Brave Men Die: Part 2 Page 14

  ‘That’s all we need Hydrus, the undead. What’s next? Dragons? It’s bad enough we have to fight the whole fucking Empire. We don’t need the men hearing that kind of shit.’

  ‘You’re right, I should know better. I won’t mention the things that go bump in the night.’

  Volans rolled his eyes and ignored the younger man.

  ‘Oh and by the way, have missives sent back to dead men’s families. Get Castor to do it, someone needs to keep track of all these things and it might as well be him.’

  ‘Yes Hydrus, I’ll make sure they go out with the next messenger who leaves for Buckthorne.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The two men quickly crossed the compound with purpose and headed straight for Duncan’s office. Duncan was already sitting behind his desk, his armour discarded on the floor beside him, and was flicking through a pile of papers. The commander at Gorgon Pass was almost as old as Hydrus’ father but had duly earned the position by serving in the last skirmish between the Kingdom and the Empire. Despite his grey beard and bald head, the old man was still built like a man twenty years younger because he personally saw to training his men.

  ‘Another successful foray Hydrus. I think we got them running scared.’

  ‘They’ll be back Duncan. Not smart enough to stay away.’

  ‘It’s not them but her. She's relentless and has the numbers to keep coming back at us.’

  ‘She is a good tactician, we lose men each time she comes at us, but they just don’t match us in fighting skill. Not all of them are trained and it shows.’

  ‘Eventually she will just send everyone at us and clog up the pass, then our little outings will have no affect,’ commented Volans.

  ‘That’s true. There will come a time when we won’t be able to open the door to let the cavalry out.’

  ‘I’d be more worried about being let back in,’ said Volans.

  Hydrus looked over the two men. Both were capable, good at their jobs, and had sound suggestions. This was not the place the war would be fought. It would be deep in the Kingdom or in the heart of the Empire. The fight for the Gorgon Pass would be relentless but it wouldn’t be where he was going to be needed. He and the Nails needed to do something grander in the scheme of things.

  Castor walked into the middle of the compound with his sword in his hand. Dressed now in only pants and a light shirt he stopped when he reached the unoccupied second courtyard. He looked momentarily into the sky, searched for the sun’s position before losing himself for a minute.

  From the temporary accommodation, twenty-six other Nails come out to join him as he took the first ward with his weapon raised high with both hands. His feet danced lightly across the ground as his hands twirled the blade from ward to ward. Soon the others had joined, taking his lead.

  Castor had started doing them the day after they had buried Argol. Volans had suggested he do something to occupy his thoughts that he could focus solely on. Emotion gone, it was him and the steel and how it moved as part of his body. The day after he had done the same, and the next.

  On the fourth day after their first foray back into the pass he came back into the compound, tired and bloody, and dragged his body through the routine that he forced upon himself. He cleared his mind and went from form to form and only realised when he had stopped that three others were standing behind him, having participated quietly. The next day there were forty-two of the Nails performing the drills. Castor just ignored them as he focused on the blade, the movement and the strikes.

  Each day another one or two of them died or was too wounded to continue. Castor shut it all out. All the emotion was gone, he had told himself to ignore it and put it behind him.

  Today he noticed the numbers, that they were lower than the day before, and realised that another man was probably dead. No one there spoke of it, a silent fact they were all aware of but couldn’t face talking about.

  The Nails moved as one as the sweat clung to their backs, blades splitting the air. Volans stopped at the top of the wall and looked down upon them, intrigued by what the young corporal had put into place without even trying. He had suggested it to keep his mind from wandering back to Argol, didn’t know if that was the smartest idea, not letting Castor deal with his best friend’s death, but this was war and he needed to stay focused. Volans knew that he would lose it if he couldn’t keep one of the youngsters alive.

  He moved down the stairs as they neared the end of the routine. He had watched often enough to know it was coming. Volans had thought about joining in a couple of times, but the sword was just not his thing. Too much skill needed, that’s why he preferred the hammer. One solid shot and they were down, no real need for accuracy.

  He hurried after Castor as the group of men disbanded, each going their separate ways. Volans followed him into his quarters, walked in as Castor was pulling the shirt over his head revealing the red, raw scar that ran the length of the left side of his back.

  ‘That’s healing nicely.'

  Castor turned and shot him an icy smile, still half detached.

  ‘Not the only one and it won’t be the last.’

  Volans eyes flashed over his puckered shoulder where the crossbow bolt hit him a few weeks ago. Scars ran across his arms, some still red and angry, another down his side.

  ‘It will teach you not to run to the wall when the alarm is called without wearing your armour.’

  ‘The call was made, I answered.’

  Volans noticed the blunt, icy tone but ignored it.

  ‘Hydrus wants you to send missives to the families of the dead soldiers. Write them quickly and have them sent by this afternoon. Tomorrow at the latest. You have a few to do so don’t drag your feet over this.’

  ‘I hear you Volans, I’ll get onto it.’

  ‘And don’t shirk your other duties either. I still expect you to do what you are responsible for.’

  The second after Volans ordered it he regretted it. Looking at Castor’s sunken eyes he knew he was already not getting much sleep. Ron had mentioned in passing the nightmares that Castor experienced in the few hours that he managed to get each night.

  ‘Yell out if you need a hand with any of them okay?’

  Castor looked like he had just been attacked. I told you I’d get them done Volans, I meant it.’

  Volans nodded and left, leaving Castor alone with whatever horrors were plaguing him.

  Dawn broke as Hydrus climbed into the saddle. The Nails sat mounted behind him, the garrison unit attached to his at the back. Hydrus watched as the old garrison commander finished walking the walls, checking on his troops and his defensive measures, his limp more noticeable in the early morning. His left leg dragged slightly along the ground with each step, a wound from when he first started soldiering.

  Duncan stopped to speak to his aide quickly, took his offered helmet and patted the man reassuringly on the shoulder. As he put on his helmet, plume falling down behind, he reached the stairs and headed down them. He passed two soldiers who were climbing up to their positions who saluted and he returned the gesture. Duncan quickly strode up to the waiting cavalry, put one foot in the stirrup and heaved himself up.

  ‘There is no sign of them.’

  ‘You mean they still haven’t ranked up, Duncan?’

  ‘No, it appears that they might have slept in this morning.’

  ‘Well I happen to like the idea of an early morning charge.’

  ‘You have to be the only one.’

  ‘Nonsense. The Nails are all eager and excited about the early starts.’

  Duncan looked around. There was not one smile in the crowd of faces. Some of their eyes looked a little sunken, growth on all their chins. Yes, their eagerness was apparent.

  ‘Looked at your men this morning Hydrus?’

  Hydrus turned slightly, looked over his men. He turned back to the garrison commander.

  ‘Armour on, weapon in hand, sitting on a horse. I’d say they are all enthusiastic actually.’ />
  Duncan rolled his eyes. ‘Should we get going?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought we were waiting for you to open the doors.’

  Duncan signalled the men and they began to draw open the portcullis. Hydrus ordered the unit out at a canter. The enemy were still absent as they picked up the pace, charging along the pass. They travelled fast bearing down the straight toward the dog leg. Nothing still.

  Hydrus pushed his mount to the outside then cut back in. The Kyzantines were standing there, pikes pointing toward the charging knights. The solid line of infantry held their ground as the Murukans barrelled toward them. Hooves kicked up dust as the armoured horses carried their riders to the line.

  They needed to break the Kyzantine line and without the help of infantry linebreakers it would be bloody impossible. Hydrus just hoped that the archers amongst them could do enough damage. They fired at will, sporadically thinning the front ranks and giving them just enough room not to skewer themselves.

  A pike passed under Hydrus’ sword arm as he raised his weapon above his head. The knight beside him was not so lucky. His blood spurted over Hydrus moments before the enemy’s blood sprayed over his blade and arm. His mount knocked the infantry down as its powerful muscles drove them forward. He swung again taking a woman through the shoulder, her screams filling his ears. A blade bounced off the bottom of his shield and took part of his thigh on the way through. Hydrus crunched his teeth, grinding them in pain. He looked for the man who made him bleed, moments before a warhammer smashed the skull in. Volans kept going, taking another in the chest, crushing bone.

  Hydrus looked at the line, saw the bodies of his own men and the fallen horses. They were few compared to the destruction they had caused. He drove the edge of his shield down on top of the head of one man.

  ‘Retreat,’ he ordered. Hydrus pulled on the reins, turned his mount’s head around and kicked in his heels. His stallion reared up and took off back toward the barricade.

  One of his soldiers stood amongst the bodies and blood and swung his blade at the infantry as Hydrus was going past. He pulled up, swung around and went back, stopping between his man and the enemy. Swinging his blade in a wide arc to keep them at bay, the soldier climbed up behind Hydrus before he kicked the flanks and the stallion bounded off again rushing the two knights to safety.

  Along the line the Murukan force peeled off from the front line and raced toward the barricade. Men rode double, wounded and dying mounts left behind. The Kyzantines gave chase, parting to let the cavalry come charging through. Hooves pounded on the dirt, kicked up tufts of grass. As the Murukans raced up the pass they shouted for the portcullis to be raised. Archers ran along the walls, bows in hand. As the knights came closer, the archers released their shafts into the pursuing enemy. The Kyzantines pulled up as the last of the Murukans came in and the portcullis snapped shut. They held their ground under the barrage of arrows before the order came for them to retreat.

  Castor was sitting beside Volans polishing his armour, at least attempting to, when his eyelids became heavy and he slumped forward. He was rudely awakened when Volans’ arm came swinging round hard and fast. Castor rubbed his eyes and yawned, trying to shake the tiredness from his body.

  ‘Having trouble keeping up with the duties of a corporal, Castor?’

  ‘Just the one in particular.’

  ‘And that would be?’ Volans asked, raising an eyebrow. He was surprised that Castor would even admit that. The sleep deprivation was taking its toll.

  ‘What to write to all the families. So far it all sounds the same. Every one I’ve done sounds exactly like the last.’

  ‘No one compares them lad, the family just reads it, cries over it, and puts it away. They don’t wave it about the place and run to their neighbours and see what was written about their boy. It’s a personal thing, something to let them know that their son or husband or father died bravely doing what he needed to do to keep them safe.’

  ‘But I wouldn’t want to know that the person I loved was just fodder thrown at the enemy, a name that his fellows didn't really know and a face that will be barely missed. Whose death only meant that someone else got a longer shift on the wall or more food at the daily meal. I would want to know what they did, how they died, what difference they made doing their duty.’

  ‘Then write that.’

  ‘But I can’t even tell them that because half the guys who died I barely knew any better than to say hello and sit next to while I ate. I don’t know what they thought about this whole mess or why they got up each morning and stood at their post on the wall.’

  ‘It’s not important what they thought, all men’s thoughts are the same. I love my family. I honour them by serving. Please gods, don’t let me die here so I can go back to them. It’s their actions that speak for them. Their bravery and courage under fire, doing what was asked of them. That is what should be written in the missives.’

  ‘Will you read over some of them?’

  ‘Sure, any of them that you like. I served with these men too Castor, they are as dear to me as they are to you and I was with them for much longer than you realise. Do you have one on you?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve started this one but it’s just too hard. I don’t want to make it … I don’t know. I really don’t.’

  Castor took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Volans. The older man took it and carefully unwrapped it, being as careful with it as if were a precious gem. Castor watched as Volans read the first line.

  ‘This is Argol’s letter isn’t it?’ Volans asked.

  ‘Yeah. I just want to do him justice you know?’

  Volans nodded and went back to reading. Castor just sat there, zoned out, staring at the ground while his friend read the most important thing he had ever written. He was broken from his thoughts when Volans sobbed and he turned to see tears streaming down his face. His hand went to cover his mouth as he wept uncontrollably over what he had just read. Castor watched as Volans carefully folded the letter back up and handed it back.

  ‘Was it that bad?’ Castor asked.

  Volans shook his head. ‘His parents will know he was loved by his friends and he died bravely and with honour. If you write something half as good as this when I die, my mother will be so grateful. You don’t need to write any more for this. It's perfect the way it is.’

  Castor took the letter and put it back in his pocket and the two of them continued to sit together in silence, remembering better times with their trouble-loving friend.

  ‘Hydrus wants to move out,’ Volans informed Castor.

  ‘Move where?’

  ‘Into the Empire, down to Black Claw. Somewhere, anywhere the fighting is heavier.’

  ‘Has he had enough of Pyxis yet?’

  ‘No, I don’t think it’s that. The main battles will not be fought here in the Gorgon Pass, the ones that make men heroes. He wants one of those. Something to leave his mark on the world before he goes.’

  ‘I’m not done here yet,’ Castor replied. ‘We have only fought the cavalry three times in the last few weeks and I haven’t got to her yet.’

  ‘Maybe you never will. Maybe Pyxis will be that one elusive target you never spot again. Perhaps destiny has already selected another killer?’

  ‘Others have tried and failed Volans. I’ve seen them die under her blows and I’ve been too far away to do anything about it. No one else here is good enough to take her and if we leave she goes unopposed.’

  ‘It’s not our decision to stay. We follow orders, corporal, and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘Yes sir. How long until we leave?’

  ‘Who can say? Depends on when the reinforcements arrive. We can’t leave this place defenceless.’

  ‘I’m sure Duncan would have something to say about that.’ Castor chuckled.

  Volans noted the first sign of Castor’s humour for the better part of the week. The lad was slipping into a place that would be hard to crawl out of and Volans thought
he’d sink further into the abyss before this was over.

  The two men continued to sit there, waiting for a call to arms to send them running to the wall or for their shift to start. Castor had already done his drills and his sword lay resting beside him, the last of the letters in his hand as he wrote. He looked up at the sound of laughter.

  Walking into the compound was the first of the reinforcements. All six of them. Dressed in primarily blackened armour, each man was armed with an assortment of weapons strapped tightly to his body. They were all different shapes and sizes, hair colour and complexion, but the one thing they had in common was their youth. More boys sent to the slaughterhouse, Castor thought.

  Talk spread amongst the troops, muffled little quips that were easily overheard that sprouted more laughter that even some of the Nails started to laugh at. They knew better. Castor looked at Volans expecting him to do something but he only took another bite.

  ‘Hey fellas, shut up. At least it’s another body on the wall,’ Castor ordered.

  ‘There are six of them. Great bloody reinforcements,’ someone shouted back.

  Volans piped up. ‘They are from Woolworth, armour gives it away. They are worth ten men each. Probably better than you lot put together.’

  The others stopped and started behaving themselves, got back to eating. Castor looked at him, his jaw dropped. ‘Really?’

  ‘Trained to fight from the age of five. Six families in Woolworth, I say they represent each of them. They are brilliant fighters, watching them will inspire you to improve. One of them is probably even your girl’s killer.’

  ‘But some of them look younger than me.’

  ‘Probably are.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘I got about when I was younger, learnt a few things in a few different places.’

  ‘There are others behind them.’

  Volans stood up and had a look. ‘You’re right. Guess we might be moving out sooner than I thought.’