Waylander by David A. Gemmell

‘No sign of cavalry?’

‘No, sir,’

‘Jonat!’ called Gellan.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The infantry will be expecting supplies. Take two men and scout to the east – when you see the wagons, get back here as fast as you can.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Kapra, get yourself some food and then take a fresh mount and move out with Jonat. We will wait here for you.’

Sarvaj smiled. The difference in Gellan was startling now that the prospect of action loomed – his eyes were bright and alive and his voice curt and authoritative. Gone was the habitual stoop and the casually distant manner.

Egel had sent them out to find supplies to feed his beleaguered force, and so far they had been riding for three days without success. Villages had been wantonly destroyed and food stores taken or burnt. Cattle had been driven off and sheep poisoned in their fields.

‘Sarvaj!’

‘Sir?’

‘Get the horses picketed and separate the men into five groups. There’s a hollow past the thicket there and room for three fires – but none to be lit until the north star is clear and bright. You understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Four men to stand watch, change every four hours. You pick the places.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Gellan smoothed his dark moustache and grinned boyishly.

‘Let them be carrying salt beef,’ he said. ‘Pray for salt beef, Sarvaj!’

‘And a small escort. It might be worth praying for a Ten.’

The smile faded from Gellan’s face. ‘Unlikely. They’ll have at least a Quarter, maybe more. And then there will be the cartsmen. Still, cross that river when we reach it. When the men are resting, organise a sabre check; I want no blunted weapons when we ride.’

‘Yes, sir. Why don’t you get some rest?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘It wouldn’t do any harm,’ Sarvaj urged.

‘You’re fussing round me like an old woman. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it – but I am all right now, I promise.’ Gellan smiled to hide the lie, but it did not fool Sarvaj.

The men were glad of the rest and without Jonat the mood lightened. Sarvaj and Gellan sat apart from the troop, chatting lightly about the past. Careful to avoid bringing up subjects which would remind Gellan of his wife and children, Sarvaj talked mainly of regimental memories.

‘Do you mind if I ask you a question?’ he said suddenly.

‘Why should I?’ answered Gellan.

‘Why did you promote Jonat?’

‘Because he’s talented – he just doesn’t realise it yet.’

‘He doesn’t like you.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Watch him – he’ll do well.’

‘He brings the men down, lessens morale.’

‘I know. Be patient.’

‘He’s pushing for us to run north – to break out of Skultik.’

‘Stop worrying about it, Sarvaj. Trust me.’

I trust you, thought Sarvaj. I trust you to be finest swordsman in the Legion, to be a caring and careful officer and to be a firm friend. But Jonat? Jonat was a snake and Gellan was too trusting to see it. Given the time, Jonat would start a mutiny which would spread like a prairie fire through the dispirited ranks of Egel’s army.

That night, as Gellan lay under his cloak away from the fire, he fell into a deep sleep and the dreams returned. He woke with a start and the tears flowed, though he swallowed the sobs that ached to be loose.

As he stood up and wandered away from camp, Sarvaj turned over and opened his eyes. ‘Damn!’ he whispered.

Towards dawn, Sarvaj arose and checked the sentries. This was the worst time of the night for concentration, and often a man who could stand a shift from dusk until midnight would find it impossible on another night to stay awake from midnight to dawn. Sarvaj had no idea what caused this phenomenon, but he knew what cured it; a man found sleeping on duty was lashed twenty times, and for a second offence the sentence was death. Sarvaj had no wish to see his men hung, so he made a name for himself as a nightwalker.

On this night, as he crept soundlessly through the wood, he found all four men alert and watchful. Pleased, he made his way back to his blankets where he found Gellan waiting for him. The officer looked tired, but his eyes were bright.