Steel And Flame (Book 1) (64 page)

Tonight they would stay at the Fifth Depot, a smaller
supply base than the Sixth.  Normally there would be no room except the regular
garrison soldiers were away preparing to distract the Noliers from the breach
point.  Late that afternoon, the old holding transformed into a depot emerged
from a small wood.

It had been constructed generations ago, as a broad
tower four levels tall surrounded by a handful of outbuildings.  The tower
stretched wider than its height, a squat mushroom with its cap ripped off. 
Earthworks and fortifications had been added to improve its defenses.

They rode over double ramps into the depot grounds,
the place eerily empty to Marik.  He had grown accustomed to the bustling
activity and the constant press of men in the Sixth and Seventh Depots, the
endless loading and unloading of wagons heading in or out.  In the Fifth there
were fewer men to begin with.  With most gone, the place evinced an abandoned
atmosphere.

“Did they actually leave this place unguarded?” he
called ahead to Fraser.

The sergeant looked back over his shoulder.  “It’s a
calculated risk.  Look around and you’ll see all the supplies have already been
shipped out to the field.”

Old buildings stood with their doors open, revealing
bare innards.  Normally the depots were supplied as fast as they were emptied. 
If their mission had been planned in advance then the supplies destined for the
Fifth would have been diverted to other depots along the line.

From within the main tower, men emerged to direct them
to the horse and bunk areas.  After they settled, the Kings tracked down the
cooks who had busily prepared for their arrival.

Everyone exchanged news.  The primary information
source for a common soldier was the cooks who served and chatted with
everyone.  It helped that cooks, as a rule, tended to be as in love with gossip
as women around a well.  Marik listened to the men surrounding him.

“Things up north aren’t going so well.”

“Oh yeah?  I heard they were holding their own.”

“They can’t break through the line way it is now.”

“Well whadd’ya expect?  Half of gods damned Nolier is
camped out in the Cliffsdains!”

“You boys going into a spot of trouble?”

“We can show those bastards a thing or two!”

“Too bad our mage got his’self scragged.  Heard he was
supposed to help you out ‘morrow.”

“What?”  Marik’s attention immediately focused on the
last statement made by one cook further down the table.

“Huh?”

“What you said, about the mage?”

“Oh, that?”  The man was clearly pleased to have a
story his audience had yet to hear.  “That magey type the army boys had ‘round
here got his’self in a toss-around with another o’ his like.  Just t’other day,
too.  Heard they both tumbled t’other about, but ours been out cold in the
Healers wing since.”

“What about the Nolier mage?”

“Don’t rightly know.  The boys what seen it all says
he fell down in the dirt.”

“Dead?”

“Mayhap.  Could be dozing like ours, I reckon.  Or
mayhap not.”

“Move it up there!” called a voice from behind.  The
line pushed forward, forcing Marik along with it.

If that were true, the original plan had called for a
mage to accompany them into the Reaches, except the one allocated to the task
could no longer fulfill his duties.  An all too familiar ill premonition
settled over him, a feeling he had come to recognize as his intuition at work. 
He hoped he was wrong.

But he was not.  While he unrolled his bedroll in an
old barracks building that night, Fraser sought him out.  “Come along.  The
lieutenant wants a little chat.”

“What about?”

“Do I look like his personal clerk?  Get moving!”

Marik got moving.  He followed Fraser into the main
tower, up a stone set of stairs spiraling along the outer wall.  They entered
an office with two desks and, nodding to one man working on paperwork, Fraser
knocked on the door in the far wall.

“Come on in.”

When the door opened, Marik found himself in the
presence of his sergeant, his lieutenant and three others.  One of the
unfamiliar men greeted him curtly.  He was clearly a battle veteran hardened by
long survival.

“I’m your new captain, Trask Windfell.  You’re
Lieutenant Earnell’s witch-worker?”

Neither of the other strangers introduced themselves. 
Marik felt uncomfortable under their eyes.  “Not as such.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My talent is brand new and I’ve apprenticed under the
Crimson Kings’ chief mage.  My skills are limited, at best.”

“Well let me fill you in on a fact or two,” Trask
grunted, crossing his arms.  “There’s at least one of you witchy types working
for the Noliers at this supply base we’re hitting.  Donnel was supposed to be
our counter to that, but he got on the wrong end of one of those spells you
folk use.  Maybe Donnel took out the Nolier hoodoo with him, or maybe not.  You
see my dilemma?”

Captain Trask acted less than friendly but Marik
sensed the captain was treating him straight.  It would be enough, he decided.

“I think so, sir.  Maybe the magical threat to the
incursion team is gone, or maybe it isn’t.  Maybe the Noliers had multiple
mages.  Numbers don’t mean as much with a skilled mage backing the enemy
forces.”

“Exactly!” Trask whip-lashed, his sausage finger
pointing at Marik’s chest.  “All the mages in the Galemaran forces are under
the knight-marshal’s control and he only sends them where he sees fit.  If I
wait for a replacement, we’ll be here a month.  We can’t afford a month, so I
have to go with what I’ve got.”

“Meaning me.”

“Yes.”

“As I said, sir, my skills in this field are extremely
limited.  What did you have in mind?”

Trask took his seat.  Beside the chair sat a small end
table covered with documents.  He lifted one and gestured to the empty chair
across from him.  The other four men were already seated.  Marik felt less
singled out once he sat among them.

“Donnel said he would set up a containment filter,
whatever that means.”  Trask glanced at the document.  “Something about
blocking astral energy transfers or like that.  That make any sense to you?”

“In a way.”

“Think you can do that?”

“Definitely not.  It sounds pretty advanced.”

Trask nodded.  “Then what can you do against a mage? 
I need to change the plan and we’re going to do that before we leave.”  The
tone in the captain’s voice made it clear no one would get any sleep until they
were done.

“Sir, it depends on what kind of mage it is.  Is it a
real mage, or is it a wizard?  I can work a trick or two against those, maybe.”

Trask glanced at the report in his hand again. 
“Scout’s best estimate is ‘magician’.”  He looked up.  “What about one of
those?”

Figures it’d be the same type as nearly killed me.
  “As I remember, a magician calls on the astral form
of his spell components, I think, and uses his power to draw the raw form into
the physical plane where it takes shape as a spell.”

“I don’t care about all that!  Are you any good
against one or not?”

“I’m thinking, sir.  I’ve never used my skills in
battle before.”  Marik paused for a moment, deep in thought, struggling to
remember old Tollaf’s words and lectures now that it seemed he actually needed
them.  “A magician…or maybe a witch or a warlock.  They share the same talent,
so it might be either, but whichever it might be, I might be able to work
something.  They have to pull the astral form of their spell components through
to the physical plane, I think, so I might be able to disrupt the spell, maybe,
but,” he looked straight into the captain’s eyes, “don’t count on it.”

“Can you do anything I
can
count on?”

“I’ve practiced different shields against magical
attack.  I’ve never used them against a magician’s style of magic, but Master
Tollaf taught me how to adjust for it.” 
Am I actually referring to that old
bastard as
Master?

Trask looked far from happy.  Marik hesitated before
deciding to add his own piece.  “I think the best option would be to get as
close as we can to the magician or mage or whatever.  If there is one.  If the
men can get close enough to attack and break through, I think I can keep him
busy long enough for the fighters to handle him.”

The captain cast a sharp glare at Marik.  “You think
so, eh?  You have any idea what kind of defenses are around the supply base?”

“No sir, I was only offering a suggestion for your consideration.”

Trask suddenly smirked and glanced at the unnamed
strangers.  He chose to say nothing, only cast that single look.  Marik worried
he might have said something foolish.

“Well, let’s talk about what you can, or I suppose
what you
can’t,
do.  Attacks?”

“Not really.”

“Weather spells?”

“No.  You’d need an entire team for anything like
that.”

“Concealment spells to hide the men from sight, or
anything similar?”

“Sorry.”

While they continued over the list of Marik’s
shortcomings, Trask’s displeasure with the situation deepened.  But despite all
the cold water Marik threw on the idea, the captain refused to consider letting
the mercenary escape from this task.  A mage was a mage was a mage in Trask’s
eyes, and there better be a way for
this
mage to protect his men against
possible Nolier magic.  In the end, they decided upon Marik’s suggestion as the
best of the worst, with a few revisions.

Once the entire company neared the supply base, Marik
would move as close as possible to the enemy compound to ascertain the
existence of mages within.  If none were present, then Marik would act as
lookout, his mage senses better able to pick out Nolier scout auras among the
trees.  If a magic user did reside within, then he would return, report to the
captain and the best course would be debated.

The marker candles burned low before they finally
exhausted all other possibilities.  Marik staggered to his bedroll, amazed at
how exhausted a simple meeting between men could make him.  On the way he found
enough energy to ask Fraser what Trask’s odd glance had signified.

“That?  Don’t think much about it.”

“Should I keep my mouth shut?  I don’t want to earn
the Kings a fodder position because I’m too stupid to know when to keep quiet.”

“You won’t.  Not with Trask.  His aides usually
present their own opinions as fact when reporting gathered intelligence.  It’s
a sore point with him.  A little honesty is refreshing.  Still,” Fraser added
in a harder tone, “exercise your common sense when you’re talking.”

“Right.”

He fell into his bedroll, thankful the nights remained
warm since wrestling with the sheet lay beyond his capabilities at the moment. 
It seemed a bare moment after he closed his eyes when he felt a hand shaking
his shoulder.

“Come on, Marik!  Early to rise and all that bilk…”

Marik cracked open one gummy eye to find Dietrik
leaning over him.

“We’re moving out soon.  You’ll miss the splendid
breakfast slop!”

Later, while he tied his gear behind his saddle,
Fraser summoned him from across the stable yard.  Marik asked, “What now?”

“I wanted you to meet the scout you’ll be working with
once we’re in the trees.  He’s from one of our specialty squads that were
divided among the whole damned army.”

Atop a wagon wheel perched an odd figure.  The man was
slightly shorter than his own height, and not as broad across the shoulders
either.  His body mass was less all around yet he looked muscular all the
same.  He wore an outfit of mottled brown and green with gray mixed in as
befitted a scout, except the colors hung in loose cloth strips dangling from
strangely cut clothing.  It twisted Marik’s eyes, suggesting it had been woven
from leaves and hanging moss.  Marik needed to squint so he could pick out the
scout’s form, even in the stable yard’s light.  Dark brown hair fell around the
man’s ears.  When he shifted his attention, Marik felt pierced by the coldness
in those stony eyes.

“Meet Colbey from the Second Squad.  He’ll be watching
your back during the mission.”

“ ‘Anpa!  ‘Anpa!”

Three young children, energy abounding in the bright
summer sun, ran across the hard dirt yard, scampering between the nets on their
stretching racks with the ease of those who had spent their entire short lives
in a fishing village.  It distracted old gaffer Lorry from his mending.  Far
from displeased, he bestowed a smile on his grandchildren.

“Here now!  Slow down, tykes, or you’re liable to run
head first into a frame!”

“ ‘Anpa Lorry!” the youngest one shouted again.

“Hey’la.”  The old man set aside the net to scoop the
little one into his lap.  “Oh!  Look at you!  You’re getting bigger all the
time, Feyme!”

The little girl smiled, showing her missing first
teeth.  “Mamma says stay outside.”

“So you came running to me, did you?”  He took in her
two older brothers, instantly recognizing their bearing.  “What boiling kettle
have you two scamps upset this time?”

“Nothing!” protested Setin, the oldest.

“Don’t lie to me, child.  I’ve known you your whole
life, and your mamma all of hers.”

“We didn’t do anything!”

Rudy scuffed a toe in the dirt.

“Well, Rudy?”

He cast a furtive glance at Setin, then, “We just
brought home a kitty!  Farthing’s got a dog!  Why can’t we have som’thing?”

“You know your mamma’s told you about that before. 
And what were you boys thinking, bringing a cat into a fisherman’s house?”

“We was gonna train it real good and not let it do
nothing bad!” Setin insisted.

“Uh-huh.  And I know what happened.  It got away from
you and ruined your papa’s catch.”

Both boys dropped their gazes to their feet.

“Where’s it now?”

“Mamma said it’d never leave now it found som’thing to
eat.  Does that mean she’ll let us keep it?”  Rudy sounded eager.

“Where is it?”

“Mamma’s looking after it.”

Which answered the question in Lorry’s mind.  In a
fisher village, cats were unwelcome enough.  Unless raised from a kitten, they
could never be trusted, and many times not then either.  Cats were their own
creatures, following whatever whims struck their fancy.  Garda had sent the
kids from their little home and would take it to the water’s edge in a sack to
drown it away from their sight.  Later she would either say it had run away or
that a stranger passing through had expressed an interest in it.

“Is she now?  Probably she wants to make sure it’s
nice and healthy when its owner comes looking for it.”

“It ain’t got no owner!  It’s all skinny and
starving.  Setin said it’s a stray.”

“Shells and sand, Setin!  You should know better than
to bring a hungry stay into the house!”

“We didn’t mean no harm…”

“Still, if it was a stray then it probably won’t stay
long.  They like their freedom.  It filled its belly from your papa’s catch,
but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s gone its own way before you get back.”

“But mama said she’d look after it and keep it outta
trouble!”

“Have you ever seen a cat that didn’t want to be
caught?”

Setin and Rudy shook their heads.

“They can move fast as summer lightning when they’ve a
mind to.  Your mamma’s got better things to do than chase the bedraggled thing
across the whole waterfront.  If it’s gone when you get home, best to forget
about it altogether.”

They were unhappy, so Lorry offered a diversion.  “You
two boys, give your old gaffer a hand with this mess.  I still got miles of
mending to do on this net.  Feyme dear, how about you slide on down for
awhile.”

“ ‘K, ‘anpa.”

The girl jumped from his lap and busied herself
climbing an empty drying rack.  He set the boys tugging the net’s corners this
way or that.  They were eager to help like real grown-up fishermen.  Their help
actually slowed his progress but he had nothing else to occupy him now that he
no longer challenged the azure waters every day, snatching what he could of the
sea’s bounty.  Lorry enjoyed his rambunctious grandchildren.

“Who’s net’s this, Grandpa Lorry?” Setin asked after
he pulled too hard on his corner.  The hole Lorry was mending slid off his lap.

“Brass Knob’s.  Did you see that big stickerfish he
brought in last eightday?”

“Yeah!  Papa say’s it’s the biggest catch of the
season so far!”

“He’s right.  It took three of them to haul it over
the side into their boat, and look at the damage it did to the net!”  He
gestured to the many rents and tears.

“It were hanging on the racks by the main road! 
Farthing says the Bloody Sun Pirates break off those big spikes on their noses
and use ‘em like swords when they’re fighting.  That one on the racks could’ve
been a spear!”

Rudy asked, “Is that true, Grandpa Lorry?  What
Farthing said?”

“Don’t you go listening to that boy.  He knows about
as much of fighting and pirates as you do.  He’s wanting to show off to impress
you younger minnows.”

“See?” Rudy jeered at his older brother.  “Told you
wasn’t so!”

“But they could!  Remember how long that were?  And
sharp too!  Steeves poked his hand on it and he bled!”

“You best not be playing around with things like
that!” Lorry admonished.  “One slip and you could hurt yourselves right good!”

“We were being careful!  But you could turn one of ‘em
spikes into a sword.  I’d bet it’d look really neat!  No one’d come near you!”

“Hard to make friends that way then, and the first person
to challenge you to a fight with a sword of honest steel, or better yet a
longarm spear, would hack it to pieces.”

Rudy asked, “Papa said old Brass caught it in the
Deeps.  Where’s that?”

Lorry paused, slipping the wooden bobbin between his
leg and the old rickety chair.  “You see out there?”  ‘Out there’ was the vast
blue ocean sparkling in the clear sun.  Across the irregular wavelets drifted
an uncountable number of fishing vessels, from small two-man rowboats to low
schooners requiring full crews.  The old fisherman reckoned his porch view atop
a low hill on the west coast of Tullainia would be the closest to the heavens
he’d come until death claimed him.

“You boys see where the water darkens, out past those
far rocks poking up through the water?”

“Yeah, but the sun’s sparkling in my eyes!”

“Shield your eyes like this,” he said, raising one
hand to his brow and smiling.  “The light water is shallower and easier to
fish.  Farther out, the ground under the water falls away sharp.  You shouldn’t
fish out that far until you’ve as much experience as your papa.”

“Why not?  Old Brass caught that big’un up outta the
water.  That’s the Deeps, ain’t it?” asked Setin.

“It is, but the danger worsens the farther out you
sail.  It’s close on to four miles, that far.  How many vessels you see out in
the dark blue today?”

The boys squinted while Feyme dropped next to his
chair, holding his free hand.

“Maybe four?  The sun’s in my eyes.”

Lorry shaded his eyes to count as well.  There were
actually five out past the deep water line today.  Scattered across the darker
waters, they were mere specks to his aged eyes.  One sailed farther than the
rest, practically on the horizon line itself.   That Lorry could see it at all
meant the ship must be overly large, probably a merchant carrying a fancy load.

“I think you’re right, Rudy.  There’s four of our own
ships out there today.  I see another, but it’s foreign and passing by.  But
think on that for a moment.”

“Think about what, Grandpa Lorry?”

“All these fishermen with their big plans and bigger
stories.  You hear them talking about their greatest catches all the time,
don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“In comes old Brass with the hells’ own catch, and the
whole village is gathering around and talking about it.  How many of the boys
do you reckon would rush out to the place he caught it to try and get one of
their own?”

“I would,” exclaimed Setin.  “You could catch a few of
‘em and not have to work for the rest of the eightday!”

“Exactly.  And how many do you see out there doing
that today?”

Setin frowned suddenly and turned to recount the
vessels delving into the ocean’s bounty.  Rudy answered.  “Not many.”

“And those are the same ones who go out there most
days already.  You know why everybody else is staying in their normal fishing
holes?”

“It’s dangerous?  But why?  You can still see the
village.”

“Listen son, and I’ll tell you a secret in the fishing
game.  As a rule, the deeper the water, the more dangerous it is.  Even this
close to the shore.  Storms come up out of nowhere and the currents get funny. 
And Brass Knob has always been a little crazy, so don’t go following his
example.”

“What ‘bout sea monsters?” Setin asked, turning back
from the ocean.  “I heard they like to eat boats whenever they find one!” 
Lorry thought Setin had always seemed overly eager for adventurous tales.  His
younger brother acted sensibly, keeping his feet on the ground so his head
stayed out of the clouds, unlike the older sibling.  He doubted he would be
around long enough to know for sure but he guessed the younger child would make
the better fisherman when they grew older.  Rudy might one day gain the skill
and caution to make a good deepwater fisher, and thus take a place among the
prosperous.

“You like to gobble down all of Farthing’s tales
whole, don’t you Setin?  A future fisher shouldn’t swallow hooks and sinkers
himself!”

“Didn’t hear it from Farthing!  All the sailors down
at the Roost were talking ‘bout it!”

“When were you in the Roost?”

Setin belatedly looked wary.  Rudy said, “Feyme was
thirsty.  We only asked for a cup of water.”

“All right then, if that’s all it was.  But you watch
yourselves around there.  The place is full of those foreign sailors.  Nothing
but a gang of cutups and chikenhawks!”

“What’s a chikenhawk?”

“Never you mind that.  What did you hear?”

Setin piped anew.  “They were saying how two of their
big boats were swallowed up by giant serpents bigger’n the whole ocean!”  The
boy’s eyes widened with a nervous tinge.  “Is that true, Grandpa Lorry?”

“Well, sailors were born to lie, you remember that. 
But maybe there’s a scale of truth in the tale.”  Setin’s eyes grew small in
excited fear.  “Don’t ever go believing you know everything there is to know
about the sea, boys.  She holds her secrets deep and close, and any man who
catches one up is likely to find himself facing her wrath.”

They spent the afternoon mending nets while Lorry
entertained them with tales nearly as old as he.  Garda came looking for them
when dusk pressed down on the sky.  She explained to her saddened children that
their cat had followed a pair of rich-looking people away, and she thought it
would be better off under their care.  The children cried, yet the cat was gone
and nothing could be done about it.  Exactly what a rich person might have been
doing strolling around the village when none had ever done so before never
crossed their minds.

She thanked her father for looking after them and
letting her finish her own work in peace.

“Nothing to thank me for, little miss.  Send them over
anytime.  It lightens my day.”  She left with her youngsters.

Lorry decided to deliver the mended nets that night
after all.  He dropped Gerd’s two small throw-casters into the hand cart over
Brass Knob’s bigger trolling net.  Gerd’s lay closer.  Soon he collected a
short string of halibut from the day’s catch as payment for his mending.  Being
retired, he lived mostly off his meager savings since Alma had died, but a
fisherman to the core, he enjoyed the light work.  The extra income came in
handy too.

Brass walked up from his dock as Lorry arrived. 
“Hey’la, Lorry!  Is that my net you got there?”

“Whose else would I bring you?  How’d the day go?”

“Haw!  Let me tell you, I had a monster of a sea pike
in my nets!  Made that stickerfish I brought back look like a minnow!  I was
this
close to the beauty!”

“And it got away,” finished Lorry with a smile, the
line and the story as familiar to him as his own hands after a lifetime among
fisherfolk.  “The big ones always seem to.”

“It’s the gods honest truth!  Ask any of my men who
went out with me!”

“I’m sure they’d be happy to back you up.  After I
bought them all a few rounds, no doubt.”

“Aw, you’re just losing your thrill of the chase,
living up on the hill all alone.  Why not come out with me tomorrow?  It’ll be
a nice change!”

“I’m quite content spending the afternoon with my
grandchildren.  Family is one thing I never had much time for when I was riding
the currents everyday.”