Brave Men Die: Part 2 Read online

  The boy had stopped and was just watching. The smile faded from his face when he realised that Gerard had kept his feet. Whatever space the kid had created was gone, he’d screwed up and bloody knew it. It was like he panicked, then startled, remembered to start bloody running again.

  They turned one last time and the alley in front of him lead back to one of the main roads. After the warren of turns he had no idea which. Gerard was sure that would look bad on the report that Murray would force him to fill out at the end of all of this. That one little thing would niggle at him. That he would drag up again and again and ride him over. All because Murray had given the stupid bloody order to chase after some kids.

  He was getting closer. Gerard could feel it. The shadows were lightening with the promise of sunlight at the end of the expanding street. Gerard was almost on him. He could just about reach out and grab him. He took another two steps and launched himself at the boy, tackling him around the waist out into the main street.

  The entire time he was in the air he thought he was going to miss, but the hard stone pressed against the side of his face and the boy’s soft flesh beneath him relieved him to no ends.

  Grabbing the boy at the back of his collar Gerard got to his knees. He looked at the feet that surrounded them, craning his neck up to discover ten men of the watch staring down at him. He got to his feet and two of the other men secured the boy as Gerard dusted himself off.

  ‘What’s your name lad?’

  Gerard turned to the man who spoke. He was the third from the left, older than the rest, but held himself with authority.

  ‘Gerard Morgan, sir.’ He stood a bit taller, a bit straighter in the presence of the patrol commander.

  ‘Why are you chasing this boy, Gerard?’

  ‘I was ordered to by Sergeant Murray.’

  The rest of the squad attempted to refrain from laughing. The two holding the boy wore big grins and one ruffled the boy’s hair. The patrol commander looked at the squirming boy, the only man managing to restrain himself.

  ‘What did the boy do?’

  ‘He ran, sir,’ Gerard answered with a smile. ‘Little bastard ran.’

  That had them all laughing, the commander included. The boy didn’t see the funny side of it.

  ‘The boy ran … gods, that’s all it takes now,’ the commander said, shaking his head. ‘Your patrol commander is Murray, you said?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Jones send word to Murray, he is to see me in my office at the end of his shift.’

  His office. Fuck. Gerard just realised he was talking to the captain of the watch.

  ‘Where’s your patrol Morgan?’

  ‘Scattered sir, there were multiple running boys.’

  ‘Guess you’re now with me Morgan. Settle in at nine, keep your eyes peeled, and when we find your patrol maybe I’ll even give you command.’

  The rest of the patrol laughed but Gerard didn’t find it funny at all. Who’d want to be in charge of a patrol? Especially his.

  Gerard didn’t mind the wall, there was something rather soothing about the way your mind could kind of drift off while your eyes kept working. It was simplistic and was Murray’s favourite kind of punishment. As long as Gerard continued to fake a fuss about it he would be guaranteed the relatively easy duty.

  What wasn’t to like. You were either standing still at your post or you were walking to the next one. It definitely wasn’t strenuous. And the view … all year round the countryside around Buckthorne was pleasant to look at. Even during the snows there was a beauty to it. Probably why he'd never left. But that could all change now, with the baron marching to Black Claw. Sighing loud enough to get sympathetic looks from the man in front of him he thought it better to be up there than down here.

  Gods, he wished he was up there now.

  Murray had given him a double shift to reward him for catching the boy and giving him to the captain. Gerard had hoped he would be sent to the wall, as per Murray’s usual torment, but this time the sergeant had gone on about some sort of reward. Kept muttering to himself about rewarding him — now that was a bloody joke.

  He’d come straight from the captain’s office where for the first time he could remember someone had given him a bit of praise, only to be hauled down to the other end of the barracks and given an absolute drumming by Murray in front of the other watchmen in there.

  According to the whispers Gerard overheard as he walked past, Matt had copped a similar tongue-lashing and thus wasn’t surprised to see him assembling outside with the men readying to go out on the next patrol when Gerard reported to the sergeant. Matt had been the only other member of the patrol to capture one of the boys. The only difference was that Matt had walked the boy to the lock-up, where Gerard had crash-tackled the kid into the captain. Gerard felt sorry for Matt, he didn’t deserve to be punished for actually succeeding. Gerard was more disappointed but still unsurprised that Murray had included Matt just to spite him.

  Gerard looked at the roster pinned to the notice board, noticed that Matt and he were on separate patrols. He looked for the other youngster, caught his eye and smiled in apology. Matt smiled and shrugged, accepting that Murray was an arse and it hadn’t anything to do with him, and pulled up his collar as the first of the rain started to come down.

  It wasn’t torrential but a steady shower, more annoying than anything else and would ensure a thorough soaking. Gerard pulled his own coat collar up to protect his neck and kept walking. There was no avoiding the puddles that seemed to form with startling speed, his boots coming down in one after the next as his patrol trudged through Buckthorne.

  They were headed into the pub district. He chuckled under his breath about the fact that Buckthorne had a pub district — the best way to keep the riffraff in one location to be able to deal with them. If Gerard believed the stories that lived and breathed in the barracks, the baron, as a young man, had often been found there in all sorts of conditions and all his father had to do was send some men down to the pub district and they would drag his arse back to the keep.

  All the restaurants were located in the pub district too, and Gerard was struggling to deal with the tantalising aromas now he was halfway through his second shift and he was starving.

  It had gone past ten, gods knew how they had lasted that long, before the first fight broke out. It was the sound, how it punctured the night, chaos in the black. The havoc was anger and frustration, the cries and grunts angst and sorrow. Gerard thought it was like an explosion had erupted inside the Black Widow and was trying to escape, the walls pulsing with the energy within.

  The patrol was a block away when the fight ignited. The centuries-old building was not designed for crowd control, nor to take the punishment issued from within. Glass shattered as schooners were flung with wild abandon and stools were heaved through the windows facing the street.

  As Gerard ran toward the Black Widow, the rest of the crowd in the pub district dispersed to the side of the road. Half of them were concerned at the sight of the patrol, the others looked like they were about to get involved. One man was starting to make his way to the Black Widow when Gerard screamed, ‘Don’t you even bloody think about it!’ The man turned to look over his shoulder, distracted long enough for Gerard to close the distance and drop his shoulder into him. The man went flailing to the ground, and Gerard kept running. ‘And bloody stay down!’

  A smaller fight had erupted on the street in front of the tavern. Six men were laying into each other. One had managed to lift a heavy three-foot bench above his shoulder and was swinging it around like a bat. Two members of the patrol already ahead of him went straight into the fray, attempting to wrestle the makeshift weapon away.

  The patrol commander reached the entrance first, signalled for two men to guard the door and headed in without a second glance. Gerard was two men behind the commander and barrelled in. Inside was just nonsense. There were fights everywhere. Those not involved were watching, circling, cheering and
screaming.

  Gerard watched as the commander went straight to the bar to try to restore order there, shoving past the cheering patrons, knocking aside everyone who got in his way. From what Gerard could tell the fight was between the reservists and the townspeople. He swore blind that if he found the drunk that had run his mouth off and started this mess, the bastard would spend a week in the lock up.

  The screams coming from the beer garden propelled him in that direction, smashing two people to the sticky tavern floor as he passed. Why was he heading out here?

  Gerard couldn’t help but pause at the door — the scene outside was brutal. A spray of blood from the man in front who had just been king hit covered his face. He swallowed back the rising panic. Two men were trading blows. A woman was screaming, kicking a man as he huddled on the floor. Another man got brained by a chair. Without thinking he launched himself from a table onto the attacker’s back. They went down in a tangle of bodies, Gerard was grateful he landed on top. He grunted as a boot hit his back. He scrambled to his knees, kicking a man in the head in the process before jumping on a man’s back and stopping him from throwing another punch.

  Air left his lungs as he was smashed into a wall. He’d possibly broken some ribs. Grimacing, he repeatedly kicked the man in the back of the knee until he dropped and Gerard punched him in the face until he was bloody and unconscious.

  Gerard took the situation in. His knuckles were split and blood was dribbling down the back of his hand. Rain and sweat had smeared the blood down his face. His body hurt.

  There were not enough of the watch to control the crowd. Not that the crowd noticed, they were too focused on hitting each other. The watch fought on, but were failing to stop anything, one man disappearing under the swarming crowd.

  The throng of fighters were hurtling toward the gate that enclosed the beer garden. Gerard could foresee what was about to happen — they were about to spill onto the street and the brawl would become a riot. That dumbass he’d knocked down earlier would join in. If the streets erupted there would be nothing ten men could do to return order.

  Bounding from tabletop to tabletop he tried to get there before all hell broke loose. But he was a fraction too late, and a man was crash-tackled through the gate and one panel of fencing. Taking a deep breath, Gerard leapt through the breach and into the chaos.

  The part of the patrol stationed outside had managed to keep anyone else from entering the Black Widow through the front door. The patrons from the restaurants beside the Black Widow had dispersed from the tables out the front, their meals and drinks deserted. Most had the common-sense to retreat. However, a mother and daughter stood motionless, watching the fight spill toward them.

  The remaining watchmen entered the fight without hesitation but they were too far away and wouldn’t get past the fringes of the fight. Quickly, Gerard realised there was no one else.

  Gerard picked up a table and used it as a battering ram to knock down the first brawlers in his way. Discarding it, he darted between some others and ducked under a blow, grabbing hold of a man and driving his knee up into his chest. Gerard managed to make it to the women with a smile on his face.

  He locked eyes with the daughter until she smiled back. He kept her gaze until she looked away blushing, then her expression turned to one of horror. Gerard followed her gaze only to be smashed in the side of the head by a drunk. Everything went spinning as blood exploded from his split head. He stumbled forward, grabbing at the man to keep himself upright as the women started screaming and slowly backpedalling away from the fight.

  On his knees, Gerard grabbed for the nearest chair and swung it at the man’s legs. Why was he always on his arse today? He struggled up, stood in front of the women and stopped another two fighters from barging into them. He managed to keep his feet and started laying into them, sending the first man back with missing teeth. There was fuck all he could do now. His main priority was ensuring the safety of the two women.

  He took a glancing blow to the side of the head, another couple to the chest, but his chain absorbed most of the blows. He kicked a reservist away and tripped over a fallen body. A citizen tried to grab him around the throat but Gerard managed to wrestle him to the ground, dropping his knee between his shoulder blades to pin him.

  He looked up, one eye swollen shut, and watched as another two patrols hammered into the melee. They hit in two lines, driving forward, and brutally took down all the combatants without remorse.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gerard asked the ladies. ‘You didn’t get any blood on you?’

  The mother answered. ‘No watchman, thank you for your assistance, I shall make sure my husband hears of it.’

  Gerard didn’t know what to make of her response. Would her husband hunt him down to get him to pay the laundry bill? Beat it out of him? Or would he take it easy on him since he managed to stop his daughter from being manhandled? Some days he couldn’t win.

  At least the daughter was smiling so he smiled back with a crooked grin.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘Does what hurt?’

  ‘Your face,’ she said.

  ‘It must look worse than it feels. I’m Gerard.’

  ‘Mia.’

  ‘Don’t flirt with the boy Mia,’ her mother grumbled.

  ‘Flirt with who?’

  They all turned to see who had spoken.

  ‘Captain …’ Gerard stammered.

  The captain of the watch stood there with a hard look on his face that softened as his hand went to the mother’s waist and she kissed him gently on the cheek. Mia smiled at her father and her eyes sparkled.

  ‘Morgan, twice in one day.’ He looked at the unconscious bodies at his feet. ‘These ones seem bigger than boys.’

  ‘They weren’t running, either, sir.’

  ‘That’s a lad.’ He turned to the ladies. ‘I say you can go out for dinner and you get stuck in the middle of a riot. Now what is it that you don’t want me to know?’

  The mother smiled and put her hand to the captain’s unshaven face. ‘Only that this man put himself in harm’s way to protect us.’

  The captain looked over Gerard. ‘That is his job.’

  Oh fuck. He had just been flirting with the captain’s daughter. He was going to lose his balls.

  ‘He anticipated a problem and fixed it. He saw where the trouble was headed and he made sure innocents weren’t hurt. He’s probably worth ten men.’

  ‘By the swelling, I’d guess two,’ the captain chuckled.

  ‘Well, Morgan, looks like you’re going to be mine. Report to my office in the morning, you’re transferred out of your patrol. You go where I go.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘And Morgan? Don’t disappoint my wife.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hydrus rode under the portcullis, leading the Nails back into the compound at the Gorgon Pass. He dismounted and ran his hand through Honour’s mane, whispering reassurances into his ears before taking the saddle and harness off. He threw his helmet, gauntlets, and vambraces to the ground beside him and grabbed a brush from a saddlebag as the sweat dripped down his forehead. He rubbed his horse down, taking care to clean off the blood and check for any injuries. He nodded to himself when he discovered a few scratches but nothing serious, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips.

  Completing his task, Hydrus picked up his armour and carried it away from the makeshift stables to the tents the Nails were living out of temporarily. He opened the tent flap to see Volans sitting on his cot and already polishing his armour. Hydrus marvelled at how the man could be so bloody quick when he was one of the last back. He shrugged his shoulders and threw his gear on the cot and set about unbuckling the rest of it.

  Hydrus reached into the bucket of water in the middle of the tent and brought a handful to his face. He scrubbed with his fingers to get the dried blood off his skin and the gore from his beard. He grabbed for a small towel and dried his face, looking in the mirror to see if he got it all. Sa
tisfied, he removed his shirt, checked over his chest and arms to see nothing but minor scratches. He grabbed a cleaner one, threw it on and walked out.

  ‘Coming?’ he asked Volans as he left.

  Volans put down his gauntlet and the polishing rag and stood. He caught up with him in moments as they made their way to speak with the garrison commander. Duncan had immediately returned to the tower on top of the wall, watching the remnants of the Kyzantine forces retreat back down the pass, dragging their wounded and dead with them.

  Men raced around the compound, knights led their mounts by the reins to the marshalling area where others had already begun to feed and groom them. Those soldiers on active duty were stationed on the walls while the others cleaned the camp after the morning meal.

  Hydrus stopped and let two stretcher bearers cut right in front of him, heading directly for the medics with a wounded soldier. The soldier choked back the tears as his hands gripped his side tight to stem the blood. He foolishly tried to salute when he recognised Hydrus’ face.

  The stretcher bearers nodded their thanks which Hydrus returned and thought about going with the medics to learn how many men had died this morning and if the wounded would be returning to the walls or light duties. Most of the wounded that were back up on their feet were the ones cooking and preparing the meals for the others. A one-armed man barged out of the medic's door, a bucket in his only hand, and ran straight to the well. He drew up the pail and emptied it into his own before rushing back inside.

  ‘Later Volans, organise the corporal to get correct numbers of the dead and the wounded. I need numbers to plan the next move, what’s possible, what isn’t. I’m running out of ideas as it is to get around that bitch Pyxis and her never-ending army. I swear they're getting back up again after they are dead.’