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  Already Cid started preparing his report to Stelinger. There were many things he could say, but there was no way of doing it without having to admit that he had failed to keep the men safe.

  They descended along the ramp, the forest already feeling far behind in exchange for the canyon’s rugged surface. Cid and company had barely made it down the ramp when it happened:

  Two Lanston riders came at them from the south, having spotted them. The speed of the horses kicked up dust and rocks, and the riders shouting at each other. They seemed to be arguing.

  Cid was too weary to even register that they were in danger, yet unsure why they were being approached with such fervour. Wide-eyed they stood as the leading Lanston rider eventually disregarded his companion and skilfully aimed his bow in the saddle, directing it at Cid.

  The arrow sung.

  They barely jerked out of the way, the arrow finding mark in the ground behind them.

  ‘What the hell!?’ shouted Alex, Brunick grumbling a string of curses as well.

  The man was already aiming again, now closing in on them. The second rider however was not in the same mind. He pushed his horse and closed in on his partner. With another shout he lunged at his mate and pulled him from his horse at speed, both of them going down hard.

  In pain and anger the two men rolled, their voices still rampant.

  Cid was at a loss, and it was Lidayel who rushed forward. Like a snake Lidayel’s hand shot out and grabbed at the squirming figures. His hand closed in across the attacker’s face. His gesture was met with a small flash of light and the man slumped into unconsciousness in an instant. Lidayel helped up the other man.

  ‘Don’t worry, your friend here is only sleeping, he’ll wake within the hour,’ reassured Lidayel.

  The amiable Lanston soldier shook his head in dismay and removed his helm. Cid identified the man as Harlem, a talented scout and outrider.

  ‘Did the Priests get to this man?’ asked Cid apprehensively, already assuming the answer.

  Harlem though, had something different to say.

  ‘Afraid not Colonel,’ said Harlem, the man’s face sweating and unsure in the heat of the canyon.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Cid in confusion.

  ‘Colonel, I don’t know, something is wrong, I’m not sure whether I can trust you… but I have always felt you held the Kingdom’s best…’

  ‘Get to the point Harlem,’ said Brunick sternly.

  For the first time Harlem met Cid’s eyes directly. ‘You are Colonel no more Cid, and you, and anyone found at your side, are to be considered traitors and enemies of Lanston.’

  ‘What!?’

  ‘By order of Commander Stelinger you, Brunick and Alex are to be hunted down and killed on sight, for betraying and endangering the army, and also for being identified as conspirators in the murder of ex-Commander Bennam.’

  The canyon wind played a dreary tune to the silence as the soldiers swallowed hard on this one, even Lidayel looked distressed, despite having predicted a scenario along these lines.

  ‘Commander Bennam is dead?’ asked Cid finally, a blunt pang hitting him.

  ‘Murdered a fortnight ago just outside Lanston. We got word by letter a few days past.’

  ‘It can’t be,’ muttered Brunick, dumbstruck.

  Cid looked hard at Harlem, his instincts to act decisively on the present competing with the news of Bennam’s death.

  ‘You don’t believe that we’re traitors, do you Harlem?’

  Again Harlem’s eyes were unsure, looking at his feet, shaking his head. ‘No, I think the Commander has made a grave mistake,’ he said carefully.

  ‘This is no mistake,’ said Lidayel strongly. ‘Cid, I warned you against this, the army has been compromised and whatever way this war ends it’s not going to be in favour of the Kingdom!’

  ‘And I’ve told you before; I would rather trust my fellow soldier than you Summoner!’

  ‘Colonel,’ started Harlem, ‘I would suggest you and your men disappear until you have a leg to stand on. Commander Stelinger has assigned the Valkyrie hunters to track you down.’

  ‘Great!’ said Alex sarcastic exasperation, ‘maybe we should find refuge with the Reavers, maybe they’ll take us in! Do you think we might get pack privileges?’

  ‘Not now Alex. How does Stelinger know we still live, Harlem?’ asked Cid.

  ‘A rider joined with us from the west three days ago, shortly after those wounded men you send back, claiming that he was the lone survivor of a great Fallen ambush, that you and your men,’ pointing his finger to Brunick and Alex, ‘were collaborating with the Priests.’

  ‘This is a setup!’ cried Brunick in dismay.

  Cid’s mind prodded at possibilities, but for now only one clear answer came to the fore: Flee!

  He took a moment to decide and looked at Welce and Girdo. ‘The two of you should return with Harlem to the camp. They would have assumed you dead, so they will not think you traitors. If anyone asks you tell them that you’re not sure what happened out there and that I had blindly led the company to their doom, okay? Don’t incriminate us, but say what you need to say to keep yourselves safe, you got that?’ said Cid.

  Welce and Girdo nodded solemnly.

  Cid looked at Harlem again. ‘When the time is right, I will return to sort this mess,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Watch your back Colonel,’ said Harlem, tossing both his and his companion’s food sacks at Cid’s party.

  They were off again in an instant, Harlem, Girdo and Welce staring in silence as they traipsed up the ramp and vanishing into the forest once more.

  ***

  They were on the trot, each of them already nibbling at the dried meat Harlem had given them, their mood sullied that the forest was brought back so swiftly to their travels.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Brunick.

  The party had been reduced to three soldiers and a Summoner. Make that three tired traitors and a rogue mage too scared to use his own powers because of memory lapse. Things are not looking good.

  ‘I don’t know Brunick, for now we keep running, from anything and everything trying to kill us.’

  ‘How about returning home? I don’t want to sound like a coward, but wouldn’t it be best to return to Lanston and clear our names, or at least get out of this mess?’

  ‘I would not count on it Brunick, they would expect us to return to the Kingdom. If we really are believed to be traitors then Stelinger would have alerted both the border and city authorities.’

  ‘So that’s it? We just head north, not knowing what lies ahead?’

  ‘We know exactly what lies ahead. The bulk of the Fallen force has yet to meet the army. The safest place for us might well be as close to the point of impact as possible, strange as that may sound.’

  ‘We’re heading for Jacanta then?’

  ‘Exactly that, in the meanwhile we have to avoid contact with both Fallen and the Valkyrie.

  Round 7

  -it was a stalemate of sorts. The break had been brief and both Cid and Stelinger were wary of each other. Defences had already been tried and tested and the victory would simply fall to the man who kept his cool. It was a faire of short careful strikes and solid blocks, almost like an unofficial agreement to remain conservative and see who would slip first. It was Stelinger who broke the rhythm, suddenly swinging the staff recklessly from all directions, driving Cid back, forcing him to defend with great effort.

  Cid had suspected that the best option would be to counter with equal measure, rather he engaged himself in blocking every strike. It was a mistake and made it all only a matter of time. Stelinger was on the front foot and his multidimensional attack broke Cid’s fortitude piece by piece, until his defence was a moment too slow. It was a stalemate of sorts no longer, as Cid got a sharp lash on the stomach. Instantly Cid shot his hand up, resigning as he knew that the round could only induce further pain-

  Now however Cid had no intention on being cru
shed from all sides, whether by Stelinger or otherwise. He would go on the attack. They would risk much, but travelling to Jacanta point would still allow them to have a say should Lanston and the Fallen meet in combat. The only way they could possibly return to the Kingdom safely now would be with the army, heralded by the men as patriots, not traitors.

  For that to happen Cid would have to show face at Jacanta and he would have to influence the battle in some way. Getting close to the army though would be a problem again on its own.

  Breathing tiredly Cid’s gaze fell on his tunic; the green fabric bloodstained and torn. He found it difficult to feel like a soldier at all anymore, and much less one from Lanston.

  Chapter 29

  Guarded Truths

  Inside the pavilion Drissil had lost his cool.

  What started out as a mere enquiry was now a raging argument. He had been content with letting Stelinger enjoy his new high of power and intent on staying out of his way. Declaring Cid a traitor had already been a reach, but Drissil had trusted the Commander enough to let it go. Compromising the army’s safety however, was something Drissil would not stand for.

  In the last few days Stelinger had let the march advance even in the absence of feedback from the satellite companies. Of course, by now everyone knew that Cid and Olum’s companies were utterly destroyed, but made it no less crucial to scout the surrounding valley, especially now that they had a blindspot. Not knowing the area was the quickest way to lead the army into harm’s way.

  Then, whenever Stelinger did use scouts it was only men from his own regiments, men chosen by him who were either working under him back during his incursions or worse still; men who had never even been in the Lanston military before now. These men reported to him and only to him. In private he conferred on their intelligence, making the excuse that he wasn’t sure who to trust and was keeping things closed up to those ends. Colonels Margo and Atolyn were too fresh from captaincy to raise an issue, but from Drissil’s point of view it seemed as though Stelinger was deliberately isolating the Colonels from the army.

  ‘It’s absurd!’ Drissil had slipped at the end.

  He knew then he was in for an earful and as was expected left Stelinger’s tent with the Commander’s words still stinging him, ‘If you deem yourself to be of superior judgment, then by all means, take your cavalry and go scout Alparack’s veil, it’s not as if one of our Colonel’s hasn’t already jeopardized this entire operation because of bitterness! Remember Drissil, I am under immense pressure here; the entire Kingdom is counting on Lanston to clear the way for the invasion, for the end of the Fallen! If you have nothing else to complain about then leave me, go now…’

  Somewhat deterred by Stelinger’s words Drissil wandered aimlessly through the camp. They had come to an early halt today, a lack of intelligence preventing them from going into the narrows until they were more enlightened on their enemies’ positions.

  Why bother today? We’ve been marching blind till now anyway…I could really use a drink, thought Drissil frustratingly by himself.

  Their storage tents did hold some ale, which they used sparingly to be sure. He made his way to one of these. Predictably he found plenty of soldiers gathered indifferently around the distinct white storage tent, its pallor already dusted by the canyon winds.

  It was so arranged among the ranks that only a Captain or higher-ups could authorize some drinks for the men. Cunningly the men would thus wait at the tents, pretending to be lounging or nibbling at some food, waiting for a dry-mouthed senior officer to come and cool his throat. Obviously any officer serving his own thirst would be obliged to agree to dispense for all the soldiers within earshot.

  Drissil did not hesitate, not today, it was trying enough without having to worry about Stelinger. He signalled for the men to set the flow and he was soon handed a wooden mug as the men all around cheered on his name.

  Nothing like a spot of ale to win some short-term loyalty.

  The beverage wasn’t chilled, but it was a great deal better than drinking water all day. Without saying the soldiers were not allowed to get drunk on the march, but a mug or so for the slow days helped keep their spirits up and it was here more than anywhere else that gossip made its great appearance.

  Like an outdoor military tavern, thought Drissil.

  Most of it was useless information and petty family stories, and Drissil was so used to channelling it out of mind that he almost missed an interesting bit of news. Had it not been for his discussion with Stelinger minutes earlier he might not have paid attention it at all.

  He approached the soldiers in question.

  ‘Hold up soldier, what did you just say? Is this Girdo and -’ asked Drissil motioning with his hand for the man to continue.

  ‘Welce is his name sir. They returned. Apparently they are survivors of the ambush that took out Colonel Cid’s and Captain Olum’s companies.’

  ‘They are here now!?’ asked Drissil.

  ‘Yes sir, I heard Harlem found them while scouting the pass to the north. I still can’t believe Colonel Cid -’

  ‘What’s your name soldier?’ asked Drissil.

  ‘Frask sir, and this here is Derowin.’

  ‘Good. Take a barrel there and follow me,’ said Drissil.

  Surprised and slightly hesitant the two men hefted a heavy barrel of ale and followed the Colonel.

  At the far side of the camp Drissil found a tent pitched open at the side where Harlem, Girdo and Welce sat. He had been roughly guided by a great many soldiers as he asked for directions through the maze of tents. Frask and Derowin still followed him, bravely carrying the heavy barrel.

  Clearly nervous, Harlem and the two newly returned men sat in tight triangle, speaking in hushed tones. They immediately grew silent when they saw Drissil approach.

  They’re hell out nervous about something alright.

  ‘Hello boys,’ said Drissil as cheerfully as he could muster, ‘good to see you back among us.’

  Drissil motioned for Frask and Derowin to stand closer.

  Minutes later the six men sat in the tent, the barrel emptying quickly as they talked into the night. They weren’t drunk, but Harlem’s group had accepted three rounds of ale without protest.

  Whatever the story, Drissil could understand why the men would be rattled, but Drissil wanted to know exactly why. He would have preferred not to have Frask and Derowin around, but he figured the numbers of their seemingly casual gathering of soldiers helped ward off suspicion from anyone else.

  Even tipsy Girdo and Welce talked vaguely, trying to avoid pointing fingers, Drissil growing impatient.

  ‘Tell me about Cid, did he betray the Kingdom like the Commander claims?’

  The three men were silent and unsure.

  ‘Whatever you may think I am your side, I only want what is best for the Lanston army, I have no time for Stelinger’s feuds or agenda.’

  It was Harlem who spoke first.

  ‘Colonel, my scout partner Julian and I encountered Cid…’

  After Harlem’s brief account Girdo and Welce took over, explaining their tale from the beginning. The facts they requited were almost fabled and in any other instance Drissil would have been unlikely to believe them.

  ‘Cid, or well, the Summoner and Lieutenant Brunick at least seems to believe that someone betrayed them, deliberately endangering the west side satellite companies,’ said Girdo carefully.

  ‘You mean to say they suggested that Commander Stelinger wants Cid dead?’ asked Drissil without shame.

  Welce grimaced, scratching his head and nodded in the process.

  Drissil was well aware of how uncomfortable the men were, including now Frask and Derowin who listened in as well.

  ‘Hmm, what about your friend, Julian? Did he report to Stelinger when he woke?’ asked Drissil.

  Harlem shook his head, ‘couldn’t remember a thing. I don’t know what the Summoner did to him, but when Julian came to it was as if that part of his memory was erase
d. Luckily I realized what happened immediately so I told him he simply fell from his horse and hit his head, which worked because I had to tackle him from horseback when he tried to charge at Cid.’

  ‘He used to work under Stelinger back then, right?’ asked Drissil.

  ‘Yes, almost all the core scouts are now men affiliated with Stelinger,’ said Harlem, himself on the verge of admitting suspicion of Stelinger, ‘when we first saw the drafts of the designated scouts I was pretty sure I had only made it because I’ve been an outrider all of my career.’

  ‘Are you still taking point?’ asked Drissil.

  ‘The Commander truly knows nothing of what happened I am sure. Tomorrow I’ll be back setting the pace Colonel,’ said Harlem.

  ‘Good. We need men out there who we can trust. Thanks for telling me all of this lads. I’ll back you up should you come under cross from authorities. Just keep your heads down and leave it to me to get the truth out. I don’t care whether it’s Cid, Stelinger, or the both of them living out agendas; I won’t let them endanger the army. Report to me directly if you come across anything else worth noting. Come on, let’s have a last round.’

  Chapter 30

  A Prayer for the Road

  Alex led to them to a cavern in the canyon at sundown. It did not go deep as far as the party was concerned, its space allowing only small hares or rodents past fifteen feet in.

  The entrance at least was well enclosed by a neck of rock and it allowed them to mercifully light a small fire. They did however have to use flint and tinder as Lidayel was reluctant to use any magic and especially the likes of fire he told them. They constantly fed the ever dimming fire a snack of twine and twigs, the only real kindling they could use right now. Solemnly they ate the fruit from the food sacks Harlem had given them.

  Cid realized that at least one of them should have complained that the fire’s light and smoke was going to betray their location, but no one did. The fire was an extra companion, the night time visitor there to listen to all the troubles that could only be spoken through a grim silence. Brunick sat close to the light and it wasn’t long before he took out a tiny pocketsize pig leather booklet from his vest.

  Cid had seen the book a thousand times; Brunick carried it with him everywhere. As usual it was a somewhat comical image, seeing the big man sitting hunched and crossed legged, cradling the book in his meaty hands. Brunick read intently in the meagre light offered and Cid wanted to smile at the familiar sight.