, along every possible watercourse. Wide stretches of turf, inlaid with bands of trees … a flock of sheep, a mound of dirty wool, moved across a slope west of them.

They were almost to the border of Andressat, coming up through the bands of gray rock, when attack came. From behind a row of the rough gray stones, five men rose, two with bows in hand. Instinctively, Andressat slid off his horse on the off side; the animal squealed and plunged as an arrow struck its neck. Behind him, he heard arrows shattering on the rocks. Dort had been hit; he fell from his mount. Burek called commands Andressat did not know; the others were around him in moments, swords and shields out. He had the same, but he’d failed to grab his shield when he dismounted, and he’d never used a short sword in his life.

Someone else grabbed the shield from the fallen man’s horse and handed it to him. “Heart-hand—hold it up like this,” the man muttered. It was heavier than Andressat expected. “Sword’s for stabbing. No fencing.” An arrow clanged on his helmet; Andressat heard Burek say something else he didn’t understand, and found himself shoved
sideways by the others. They were now covering the body of their fallen comrade, who was not—Andressat was surprised to see—dead.

“Advance!”

That he understood. The attackers had come out into the trail now, leaving their bows behind. All but one carried medium-length swords, broad at the base. Burek held the right end of their own line; unlike the rest, he had an officer’s long sword. Andressat glanced at the men on either side of him and tried to understand what he was supposed to do.

As the lines came together, instinct took over. Andressat had never fought in close formation, but he had seen Phelan’s and Halveric’s soldiers both drilling and in battle. That heavy shield gave not at all to blows by the enemy’s swords, and his own short blade thrust forward as fast as those of his companions. One of the enemy fell, then two more. A thrown dagger zipped past and hit his helmet, stinging his arm as it fell away. Burek—he had no time to watch Burek. Then he heard the clash of blades behind him; he dared not turn and look, for the enemies in front. A blow in the back staggered him. He felt a body sliding down his.

Two of the three men in front of them continued to fight, but one turned away; Andressat recognized one of the archers. “Get him!” he said. “He’s going for his bow …” Beside him, his two companions surged forward, and he moved with them; the two remaining enemy swordsmen fell. One of his companions ran over the dying and stabbed the enemy archer in the back. The man fell with a choked cry.

It seemed very quiet suddenly.

Andressat bent over, gasping; he had considered himself fit, but it had been many hands of years since he’d fought. Then he turned.

Behind him were Dort, now with his throat cut ear to ear; two enemies, both dead or near death; and Burek, a dent in his helmet and one arm bent the wrong way.

“Gird’s gut,” one of the soldiers said. “This is no good. Cam—get up on one of them rocks and see if there’s any more trouble.” He himself went to Burek. “Sir—?”

“Stupid of me,” Burek muttered. “Blade caught in the neckbone—left me open—”

“Just stay still. Cam’s high guard. Kerin—you stand watch there—”

“He can’t—” Burek said, then bit back a cry as the soldier moved his arm.

“He did well enough,” Selis said. He had Burek’s glove off and the sleeve of his mailed shirt pushed up. Andressat glanced at the swollen dark bruise. “Bad break, this, sir. Needs a surgeon.”

“Just … splint … it …”

“I’ve set bones,” Andressat said. “Learned from a surgeon. We need something for splints.” They were far from trees or even bushes, surrounded by turf and stones.

“Come hold his arm, then,” Selis said. “I’ll find those bows.”

Andressat took hold of Burek’s hand and looked him in the face. Pale, under its tan, but the eyes steady as they met his. He felt a rush of warmth for this man, blood of his blood. It wasn’t Burek’s fault he was a bastard; it wasn’t his fault that he chose soldiering over horse-training. It was his own fault that he’d exiled the lad—lad then but man now—in a fit of temper.

“Sorry …” Burek said.

“It’s a bad break,” Andressat said. “But we should be able to save the arm. I’m sure at Cortes Andres they have a surgeon who can do more, but for now …”

Selis came back with two crossbows. “Just let me cut them apart,” he said. His dagger slit the bindings, one cord at a time. He did so while standing, scanning the countryside. When he had the first bow apart, he said, “What about the front part?”

“The prod? Is it straight?”

“Seems so.” Selis brought it over; Andressat looked at it.

“No—see that bend? We need straight—what about splitting the stock?”

Selis gave him a searching look, then nodded. Moving away, he set the stock down, bracing the butt with rocks, and brought the hatchet down firmly on the end; in two blows he’d created a small notch. He put in a wedge and began working his way down, wedge by wedge; on the third or fourth, the wood cracked the rest of the way; the roller nut flew out. Selis trimmed the rough edges of both pieces with the hatchet. “This do?”

“Good,” Andressat said. “Now wrap them with cloth—and I’ll need some cloth strips.”

“You’re sure you’ve done this before?”

Andressat nodded. “Something every—” He paused, glancing around. “—every soldier should know, my father said.”

Selis cut away one of the dead brigands’ clothes and ripped strips from the shirt. In minutes, he had padded both halves of the former stock and brought them to Andressat. “What do you want me to do?”

“Hold his upper arm here—yes, like that. I need to pull, to straighten this as much as possible.” He glanced down at Burek’s face, now beaded with sweat. “It will hurt, Captain, but if I can align the bones now, you have a better chance of regaining full use of the arm.”

“Go ahead,” Burek said.

Andressat took a firm hold. He had set many a broken wrist and forearm in the past, usually with good results, but those had not been the result of a sword blow that drove the mail into the flesh. At home, he would have bound fresh leaves of herbs against the swelling, to aid healing. Here … was nothing. Not even clean cloths. Nothing to do but set it anyway. He pulled firmly, feeling the bones grate; Burek made no noise. Finally, he felt what he had hoped for—larger pieces were end to end, at least—and he bound on the splints, with Selis’s help. When that was done, Burek let out a long hiss of breath. Andressat touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. It meant more than one thing; he saw from Burek’s expression that the young man took all that meaning.

“It’s better,” Burek said. That, too, might mean more than his arm. “We need to get moving.”

“A sling,” Andressat said. He fashioned a sling and helped Burek put the splinted arm into it. Selis helped Burek sit up.

“We’ll get the horses, sir, and—I suppose we’ll be taking Dort’s body? There’s no way to bury him up here.”

“Yes. Kerin, you know this country—how far to a border fort?”

“We might make it today, Captain,” Andressat said. “What about the enemy’s arms?”

“We’ll take those, too, if the horses can carry the load—wasn’t yours hit?”

When Andressat stood again, he could see the horses not far away,
nibbling the frostbitten turf. One—the one he’d been riding—still had an arrow sticking from its neck. “Mine still has the bolt in its neck,” he said. “Could be a bad wound, could be nothing—won’t know until we get it out.”

It took another full glass or more to catch the horses, strip the enemy dead of weapons and money—“Sorellin coins—bet they’re counterfeit,” Burek remarked—and load Dort’s body, wrapped in his own cloak, onto the pack horse. Andressat’s horse carried a light pack; he rode Dort’s, and they set off at a foot pace.

It was near dark when Andressat spotted the border fort tower. “Ride ahead—” he began, then looked at Burek. Burek’s face was pale, taut with pain. “Sorry, Captain—”

“Good idea, though. Cam, go on and let them know we’re coming …” He glanced at Andressat. “Should he—?”

“Yes,” Andressat said. He reached into his belt-pouch and handed Cam a ring. “Show this, but only if you’re sure it’s Andressat troops.”

Cam rode off at a hand gallop. Before they had covered half the distance—slower, now that it was dark—they saw torches approaching. Andressat’s second son came with the party that met them.

“Sir, I was about ready to set out in search for you, though you had told us not to—I had no idea—”

“Nor I, Meddthal. I have traveled far indeed—but here we have a man injured—this is Burek, a captain in Phelan’s Company.”

“Burek—” Meddthal said; in the torchlight his expression was hard to read.

“Indeed,” Andressat said. “And the reason I am alive to greet you. Is there a surgeon at the fort?”

“Yes—” Meddthal glanced again at Burek. “Captain, can you ride another glass, or—”

“I can ride,” Burek said. “But not fast.”

That night Andressat watched by Burek’s bed. The surgeon had given him numbwine enough to put him to sleep, then unwrapped Andressat’s splints and shook his head over the arm.

“It is not the broken bones—you know this yourself, my lord Count. It is the damage to muscle and sinew. And I understand you had no herbs, not there in the open.”

Dark-bruised and twice its normal size, the arm looked grotesquely
like that of a sun-swollen corpse. Andressat repressed a shudder. He had sent the lad away in anger … and now the man might lose his arm. “What can you do?”

“I gave him an infusion of cooling herbs with the numbwine; as you know, that is specific for wound swelling and also wound fever, but that was only a half-glass ago. I am cooling a paste of ganteh and lurz in tallow. If the swelling goes down, we may be able to save the arm. If not—”

“We must save it,” Andressat said, surprised at the tone of his own voice. “I must talk with my son.”

In the other room, Meddthal had a hot meal laid out. “Sir, isn’t that the—”

“Yes,” Andressat said. He sat down heavily. His sons knew he’d not liked Aesil M’dierra’s junior officer, but not why.

“I thought he was with Golden Company.”

“M’dierra sent him away. On my account, I learned.” He swallowed a spoonful of hot spiced soup, then another. Meddthal dipped a slice of bread in oil, sprinkled it with salt, and nibbled on it as he waited. “So then he went to Phelan’s Company—which isn’t Phelan’s anymore; it belongs to his former senior captain, Arcolin. Count Arcolin, now.”

“Northern title …” Meddthal muttered.

“Don’t, Medd,” Andressat said. “But by the humor of the gods—and in this I can see the hand only of the Trickster—it was Burek who undertook to see me safe home, and Burek who saved my life.” He drank more of the soup and sopped bread in the dregs. “I have many things to tell you all, but I am very tired. I was wrong about Captain Burek, though … wrong from the first …” He shook his head.