Shattered Shields - eARC (24 page)

And he badly needed the jacks. He threw off his blanket and stood up. Overhead, stars burned bright in the clear mountain air; he could see the tips of the tallest mountains, snow at their peaks even in summer, pale against the night sky, and enough silvery light glimmered over the camp to show him the way.

He had taken but ten steps toward the jacks when someone grabbed his arm and swung him round.

“And where d’you think you’re going?”

It was Sergeant Pastak. Had the captain set a watch over him? Of course: he would need to, just in case. And so the sergeant was in on it, also a traitor.

“To the jacks,” Luden said, glad his voice sounded slightly annoyed.

“To be sure, the jacks,” the sergeant said, with a sneer. “Young lads…always eager to go to war until they get closer to it. Thinking of that, are you?”

“I’m thinking I ate too many of those berries before I gave the rest to the cook,” Luden said. “And I need the jacks.”

The sergeant shook his arm; Luden stumbled. “Just know, lad, you’re with a fighting troop, not some fancy-boy’s personal guards. You’re not running off home.”

That was clear enough. He stiffened against the sergeant’s arm and adopted a tone he’d heard from his elders. “I am not one to run away, Sergeant. But I would prefer not to mark my clothes with berry juice and have someone like you think it was fear.”

The sergeant let go of his arm as if it had burned him. “Well,” he said. “The young cock will crow, will he? We’ll see how you crow when the time comes—if it does.” He gestured, the starlight running down his mail shirt like molten silver. “Go on then. To the jacks with you, and if you mark your clothes red and not yellow, I’ll call you worthy.”

Red could mean blood and not berry juice. Luden held himself stiffly and stalked off to the jacks as if he hadn’t thought of that. He was not the only one at the jacks trench, though he was glad to see he had room to himself. He did have a cramp, and what he had eaten the previous day, berries and all he was sure, came out in a rush. He waited a moment, two, and then, as he stood, saw another man nearby.

“All right, Luden?” It was Esker. “The berries were good, but I think they woke me up.”

“I ate handfuls raw,” Luden said.

“That can do it. These mountain berries—they look like the ones back in the lowlands, but they clear the system, even cooked.”

Could he trust Esker? He had to do something, and Esker was the only one he had really talked to. “Esker, I have to tell—”

“I thought I told you to leave the soldiers alone, sprout!” It was the captain. No doubt the sergeant had told him where Luden was. “No chatter. Get to your blanket and stay there. And no more berries on the morrow.” Luden turned to go. Behind him, he heard the captain. “Well, Esker? Sucking up to the old man’s brat?”

“He had the gripe, captain, same as me. You know those mountain berries. I’d have sent him back in a moment.”

Then murmurs he could not hear. Back near the tent, a torch burned; the sergeant stood beside it. Luden returned to his blanket and lay down, feigning sleep. He knew they would not leave him unwatched. Once again, sleep overtook him.

He woke to a boot prodding his ribs. “Hurry up. It’s almost daylight.”

Stars had faded; the sky glowed, the deep blue called Esea’s Cloak, and the camp stirred. Horses whinnied, men were talking, laughing, he smelled something cooking. As he rolled his blanket, the captain stood by, watching. Luden yanked the thongs snug around it, and stood with it on his shoulder.

“Don’t forget your water,” the captain said. “You’ll be thirsty later.”

Luden bent to pick up the water bottle.

“Your tack’s over there.” The captain pointed to a pile on the ground; two men were already taking down the captain’s tent.

Luden picked up his tack and headed for the horse lines.

“If you’ve no stomach for breakfast,” the captain said, “put some bread in your saddlebags; you’ll want it later.”

He saddled his mount, put the water bottle into one saddlebag and then carried the bags to the cook for bread. Troopers were taking a loaf each from a pile on a table.

“Captain thought you’d like this,” the cook said, handing him a spiced roll. “Gave me the spice for it special, and said put plenty of honey in it.”

Luden’s stomach turned. “It’ll be too sweet if it’s all I have. Could I have some plain bread, as well?”

The cook grinned. “You’re more grown up than that, you’re saying? Not just a child, to eat all the sweets he can beg?” He handed Luden a small plain loaf from the pile. “There. Eat troops’ rations if you’d rather, but don’t tell the captain; he only thought to please you.”

“Thank you,” Luden said. The sweetened roll felt sticky. He put both rolls in the other saddlebag, and then went to the jacks trench a last time. It was busy now; Luden went to one end, squatted, fished in the saddlebag for the roll, sticky with honey, that he was sure had some drug in it. He dropped it in the trench, then stood and grabbed the shovel, and covered it quickly.

“That’s not your job,” one of the men said. “Go back to the captain, get your gear tied down tight. Here—give me the shovel.”

“I’ll see him safe,” another said. Esker.

Luden glanced in the trench; no sign of the roll. Unless someone had seen him drop it…he looked at Esker. “Thank you,” he said. All at once it occurred to him that the formality of the duke’s house—the relentless schooling in manners, in what his great-uncle called propriety—had a use after all. Underneath, he was still frightened, but now he could play other parts.

“Come on, then,” Esker said. When they were a short distance from the trench, Esker said, “There was something you wanted to tell me last night. Still want to tell me in daylight? Is it that you’re scared?”

As a rabbit before the hounds
he wanted to say, but he must not. Instead, in a rush, he said, “The captain’s going to betray you all to Immer’s men; four hundred are coming to meet us.”

Esker caught hold of his shoulder and swung him around. “Boy. Fallo’s kin. That cannot be true, and we do not like liars.”

“I’m not lying,” Luden said. “I saw it—”

“Or sneaking.”

“—a message from Immer, with Immer’s seal.”

Esker chewed his lip a moment. “You’re certain?”

“Immer’s seal, yes.”

“I am an idiot,” Esker said, “if I believe a stripling lad when I have ridden with the captain these eight years and more.” He stopped abruptly, then pulled Luden forward. In a low growl: “Do not argue. There’s no time; I can do nothing now. If it’s true I will do what I can.” Luden saw the captain then, staring at them both. Esker raised his voice. “Here he is, captain. Lad had a hankering to fill a jacks trench; Trongar saw him. I’m bringing him back to you.” He sounded cheerful and unconcerned.

“I saw you head to head like old friends,” the captain said.

“That, captain, was me telling him the
second
time that he had years enough for filling jacks trenches and you’d be looking for him. He’s just young, that’s all.”

“That he is,” the captain said, looking down at Luden. “Did you saddle that horse?”

“Yes, sir,” Luden said. “And I thank you for that sweet loaf the cook gave me. Cook said you told him to put spice in it as well as honey.”

The captain smiled. “So I did. You can eat it midmorning, when we rest the horses, since I doubt you’ve eaten breakfast after last night’s adventure with berries.”

“That’s so, sir,” Luden said. “It still gripes a bit.”

“Today will take care of that,” the captain said. “Riding a trot’s the best thing for griping belly.” He turned to the trooper. “Very well, Esker, I have him under my eye now; get back to your own place.”

“Yes, Captain,” Esker said. “Not a bad lad, sir. Just eager to help.”

“Too eager,” the captain said, “can be as annoying as lazy.”

“True. So my own granfer told me.”

Both men laughed; Luden’s heart sank. He did not think Esker was a traitor, but clearly the man thought him just a foolish boy.

They were mounted when the first rays of sunlight fired the treetops to either side. When they reached the North Trade Road, their shadows lay long and blue before them. To either side, the forest thickened to a green wall and rose up a hill on the north side. Luden couldn’t see the mountains now, but he could feel the cool air sifting down through the trees, fragrant with pine and spruce. Here and there he saw more bushes covered with berries. The captain pointed out a particularly lush patch.

“Tempted to stop and pick some?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want your belly griping again.” A moment later, “Ready for that sweet bread yet?”

“No, sir,” Luden said. “It’s not settled yet.”

“Ah. Well, you’ll eat it before it spoils, I daresay.”

The sun was high, their shadows shorter, when a man on horseback leading a pair of mules loaded with packs came riding toward them. He wore what looked like merchants’ garb, even to the soft blue cap that slouched to one side. But it was the horse Luden noticed. He knew that horse.

That bay stallion with a white snip, uneven front socks, and a shorter white sock on the near hind had been stolen—along with fifteen mares—from a Fallo pasture the year before. Before that, it had been one of the older chargers used to teach Luden and his cousins mounted battle skills. Luden knew that horse the way he would know his own shirt; he had brushed every inch of its hide, picked dirt out of those massive hooves. And so the man riding him must be Immer’s agent.

“Sir,” he said to the captain. “That man’s a horse thief.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the captain said.

“I know that horse,” Luden said.

“The world is full of bays with three white feet,” the captain said. “It’s just a merchant. Perhaps he’ll tell us if he’s seen any sign of brigands or—unlikely—Immer’s troops.”

“I’m telling you, I know that horse!”

The captain turned on him, furious. “You know
nothing
. You are a mere child, foisted on me by your great-uncle, Tir alone knows why, and you will be quiet or I will knock you off that horse and you can walk home alone.”

Luden clamped his jaw on what he wanted to say and stared at the merchant instead. For a merchant, he sat the stallion very much like a cavalry trooper, his feet level in the stirrups, his shoulders square…and what was a merchant doing with the glint of mail showing at his neck? What was that combination of straight lines under the man’s cloak? Not a sword…

The stallion stood foursquare, neck arched, head vertical, ears pointed forward. Luden checked his memory of the markings. It had to be the same horse.

Luden glanced at the captain, who raised his arm to halt the troop, then rode forward alone. Now was his only chance. Would the horse remember the commands? He held out his hand, opened and closed his fist twice, and called. “Sarky!
Nemosh ti
!”

At the same moment, a bowstring thrummed; Luden heard the crossbow bolt thunk into the captain’s body, saw the captain stiffen, then slide to one side, even as the bay stallion leaped forward, kicking out behind; its rider lurched, dropped the crossbow and grabbed at the saddle.

“
Ambush
!” Luden yelled, “Ambush—form up!” He drew his sword and spurred toward Sarky; the stallion landed in a series of bucks that dumped its rider on the ground. Its tack glinted in the sun; instead of saddlebags, a polished round shield hung from one side of the saddle, and a helmet from the other. Bolts hummed past Luden; he heard them hitting behind him and kept going. Horses squealed, men cursed. The captain now hung by one foot from a stirrup, one bolt in his neck, two more bolts in his body; he bled from the mouth, arms dragging as his horse shied this way and that.

Luden had no time wonder why the enemy had shot the captain who’d done what he was hired to do. A crossbow bolt hit his own mount in the neck, then another and another. It staggered and went down. Luden rolled clear as the horse thrashed, but stumbled on a stirrup getting to his feet and fell again. He looked around—the old bay stallion was close beside him, kicking out at the fallen rider who now had a sword out, trying to reach Luden.

“Sarky,” he called. “
Vi arthrin dekost
.” In the old language, “Lifebringer, aid me.”

The stallion pivoted on his forehand, giving Luden the position he needed to jump, catch the saddlebow, and scramble into the saddle from the off side, still with sword in hand. The man on the ground, quick witted, grabbed the trailing reins and held off the stallion’s lunge with the point of his sword.

“Here he is—Fallo’s whelp—help me, some of you!”

Luden scrambled over the saddlebow, along the horse’s neck, and sliced the bridle between the horse’s ears. The stallion threw his head up; the bridle fell free. The man, off balance, staggered and fell backwards. Luden slid back into the saddle just as the horse jumped forward, forefeet landing on the fallen man. He heard the snap and crunch of breaking bones.

Mounted soldiers wearing Immer’s colors swarmed onto the road. Ganarrion’s smaller troop was fully engaged, fighting hard—and he himself was surrounded, separated from them. He fended off the closest attackers as best he could, yanking his dagger from his belt, though he knew it might break against the heavier curved swords the enemy used. The horse pivoted, kicked, reared, giving him a moment to cut the strings of the round shield and get it on his arm.

He took a blow on the shield that drove his arm down, got it back up just in time, parried someone on the other side with his own blade, and with weight and leg aimed his mount in the right direction—toward the remaining Ganarrion troopers. The stallion, unhampered by bit or rein, bullied the other mounts out of his way—taking the ear off one, and biting the crest of another, a maneuver that almost unseated him. Arm’s length by arm’s length they forced their way through the enemy to rejoin the Ganarrion troop—itself proving no easy prey, despite losses of horses and men.

“Tir’s guts, it’s the squire!” someone yelled. “He’s alive.” A noise between a growl and a cheer answered him.

Luden found himself wedged between two of the troopers, then maneuvered into the middle of the group. He saw Esker; the man grinned at him then neatly shoved an enemy off his horse.