Читать книгу: «The Serpentwar Saga», страница 13

• Chapter Nine • Breakdown

Erik groaned.

He struggled to carry the bag of rocks up the hill, his feet slipping on the treacherous mound of stone. The hill was formed by the rocks being hauled by the six prisoners up its unstable side.

Reaching the top, Erik paused, took a deep breath as sweat poured down his face, and swung the heavy bag off his shoulder. He upended it and rocks went cascading down the side of the mound, causing those behind to curse as they were forced to dodge the stones. He knew the guards would allow him a moment to catch his breath before he negotiated his way down the dangerous stone mound to continue this pointless task.

He let his vision sweep the vista below. The mound of rocks rose up in the midst of a military camp. He had never seen a soldiers’ compound, but he guessed this was unlike any other such installation in the world. A huge square, it was surrounded by wooden walls upon which sentries patrolled, as much to ensure no one approached from outside as to keep prisoners inside. A good three hundred yards of woodlands had been cleared around all sides, providing that no one could get close enough to the camp to witness what occurred inside.

In the midst of the camp were three large buildings, also fashioned from logs. Ten large tents, each designed for six men, were arrayed along the north wall of the compound. A familiar sound carried through the morning air, and Erik looked toward the southern wall, where stood an armory, leather shop, and cook shed.

‘Von Darkmoor!’ shouted a guard, and Erik realized he had lapsed into daydream. The next warning would be followed by a fowling blunt, an arrow with a hard ball of lead covered with leather that could break a man’s arm if it struck there. Usually it just knocked the hapless target from the peak of the hill, followed by a rough ride down the rocky slope. That would be followed in turn by an equally rocky berating from Robert de Loungville.

The sergeant stood a short distance away, watching as the men moved slowly up the rock pile, trying not to dislodge stones onto the men behind. He spoke softly to the corporal, whose name was Foster. They pointed at various men as they struggled to get the rocks up the hill.

Roo moved toward Erik and he puffed mightily as he said, ‘Only two or three more trips, I figure.’

The scrawny boy from Darkmoor had never been one for labor, Erik knew, but over the last week he had managed to keep up with the others. Part of it, Erik knew, was the food. None of them had ever eaten that well in their lives. And while they were roused from sleep at dawn, they turned in early enough so they were sufficiently rested.

Erik had felt his old strength return, and if anything he was even more fit than before. He and Biggo loaded up more than the others, because they could carry more, but every man pulled his share of rocks up that slope.

Erik made one more transit from the small mounds dumped by the wagon to the growing hill. When he got to the bottom, he saw Robert de Loungville wave him to stand near by. When all six prisoners were finished, standing in ragged line, de Loungville came up to them.

‘Tired?’ he asked, his face set in a friendly smile.

The men muttered they were and he nodded in understanding. ‘I bet,’ he said. ‘Could be you’re as tired as you’ve ever been in your life?’

The men muttered agreement. He rocked back and forth a little on his feet, then shouted, ‘And what do you do when your enemy hits you when you’re tired?’

Suddenly Erik was slammed into from behind, his assailant taking him down. A man in black moved away as Erik rolled over on his back, out of breath and heart pounding.

The others were likewise on the ground, save Sho Pi, who danced nimbly away as a black-clad man lay facedown in the dirt.

De Loungville said, ‘Here, now? How did you manage that?’

Sho Pi said, ‘By never for a moment assuming I’m safe, Sergeant.’

De Loungville raised his brows and, with eyes wide with respect, nodded. ‘That is an attitude I can appreciate.’ He moved with almost a saunter as he approached Sho Pi. ‘You would do well,’ he said to the others, ‘to follow this man’s example.’ Without warning he leveled a flying kick at Sho Pi’s knees, which the Isalani deftly avoided.

Suddenly the Isalani was a blur of motion as he sidestepped the smaller but solid man. He kicked out with his right leg, and tattooed de Loungville with a series of kicks to the face and chest, then he swept with his leg, coming full circle, and took de Loungville’s feet out from under him.

The men who were still on the ground laughed at the sight of their tormentor humbled, but that laughter turned to silence as two guards ran up pointing crossbows at Sho Pi, forcing him away from de Loungville.

Robert de Loungville sat up, shaking his head, and then jumped to his feet. ‘Did you think that was funny?’

None of the men spoke.

‘I said, “Did you think that was funny?”’

The men shouted, ‘No, Sergeant!’

De Loungville turned and said. ‘I’ll show you something funny.’ His voice rose to the near shriek the men had become used to over the last week. ‘That pile of rocks is in the wrong place!’

Erik bit back a groan as he knew what was coming next. ‘You will take that pile apart and move it over there.’ De Loungville pointed to a place where the wagon, now empty, stood. ‘Then when I’ve decided exactly where I want the rocks, I’ll have you move them again. Is that clear?’

Without thought Erik shouted, ‘Yes, sir!’

‘Now get started.’

Erik didn’t look to see what the others were doing. He stood, shouldered his sack, and started to the pile of rocks. He reached the edge and bent over to pick up rocks, but de Loungville’s voice cut the air. ‘From the top down, von Darkmoor! I want it moved from the top down!’

Erik winced, and without comment started the dangerous climb to the top of the rock pile. Halfway up the slope, Erik heard Billy Goodwin say, ‘I’d like one good shot at that bastard.’

From even farther down the slope, Erik heard Biggo say, ‘With your luck you’d probably kick him in the heart and break your foot.’ Erik couldn’t help but laugh, and suddenly he realized it was the first laugh he had experienced since Stefan had died. Suddenly his foot slipped and he half fell, slamming both knees into the rocks. As he winced in pain and regained his feet, he cursed the day he had first seen this camp, a week earlier.

Five miles to the east of Krondor, the wagon he had ridden in had turned south, leaving the heavily traveled road from Krondor to Darkmoor. But it wasn’t the main road southeast that headed toward the Vale of Dreams and the border with Kesh. Rather, they had followed an old wagon trail to what looked to Erik to have once been a farming village near a small lake, surrounded on three sides by sheltering hills. The Crown had obviously taken over this area, for several guard posts had been erected along the way and three times they had been forced to stop while Robert de Loungville had shown proper passes. Erik had been curious, for with all the guards riding with them, and the tabards of the Prince’s own Household Guard, the guards along the way had still appeared cautious.

The other thing that had piqued Erik’s interest had been how veteran those soldiers guarding the way to this camp had appeared. All the men had been older; not one smooth cheek in the crew, and many had borne scars. And most wore differing tabards, some the black with the golden eagle of Bas-Tyra, others the golden gull on brown of Crydee.

A guard sergeant at the gate had greeted de Loungville by name, calling him Bobby, but still looked over his pass. Once inside the compound, Erik and the others had their first glimpse of the camp. A dozen men, all wearing black tunics and trousers, had been practicing with bows in a corner of the compound as the wagon had rolled through the gate, and as the large doors were swung shut, Erik caught sight of a dozen more practicing their horsemanship. He had gawked as the wagon had ground to a halt and the prisoners had been unchained.

The men had been forced to run from the wagon to stand in front of the main building for over an hour, toward what end Erik had never understood.

As he had waited, he had reveled in the simple fact of still being alive. His experience on the gallows had left him alternating between black depression and giddy elation. He had entered the compound in good spirits, which hadn’t worn off as he had waited before the nameless building.

De Loungville had gone inside for over an hour and had returned with a man who appeared to be some sort of chirurgeon, who had examined all the prisoners and had made several comments on their condition Erik hadn’t understood. For the first time in his life he had some sense of how horses felt when he examined them for fitness.

The prisoners had been run through some strange drills and asked to march around. This had brought rude comments and mocking observations from those men in black who were standing around while the prisoners drilled.

At the end of the day, they had been ordered to the second large building, the mess. Fully half the tables were unoccupied after the men in black were seated. Young boys in the livery of squires of the Prince’s court in Krondor raced between the tables heaping abundance beyond Erik’s dreams on them. Breads, hot and slathered with butter, pitchers of cow’s milk, cooled by ice brought down by riders from the nearby mountains. Meats – chicken, beef, and pork – surrounded by vegetables of every description were set down next to platters of cheese and fruit.

Erik was suddenly hungry beyond belief and ate.

He lay almost comatose in a tent next to Roo that night.

The next morning, training had begun, and they had been ordered to build the mountain. Robert de Loungville had ordered them to pick up seemingly endless piles of rocks and move them half the distance across the compound to build this hill.

His revery was broken by Sho Pi saying, ‘I apologize.’

Erik reached the peak and, as he knelt and started filling the bag with rocks, said, ‘For what?’

‘My temper got the best of me. Had I let him knock me down, we would not have to do this over.’

Erik finished loading up his sack. ‘Oh, I think he’d have found a reason. You just provided a convenient excuse.’

Moving carefully down the hill as Sho Pi took his place at the summit, Erik said, ‘It was worth it to see him dumped on his prat.’

‘I trust you feel that way tomorrow, friend Erik.’

Despite aching shoulders and legs and black-and-blue marks all over his body from the constantly rolling rocks, Erik knew he would.

‘Get out of there, you dogs!’

Erik and Roo were out of their bedding and on their feet before they were fully awake. Corporal Foster looked at the six men. Billy Goodwin, Biggo, and Luis were on one side of the large tent, while Erik and Roo were on the other with Sho Pi. All six stood at what they had come to learn was the approved stance, what the soldiers called ‘at attention,’ head back, eyes forward, hands to either side of them, palms in, feet at an angle together at the heels, each man before the foot of his wood and straw bed.

If this morning was like the others, they would be working for an hour or so before the morning meal, when they would be required to sit in silence at a table removed from the forty or so men who occupied the compound. They had been forbidden to speak to the other men, and those black-clad soldiers had shown no inclination to speak to the prisoners.

That they were soldiers was beyond doubt to Erik. They spent long hours drilling, climbing the wooden walls, jumping barricades, riding horseback, practicing with all manner of weapons.

Instead of being returned to the rock hill, for their third day of moving the rocks to Robert de Loungville’s newly chosen location, they were marched before the big building where Erik was now convinced the officers lived. They were told to stand at attention and wait, while de Loungville entered the building.

A few minutes later he reemerged with another man behind. The second man struck Erik as looking somewhat odd, though he couldn’t place why. He was slender, blond, and youthful – no more than twenty or twenty-five years of age – but de Loungville showed obvious deference to him as they spoke.

‘These are the last six,’ he said. The blond-haired man nodded, saying nothing. ‘I don’t like this,’ de Loungville continued. ‘We planned for sixty men, not thirty-six.’

The other man spoke at last, and there was something strange in his speech: soft and well mannered, yet different from what Erik had heard among the nobles and wealthy merchants of Darkmoor and Ravensburg. Erik had heard a lot of foreign accents in his day, but he couldn’t place this one. ‘Agreed, but conditions force us to make do with what we have. What about these?’

‘They have promise, Calis, but we’ve months of training ahead.’

‘Who are they?’ asked the man called Calis.

Robert de Loungville moved before Biggo. ‘This one’s called Biggo. Strong as an ox and almost as intelligent. Quicker than he looks. Calm – doesn’t rattle easily.’

He stepped before the next. ‘Luis de Savona. Rodezian cutthroat. Likes to use a knife. Handy where we’re going.’

Then he said, ‘Billy Goodwin. Looks like a simple lad, but he’d cut your throat for the fun of it. Too mean when angered, but he can be broken.’

He came to stand before Erik. ‘This is von Darkmoor’s bastard. Probably too stupid to live, but he’s almost as strong as Biggo and he’ll do as he’s told.’

Then he was before Roo. ‘Rupert Avery. He’s a sneaky little rodent, but he’s got potential.’ He then grabbed Roo’s ever-present noose and pulled him forward, almost off balance, as he shouted into his face, ‘If I don’t kill him first for being so damned ugly!’

Then he let go and Roo almost fell backwards over-compensating, as de Loungville stepped before Sho Pi. ‘This is the Keshian I told you about. Could be very useful to us if he can learn to keep his temper. More dangerous than Goodwin; this one doesn’t show it when he’s getting angry.’

Then he turned to the six prisoners. ‘Do you see this man, here?’ asked de Loungville.

The prisoners said, ‘Yes, Sergeant!’

De Loungville said, ‘Be afraid of him. Be very afraid.’ He looked from face to face. ‘He is not what he seems. He is the Eagle of Krondor, and wise men keep out of sight when he flies above.’

Calis indulged himself in a slight smile at the rhetoric, nodded, and said, ‘You men will live or die as the Kingdom requires. I will see you dead before I will let you jeopardize the mission we will be upon. Is this understood?’

The men nodded. They had no idea what mission they were to be a part of, but it had been driven home daily that it was vital to the interests of the Kingdom and that each of them would instantly be killed if they appeared in any way to threaten its success. Erik was certain he had never been more convinced of any single fact in his life than he was of this.

Calis studied each face, then said, ‘You have two weeks, Bobby.’

‘Two weeks! I was to have three more months!’

With a hint of a distant sadness, Calis said, ‘Arutha is dead. Nicholas was not told of his father’s plan until the day after hearing of his death. It was a shock. He’s not convinced of the wisdom of what we do.’ He turned and looked at de Loungville. ‘Two weeks, and any man who isn’t reliable, hang him.’ Without another word he returned inside the building.

De Loungville glanced from face to face one more time, then said, ‘Be very afraid.’

The next morning, the hill of rocks was gone. The men in black had been ordered to remove it, and thirty of them had made quick work of the pile. Erik and the others had been taken to another part of the compound by Corporal Foster.

He had stood before them and said, ‘Any of you murdering mother-lovers think you know how to handle a sword?’

The men glanced at one another, but no one spoke. They had learned within a few hours of arriving at camp that when Foster or de Loungville asked a question, you had better be absolutely sure of the right answer if you opened your mouth.

‘I thought so,’ said Foster. ‘Easy enough to club a man from behind in an alley, eh, Biggo?’ He grinned without humor.

Foster moved down the line. ‘Or slip a dagger into a man’s back when he’s drunk in a tavern, eh, Luis?’

When he got to Erik he said, ‘Or you can just hold him from behind while your little rat-faced sweetheart sticks a knife into his gut.’

Erik said nothing. De Loungville had a harsh nature and was a tyrant, but didn’t seem to find particular pleasure in his work. Corporal Foster seemed to enjoy insulting the prisoners. Billy Goodwin had lost his temper with Foster the second day and had endured the humiliation of being soundly drubbed by the experienced soldier before the entire company in the compound. The men in black had gathered to laugh at the thrashing.

Two soldiers approached, each carrying three swords. ‘Well,’ said Foster, ‘these two lads and myself are going to attempt to show you a thing or two about using this weapon, so you don’t hurt yourself if you happen to find one in your hand someday.’ Taking out his own sword, he said, ‘Better men than you have managed to cut off their own foot.’

The soldiers passed out a blade to each man. Erik held his awkwardly. It was a common Kingdom shortsword, heavier than the fast rapier, shorter than the broad-, bastard-, and greatswords used by some fighters. It was, he had been told as a boy, the simplest weapon to train with.

‘Pay attention,’ said de Loungville. ‘Your life will certainly depend on it.’

So began an intensive week of arms study. For a half day they stood in the yard, slamming away at one another with wooden practice weapons, until everyone of them was covered in black-and-blue welts. Then, after the midday meal, they were taken to the stable area.

‘Who’s a rider here?’ asked de Loungville.

Erik and Luis raised their hands. Two horses were led toward them, and de Loungville said, ‘Get aboard and let’s see what you know.’

Luis quickly mounted, but Erik walked around his horse and inspected the animal.

De Loungville said, ‘Waiting for him to invite you up, von Darkmoor?’

Ignoring the sarcasm, Erik said, ‘This animal isn’t sound.’

‘What?’ asked Robert de Loungville. ‘He looks sound enough to me.’

‘He’s off in the left rear.’ Erik reached down and ran his hand along the animal’s left rear leg, and the gelding obligingly raised his foot. A thick mat of dirt, hay, and dung was packed in the hoof. Erik reached for a pick that hadn’t been on his belt for a month, and smiled to himself ruefully. ‘Old habits.’ He looked up. Without a word one of the two grooms handed Erik a hoof pick and he pulled the mass lose. Even standing a few feet back, de Loungville could smell the stink.

Erik held the hoof, inspecting it. ‘Thrush. That won’t make him lame until the hoof rots off, but there’s certainly something else here.’ Erik dug into the frog and the horse protested and began to pull away. ‘Hold!’ shouted Erik and gave the horse a backward slap with his hand, more an admonishment than any real punishment. Sensing he was being treated by someone who knew what he was doing, the horse quieted, though he obviously wasn’t pleased. ‘Got a rock here, small one, but in there good.’ Suddenly it popped out and blood and pus oozed after it. ‘A couple of days of soaking that hoof a time or two in hot salty water should fix him right up. Just needs to be packed with poultice to keep it from festering.’ He let go of the leg. ‘Someone’s not taking proper care of these horses. Sergeant.’

De Loungville said, ‘Someone is going to find himself shipped back to the Shamata garrison at first light tomorrow if there’s one other lame horse in that stable tonight!’ To one of the grooms he shouted, ‘Bring another mount.’

As the horse was led away, de Loungville asked, ‘How did you know?’

Erik shrugged. ‘It’s what I do. I’m a blacksmith. I can see little things most don’t notice.’

De Loungville rubbed his chin as he thought, then softly he said, ‘Get back in line.’

While waiting for a fresh mount to be brought, de Loungville said, ‘Let me see you take the yard at a trot, de Savona!’

Luis moved the horse easily forward and Erik nodded slightly in approval. The Rodezian had a good seat and didn’t saw at the horse’s mouth. He over-balanced a little and his legs were somewhat out of position, but overall he was a fair rider.

The afternoon wore on, with each of the men taking a turn at riding. Roo sat well enough, despite his having little experience, and Sho Pi seemed to have a natural aptitude – good balance and a relaxed seat. Biggo and William were both tossed before they made it halfway around the compound, and by the end of the day, every man but Erik and Luis was complaining of muscles in his legs he never knew existed now stretched and beaten.

For the first three days after meeting Calis, Erik and the other five prisoners were put through intensive weapons training as well as at least two hours of riding each day. Erik was developing a fair sense of how to use a sword, as was Roo, who used his quickness to good advantage.

No one asked, but it was clear that they were being trained for combat and that their ability to prove something to Robert de Loungville was critical to their future survival. No one spoke of Calis’s final instruction to de Loungville, that any man found unreliable was to be hung.

No one cared to speculate on what would constitute reliability in two weeks’ time.

Each man’s strengths and weaknesses began to emerge as the week wore on. Biggo was fine as long as he had clear instructions, but when something unexpected arose, he was indecisive. Roo was daring, and took chances, and as often as not received lumps and bruises for his troubles.

Billy Goodwin lost his temper in a blind rage, while Sho Pi lost his temper and became intensely focused, in a fashion that made Erik consider him the most deadly of the company.

Luis de Savona was a fair swordsman – though he claimed he excelled with the dagger – and a decent horseman, but his vulnerability was his vanity. He could not say no to any challenge.

Sho Pi was naturally gifted and never repeated a lesson. He sat effortlessly in the saddle and used a sword easily mere hours after having been shown what to do.

Five days after Calis had inspected them, training in the camp changed. The six prisoners were ordered out with an equal number of men in black, and the dozen of them were marched to a distant area of the compound, where two soldiers waited, wearing the brown and gold tabard of the Duchy of Crydee. On the ground before them lay a host of strange-looking objects, some which appeared to be weapons, others which were incomprehensible.