The Tower of Bashan (45 page)

“I never said I wouldn’t pay them a visit first.”

“Covered in mud?”

“They’re not going to care what I’m covered in so long as my coin is good.”

“You gotta remember, Ty,” said Ira, jumping into the conversation. “Hamath gave up on women long ago. Been giving his coin to the animals last I heard.” He cackled. “He comes walking up covered in all that mud he won’t even need his coin. Pigs might give him a free one.”

Ira stood next to Dekar as usual. The two brothers were a year apart, but they looked like twins. Same blond hair, green eyes, and pale skin. They even had the same tone of voice. The mud only added to their resemblance.

Dekar flashed the rare smile at his brother’s jest. The two looked alike, but their personalities couldn’t have been more different. Ira loud and jesting. Dekar quiet and thinking.

The rest of the squad broke out into laughter as well, including Hamath, helping ward off the somber mood none of us wanted to face. Whether a first or hundredth mission, everyone got anxious before leaving.

We all had friends who had never returned.

“Tyrus. It’s time.”

The laughter faded at the sound of Ava’s voice. Her eyes opened. Her hand dropped away from her temple. Communication with the other mages had been severed.

Each of the twelve elite units that reported to Balak had their own mage in order to speed communications. It was a luxury none of us took for granted.

The ominous mood we had tried to avoid washed over us.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s move out.”

We took only a few steps when I heard a familiar jingling from the man next to me. I paused, grabbed Gal’s arm and pulled him aside as I signaled Hamath to keep the others moving.

Lots of soldiers had their superstitions or religious quirks. However, I’d never met anyone quite as passionate about his accessories as Gal.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He tried to give me a confused look, but with his mismatched eyes of gray and blue, he just seemed mentally unstable. “What do you mean, Sarge?”

“Don’t start. We’re not doing this again, Gal. You know you can’t bring all that junk with you. You’ll make enough noise to alert the Geneshans long before we get there.”

“Sarge, it ain’t junk. It all has meaning.”

He reached around his neck and started pulling free four pendants that hung there. Each were made of bronze or silver. He started explaining their meanings.

I cut him off. “I don’t care. You know the rule. We do this every blasted time.”

“But Sarge, this time’s different. I got a bad feeling that something is going to happen. The last thing I want to do is turn my back on Molak, Xank, Prax, or even Ao at a time like this.”

Molak and Ao have three children. Prax is the god of war and therefore favored by soldiers. Xank, the second child, is god of death, and therefore cursed by pretty much everyone. Lavi, the last of the three original children, is known as the goddess of love and peace. She is always at odds with her two brothers, even to the point of pitting them against each other, since her domain contradicts everything Xank and Prax stand for. However, their feuds never prevented them from sleeping together since most of the lesser gods—too many to name—descended from those three.

“Gal, you always have a bad feeling. And you’ve made it through each one just fine. Take off the pendants or I will.”

He started muttering prayers of forgiveness to the gods as he did so. I bit my tongue so not to make things worse.

“Don’t forget the ones on your wrists and the one at your belt too.”

“But—”

I narrowed my eyes in a way that said the discussion was over.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I die because I didn’t have my charms with me, it’s going to be on you.”

“Just get it done and hurry up.”

I walked away at a brisk pace to catch up with the rest of my unit. I shook my head thinking of Gal’s last words.

If any of my men died, regardless of the reason, it would be on me.

The joy of command.

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Forgotten Soldiers: The Tyrus Chronicle - Book One
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EXCERPT OF
RISE AND FALL - BOOK ONE OF THE BLOOD AND TEARS TRILOGY
(COMPLETE SERIES NOW AVAILABLE)

“…This is the one that will break their back for sure, Commander. We’ll smash them to pieces. They will be talking about tomorrow for years to come…”

Aye, for years to come they’ll talk about tomorrow as one of the worst bloodbaths this continent has ever seen.

Jonrell stared across the open landscape below. The cliff gave him a full view of an expansive plain, littered with rows upon rows of tents from the opposing army’s encampment, more than double the size of their own forces.
Two years after taking this job and I’ve regretted every minute of it. Shorting us on pay, ignoring advice, putting us in dangerous positions…why am I here again?

“...I won’t be able to sleep tonight in anticipation…”

Anticipation of what? Stuffing your face while others fix your mess? I haven’t seen you do anything besides that since I’ve known you.
“I think the men are a little too eager,” said Jonrell.

Melchizan continued. “…Oh, yes. Naturally. They feel the significance of tomorrow as well…”

Jonrell cleared his throat and cut in, “I think we should withdraw to more favorable ground.”

“…yes, we will slaughter them, we will…” The would-be conqueror almost choked on his last words as he turned in the saddle of his mount. The short man’s demeanor suddenly turned from one of excitement to confusion, and then anger. “What do you mean withdraw? We have them right where we want them. This is what we’ve been waiting for…”

The setting sun bled across the land, reflecting dark purples and reds off the white canvases of the enemy’s camp. Reminiscent of a bruise.
A bleak reminder of what awaits us tomorrow. No Melchizan, I haven’t waited for that.

“Commander! I’m speaking to you,” said Melchizan, his great jowls swaying.

“I hear you. And unlike you, I actually listen to the person I’m talking to.”

Melchizan’s face reddened. “It’s bad enough you and the rest of your tattered outfit of mercenaries fail to address me as your lord, but I will not be spoken to like some common soldier. Is that understood?”

“No. You are not our lord and definitely not a soldier, just an employer. The Hell Patrol will not bend a knee to you. If you want someone to kiss your rear, you’ll have to look to the rest of that motley army of yours.”

“Have you forgotten that motley army has conquered over a dozen cities and hundreds of miles of land? An army you command?”

Jonrell snorted a laugh. “Cities? Most of that land was filled with nothing more than small tribes and villages. Your army is not ready for this,” said Jonrell, pointing toward the encampment. “The men are going to face more than two to one odds against a better armed and better trained force.”

“If they fail, then you have failed as a commander.”

“No. I’ve told you we needed to spend money on better weapons, rather than your lavish indulgences. We need to push the men to work on actual skill sets rather than allow them to function as a badly organized mob. But you’re too greedy to see that, so you keep pushing for more and undermining what I’m trying to do. Then you decide to engage an opposing army on a wide open plain without cavalry to match theirs.”

Melchizan ignored Jonrell’s remarks, his voice low and even. “I’ve waited too long for a kingdom to call my own. We will attack tomorrow and we will win. Otherwise, you and your outfit won’t see the rest of your contract.”

Jonrell stared at Melchizan, ready to reply, when the sound of approaching hooves and a shout from behind caught his attention. He held his employer’s glare for a moment longer, then turned toward the approaching rider. He refused to continue the conversation and instead kicked his mount forward.

“I’m glad you’ve seen it my way, Commander,” Melchizan called out.

Jonrell heard the amusement in his employer’s voice as if the man had won some victory over him.
Idiot. There will be no victory tomorrow. I hope you slice your own throat when you try to draw your sword in terror.

The advancing rider bobbed in his saddle as he pulled beside Jonrell. The two mercenaries descended the rocky trail in silence, interrupted by Jonrell’s heavy sigh and the grinding of teeth.

“Keep it up and you’re liable to crack another tooth.”

Jonrell turned to the man in faded black robes. “Are you my mother now?”

“That’s right, take it out on me,” the mage muttered.

“That man is an absolute imbecile and he’s going to get us all killed,” said Jonrell.

“Probably,” said Krytien. “But let me remind you who signed the contract…”

“I know who signed the contract. If I wanted to take this abuse, I would have stayed with… what does Raker call him? Lord Roundness?” said Jonrell coming to a halt. He drew a breath and calmed himself. “Now what do you want?”

“Well, remember that item I bought off a trader last time we were in Slum Isle? You know, to keep track of that particular situation of interest to you?” whispered Krytien.

Jonrell straightened in his saddle. “Yes?”

“Well, it worked. I mean, the king,” he paused, “passed away.” Krytien ran his fingers over his head, wiping the sweat from his brow and pushed back his thin white hair.

“How?”

“I don’t know. The device wasn’t designed to tell us how, just when.”

“You sound surprised.” said Jonrell.

“Well, there was always some question on whether it would work or not. The workings of such magical tools are not my expertise, you know.”

“Don’t give me that. That’s not what you told me before. If I recall, you assured me that the moment something happened, the device would brighten and you‘d be made aware of it. That was years ago.” Jonrell scowled, growing agitated. “Now, you’re saying this was all in question?”

Krytien cleared his throat. “The uncertainty came when trying to confirm the tool’s effectiveness at the time of purchase. Only the one who created the item could figure that out. However, I do know the device worked as intended.”

“Would you swear on it?”

“I’d swear on my honor as a mage.”

Jonrell snorted. “Honor? Isn’t that the same pledge you make when Raker accuses you of cheating at dice?”

“Well, that’s different,” he smirked. “My fingers are crossed then.” The mage raised his hands and wiggled his fingers as the smile vanished. “It’s true. I’m sorry for your loss.”

A breeze from the north blew Jonrell’s long auburn hair into his face. “You have nothing to be sorry for, I’m not.” He turned and kicked his horse into a quick trot and the mage did the same. “When we get to camp, gather the crew together and bring them back to my tent. Hell Patrol only.”

“I brought the device with me in case you wanted to see it for yourself.” Krytien reached into his robes and pulled out a round stone similar in appearance to a pearl, only larger.

Jonrell reached out and grabbed the device without examining it, sticking it in his pocket.

“I’ll ride ahead then.” The short mage gave his horse a kick and galloped toward camp, bobbing in his saddle.

* * *

When Jonrell entered camp, the sun had dropped below the horizon. A clear sky allowed the moon and stars to cast an eerie light on their sorry excuse for a camp, illuminating the soldiers’ questionable activities. Jonrell didn’t like what he saw. Men joked, drank, and did just about everything but ready themselves for the next day.
The fools have grown just as overconfident as Melchizan.

Jonrell shook his head in disgust as he harkened back to the days when he and Cassus had first left home and joined the Hell Patrol. They were led then by a man named Ronav, a hard but fair man who had taught Jonrell what it meant to truly lead an army. Jonrell was forced into command after Ronav died and kept the group’s survivors together while rebuilding what Ronav had started.

But now? He would bash my teeth in if he saw us working for Melchizan. What was I thinking these past couple of years? I should have cut our losses long ago.

As he made his way through camp, Jonrell stopped to speak with a few of the men at several fires. The soldiers had the sense to appear as if they cared about his advice regarding the impending battle, but Jonrell saw the truth of things behind their eyes.
Melchizan called this my army? It doesn’t matter what I say or do because he will come in behind me and undermine my authority. This has never been my army.

A man with short black hair waited outside the command tent. “I take it you tried to talk some sense into them again?” asked Cassus.

Jonrell gave the man a frustrated look but ignored the comment. “Is everyone here?”