The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist (24 page)

Instead of passing it to Lauze, the soldier went straight to the grey-eyed man and held it out to him.

As an afterthought, he glanced over his shoulder and said, “With your permission, sir!”

Captain Tarn nodded.

The scarred man took it, then he looked over to Little Will and Tiny Berry and said, “I think I'd rather have one of those hammers.”

One of the twins guffawed, then stifled it quick as the captain shot both of them a hard glance.

“It takes a big man to swing hammers like those, my friend.”

The captain's voice was not so hard as he spoke to the stranger.

“There's nothing better at the front line for the onslaught, but a sword is a more likely weapon for you.”

The captain paused to look at the blade in the scarred man's hands, sniffed, then continued.

“Even one such as this.  Not much can be done for the edge, but if you happen upon some sand, you can scrub away the worst of the rust.”

Grey eyes looked back at all of them and he said nothing.

A word of thanks isn't too much to ask
, thought Lauze.

Oddly, the captain was unfazed.

“Good luck to you,” he said, then turned on his heel and went to mount his horse.

The scarred man turned to Lauze and looked him straight in the eyes.

“What should I do?”

The corporal shrugged and shook his head.

“South, I would reckon.  Go south and learn to use that sword if you don't already know how.  There's trouble brewing north-wise, so south is your answer.”

Lauze did not know how the man took his words, but he was sure the captain had caught his meaning.

The corporal turned away, also about to go to his horse, then he remembered Crane still standing there looking a little lost himself.

“Hey, Stitcher.  What was it about those names you just said?”

The medic mumbled something low, then stumbled off to be collected by Tiny Berry and her brother.  Then he called back loud and hard, “We need to get out of here, Captain!”

It was that more than Lauze's next command that got the company moving again.

Soldiers muttered and groaned but shouldered their packs all the same to take up the march that carried them ever onward.

Lauze heard someone call out to the stranger as the company marched by.

“Hey!  You could always go in for a military career.”

The corporal thought it might have been Glinns that spoke.

“Har,” said a wretchedly gruff voice, “We sees the world, we do, and there h’aint anyone what’s gonna ask for yer real name ‘cause we c’aint care less.”

There were low chuckles among the ranks, and Lauze was sure that it had been Glinns who spoke first, since the man was never far from his partner in arms and in cards, the woolly soldier named Kruss.  The man’s voice had become terribly distinctive after taking a mace blow to the throat the year before. The sort of thing that might have made of him a hero if it had been in battle, but if Lauze was not mistaken, it had been in a tavern.

The corporal tried to resist the urge to look back at the scarred man.  He was almost sure the fellow still stood there looking more lost than anyone he had ever seen while the last of the soldiers filed past. His curiosity got the better of him, though, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the scarred man walking steadily away from the group of soldiers, apparently deciding to take the corporal’s advice to head south.

Several leagues later, the captain leaned over and asked, “So what was it Crane said about those names?”

Corporal Lauze shrugged.

“The man's half cracked, sir.”

“Of course, he is,” replied the Captain, “But still ... I admit to being curious.”

Lauze understood his captain, but he still did not understand what Crane had said.

“The medic just said that they belong to him.”

“Oh,” was the captain's reply, then, “The poor bastard.”

“Yessir ... the poor bastard.  I think you're right.”

Captain Tarn did not take his eyes off the road ahead as he asked, “Right about what?”

Corporal Lauze shifted uncomfortably upon his saddle before speaking.

“Stop squirming, Lauze.”

“Sir, yes sir.  I meant to say that I think he's probably a deserter.  I mean, that's what you think too, right?”

It was the only explanation he had been able to think of for the captain's strange behavior with the man they had found.  Tarn had seen a veteran wearing a terrible scar, just like he had.

“No, Corporal.  That is not what I had in mind.  Rather, it is that I have seen that lost look before.  After battles that leave men without limbs, sometimes without parts of their faces, and never mind all their comrades who left their lives upon the field.

“Those kind of eyes belong to soldiers who have finally seen one thing too many and can't face their future any more than their past.”

Lauze had not thought of that.

“It's that scar, Corporal.”

Lauze nodded.

“Yes sir, I see.”

Captain Tarn replied, “No.  I don't think you do.  Some scars run just as deeply on the inside as they do on the outside.  I think that man has known Hell itself.  If our modest assistance helps him on his way, then I say that is a fine thing.”

“Yes sir,” Lauze said.

“It's not often soldiers have the opportunity to do something charitable and even if they did not know it, they saw the worth of that man,” the Captain went on, his voice growing quiet and thoughtful, “Besides, it's good for the morale.”

The two officers fell silent and did not feel the need to break it with words for a long time after.

 The company traveled on until the sky dimmed and the evening was upon them.

They had made good time as the captain had kept his horse trotting along lively, setting a brisk pace for them all.  Without coming right out and saying so, there was no doubt he wanted a fair bit of distance between the company of soldiers and whatever danger Crane thought lay in wait back where they had found the scarred man.

The company had crossed into damp country that soon revealed itself to be the outskirts of marshlands from what Lauze could make out in the dim light.

He grimaced.

Swamps meant bugs, and bugs meant that no matter how smoky the company made their cookfires, they would spend the night tossing and turning while the flying little monsters feasted.

Something squawked in the darkness and a splash followed, both sounds making the officers’ horses sidestep.

Then Lauze’s mount, Maggie, nickered and blew out her nostrils.  Not in fear, but in recognition.

A moment later, the corporal heard the sound of hooves thudding along in full gallop upon the soggy road.  A sound that grew louder and louder until both he and the captain saw the pale face of Pintuk, the scout that had gone out ahead of them.

He reined his horse in hard and he was breathing just as lively as his mount.

“Cap’n!” he managed to get out as he kept sucking air.

Captain Tarn nodded before saying, “Catch your breath, soldier.”

Pintuk nodded, but the whites of his eyes were showing, making Corporal Lauze think of a spooked horse.

The scout fumbled for his waterskin then swallowed a couple large mouthfuls, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down violently enough it was as if the horse beneath the man was still at a gallop while standing stock still.

“Captain Tarn, sir,” Pintuk gasped as he saluted weakly.

And rather late about it for that matter
, thought Lauze.

The captain saluted in return and before he could say anything, the scout blurted out, “Captain, we gotta get out of here!”

Lauze glanced at the captain to see if he was looking back at him, but the officer held himself rigidly in his saddle.

It appeared as though he did not want to discuss to what point Pintuk’s first comment resembled that of Crane earlier on and some leagues back.

“Pull yourself together, man,” snapped the captain, “You may not be an officer, but as an elite of the company, I expect my scouts to set an example for the rest.  Button it down, son, and report.”

Pintuk blanched an even paler shade of white.

“Sir!  Yessir!”

His Adam’s apple bobbed another couple times, but this time when he spoke, his tone was calmer, more measured.

“I sent Scout Sprunk back to report on a dead body we found on the road.”

Corporal Lauze said, “Yes, he made it back to us and is now at the rear of the company keeping an eye on the road behind.”

“Yessir,” Pintuk said, breathing a sigh of relief, “Once we found that body, I felt the hairs tingling all over ... the ones that get all creepy crawly when the worm is about to turn for the bad.

“So’s I sent Sprunk back, then went on real quiet.”

Corporal Lauze had respect for the man.  When he said he went ahead quiet, he meant it.  The scout came from the east, and his people booted their horses’ hooves in soft leather and when they did for stealthy, they did it like ghosts.

“For a long time, I never did see anything outta sorts.  But my nerves just kept on jangling and I knew it wan’t for nothing.

“It kept on like that ‘til I got in to these here wetlands that’s all around us.  That’s when I slowed way down and took to walking alongside Charlie.”

Neither of the officers said anything, both supposing ... or, hoping ... that the scout referred to his horse.

“And then, when it was getting good and dim ... or maybe I should say bad and dark ... I seen the worst damned thing I ever did see.”

He paused, and Lauze had time to think that scouts, in general, have a penchant for the dramatic in their reports.  The corporal made a mental note to ask the captain later if it was part of their training.

“I gotta say, I hates swamps, I surely do.”

Captain Tarn’s face grew dark, but Pintuk did not seem to notice.

“When I was but a wee split, my gammer would tell me all sorts of tales and the worst of them, the very worst always went about in the swampish places with swampish things.”

“Pintuk!”

The captain’s visage had turned dark, and Lauze knew the scout teetered on the edge of the officer’s wrath as he rambled on.

“Why at first I thought my eyes was tricking me, but I looked again, and damned if I didn’t see the biggest damn boar come plodding along in the mists.  I’m talking bigger than a tinker’s carriage and blacker than a coal miner's ass, that thing was.”

Lauze shifted his eyes quickly to the captain and back, expecting the worst.

“And that, then, is the thing that has you so up in arms, is it, Pintuk?” asked Captain Tarn.

“No sir,” the scout replied, surprised, “It sure ain’t.  Worse’n the size of the thing and that it came out of the mists to cross right in front of me, worse’n its eyes a’gleaming bloody red, was the fact that it glowed from the inside, just like it might if it had figured out how to swallow down the moon.”

Maggie jostled under him, and Lauze tore his gaze away from Pintuk’s face to discover that the company of soldiers had quietly broken ranks and were, each to a one, leaning in a bit closer to them while craning their ears to hear the scout speak.

“What do mean, Pintuk?  Are you saying you saw a ghost pig?”

Captain Tarn’s color started coming up again, and Lauze thought the scout’s time was almost up.

“Are you telling me that you’ve come back here with such haste to tell your superiors foolish ghost stories?”

Pintuk was nonplussed.

“No sir, I came back here in a rush because that boar was no ghost, sir.  He was big as a house and glowing from his guts and I swear I could almost see his bones for the eerie light coming out from inside him.

“His jaws was tusked and in ‘em ... I swear, I can still see it clear as could be ... in his jaws, the beastie carried the body of a beautiful girl, a woman to be true, only she was bad hurt, sir.  Oh, but it was an awful thing to see.”

Approximately forty sighs were let out behind them and without looking, the corporal knew the company was leaning in even closer before. 

A black boar and now a beautiful woman.  The soldiers were not to be blamed, and he would not look at them if it meant he could keep from drawing the captain’s attention from the scout.

“So, a giant glowing boar ... black if I’m not mistaken ... carrying a wounded woman,” the captain said, “I don’t suppose you remarked whether she still lived?”

The scout shook his head.

“Oh, Captain, I don’t sees how she could’a not been passed on, for there was blood all over and I could but see half her face.

“But, even that wan’t the worst.”

Another pause and this time everyone held their breath, leaning in even closer.

From behind them, Corporal Lauze heard someone clear his throat, then call out, “Well, spit the damn thing out already.  What was worse’n that?”

Pintuk milked the moment, then took his cue.

“The worst was that the boar had big giant tears rolling down its face as it carried that girl.  I swear, I think the damned thing was a’weeping for her.”

No one said anything for a long moment.

Thoughts of goblins were gone, replaced by giant ghostly boars as silence fell over them.  The scout shook his head, his story done, and went to join his fellow soldiers, and the soldiers went back into ranks with no command called.

Captain Tarn turned to Corporal Lauze and said, “It would appear that the danger is not quite past.”

Lauze nodded.

“No sir.  It sure doesn’t.”

Captain Tarn cocked an eyebrow at the corporal, looking as though he had something else to say.  Instead, he bit whatever it was back and clapped his heels to his mount.

Then, like a breeze rustling through the treetops, the soldiers shouldered their packs and began marching steadily onward, for they knew they would find no patch of ground dry enough to pitch a tent that night.

And even if they did, there was not a one of them who would have been willing to close his or her eyes in that fell place.

And no one said another word, not even to complain ... for almost half an hour.

Chapter Twenty