At the edge of the clearing Dennis continued to stare with unfocused eyes at the forest. Something, a sensing, refocused his attention. A lone bird darted through the branches overhead. The angry chatter of a squirrel echoed.
His left hand drifted down to the hilt of his sword. He looked back over his shoulder. Gregory had been kneeling beside a Tsurani, studying the face of the enemy soldier as if he might learn something about the alien invaders from this mans still features. He had sensed what Dennis had sensed, that someone was approaching. His gaze flickered to the men lining the trail. Several of the old hands were already reacting. Others, noticing this, started to react as well.
Dennis watched Alwin and was disappointed, for the new sergeant-at-arms was several seconds behind Gregory and himself, but finally he raised his left hand, palm outward, at the same time drawing his right hand across his throat, the signal for everyone to fall silent and freeze. Dennis turned to look back at the forest, not yet giving a command.
Gregory listened for a moment, then relaxed. He looked at Dennis and nodded once, then smiled.
A flicker of a shadow moved in the darkness of the forest on the trail ahead and Dennis relaxed, too.
The shadow stepped out from behind a tree, raised a hand and Dennis motioned for him to come in. The scout sprinted forward. He was clad in a white tunic streaked with cross-hatching lines of grey and black, the uniform designed by Dennis for the Marauders to wear during winter campaigning in the deep forest. He ran lightly, in the way only an elf could run, so softly that even in snow it was said they at times they would leave no prints.
As he approached Dennis, he nodded, and with a hand signal motioned for him to follow.
It was a bit of protocol that at times bothered Dennis. The scout was Gregorys companion, not officially part of Denniss command, and as such he would report first to his friend. This, as much as anything else, was the reason Dennis preferred having Gregory lead any scouting mission; when the Natalese Ranger returned from a mission, he reported to Dennis. Dennis, for not the first time, considered it a petty irritation, yet he couldnt rid himself of it.
Tinuva, several of the men sighed, as the elf came into the clearing. They were obviously relieved. Weapons were resheathed.
The elf nodded a greeting. He looked over at the burial detail, busy filling in the grave and paused for a moment, head lowered, offering his thoughts for the fallen. At last, he looked back at Gregory. You were right, two of them did escape. he announced.
And? Gregory asked.
Good fighters, tough, a long chase, Tinuva said, matter-of-factly.
So you got all them? Dennis asked.
The elf shook his head. He was obviously winded after the long chase.
Dennis pulled a flask out from under his tunic and handed it over. After nodding his thanks, the elf drank then handed the flask back.
Not sure, Tinuva replied. Their commander might have sent a runner back before the fight even started. There were too many tracks on the trail to tell. If I had more time to follow the way they came, I would know for certain, but you stressed getting back here quickly.
Dennis cursed silently.
Then we must assume someone did get out, Gregory announced.
I always assume that, Dennis said coolly.
Gregory did not reply.
I sense something else here as well, the elf said.
The Dark Brothers? Gregory asked and the elf nodded.
Did you see signs? Dennis interjected.
The elf reached into a pouch dangling from his belt and drew out the broken shaft of an arrow. Its their make Clan Raven. Not more than a league from here. I came across tracks as I was returning here after finding the two Tsurani. There was blood on the snow. Someone killed a stag, quartered it and then headed back north. Four of them, early this morning, an hour after the snow started to fall today.
Only four? Dennis asked.
The elf shook his head. No, there are more. What I found was just a hunting party foraging for food. The forest whispers of them. Theyre out here: something is stirring. The elf nodded towards the mountains to the north, barely visible in a gathering darkness, to the north.
How many?
Tinuva closed his eyes for a moment, as if to aid his thinking. Hard to tell, he whispered. We eledhel have history with the moredhel.
Gregory gave a quick shake of his head to Dennis, warning him not to ask anything more.
They are as difficult to track as we are, unless they are close by or out in large numbers. He looked northward again. Up there, distant, but in large numbers, I would judge.
Why? asked Father Corwin, who was standing at the edge of the group.
Several of the men turned to look at the priest. Suddenly embarrassed, Father Corwin lowered his eyes.
No one answered. Finally the elf stirred.
Holy one, Tinuva said, softly. Something is beginning to stir amongst those you call the Brotherhood of the Dark Path. This war with the Tsurani diverts us away from the threat of the dark ones to the north. Perhaps they see an advantage to be gained from humans slaughtering each other. Perhaps they seek to return south to the Green Heart and the Grey Towers it isnt hard to imagine theyve worn out their welcome with the clans of the Northlands after nine winters.
Gregory said, Are they moving south?
Tinuva shrugged. The hunters whose signs I saw may have been foraging ahead of a larger company, or on the flank. Its difficult to know if theyre heading south or in this direction.
All the more reason for us to get the hell out of here now, Dennis interjected sharply. Weve been behind the lines too damn long as it is; the men deserve to spend the rest of the winter in Tyr-Sog getting drunk and spending their pay on whores.
He looked back at the burial party. They were nearly finished; a couple of men were dragging out deadfall and branches to throw over the grave. Several of the men were already returning to the ranks, hooking the short-handled shovels onto their backpacks. A trained eye could easily pick out the burial site today but if it continued to snow, by tomorrow the grave and the nearby Tsurani dead would have disappeared. By springtime, when the snows melted and grass fed by the richness beneath sprang up, it would have disappeared back into the forest.
Alwin, move the men out.
Sir, you said you wanted to speak to the boy first, Alwin replied softly.
Dennis nodded, scanning the line of troops. His gaze fell on Richard Kevinsson. Boy, over here now, he snapped.
Nervously Richard looked up.
The rest of you start moving, Dennis rapped out we want to make Brendans Stockade and our own lines by morning.
Two men acting as trailbreakers sprinted forward, darting off to either side of the trail, lightly jumping over deadfalls and around tree trunks. Within seconds they had disappeared into the forest. Half a dozen men, the advanced squad, set out next, moving down the trail at a slow trot.
Richard Kevinsson approached, obviously ill-at-ease. Captain? he asked, his voice shaking.
Dennis looked at Gregory, Tinuva, and the priest, his eyes commanding a dismissal. Tinuva stepped away, bowed in respect to the grave, then joined the column, but Gregory and the priest lingered.
Father, go join the wounded, Dennis said sharply.
Father, go join the wounded, Dennis said sharply.
I thank you for rescuing me, Captain, Father Corwin replied, but I feel responsible for the trouble this lad is in and I wish to stay with him.
Dennis was about to bark an angry command, but a look in Gregorys eyes stilled him. He turned his attention back to Richard. When we return to Baron Moyets camp I will have you dropped from the rolls of the company.
Sir? Richards voice started to break.
I enrolled you in the company because I felt sorry for your loss, boy. It reminded me of my own, I guess. But doing so was a mistake. In the last fortnight you have barely managed to keep up with our march. I heard a rumour that you fell asleep while on watch two nights ago.
He hesitated for an instant. It was Jurgen who had reported that, and then defended the boy, reminding Dennis that he had done so as well when out on his first campaign long years ago.
It was you that the priest saw from the trail wasnt it?
The boy hesitated.
Its not his fault, Father Corwin said, impassioned. I stopped because I was exhausted from running. I was staring straight at him, I couldnt help but see him.
That doesnt matter, Dennis snapped, and the look in his eyes made it clear that he would not tolerate another word from the black-robed priest. Well?
Yes, sir, Richard replied weakly. It was me.
Why?
I thought I was well concealed.
If that old man could spot you, be certain a Tsurani trailbreaker would have seen you. You are a danger to yourself and to my command. Im sending you back. You can tell your friends what you want. I suggest you find a position with a nice comfortable mounted unit down in Krondor. No brains needed there, just ride, point your lance, and charge. Then you can be a hero, like in the songs and ballads.
I wanted to serve with you, sir, the boy whispered.
Well you did, and thats now finished. He hesitated, but then his anger spilled out. Go take a final look at that grave over there before we leave, he said with barely-contained fury, his soft voice more punishing than any screamed insult. Now get out of my sight.
The boy stiffened, face as pale as the first heavy flakes of snow that began to swirl down around them. The he nodded and turned about, shoulders sagging. As he rejoined the column the men around him looked away.
The priest took a step forward.
Denniss hand snapped out, and a finger pointed into the old mans face. I dont like you, Dennis announced. You were a bumbling fool wandering around out here where you had no business. Damn you, dont you know theres a war being fought out here? Its not a war like the ones that fat monks and troubadours gossip about around the fireplace. I hope you got a good belly full of it today.
Two of my fat friends, as you call them, are prisoners of the Tsurani this day, Father Corwin replied, and there was checked anger in his voice. I volunteered to serve with the army as a healer. I just pray I dont have to work on you some day. Stitching together flesh that has no soul is bitter work.
The priest turned and stalked away. The middle part of the column, made up of the stretcher-bearers was starting off and Corwin joined them.
Gregory chuckled softly.
What the hell is so funny? Dennis snapped.
I think he got you on that one. You did go a bit too hard on the boy.
I dont think so. He almost got us all killed.
He made no mistakes, I was but ten feet from him. I made sure he was well concealed. As if thinking of something, Gregory added, That priest has unusually sharp eyes.
Nevertheless, the boy goes back.
Is that what Jurgen would have done?
Dennis turned, eyes filled with bitterness. Dont talk to me about Jurgen.
Someone has to. Theres not a man in your company that doesnt share your pain. Not just over losing a man they respected, but because they bear a love for you as well, and now carry your burden of sorrow.
Sorrow? How do you know what I feel?
I know, Gregory announced softly. I saw what happened too. Jurgen made his choice, he left himself open in order to save the boy. I would have done it, so would you.
I dont think so.
You and your Marauders have become hard men over the years, Dennis, but not soulless ones. You would have tried to save him, even at the cost of your own life, as Jurgen did. The lad has promise. You might not have noticed, and Im not even sure he remembers it, but he did kill the first Tsurani that closed on him. The one that almost got him came up from behind.
Nevertheless, the boy goes.
Itll kill him. We both know the type. Next battle hell do something stupid to regain his honour and die doing it.
Thats his problem, not mine.
And what if he gets a half-dozen others killed as well? What would Jurgen say of that?
Jurgen is dead, damn you, Dennis hissed. Never speak to me of him again.
Gregory stepped back, raised his hands, then shook his head sadly, and walked over to the grave. Looking down at the rich brown earth being covered by the falling snow, he whispered, Until we stand together again in the light.
Then he went to join the company. Tinuva fell in by his side and the two of them headed up the trail in the opposite direction, double-checking to make sure that nothing was following the unit.
Dennis was left alone as the last of his men abandoned the clearing.
The heavy flakes swirled down, striking his face, melting into icy rivulets that dripped off a golden beard which was beginning to show the first greys of middle age.
When all were gone, and he knew no one was watching he walked up to the grave, reached down and picked up a clump of frozen earth.
Damn you, he sighed, why did you leave me like this, Jurgen?
Now there was no one left. Nothing but a flood of memories.
The holdings of the Hartrafts were not much to boast about; forest lands lying between Tyr-Sog and Yabon. A scattering of frontier villages on the border marches, a rural squires estates that the high-blood earls, barons, and dukes of the south and of the east would have scoffed at, or tossed aside as a trifle in a game of dice. But it had been his home, the home of his father and his fathers father.
Jurgen had been a young soldier for Denniss grandfather, old Angus Hartraft, called Forkbeard, who had first been granted the lands on the border for his stalwart service against the dark things that lived to the north. Jurgen had also been his fathers closest friend. And when his father died on the first day of the Riftwar, when the Tsurani flooded into their lands, it was Jurgen who had saved his life the night their keep was taken.
Dennis stared at the grave.
Better I had died that night, he thought, and there was a flash of resentment for old Jurgen.
Malena, his bride of barely six hours, died that night. His father had ordered him to take her through the secret passage out of the burning chaos of the estates central keep. He had fought his own desire to stay with his father and had taken Malena through the tunnel. Then outside the escape tunnel, just as freedom had been in reach, a crossbow bolt had stilled her heart forever. He had briefly glimpsed the assassin in the flickering light from the burning keep, and the image of the man as he turned and fled burned in Denniss memory. Jurgen had found him kneeling in the mud, clutching her lifeless body. He had fought to stay with her, until Jurgen knocked him out with the flat of his sword, then carried him down the river to safety.