Brave Men Die: Part 2 Read online

  The men moved into the compound, reported to the garrison commander, and were assigned posts. Others trailed in, dumped gear, and moved straight to the wall to relieve some of the longer standing troops. They came in groups, young, old, it didn’t matter, they came to serve. Soon enough several hundred men had streamed into the compound and found armour and weapons and been given positions to defend.

  Hydrus came across and sat down beside Volans, sliding between the tired garrison soldiers who fell down wherever they could find the room. He took a sip of water and offered the flask to the others. Both Castor and Volans refused and Hydrus put it away after another swig.

  ‘You know what this means Volans?’

  ‘More sleep. Less food.’

  ‘No, it means we are shipping out. Duncan says we can head up into the mountain and run along a parallel line to the pass. Should take us all the way into enemy territory.’

  ‘And where does this trail end? In the heart of the Kyzantine camp or just where they all happen to be waiting?’

  ‘In the woods on the left of the pass. There might be a moment or two when we have to sneak past a few guards but that’s unlikely. We leave a few hours before dawn.’

  ‘We have unfinished business here Hydrus,’ Castor stated. ‘Pyxis is still alive down there. She’s not going to kill herself.’

  ‘We could only be so lucky.’

  ‘What do you want me to tell the men?’ Volans asked.

  ‘That we won’t be on home soil for a while so they should make sure everything is in order. Provisions for a long time in the saddle too but remind them that we will be travelling light.’

  Volans nodded as Hydrus got up and left before turning to Castor.

  ‘Get those letters to a messenger by this afternoon and make sure everyone knows that this is their last chance to send anything home.’

  Castor yawned as Virtue trod along the narrow winding trail in the mountains, following in single file as Hydrus led the Nails. The incline eventually flattened out and become easier on the horses when they joined the trail they had used to enter the pass weeks ago. There was an air of difference between the two journeys. The first was full of excitement, and this time … was different, odd. The mood was sullen. The Nails knew what they were riding toward.

  There was an absence of laughter; too much silence. No one was whistling.

  Argol was gone.

  The light peeked over the mountains as they were nearing the Kyzantine camp. Castor wondered whether or not Duncan would still charge out along the pass like they had been doing every day at dawn. Or before dawn … way before dawn. Or at any other time that Hydrus thought it would be appropriate to charge into the enemy. He looked through the trees, hoping to see some sign that they would be charging, but there was just an empty silence. Castor looked away, back to the trail ahead.

  Ducking under a low branch, Castor’s arm came up and rubbed the sleep out of the corners of his eyes. He yawned again. This was going to be a long trek before they actually got to do anything. Castor fidgeted in the saddle, he couldn’t quite sit still. Since Argol’s death, every morning he donned his armour and rode out to kill as many as he could. Nothing would bring him back, he knew deep down that Argol was gone forever, but he wouldn’t let it go just like that. Wouldn’t let him be just another dead soldier. He was worth so much more than that.

  Each day, each ride saw another one of them fall — another Nail or one of Duncan’s. It didn’t matter who it was, they were one of the brothers. He lost more of himself on the days that many died. He wrote the letters. He knew their names. He grew closer to them in death than he ever did when they were alive.

  The Nails were now directly above the Kyzantine camp. They were assembled and standing in their ranks expecting the charge to come. Castor figured they would be waiting for a bloody long time this morning. He looked for her, tried to spot her amongst the crowd of soldiers standing below, but from up on the ridge they all looked the same. He looked for the scar that she left, and hoped he would get another chance to challenge her.

  The enemy camp disappeared behind the tree line as Castor started the descent along the trail. There wasn’t much to look at, except for the colours green and brown and grey no matter which direction he looked. Slowly they wound their way down into the forest below on the left of the pass. Castor looked off to his right through the thinning tree line and straight at the Kyzantine camp. It stretched so far back into the pass that they still hadn’t passed it. This was not part of Hydrus’ plan. Well, if it was, it was the stupid part.

  They rode silently for what seemed like ten minutes before the order was given to stop and be silent. Castor looked frantically around, looking for the ambush. Finally he saw the reason for stopping. Two soldiers had wandered into the forest to go to the toilet. If they were spotted it would all be over, and they were too far behind enemy lines to make it back to the barricade.

  Castor dismounted, slowly, quietly, and drew his dagger. The knight beside him took hold of his reins as he went off toward the pair. It had to be silent, they couldn’t scream, couldn’t call for help. They were close enough that the entire camp would come racing toward them. The two men parted ways as Castor crept closer, one for a thicket, the other to a larger tree. The one on the left took down his trousers and squatted, the other just flopped it out. Castor took the pissing man first. His left arm shot out and grabbed the man’s chin from behind, pulled it up as he brought the blade deep across his neck. A gargled noise escaped the dying man as blood poured out of the wound. Castor lowered the body to the ground and went after the other, moving behind the trees for cover.

  The other soldier called out to the dead man and waited for the reply. It never came. He called again, the betrayal of nervousness in his voice. He joked about it being a hard one to get out as Castor stepped up behind him. He plunged the dagger deep into his neck, covering the man’s mouth with his free hand. The man looked up at Castor with complete surprise as he pissed and shat himself. As the blood drained from his body the man began to go limp and Castor dropped him into the pile of excrement that was the man’s last act on this earth.

  Castor cleaned his blade on the deceased’s sleeve and walked back to the waiting Nails. He climbed back into the saddle and took the offered reins like nothing had happened. The order was given and they rode on in silence.

  The Nails reached the end of the trail and a short distance in front of them was the end of the pass. Volans crept forward looking for any sign of the enemy. He reached the edge of the forest and stopped still, pressing his body against a tree trunk. An entire unit of Kyzantines was marching toward him. He cursed under his breath and remained watching. They all sat around and started talking and eating, relieved that the knights hadn’t charged this morning. Volans’ hand clenched into a fist at the thought that they all could die here because of Hydrus’ bloody plans to get into the Empire. The infantry had obviously been relieved from the front line because there was no threat and if they milled about here for the rest of the day the Nails would surely be spotted. It could only be worse if the rest of the infantry joined them.

  Volans slowly retreated back into the forest toward the Nails. Hydrus was waiting.

  ‘Well?’ he asked in a hushed whisper.

  ‘A unit has returned from the front line. If we move now we will be spotted, and even if we get through we will be chased the entire way across the plains.’

  ‘That won’t do. We need a distraction. How long before they spot us?’

  ‘We won’t last the day here.’

  ‘Then we just need to hope that Duncan decides to charge some time today.’

  Volans ordered another knight to return to the forest and keep an eye on the enemy. He grabbed a mouthful of water from his flask and leaned against a tree trunk. It would be a long day.

  More and more troops were arriving from the front line. The message was relayed back and forth from the soldier stationed at the edge of the forest. This was not
going well. If Duncan didn’t charge soon they were screwed, and they needed to make a decision to head back onto the trail or leap blindly into the pass.

  Volans closed his eyes and imagined that the drums had started beating. They echoed down along the pass, their steady rhythm keeping time with his heart. He opened his eyes when he was tapped on the arm. The drums were still beating. He looked at Hydrus’ smiling face.

  ‘Duncan decided to play nice?’

  ‘It looks that way. The infantry are moving back toward the front line. It will be a few minutes before they get back and then we can go. So on your horse, lieutenant.’

  Volans mounted up and waited. Time seemed to stand still. Finally the scout came racing back, giving the thumbs up and jumping into the saddle.

  Hydrus gave the order and they formed a single file and rode between the trees, coming out at the edge of the deserted enemy camp. They made a quick line for the exit and out toward the empty plains.

  Volans hoped it would stay that way. It would be a few hours ride before they reached their target, a pocket of woodland in the Derelict Plains. From there they would wait until a target presented itself. Good plan, but they just needed to not be discovered in the mean time.

  Hydrus and Volans sat atop their mounts overlooking the vast areas of green grass of the Derelict Plains. From their vantage point hidden in the woods, Hydrus watched on as a small band of carriages trailed hours behind a larger force headed for the mountains.

  ‘What are your thoughts Volans?’

  ‘Supply train. Full of whores, cooks, and squires. It’s at least half a day behind the rearguard of that large force that passed us in the morning.’

  ‘Tell the men we have a target.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘This is war. We have to make decisions. We must send a message that nowhere is safe from us.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Hydrus was struck by the look on Volans’ face. The order surely could not have been a surprise. Yet sometimes the big man surprised him. His last touch of humanity would be destroyed out here. Hydrus had turned it all off, just looked at everything like it was a target. He had to. He was the leader after all. He stared at the caravan, wobbling along over the ground.

  Soon Volans returned, riding up beside him with all the troops in tow. ‘We are ready sir.’

  No time like the present. Hydrus kicked Honour in the flanks and the stallion took off. From the tree line the Nails came pouring out onto the Derelict Plains. There was nothing but silence as they rode toward the caravan. No chants, cheers, or war cries. The men knew what they were doing, what was asked of them. There were no complaints. In unison the cavalry drew their weapons.

  The caravan continued to trundle on until the Nails were almost on top of them. Drivers pulled hard on the reins and the wagons came to a stop. The squires darted around to form up in front of the whores. Screams rang out when they realised what was happening. Horses cantered in tight circles as the boys squared off against men.

  Hydrus hit first. His blade flashed out across a squire’s face. The boy buckled under the blow before Hydrus’ blade pierced the chest of a whore who was leaning out of the back of a wagon. He turned to find another target and witnessed the massacre. The Nails rode into them, blood sprayed as all that opposed them were butchered. Some of the squires fled only to be chased down and hit from behind. Some of the knights hadn’t pursued and moved around the wagons to prevent any further escape. A handful of them moved in to kill the whores, dismounted from the saddles and stepped up into the back of the wagon. The first man up was smacked over the head with a frying pan and fell back on his arse in the dirt. Laughter erupted at the spectacle. The man dusted himself off, gripped the hilt of his sword more tightly, and went back in, swinging his blade and evoking screams.

  Hydrus heard Volans order the men to stay back as he dismounted. He put his hammer down and took out his dagger. He alone moved to kill the cooks. They were trembling before him as light glinted off his blade. It wasn’t a fight, but murder. He grabbed the first by the hair, lifted her chin, and sliced the blade across her neck. He let the body slip to the ground as the others burst into tears. Their sobs were silent. He moved to the next.

  Four squires on foot had grouped together, circling around, their eyes frantically searching for where the attack would come from. Castor dismounted and headed purposely for them. The look in his eyes was enough to deter any of the other Nails from taking part.

  Castor shifted his legs shoulder length apart, one foot in front of the other. He pulled his sword up beside his head, tip pointed toward the squires and signalled them to engage.

  ‘One versus four is fair. The others will not interrupt,’ he assured them calmly.

  The first squire charged forward swinging his sword wildly with as much bravo as he could muster. Castor stepped to the side and ran him through, impaling the boy up to the hilt.

  The sight of the squire’s death put the courage into the others who hesitated briefly before they surged as one. Castor whipped his blade out of the dead boy and blocked the first of the strikes. His feet danced as he easily avoided the novice attacks. Castor slashed out and took off one boy’s weapon arm. Before the limb touched the ground he had decapitated the next. The last squire stood his ground and thrust his sword at Castor’s side, but the stroke was easily deflected. The boy’s eyes locked into Castor’s as the blade pierced his heart.

  Castor turned to the remaining squire with the one arm. The boy was crying. Tears flooded down his face. He stepped away, tried to escape but tripped over his own feet. Castor realised the boy knew this was it. He put the blade over his heart and looked into the enemy’s eyes as he bought the weapon down fast, making the death as quick as possible.

  Hydrus nodded his head at Castor when he looked his way, the bodies of the four boys behind him, but he paid it no attention and went straight for his horse.

  ‘Grab what you can, men,’ Hydrus ordered. ‘Food, spears, anything of use. Just make it quick.’

  The Nails dismounted and methodically searched for anything useful, climbing into the blood-soaked wagons.

  Hydrus looked at Castor and then Volans. His corporal and lieutenant were a strange pair. They took no part in the looting but rather sat quietly in their saddles, staring past the men as they worked, never meeting their gazes. But that was not what bothered him the most. Since he had known Volans, he had learnt that he would never order a man to do something that he would not do himself. By volunteering to murder all of those unarmed cooks and serving girls he saved his troops from the nightmares that he would now be plagued by. He grudgingly respected it but would never have done it personally. He liked his sleep too much. Plus he’d need to live with the decisions to attack the helpless supply trains in the first place.

  Castor was another matter entirely. Since he and his brother had come to Buckthorne all those years ago he had sensed that Castor was the quieter one, but with the strongest sense of loyalty and duty. He had a great sense of fairness but since Argol had died he had become more reckless and dark. He threw himself at the enemy, hoping for gods knows what — revenge, vindication, death — and this bloodlust would get him or someone else who was following his orders killed. Maybe that was a warped sense of loyalty to a dead friend, to take as many of them with him before he died. He would have to watch them both.

  Castor wanted no part of the stealing from the dead. He rode past a group who were claiming food and weapons but could not raise his eyes from the ground. He could not even look at them. Blood stained his hand. They were only boys, much like he'd been when he started at Buckthorne. Since when was killing kids part of soldiering? That was the last thing he ever thought he would be doing when he dreamed of being a knight.

  He looked over the landscape, away from the massacre. A rider sat on top of a horse, armoured, still. His vision was blurry so he rubbed his eyes. The rider remained, stationary and still. He had the look of someone he knew, a way that his body tilted in
the saddle, blond hair moved in the wind.

  ‘Argol?’

  Castor kicked in his heels and rode toward the rider, who remained motionless on the hill. He could hear the shouts of the others behind him, questioning. He kept going until Volans rode up beside him and cut him off.

  ‘Where are you going Castor?’

  ‘To the rider on the hill. I need to know who he is.’

  ‘What rider?’

  ‘That rider,’ Castor answered, pointing to the hill.

  ‘No one is there Castor,’ replied Volans.

  Castor turned away from the lieutenant and looked at the hill. His rider was gone, vanished from sight.

  ‘Where did he go? We need to get after him, find him.’

  ‘There was no one there in the first place Castor, no one, you hear me?’

  ‘But I need to know, what if he wasn’t dead? What if he woke up and crawled out and has followed us out here?’

  Volans put a hand on his shoulder, looked into his eyes. Tears were forming in the corners. Castor tried to blink them away.

  ‘Argol is gone Castor. Nothing is going to bring him back. We buried him, he was dead. We buried him remember? Don’t get caught up searching for ghosts. They will lead you in circles until you’re a wrecked man, delusional and broken.’

  ‘But I swear I saw him.’

  ‘Perhaps in there,’ Volans said, pointing at his chest, ‘But not with your eyes.’

  Castor shook his head. He didn’t know what to trust anymore.

  ‘Let’s get back to the unit. They should be done with the clean up and about to burn the lot.’

  Castor looked up at Volans and nodded, tugging at the reins and nudging Virtue to follow their companion. He reached the rest of the unit and no one seemed to know that he'd been missing. Hydrus grabbed a torch and flung it into the first wagon and the procedure was repeated with the others.

  ‘Let’s move out, I want to be as far away from here when they come to investigate the smoke,’ Hydrus ordered.

  Castor silently fell into line with the others and put the whole scene behind him, ignoring the rider who had returned to the hill.