The Tattered Banner (Society of the Sword Volume 1) (34 page)

Soren did not like Dalvi’s assumption that he was a privileged and indolent idler. ‘I killed the wrong man,’ Soren replied, with as much chill in his voice as he could muster. He did not want anyone here thinking he was a spoiled rich boy. His statement had the effect of killing the conversation for the remainder of the journey.

There was little left at the Androv stead bar a scorched patch on the ground and some charred wood. The sergeants barked commands and the troopers fanned out searching the surrounds as Dalvi and Soren surveyed the remains.

‘What would these people have had that is worth doing this over?’ Soren asked.

‘The prospectors to the north would have silver and gems, but these people? Very little,’ said Dalvi. ‘Androv was a cattleman. They must have taken his stock, no more than a few dozen or so. Barely worth the effort. They haven’t caused this type of destruction before. Androv wasn’t the type to fight back, so I doubt if he provoked them. He wouldn’t have put his family at risk.’

One of the sergeants called out so they walked over to him.

‘Two sets of remains, sir,’ the sergeant said.

‘Thank you, sergeant. Have them buried, but keep searching. Androv had three children so there should be five in total. I want to give them a proper burial.’

The sergeant left to go about his duties.

‘Surely the cattle must have been spread out over a large area. Couldn’t they have just driven them off without interfering here?’ Soren asked.

‘Perhaps, but they didn’t. I doubt if we’ll catch any of them either,’ Dalvi replied. ‘They just bleed off into the plains as though they were never here after a raid. Nonetheless, it calls for a change of plan. Androv had daughters. If we don’t find any more bodies, perhaps we’ll still find them alive. I’m going to send a rider back to Fort Laed with a message to send more troops. We need to go out in force and give these barbarians a bloody nose, dissuade them from doing this kind of thing again for a while. In the meantime the rest of us will go south. There is a small trading post and the shell of an outpost a few hours away that we haven’t been able to man. We’ll base ourselves there for a day or two and see if we can pick up any scent of the barbarian trail. We can go after them when the reinforcements arrive.’

The outpost had been built the previous year, in answer to the settlers who were ever pushing the frontier further to the east. It was too small to be called a fort, being nothing more than a log palisade reaching about ten feet in height, enclosing an area large enough to contain a modest horse corral and three small wooden buildings. The plan had been to occupy it for a few weeks a year, and to serve as a stopping off point for passing patrols. There was one building outside the walls, a ramshackle affair that looked as though its original shape had received more than one ill-planned extension. One day this would probably be a major fort, like Laed, and a thriving frontier town, but for now it was still only a remote statement of the Duchy’s expansionist plans.

The killing of the Androvs and their still missing daughters had put a dark mood over the patrol. They had the men set about making the outpost ready for occupation, while Soren and Lieutenant Dalvi went to speak to the occupant of the small shack beside the outpost.

As they bowed their heads to get through the too-small doorway, Soren thought of the great merchant palaces in Ostenheim and how far removed this was from it.

‘Hello there?’ called Dalvi.

A man in a grubby ensemble of what was once city finery appeared from behind a cabinet of oddities.

‘Hello, gentlemen, how might I be of assistance?’ he asked. ‘Ah, legion men!’ he added after taking in their uniforms.

‘I am Lieutenant Dalvi. I haven’t met you before.’

‘No, I’m Morris. I just bought this concession. A pleasure to meet you,’ said the trader.

Soren had seen his kind slumped against walls in the city with a bottle. Traders who had made and lost fortunes but had run to the end of their nerves and fallen on hard times.

‘A farmstead a few hours to the north was destroyed and its herd was driven off. Have you seen anything, or heard anything from passing traders?’ Dalvi asked.

‘Nothing as yet, but it might explain why no one has passed this way for several days,’ Morris said.

Dalvi appraised him for a moment, his brow furrowing when it became clear to him that he would not learn anything from this man.

‘Do many people pass this way?’ Dalvi asked, giving it one final try.

‘A few, the number has been growing. One day in the not so distant future I expect this post to be a regular final stop for merchants heading to the east, and the first port of call in the Duchy for those heading in the other direction!’ said Morris cheerfully.

Soren thought that Morris was deluding himself. Regular trade with the east was unlikely to be passing through here in either of their lifetimes.

‘We will be occupying the outpost for a few days until we have a clearer picture of any threat in the area. I expect you will inform me immediately if you become aware of anything at all,’ said Dalvi.

‘Of course, Lieutenant,’ said Morris. He smiled obsequiously and bowed as they made their way out.

They left the building and walked back to the fort and to the hut that Lieutenant Dalvi had designated as the officers’ quarters. Dalvi shuffled in and sat down wearily hoisting his feet up onto the table. He lit a thin twist of tobacco and inhaled deeply, billowing smoke out of his nostrils as he stared into nothing.

‘Well, he was a pretty revolting creature. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is as eager to be of assistance to the barbarians as he is to us. I know that type. They come out here when they’ve lost everything else and drink themselves to death inside a year. From the smell of him, Mr Morris might not even last that long!

‘I want to take some heads before these bastards get back into the hills,’ said Dalvi. ‘I want you to take two men and patrol east. Five or six hours should be enough. Take Sergeant Smit, he’ll see you right. I’ll go south. We’ll leave at first light tomorrow, but be sure to be back before nightfall. I’ll leave the rest of the men here to get the outpost in order. I want to find their trail before it goes cold and be ready to go when the reinforcements get here. Then we will hunt them down. Now, get some rest.’

There was venom in his voice whenever he referred to the barbarians, and Soren was a little surprised that he was pursuing it with such determination. At this point the barbarians were probably long gone with their bounty, and perhaps the unlucky Androv girls, who Soren doubted would ever be seen again.

Scouting parties were not necessary. Neither was chasing the barbarians. The barbarians came to them. A sentry raised the alarm shortly before dawn. The sky was a cold murky blue hinting that the sun was not long from breaking the distant horizon when a lone rider approached the walls of the small garrison. The sentries watched him ride in, not concerned by the threat posed by a single man, but curious as to his intentions nonetheless. He threw a brown sack high into the air and over the wooden palisade, landing in the yard with a dull thud.

Soren groggily roused himself from his pallet in the hut at the sound of the alarm and stumbled outside into the pale light to be greeted by the ghostly shapes of the men’s tents in the enclosure. Dalvi had gotten outside before him, and was sounding the all clear, as the guard in the small tower on the northeast corner shouted down that the rider was galloping away.

Dalvi approached the sack and poked it with the tip of his sword. Satisfied that it posed no danger, he used the tip to pull the material back from its contents. Although the object that rolled out was bloodied and disfigured, it was clearly the head of the rider that had been sent back to Fort Laed the previous day.

Dalvi looked at it with a frown.

‘I only hope that Thomas took my advice and headed to Laed with his family,’ he said grimly. ‘I think we can forget about any help coming. Under the circumstances it is best if we break camp and return to Laed also. I’m beginning to suspect that the attack on the Androv stead was intended to draw us out here. Perhaps they’ve decided that they want more than a few slaves and some cattle.’

C h a p t e r   3 5

UNWELCOME VISITORS

I
t took less than an hour for the men to break camp and get ready to leave, their haste added to by the fear that all the men, even the seasoned campaigners, felt at the prospect of being slaughtered by the barbarians. Dalvi gave the men a very brief inspection before they all mounted. He had his hand raised to give the command to open the gate when the lone sentry remaining on the rampart, about to climb down to join the column, called out the alarm. Soren could feel his heart drop and there was a collective groan from the men.

‘To arms! Man the ramparts!’ yelled Dalvi.

In response, the sergeants started barking orders. The horses had to be corralled again, travelling kit had to be stowed and the men had to fit out for combat.

Dalvi beckoned for Soren to follow him as he clambered up the ladder to the rampart. Soren followed him, and once he had hauled himself up onto the narrow walkway he found himself looking down over the trader’s shack, and out onto the plain. A large body of horsemen and several wagons moving slowly toward the fort broke the otherwise featureless grassland.

‘I suppose it would be too much to hope for it to be a trading caravan?’ Soren said, without much conviction.

Dalvi just nodded. ‘We have an hour, maybe two before they get here. I’ve never seen that many on the move before. More than one tribe must have united for the season’s raiding. They’re not in any hurry either. With our dispatch rider dead, they know we’re cut off.’

‘Do we have time to make a run for it?’ Soren asked. He did not have any hope for the fact, but felt the question should be asked nonetheless.