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RAZE – Now an E-Book

If you’ve been waiting to check it out, or you don’t like the web serial format, or you just haven’t had the excuse – Part 1 of RAZE is now available in ebook format!

Check it out here

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Ours Is the Storm on Sale for 99¢!

This week, Ours Is the Storm is only 99c on Amazon!

But you already read it, you say. You’ve got a copy. You don’t need another. Of course you don’t so what can you do?

 

All the usual stuff:
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RAZE – 060 – Relieved

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com. Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

I did not manage to speak to Yamurik before we made the checkpoint at the border of Avandeil the next day.

Until then, the Hand spoke little. A dark pall was over the caravan. Ecena and Ahdan rode at the front without waiting for my orders, and I didn’t think of giving them commands to the contrary. I suppose I hoped that some concessions would soften their memory of my failure.

At midmorning, with the heat rising, we neared the checkpoint. Ahead, the dry grasses greened as they rose into the foothills. I looked back to ensure the last of the caravan was coming without delay and that none of the raiders who had outwitted us were watching.

The road had risen more than I’d realized. It fell away below, a long, gentle slope of yellow in a waving, gray field. The plains were marred by the dots of trees and scrub plants, by dark cracks of arroyos, by seams like folds in a dun cloth. Behind us, the sky had grown dark as smoke as thunderheads built and roiled up. A storm, on its way south to the mountains to match my mood. A fitting portent.

At the base of the foothills, we found many workers in loincloths or sacklike trousers. They were hard at work on a wall, stretching away for leagues to east and west, five yards high. Lonireilans in white armor patrolled about them in fours, pale-faced men on camelback with long lances. There was a gap in the wall, a future gate but now just a way through the work where the road passed. Dozens, hundreds of wagons and hundreds more camels and oxen bore stone out of the mountains, wood for the walls. On high timber towers men kept watch with great handcannons, heavy iron weapons with silver filigree and little curls of smoke rising from their wicks. Their bearers watched us, the black mouths of their guns following us, lowered but ready, as the caravan processed up the hill and made way for stone-laden carts and braying camels and troupes of soldiers.

By the time we reached the checkpoint village, the wind was coming in strong, kicking up the dust of the square. Low timber buildings surrounded us, higher warehouses behind them, carriage houses and stables scattered throughout. Other traders were shouting and arguing with tariff men and customs officials in bright yellow robes. Squads of mercenaries loitered, some going about offering their services, others waiting to depart with their new, temporary masters. Above all the noise and furor, a house of yellow, cut stone looked down from a higher hill where it perched, narrow arching bridgeways and curling towers and pointed, elegant windows. Greenish sigils shone in the fading light from on the stone and brass ornaments hung above doorways. More Lonireilans patrolled the walls around it and stared down from the checkpoint customs-house rooftops and watched from towers. If I had raised a spear in anger, a dozen crossbow bolts and as many burning lead bullets would have tear me apart.

My soldiers went to the nearest barracks for supplies. Yamurik’s guards, the very few that remained, left after collecting their much-reduced pay. Ecena accompanied me as I followed Yamurik and his attendants to one of the customs houses.

The woman that greeted us was tall, skeletal, gray-haired. Her Lonireilan was so proper I could scarcely follow it. She stood on a timber porch and stared down imperiously, with her clerks at her sides and officers, men in white armor with short, sharp swords, watching carefully. She and Yamurik spoke and there was a good deal of talk of me and Ecena as well as blame cast on the Lonireilans.

Nabani raiders had carried off a portion of Yamurik’s opium on Lonireil’s doorstep. His shipment was late, and less than expected. Blame was cast, at the Lonireilans, and then at their representative in his contingent: me. There was little to say. That I had killed a handful of raiders? No. I had failed.

*    *     *

 

We waited while the thunderstorm blacked the sky and churned the dust to mud. We waited while sheets of hard rain lashed at our tent, for there was no room in the barracks.

Traveling back to Onappa-ka, we went with wagons half-laden, for Yamurik had not been able to buy all the supplies he wanted. This made his mood fouler, and we did not speak at all during the fortnight’s journey.

Onappa-ka was much the same. We had a barracks near Yamurik’s compound, which had grown larger and greater. He had fifty wagons and four hundred oxen just to pull them. A thousand laborers went to his fields in the day, a thousand to his opium vats at night. The fires never slept. Smoke belched from the towers. Now he spent little time at his offices, instead leaving that responsibility to clerks and partners. He stayed at his house and his gardens, or traveled, or entertained lofty guests and visiting businessmen from Lonireil and Canifar and Ria Vancha. Runners went to and fro all day, bearing him news and bearing back his decisions.

In the summer, it was hot and wet. The fields were green with ripening poppies, but they had not had their second bloom yet. Lonireilans guarded the walls of Onappa-ka, and new homes were being built for the settlers who had come up from the south to work and farm and till gold from the fields and squeeze it from Serehvani sweat.

When I arrived, I went straight to report, as I knew I must. Eventually, my report reached de Trastorces.

Estevo was called. Ecena and Ahdan. Finally I.

De Trastorces met me in his offices in the keep below the hill. Weckar was not there, thankfully. Two lieutenants stood by the captain.

He questioned me on the raiders and our attack. What we had found. What we gained. Why I had left the caravan, and what we’d lost.

His hard, pale eyes glared out from a hard, pale face. His brow reddened at my answers.

“So.” He drew a breath and blew it through his nostrils. The lieutenants stared straight ahead, but I thought one of them had been about to grin at me. “I am supposed to believe that you, a Nabani, did your utmost to defend our cargo when, to my mind, it appears that you led your force away in order to leave Lonireil’s interests unguarded?”

I was stricken. I must have opened my mouth and closed it, but made no sound.

“We lost thousands of impexas. Yamurik’s loss is even greater, and he is demanding recompense from us for it. How long do you think it will take for you to earn that money?”

“Sir, that is not what happened.” It occurred to me that I’d never thought to be paid. I had food and a place to sleep. I was alive. For now. “We didn’t leave them to be attacked. I swear, sir.”

He swatted the air and stood, thumping the table. “If your people’s stories didn’t corroborate yours, I wouldn’t believe it. As it is, it appears you only failed, sergeant, instead of betrayed. You don’t seem a traitor, but you seem incompetent.” I waited. He breathed again, then sat. “You’re relieved of command. Ecena will be sergeant. She saw the danger and went back and saved part of the caravan. You and your other corporal…” he looked aside at one of the lieutenants, who checked a paper in his hand as my heart turned to wet mud.

“Estevo Nabrera, captain.”

“Nabrera. You and he are to be lashed and retained in service as conscripts in your current unit. Three hundred lashes in the muster tomorrow. You’ll parade your unit up and transfer your authority to Ecena at noon.”

I must have been escorted out. The next thing I remembered was telling Estevo, back in the barracks.

We sat at our little officer’s table, a rickety wooden thing to one side of the small canteen. It was late and no one else was about. I wouldn’t tell Ecena. She could find out at the last moment. I didn’t need her smug face till then, and then I would have other things to pay mind to.

Estevo sat, wordless, till his cigarette burned to his fingertips and he swore and shook it away. He sucked his finger and gave me a sideways look.

“We could run. Tonight. You and me.”

I shook my head and studied the wood grain of the table. “They’d catch us.”

“Not if we took extra horses.”

“You’re scheming again.”

“No, I don’t want to be whipped again. Lick of shit. Hang this place, and hang de Trastorces.” I shushed him, in case someone might come in to hear, but he waved me off. “No, hang him. Hang this whole thing.” He subsided back into his seat.

I clenched my jaw. “Tomorrow I’ll try to… I’ll ask for your lashes. It wasn’t your fault.”

“They’ll just say I should have stopped you or disobeyed and ran off with Ecena.”

“No, it’s not right. It was my fault.”

We didn’t say anything for a minute. Estevo reached for his pouch, but had no more tobacco. He swore again.

“No. I’ll take my lashes, il-Lonireil. You and me.”

“And the rest can hang,” I finished. I meant it.

 

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Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. Set your own monthly donation amount and help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

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RAZE – 059 – Paper in Fire

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We crashed down the hill like a windstorm. With a roar, we were on the stalkers, and they unarmed and afoot. My camel shuddered and brayed, kicked out, lurched. In the dark I saw little but black shapes, shapes I stabbed with my spear and battered with my shield. Their camels ran. Folk screamed. Metal and wood crashed.

For a moment, the hills echoed with shouts and roars, and then they were silent. My breath filled my ears like the rushing of wind. I sat, heaving, and asked for my people to sound off. One by one, rough voices gave their owners’ names.

I called for lamps. In the hushing of the breeze, gold lights flared into being, revealing dim pools of color in the sea of night. Trampled grasses. A body, twisted and still, half atop a toppled pile of field gear. There, blood, red and glinting on the grass, turning the dirt brown where it soaked into the earth. Another body, face up, staring. Youthful eyes, open, the bloody chest heaving. A third, crawling on forearms at the edge of the camp. “Bring that one.” I pointed and dismounted while and my squad followed, rounding up the living and inspecting the dead, searching their equipment for good boots or fine weapons, of which there were none.

I sat on a burlap sack and two of mine brought the crawler before me. They threw him down and he writhed for a second, choking and drawing sigils of pain in the dirt. When he looked up, his eyes were wild, his shemagh coming undone and falling away from his head and neck.

I asked him the usual things: who he was, who his master was, and where we might find him.

“You’ll have nothing from me.” I prodded his wound and he coiled up like a bitten snake, wheezing. I took hold of him, rolled him over, and pressed his wound again. The blood showed on the front of his tob, a long garment typical of Naban, as well as on the back. The spear had gone through, but didn’t seem to have hit anything vital.

“You’re going to live,” I told him. “Run clean through. That means you get taken back to Onappa-ka with us.” He cringed and whined. I fought his resisting hands till I got to his spearwound again. “Or, you can tell me now. Who is your master?”

He wept. “I don’t know,” he mewled in Serehvani. I shook him and he only begged more.

“Sergeant?” Ecena’s voice came from out in the camp.

“Not now.” He didn’t know? Laughable. What kind of warrior fights for someone he doesn’t even know?

“I think you should see.”

“I’m busy. We’ll get to it shortly.”

I questioned him. He screamed and cried and revealed little but his own name and that he was from Naban. There were dozens like him, more every day, in the trackless hills in the southwest part of the province. When I pulled away his shemagh, I found his hairless cheeks wet with tears, tinted red.

“Hey.” Estevo stood beside me while my captive wept. “She’s leaving.”

I looked up in time to see Ecena and Ahdan dashing away on camelback, leaving behind a cloud of dust. I stood, leaving the pathetic wretch on the ground. “What? Where? Hey!” If they looked back in the dark, I couldn’t see.

“Back to the road, I guess.” Estevo grabbed the wounded man and hauled him up. “What to do with this one?”

“Why are they going back?”

Another of the squad spoke. “Sir. Ecena saw something. Lights or the like, back at Yamurik’s camp.”

Idiot. She was always trying something, never going far enough to be punished. “That’s because they’ve got the lamps out.” I waved dismissively after her and rounded on the camp. “Tear this place apart. I want to know anything we can learn about these Nabani. Who they are, who their families are, where they’re coming from. If there are more of them, we need clues to find them if they’re in the Pakubosh Hills.”

“And him?” Estevo shook the wounded man by his collar, eliciting a groan and more weeping.

I opened my mouth, but the boy caught my gaze. His red eyes shone in the lamplight and the tears glistened on his cheeks. Black curls hung lank and sweat-damp in his brown face, a face that reminded me of none so much as my young brother’s.

The image sprang to my mind, as if dashing through a closing door. I saw him, and my mother, and Navat and poor Punam.

The grief and shame, as they always did, blackened and curled like paper in a fire. Hatred boiled out of me. Before the tears could return, I drew my knife and slashed the boy’s throat. Blood spurted out and Estevo dropped him in shock.

“What about him?”

There was nothing in their camp. Meager rations and stale water. We rode back, but my victory in killing our stalkers was soured by what had happened.

As we neared the camp, the dry, dusty night air took on the cloying tinge of smoke. Ahead, Yamurik’s camp was the same as we’d left it, wagons and oxen and men in a circle of light from oil lamps, but the chill breeze carried shouts. Yamurik’s rage I could hear, but pain and panic too. As my tongue turned to dust, I urged my camel faster. The squad called out behind me, but I raced ahead.

I burst into the circle of light, then through the outer ring and into the center. With so many wagons and folk, the camp sprawled alongside the road. Cooking fires were on, but before I’d even spotted Yamurik the wrongness took form. Two men lay dead just inside the circle, their blood bright on the flattened grass. One of the wagons was open, the tarps slashed. Another dead mercenary slumped against a wheel. Porters and wagoneers called back and forth, and the shouts guided my eyes to their hiding places beneath the wagons. Some were beginning to creep out, but I rode away, along the camp to the far end, to Yamurik’s carriage.

Ahdan and Ecena had dismounted. As I rode up, Ahdan stabbed down with his spear, down into the back of a man on the ground, ceasing his twitchings for good. The man was dressed in a dark shemagh and tob, just like the stalkers we had killed.

Navigation links are below

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. Set your own monthly donation amount and help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

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RAZE – 058 – Phantoms

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com. Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

When the sun touched the horizon, we rode. It was the work of a few moments to race up the hill just to the west and drop down the other side into an arroyo, a broad, dry creek bed on the other side. Behind, Yamurik and his people built up their temporary camp, circled their wagons and posted guards and watchers. The mercenaries took to a training exercise on the east, at my suggestion. They raised a great cloud of dust, a yellow haze behind us. In front, the sun burned in a towering flame of red. I hoped the glare and dust would conceal us.

Once down in the arroyo, we turned north and paralleled the road back the way we had come. I sent Estevo ahead on an extra camel to scout and see. He took the glass.

We reached him as the sky turned violet, streaked with cloud, and faded to a deep indigo in the east. The stars were not yet out. The silver moon was a sliver, the red remnants of the Khren’s Brow little more than a crimson glitter high above. I dismounted and climbed the dirt and dry grass up to Estevo, on the side of the riverbank, and there looked east. Already it was too dark, and the glass showed me little more than bleak shadows and the outlines of hills. I cursed.

“They haven’t moved,” Estevo whispered. He pointed. “At least not before the sun dropped. They were still where we last saw them, on the east side of the road.”

“Nothing there but grasses. So they haven’t built a fire, or we’d see it.”

“Or they found a low spot, or a cave, or…”

“Fine. But they’re still there.”

“I’d lay money.”

I returned the glass to him. “But you’re a shit gambler.”

“Better than you.”

I chuckled and led the way back down the hill. There we gave Estevo a fresh camel and he and I mounted up. I gathered the squad about me. They sat atop their camels and waited, having guessed what we were about.

I stared, taking everyone in in turn. Estevo, Ecena, Ahdan, and many others. Everyone here had been with us since we first took Onappa-ka; Serehvani like me and paler Lonireilans and westerners with their black eyes. The night whispered around us, finally cooling. The wind shook the grasses and dried our sweat.

“We,” I said, after a long silence, “are the Hand of the Knife. Yamurik and his soft porters back there are our responsibility. We are being hunted. You’ve all seen.” I glanced about again, looking for nods of agreement. “Do you like it?” Heads shook. “Do you like being prey? Nor do I. Tonight, the Hand will strike.”

There was a murmur of agreement, a rustle of hands touching spears and shields.

“After we leave this river bed, there will be no speaking. We ride,” I pointed. “You’ll follow me. We will hunt these stalkers. We ambush them. We’ll kill them all, all but one. This one, we leave alive to tell the tale. This one will spread the terror of our name. Understand?” Again, nods. “Questions? Speak now.”

“Sergeant?”

Ecena. My teeth clenched and I hoped in the dark no one saw. “Corporal?”

She squinted a bit and waited before speaking. “Yamurik’s caravan. Are we certain they’re adequately defended?”

“If his mercenaries can’t protect him, he should hire better ones.”

“But–”

“Corporal. Do you have a question or an objection?”

She closed her mouth. “Neither, sir.”

We rode up and over the rise, moving slow to keep the camels from protesting. As we went east, I pulled up my scarves to hide my face from the dust. I readied my spear, the familiar grip worn smooth and solid in my hand.

At the head of the group, I led us south once I judged the place right. My shield came up in my right hand. I motioned for those following me to spread out, to keep their eyes up and watching.

Far ahead the mountains of Avandeil rose, black shapes in the south. We guided our mounts through the knee-high grasses, slow and steady, maneuvering around rocks and over the low hillocks.

My squad spread out around me. I glanced down the line, back the other way. No waves to signal signs of scouts or sightings of the stalkers. I stopped beneath a small tree atop a hill, a frondy, spreading thing with new, thin leaves. The gnarled trunk twisted and curled like a serpent. I squinted out through the foliage and scanned the terrain below, more hills and shadows and hunched rocks. Amongst them, though, in a little dip between the hills, I saw shapes moving, a glow on the ground as of a hooded lantern. Our shadows, the ones who’d been stalking the caravan.

I was about to move on when someone, quite close, coughed.

I snapped my head toward the sound and my spear came up. There, at the base of the tree, was a young woman. She stared, eyes wide and white, a sheen of sweat showing on her brow in the sliver of moonlight. She was dressed like a Nabani fighter, in a deep blue turban and long robe and scarves. A sword was in her hand.

Our eyes met. She lunged up. My camel grunted and brayed as the sword nicked into it, but even as it did, it wheeled about. I thrust with my spear, skewering her through.

The woman fell off the blade, her blood showing black on the deep blue cloth of her robe. She sputtered and crawled for a moment, but soon fell and squirmed in the dirt.

One of the other riders burst in through the tree branches. To his credit, he said nothing as his mount grunted and mine continued to complain, but his eyes asked the question. I jabbed the woman again, stilling her, then pulled my mount around. It grunted, but responded, and I leaned out and down, trying to see its wound. The cut could not be deep; only a little blood stained its chest.

I pointed, and the rider departed the way he’d come. He made no sound, but began twirling his spear over head. I did the same, but rode out the other way. I guided my complaining camel into turning a circle and swept my spear overhead. Down the line, as far as I could see in the dark, my squad did likewise. I pointed and started moving, bringing my beast up to a trot.

Halfway down the hill, my squad began to fill in around me. They came closer, their mounts puffing, their spears and shields up. I pointed and they did likewise for the benefit of the rest. Our speed increased. The hoofbeats sounded in the grass and dirt. The wind streamed past us. Grasses swished and shook.

Below us, the five shadows stopped. Were they looking up in the dark at the line of approaching, silent phantoms? One of them shouted, words of panic in Serehvani echoing in the night.

With a Lonireilan battle cry, I spurred my mount to top speed. We thundered down the hill, spears bright and gleaming, as our enemies raced to draw swords in time.

 

Navigation links are below

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. Set your own monthly donation amount and help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

Get weekly updates about new RAZE posts and other announcements by entering your email *

 

The post RAZE – 058 – Phantoms appeared first on D. Thourson Palmer.

RAZE – 057 – The Mistake

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com. Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

One of the oxen had broken a leg. The braying was tremendous, terrible, till one of the guards put it down and it turned to keening grunts and groans, then silence. By the time I climbed down and went to the cart, the roadside dust beneath the beast was churned into a rust-colored sludge. They’d led the ox hobbling away a little at least, so the others didn’t panic.

Yamurik came grumbling up, preceded by his profanities. “Dog-milking-shit-frying ox. Drover! Who drove this one?” The man identified himself. “You ass-burrower. You’ve cost me an ox, idiot. Dog-milking moron. You’ll drive the rest of the way, once we get your mess sorted, and then you’re out! No more. I don’t employ idiots except this one.” He jerked a thumb at me.

I snickered and gave Yamurik a rude gesture, and he swore again and spat and gave me a grin. He didn’t employ me anyway. I and my squad had a chuckle as he swatted the now jobless, fleeing oxcart driver.

Yamurik had grown fatter and fouler in the years since I’d known him. He stomped about in his clothes edged in gold, waving a little collapsible fan like a marshal’s sword. He jabbed and swept, shouted a few well-placed profanities. Six porters leapt into action, unloading the cart that was now an ox short. Yamurik stormed and pointed, gestured and slapped his palm. A man ran about after him, trying to keep him shaded with a parasol, and a clerk bounded at his heels like a puppy, scribbling furiously with charcoal on paper. Meanwhile, drivers brought up their carts to distribute the load. Mercenary guards fanned out to watch. Yamurik cursed me and mine as useless while we strode off the road and sat, hot in our whites, taking a well-earned respite from the heat and dust. “Lonnie bastards!” Yamurik’s curses followed us, but before long he’d returned to the task of rearranging his wares to finish the journey.

Estevo rode up with the rearguard. He and two others clicked to their camels and the beasts let them down to where the rest of us sat in the meager shade beneath a hastily-erected silk on three stout poles. He looked at me and spread his arms in question, and I pointed to the dead ox in answer. The mercenary who’d killed it was hard at work, butchering.

My friend stared for a moment and, as usual, a cigarette appeared in his hand. He pulled down his scarf, blew dust out from inside, and settled the smoke in his lips as he watched the bloody work. He flopped down beside me and pushed in to get a little shade.

“We’re not making the checkpoint tonight, are we?”

“No,” I answered.

“Yamurik’s going to try.”

The workers bustled and shouted. Yamurik roared. His scribe scribbled. So much stock to track and move and shift and rearrange. Far behind us, the sun was dropping swiftly. “Any sign up front?”

At my question, Estevo snorted. “Plenty. They’re baiting us.”

“Well.” Without looking at him or anyone else, I lowered my voice. “We’ve got an extra night. They’ll be setting up camp as soon as they realize we’re not going to have light to reach the checkpoint.”

“Yamurik will be farting steam.”

“He already is.” I chuckled again as, back at the road, the merchant swatted a passing laborer with his fan. “Got that one right on the crown.”

“Knight of the fan.”

We chuckled to each other and shared the cigarette. When it was gone, Estevo worked at trying to salvage the leavings and I called over Ecena.

She stood beside me, enough to keep her head in the shade. “Sergeant?”

Remaining seated, I made a vague gesture. “Get a few of the fresher camels together. Say twelve. I want you and Ahdan, me and Estevo and enough to fill out the squad. Whoever’s got keen eyes and is good with a bow.”

“That’s almost the whole company.”

“So it is.”

Her feet shifted in the dust and scrub. “Looks like we might end up camping here tonight, sir.”

“So it does.”

“And you’re planning a little ride.”

“Just a short one.”

She spoke slowly. “We will be leaving Yamurik with too little defense, should there be others out there we haven’t seen.”

I looked up at her. She didn’t look back. “Are you questioning me, corporal?”

After a silence, she said, “Sir,” and collected Ahdan. They conversed in hushed tones and went off together to begin the task.

Meanwhile, I took Estevo’s shoulder in order to lever myself up. He grunted in protest, nearly crumpling under the sudden weight, and I thumped his shoulder. “Get ready. We’re riding as soon as the light begins to fail.” He made a sound of exaggerated irritation as I made for the halted caravan.

“Old man!” I called.

Yamurik stood beneath his parasol and beside his scribe, observing the repacking. The fading light cast his clothes in fire and glimmered on the gold threads. He waved dismissively without turning as I approached and came about to stand in front of him.

“Old man. I’m talking to you.”

He glared up at me and turned only briefly to spit into the road. “Well, little tyrant? I’m right here.”

“If I were a tyrant, I’d tell you to kneel in the dirt and kiss my foot.” I endeavored to look imperious instead of laughing.

“If you could even dream of forcing myself to such abasement, I’d tie a rope around my neck and hang myself.” Yamurik’s mask of hatred cracked and a little amusement shone out. “What is it, boy?”

“You’re camping here tonight.”

“Dog-milking ox-milking cart ass. Yes. It’s looking as if I shall.” He scrubbed his forehead with the hand still holding the fan. “I’ll take it out of that idiot’s pay when I throw his last string of drams on the ground for him to pick up. Then I’ll charge him for every dog-milking mile if he wants to ride back with us.”

“Circle up your wagons. I’ll set my folk to guard, but some of us are riding out. We’ll try to slip away while camp’s going up.”

“Slip away? So close to the checkpoint? You’re supposed to guard us, not leave us exposed. And what about those ones who’ve been following us?”

“It’s them I’ll be finding.” I turned and strode away. “I’d like a talk with our shadows.”

 

Navigation links are below

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. Set your own monthly donation amount and help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

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RAZE – 056 – A Hand, a Touch

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How does a choice affect a life?

When we are asleep in a tent and it begins to rain, the rain may bead and tap and soak the outside. Inside, we remain warm and dry, but a compulsion leads you to reach out to that thin layer of canvas stretched above us. Is it simple curiosity? Is it a caress, an expression of gratitude to the protective cloth? Is it the impulse of our own destruction?

When your fingertip meets that delicate wall, it draws the water through. Soon, you and the inside of your tent will be soaked. And it was all due to a single droplet, a single touch from a curious hand, or a loving one, or a destructive one.

*     *     *

It was midsummer and the south of Serehvan was hot, the road dusty and stifling. Sweat soaked my turban and beaded on my brow only to run into my eyes. It was my turn to walk and share the camels, and my spear and shield and bow grew heavy on me. My breath was rank and sweltering behind the thin scarf with which I covered my face to keep the dust out.

All around, camels and oxen stank and grunted. Wagons grumbled and thumped. Guards, Yamurik’s guards, shouted back and forth as they changed out the advance scouts. They didn’t ask my guidance, for I was there as much to watch Yamurik and his caravan as to watch over them.

Ahead, the mountains of northern Lonireil, the province of Avandeil, loomed up, and I prayed they’d offer some respite from the heat. It was the 26th Year Provided, and I had been il-Lonireil for four years. I was eighteen years old.

A piece of grit got in my eye, making me wince and blink. Grumbling, I dug at it with a dusty knuckle and my curses disturbed the oxen pulling the cart beside me. With their bellows ringing in my ears, I stopped long enough for them to pass me, then dashed through the fraught gap between the groaning wheels and beasts and laden, sagging carts.

I shouted for Ahdan. He, somewhat ahead, scarcely slowed his march, but gave me a lazy salute as his gaze roved over Yamurik’s teams of aides and laborers. Ahead of us, Ecena balanced atop the tarp-covered, swaying load of the largest cart. A few more of ours were scattered through the convoy, watching.

“Ahdan!” He stopped and I caught up only to breeze past so he had to follow. We ploughed through the dust at the side of the caravan path, skirting shit and stones and deep rutted holes in the packed earth.

“Report?” I marched, squinting about us.

“Still out there, sergeant.” He hustled up beside me. “East this time.”

“And they’re keeping their distance?”

“Seem to be.” He swiped futilely at his eyes through the narrow opening in his scarves and wrappings.

Saying nothing more, I dashed ahead and once again dodged into the road. One of Yamurik’s cart drivers shouted at me, but I paid him no heed. I caught up to Ecena’s cart, spraing to the back, and hauled myself up by the straps holding down the tarp.

On top, the air was a little clearer. I pulled down my scarf and drew a deep breath while I balanced. Ecena gave me the same lazy salute that Ahdan had.

“Can you see them?” I asked.

“Not now.”

I held out my hand and she passed me a short silver spyglass, covered all over in early Lonireilan-style etchings. This I put to my eye and cast about over the plains and the coming hillsides. My view rocked and tilted with the lurchings of the cart.

“Maybe they got eaten by a suliard.” I said. Ecena snorted. I looked east, scanned the rolling grasses. There were no farms this far south. I turned a slow circle, looking south, toward the hills and mountains beyond. Not far. We’d make camp at the base of the mountain pass. Then I swept west, paused, squinted. I gave the glass to Ecena.

She held it up and followed my direction and gestures, and she confirmed what I saw. “The same ones.”

“I count four. On camelback,” I said.

“Five. Another just came up a rise.” She gave the glass back and I looked again.

There were indeed five silhouettes, little black spots with clouds of dust around them as they moved. They were too far to make out in detail, especially with the cart’s rocking. I lowered the glass as my stomach turned over.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think we should ignore them. Stay with the caravan.”

But who were they? If they never came close, we’d never know. They could be secret contacts of Yamurik’s. I looked ahead on the road. Near the front, out of the worst of the dust, Yamurik’s private carriage trundled along with its shutters and filigree and plumes.

“We’ll be at the next camp soon enough, and it won’t matter who they are.”

I agreed, but chewed at the inside of my lip. There was sense in what she said, even if I didn’t want to believe it. I sent her down to join the others walking on the road, but after taking the glass. The silhouettes followed us, holding their distance.

A sound came from the front. An animal cried out in sudden pain. Someone screamed.

 

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RAZE – Interlude I

I have written all that you have read that you might better understand some of the things to come to pass later; and I ask that you remember Weckar and Mire Storm, Yamurik and my sister Navat, who spoke to me the night the Lonireilans took me, and who has yet a part to play in the tale I’ll relate.

A few years passed between what I will now tell and the night we captured the smugglers and stopped the flow of refugees, for a time, out of Onappa-ka. However, that act precipitated certain others, others which took years to culminate.

Rouk province mustered its forces again and again, in summer and in autumn, and smashed themselves against the Lonireilan army in Onappa-ka in the hopes of taking the city back. Each time, we repulsed them with jagged spears and barbed arrows and high fortifications. The wind cut them to ribbons on the plain. Many I knew died. I was lucky enough to escape unharmed, at least in body.

The Tash and I never came as close to touching as we did that night in the hospital. We avoided each other at the mess table, in the training hall. Some shared horror drew, but repulsed us. We could not give voice or action to the thoughts that plagued and tormented us. Nights I lay alone in my bunk, knowing she was only a few steps away. My heart aches to think of it, even now. If you have passed the age we were, you will understand how our desires raged, and you may understand our disgust and shame and horror at the very idea of pursuing them.

It is enough to know that in the intervening years, I became fluent in Lonireilan. I continued to practice and train in war, with bow and spear, sword and shield, using such activities to distract myself when the nightmares came or when my thoughts raced or my adolescent desires surged. I thought myself quite adept and, in our little company, I suppose I was.

Know that I became sergeant of our company when Uruverres took an arrow in her shoulder and got a rot. She died, but de Trastorces named me as her successor. This was a source of great pride.

And know that, in the great chain of acts and challenges and mistakes that followed, many more of the same were set in motion, and that some of them have not yet heard the last of their echoes, and that the meeting of myself and Weckar, Navat, and Mire Storm, has led me to this cell, and this pen, and this page.

Continue to Part II

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RAZE – 055 – The Reward of Service

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Urnan grinned down at his work, but I could see the error I’d made in bringing bows. “He’s going to bleed to death.” I seized the man’s coat collar and lifted him. “Who were you going to meet? Who else is helping you? Tell me and we’ll help you.”

He groaned and spat. The hot flecks made me blink and I wiped with the back of my hand, bile rising in my throat even as I gasped from the effort of the fight and chase. Before I could say anything, he spoke.

“I’m not afraid to die. Lonnie ox-milkers. Do your worst, we won’t stop fighting you.”

His voice slurred. The blood from his leg was hot, damping my own trouser leg, filling a black circle beneath us. He was dying. The arrow had hit one of the vital channels and blood pumped out in thick spurts.

“Tell me what I want to know, or death will be far from the worst we can do,” I said, but his head was lolling. He slurred insults in response.

Urnan and I half-lifted, half-dragged him back to the intersection. His breathing grew weaker and his grip slacker. A grisly trail showed where we’d brought him from the alley. Urnan strutted and bragged, and I knew he could easily steal what glory remained of the night if our catch died. Then, the achievement would be the death of the smugglers, not the ending of the escapes. Urnan had abandoned me and almost gotten me killed. It was luck he’d come back when he did. Wasn’t it? The more I thought, the more convenient his arrival seemed. I had to deal with him.

Urnan watched over the dying smuggler while I went for aid. Soon, I found a crew of Lonireilan patrollers and told them where to meet me with a cart. Meanwhile, I ran back to Urnan and the smuggler, used my belt to tourniquet his leg, and we began carrying him up the road. The cart caught up with us halfway to the fort.

While we sat in the back, bouncing and jostling, the man stared. He stopped speaking. Blood made slippery the cart floor, and soon he was still. We arrived, but could not rouse him.

A sergeant in charge of the fort night watch ordered us to wait. Soon, Fahil and Hamed arrived along with the Tash, escorting the escapee family. They waited with us while the prisoners were taken away. Tash’s face was bleeding, and she went to the hospital.

Uruverres came, but stood some distance away and spoke to none of us. While the sky grew lighter and the snows let up, we waited, shivering and alone, beside a dying fire. None of us spoke. We were being watched, guarded, by a few members of the fortress garrison, who stood off from us a little.

I chanced a whisper to the others. “We have nothing to hide. If they ask where the equipment came from, just tell them it was me.” Fahil grinned and nodded enthusiastically. Urnan stared. Hamed gave a short nod. “Thanks, corporal,” he said under his breath.

“You look out for us,” Fahil agreed.

“I took them. I’ll take blame, and the rest of you will share the reward only. We did well tonight.” I looked at Urnan. “All of us.” His suspicious look cracked with a small upturning of his lip.

De Trastorces emerged, finally, from the fort. He spoke with Uruverres, then went back inside. She came to us and pointed at Fahil. “You first.”

“Sergeant.” I raised a hand. “Allow me to explain. They were following my orders.”

Uruverres raised a finger for silence, then pointed at Fahil again. “I said you first. Come on.” She led Fahil away in silence.

One by one she came for each of them. After their questioning, each left the fortress without a backward glance, headed back to town and our outpost in Yamurik’s compound. I was last.

Uruverres took me to a small room where de Trastorces waited. He was sipping coffee. The smell was intoxicating, but I knew I had to keep my wits.

The room was bare, the walls fresh planks. It was part of the new fort, the upper portion built atop the hill which had once been a cave house. Uruverres stood. De Trastorces sat at a small table in one corner, his legs crossed, facing me as if about to watch an entertainment. They sat me in a hard little chair at the center of the room, with a couple of lamps providing all the light. It was dim and stank of sweat and fear.

Uruverres’ broad, stiff-uniformed chest filled my view. She stood over me, glaring, in a long silence.

Finally she broke it with questions. I took responsibility for stockpiling unlisted equipment. I denied plans to sell it or give it to enemies.

She turned to de Trastorces. He nodded, and she returned her glare to me. “For stealing property of Lonireil, you’ll have two hundred lashes tonight at evening muster.”

My heart turned to cold dirt.

She turned her questions to the night’s events. Here was my chance to redeem myself, and to ensure my good effort was recognized. I put the lashes behind me and focused.

“Where did you learn of these smugglers and refugees?”

“Suspicion, ma’am. And I was told after the last escape that there were conspirators in Onappa-ka.”

“So the trap was yours.”

“Yes.”

“And you did not inform me of your plans because…”

“Ma’am. Because…” I paused. Careful. My developing grasp of Lonireilan might betray me. I composed the next words in my head. “I wanted to show my plan was sound, alone.”

“Misguided, il-Lonireil.” I had no response. She said nothing more for a moment, then, “we had a report. The homes of the men you caught were searched. I have squads out rounding up three more of their compatriots based on information we found. We also discovered weapons and some of Yamurik’s opium, apparently stolen.”

I didn’t answer. It seemed like a test. What she was telling me was that I had been successful, despite the smuggler’s death, beyond my wildest hopes.

“What we’ve found is important.” She circled in front of me. De Trastorces stood up beside her and dabbed his mustache with a napkin. “This may have been the beginnings of an insurgent group. So that much was well done. And, because you’ve taken full responsibility for the theft of equipment, we’d like to reward the soldiers who followed your orders in helping bring these miscreants to justice.”

I named Fahil, Hamed, and of course, the Tash, as the ones who had aided me. “And Estevo.” They looked confused. “He didn’t aid directly, but he helped me plan. He is loyal and has a quick mind. He deserves some credit.”

Uruverres seemed to consider this. “And what of Urnan? He said he brought down the escaping smuggler.”

I shook my head and strove to come through as clear and honest. “He deserted us. Almost brought down the whole thing.”

“Indeed?” de Trastorces finally said. “But he claims to have been chosen to help.”

“He was, but he left.” I licked my lips. “The Tash can tell you. I mean, not tell you. But you can ask her. She was watching over me. She saw him leave. I killed the smuggler. Urnan returned in time to claim honor, unearned, for himself.”  

They conferred, leaving me alone, and a moment later went to the door, called a runner, and gave him instruction. We waited in silence a long time.

When the runner finally returned, he whispered to Uruverres. She returned to me with a grave look. “Tash agrees that Urnan left just before the attack.”

It took all my effort not to blow out a breath of relief.

“For what you’ve done,” she paused. “We rescind the two hundred lashes.” This time, I did blow out that breath. “And sentence you to twenty-five.” My face must have fallen. “Your plan was good, but you should have informed me. What you did worked out well, but could have cost you and your team. Next time, bring me such a plan, and I will help you enact it.”

I set my jaw and nodded, and hoped they did not see me trembling. This was not the trembling of fear. It was rage. I was to be punished for my success. That they reduced the sentence was no matter. 

 I was escorted out to the yard. As I made for the fort gates, my pace slowed. My mind was racing, my fury high and hot. Punish me, when I had unearthed and led to the removal of an insurgent group? The reward of service was a light sentence, was to be whipped in front of the troupe.

I stopped and turned, instead of leaving, and went to the hospital.

The Tash wasn’t badly hurt, but her cut needed stitching. She sat, waiting, holding a reddening towel to her face, just inside. I took a place beside her in silence for a while. The tent was warm and full of strange, medicinal smells, not quite able to cover the lingering sweet-stench of rot, of sickness, of death. The medicos went about their business, attending to others.

“Uruverres talked to me.” I decided not to tell her the real story about Urnan. Better she had no idea. “You did well. As always.” The Tash made a brief grunt. Now, as usual, she sat staring at her knees, the ends of her hair in her eyes.

Her hand moved. On the chair’s arm, it shifted, and for a second I thought she was reaching out to me.

An adolescent impulse filled my mind, overtook my brain. A warmth that came to me only in my bunk, asleep, ignited and kindled inside me. I moved my fingers toward hers. Then, before they touched, we both drew away. The impulse in my head, so pleasant and urgent at first, rotted and grew foul. Our bodies, our skin touching… the very idea terrified me. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone touching me the way I had just imagined.

We sat in our chairs, drawn apart, but neither of us willing to move away.

 *      *      *

Dear friends, thus ends the first chapter of my life, and the first part of my service to Lonireil. And though this is a sort of ending, the tale goes on.

 

Navigation links are below

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Click the link if you’d like to be a Patron too. Set your own monthly donation amount and help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

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The post RAZE – 055 – The Reward of Service appeared first on D. Thourson Palmer.