Chapter Five

  Deeds a Man Can Live With

  The column of riders that comprised the 13th Dragoons had ridden hard for three days after Edmonds and his men had joined them. They rode fast, trying to stay away from scouts and enemy cavalry elements, real or imagined. They had passed burned villages and the scenes of more fighting. The worst was when they had come upon an old garrison. The dead bodies of a dozen Vastrum infantry officers and their families had been scattered upon the road. That was the only time Colonel Pugh had stopped the column to bury them and hold a makeshift funeral. It had not taken long. Then the column had been off again, more sombre than before, but more determined, too. Mar had watched quietly as the men were buried, saying nothing. He hoped they would not find more of the same. He knew better, though. He had seen what lows men were capable of. If any innocence had remained after the schooling of the King’s Conservatory in Blackbridge, the events of Vurun had stripped it away. Men were beasts worse than wild dogs. Whip a dog, and it would bite. Vastrum had whipped the subcontinent a thousand times over. Was it any wonder that the dog had bitten? Mar frowned, watching the column pass by the freshly buried graves of the colonists. Mar could hardly find fault with the dog. It was only a shame the dog had bitten so many innocents along with its master.

  John Dryden rode up to him on his bay mare, Rosie. The Major had a faraway look in his eyes, and he seemed to look past the soldiers who rode along. He said nothing, only ground his teeth together with frustration as he did. Dryden was only around thirty years of age, but he looked much older now. Mar supposed he did, too, especially with his scars and his missing eye, but he had no mirror with which to compare himself. As they rode, staring at the men who were passing, Major Trant rode up, too. He was new to the 13th Dragoons, a transfer and replacement for Adams, who had fallen during the mutiny while they were campaigning deep in Rhakan. They knew Trant by now, they had ridden alongside his Hussars several times, including during their pursuit of Aisa An-Beya, the necromancer who had wrought so much devastation in Vurun, and again in Rhakan during their now-legendary ride. Trant and his hussars were now not only riding alongside them, but officially part of the 13th Dragoons. The major was a burly, scarred cavalryman with a thick, black beard. He started to say something, but looking at Mar and Dryden, and sensing their mood, he shut his mouth and stared sullenly out at the passing column.

  As the third squadron went by, Dryden finally broke the silence, “There’s a bloody reckoning coming, boys. Vurun was a mess, and we fell upon it and tore it to pieces like wolves.” He left it unsaid that this was vastly worse. Multiple colonies. Large ones, too. Tens of thousands of colonists dead. The scope of this rebellion made Vurun pale in comparison. He knew they would find garrison after garrison just like this. They were riding to Kanmak, the seat of Vastrum government in the subcontinent. Did the residency still hold? They would know soon enough. Both Mar and Trant had been there for the destruction of Vurun. They had seen what became of that land.

  “We sent the wrong message there,” Mar said.

  “Would you have had us write them a bloody ‘thank you’ note?” Trant growled at him.

  Dryden smirked at that, “Surely there is some open ground between gratitude and putting the whole land to the torch?”

  “Fire must be fought with fire, sirs,” Trant argued.

  “We were all there. Each of us did our duty, sir,” Dryden began.

  “And more,” Mar cut in, “We followed our orders. But this mutiny here and now is an answer to the destruction in Vurun.”

  “Is it?” Trant, “And you know the minds of the rebels?”

  “I know what I would do,” Mar snapped, becoming increasingly annoyed, “Were I them.”

  Trant nodded, “And I know what we ought to do, too.”

  A voice sounded behind the three men, Colonel Pugh arrived, “If we burned the whole of Ayodh, Kanmak, Dravan, and Huz, Major, we would find ourselves without much of an empire to rule. Don’t you agree?”

  Trant grunted.

  “We ought to take a more measured approach, wherever possible. Hearts and minds is the word from Haddock, lads.”

  “Is it, now? The general who put Vurun to the torch now advises circumspection,” Trant laughed.

  “It is. Good men adapt and learn from their failures, as should we all. Do not think that this mutiny will go unpunished. We would do well to recognise who is responsible and who is an innocent bystander. Before we can join that fight, however, we’ve a job to do, do we not?”

  Trant nodded, “Yes, sir.”

  “Indeed, Colonel,” Dryden agreed.

  Mar sighed, “As ever, we will all do our duty.”

  When the last squadron had passed them, they turned and began to ride ahead, the four officers together, towards the front of the column. Captain Brine’s squadron rode at the back as the rearguard. His lads had broken Da Kuru’s army and earned themselves a reputation as Brine’s Bastards. Ahead of those men rode Captain Khathan’s men, a squadron of red-turbaned Guludan cavalrymen that looked as tough as any squadron in Vastrum’s sprawling armies. Khathan nodded at the officers as they passed, a sign of his deep respect. He, too, was a survivor of Blackwater’s disaster, one of the very few remaining. Ahead of him was a new squadron, formed after the mutiny, led by Captain Ravindra, a Dravani native. His men were undisciplined, but they were hard riders and good raiders. He looked more like a buccaneer than an officer in the king’s army, draped with silks and plundered jewellery. In front of those men was Captain Mallick, young and newly promoted to squadron leader. He was a brash, cocky cavalryman who liked to fight. Next came Trant’s old squadron of former Hussars. They were led by Captain Longview, another of the 13th’s young officers who had recently been promoted to fill the void. Finally, Captain Benton led the vanguard, made mostly of men who had ridden into the Black City of Dau with Dryden, during their pursuit of Aisa, the cursed city with the great pit that haunted their nightmares. She had cursed them all in that place by throwing herself in rather than being taken alive. Since then, they had known no home, nor had any rest. They had only wandered, fighting and destroying. It had wrecked their souls, or so Mar believed. They would only be free when all the colonies were free, which was the very thing they fought to prevent.

  As they arrived at the back of Benton’s squadron, a rider came trotting back down the line towards them and fell in beside the colonel. He was a young trooper. “Sir,” He saluted, “Urgent message from the front of the column.”

  Pugh returned the salute, “Report.”

  “Scouts came back, said they’ve got some locals who were trying to burn a girl. Built a pyre and everything.”

  “Bloody Savages,” Trant growled.

  “Benton sent some of the lads to put a stop to it,” The trooper added, “Then sent me to find you.”

  “Well handled, thank you, private,” Dryden added.

  “What the bloody devil are they burning a girl for?” Pugh asked rhetorically.

  “Whatever the case, we ought to see to it,” Dryden said.

  “We’ve not the time,” Pugh replied, “The column must move fifty miles per day. We’re already behind schedule.”

  “We’re not bloody leaving the poor lass to the darkies, are we?” Trant sounded deeply offended.

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  “We’re not here to solve every problem that crosses our path,” Pugh said, “We’ve a job to do.”

  “Send me, I’ll take a small detachment,” Dryden suggested.

  “Very well. See to it. Take Ravindra’s squadron. Do not tarry,” Pugh sighed, “Be quick about it, John. We are in dangerous country.”

  Dryden nodded in return, “Mar, with me. You, trooper. What is your name?”

  “Tommy, sir.”

  “You know the location of the village?” He asked.

  “Aye, I do.”

  “You come too.”

  The man nodded, “Aye, sir.”

  Then they turned and rode hard to find Ravindra’s squadron that they had passed some minutes before. It did not take long for them to find the squadron, nor was it hard to pick them from the rest of the 13th. Every man of the squadron was dressed the same as their commander, though less ostentatiously. They wore silk scarves beneath their shakos, with gold and jewels strung about their necks. Ravindra was riding in a relaxed manner when they found him. He nodded to Dryden as they approached, “Sir?” He asked with his thick accent. His skin was, like most Dravani, not dark brown like many natives of the colonies, but pitch black like a starless sky.

  “We’ve an assignment. The colonel wants us to pay a visit to a village. They’re attempting to burn a girl.”

  Ravindra raised an eyebrow at that, “A witch?” He asked, as if that would explain it.

  “I cannot say,” Dryden answered.

  Ravindra shrugged, “I will do it,” he said as if it were not compulsory, as if it were a request, not an order.

  Orders were passed down the ranks. Men formed up and rode out, following Dryden. Mar felt like he was only tagging along. He wondered why Pugh had sent him. Typically, they tried to keep him safe unless a specific danger was suspected. He tried to put the thought aside. As Pugh had said, they were in dangerous country. He was insurance in case something went wrong. He made sure he had one of his aethium cigarettes rolled. He did, though he did not light it yet. The army had seized the crate of aethium he had been gifted in Drahk, then made him fill out the proper forms for a small portion of what had been his own supply. Such was life in the military. He now only had three small vials. Dryden struck up a conversation as they rode through the flat, open countryside.

  “Tommy,” Dryden started, “I seem to recall I recruited you in Marrowick. Do I have the right of it?”

  “Aye, sir,” Tommy answered somewhat meekly.

  “Made it through Rhakan, good for you, lad. A lot of tough old bastards didn’t.”

  Mar assumed Dryden was referring to men like Flint and Baine, but he could have meant dozens of different soldiers who fell there. It was luck, really, who lived and who died in a given campaign. Men of every kind died in every war. Good men, bad ones, hard ones died while sometimes weaker, lesser men lived.

  “Only tried to do my duty, sir,” Tommy replied.

  “It’s all any of us can do,” Dryden told him, “And all I could ask of you lads.”

  Ravindra chuckled, “Duty is for fools,” He grinned at them, “Duty is for slaves.”

  There was silence for a moment. Mar glanced at Dryden and almost laughed when he saw the glower on the man’s face.

  “Why do you fight, then?” Dryden asked.

  “I am a free man. I fight because I want to. I fight for love and glory,” He bobbed his head and grinned as if he really meant the words.

  Dryden sputtered, and Mar thought he was going to argue, but he had seen firsthand how well Ravindra could fight. What was there to argue with? The man was a devil with a sword in his hand. Nearly as much as Dryden himself. Every man of his squadron was a Dravani volunteer who had chosen to join them because of Ravindra’s earned reputation. Mar had never seen Dryden flustered so, and he let out a small laugh.

  “The village is just ahead, sirs,” Tommy interrupted.

  They passed through a stand of palm trees that lined the path they were riding on, and found themselves in the middle of a village with a broad open ground between the nearest houses. A crowd had gathered, and several troopers of the 13th stood around, with muskets loaded and fixed with bayonets. In the middle of the crowd sat a pyre of stacked dry wood. Nearby, a village elder was arguing with Sergeant Gideon.

  “No, you’ll not have a burning here today,” Gideon growled, though the man could clearly not understand his words, “I bloody told you.”

  “Sergeant, what’s happening here?” Dryden asked, riding up.

  “Sir, we found these darkies trying to burn a lass. We put a stop to it,” Gideon said, his voice raspy, as was typical since he had survived his hanging. It had been Dryden himself who had hung the man, and then spared him and cut him down, a punishment for having drawn his sword on an officer.

  Ravindra spoke some words to the elder, who seemed to calm down. The man replied firmly in Ayodi. The Dravani officer turned to Dryden, “He says the girl is a demon, and they were cleansing the village.”

  “Is she now?” Dryden asked.

  “We’re keeping her in there,” Gideon gestured to a nearby mud hut.

  Dryden raised his eyebrow, “She’s well?”

  “Aye.”

  “We’ll see. Bring her.”

  Gideon barked some words to the troopers under him, and the girl was brought quickly. She emerged from the hut wearing a fine sari of red, black, and gold silk. She was adorned with henna and jewels. The village was a collection of hovels, with not one stone or wood structure, yet they had dressed her so finely. Mar’s breath caught in his throat as he saw that the girl had golden eyes which shone in the sunlight. She was young, too, not quite an adolescent.

  “She’s no demon, sir,” Mar whispered to Dryden.

  “I see that,” Dryden whispered, then turned to Ravindra, “Tell this man I have seen demons. She is not one,” The major commanded.

  Ravindra shrugged, “Her eyes?” He said, “They believe she is one. These northerners do not understand the difference between a sorcerer and a demon. They mean to burn her as an offering to Ammamaha.”

  Dryden frowned, “What are you suggesting?”

  “Do not forget, Desha, sir. Ammamaha is not a goddess to scorn,” Ravindra hissed, “We have already made her a foe. We should let this happen. Is it our duty to save every girl in Ayodh?”

  “Are you saying you would let us burn the girl?”

  “I am saying I would not anger the goddess who rules here. We should let the village alone. If they choose to burn her, that is what they would choose.”

  “Would you burn such a girl in Dravan?”

  “No. I would stop this in Dravan. Our gods are of the sea and the moon. We are in Ayodh.”

  Dryden nodded, “Very well. Men, mount up. We ride.”

  “What of the girl?” Gideon barked, “Sir,” He added.

  “Not ours to protect.”

  Mar fumed, “She’s a bloody child.”

  “We can’t bloody well take her with us, Mar,” Dryden answered coldly.

  “Children with the gift are rare. She has value. She could be taught the art of sorcery,” Mar tried to reason.

  “Better they burn her, then, than turn her powers against us.”

  “I am surprised at you, sir,” Mar said, clenching his jaw.

  “We do not have time for this. Colonel Pugh had the right of it,” Dryden said, “This will only serve as a distraction from our task. It has already taken more attention than it deserves.”

  “We must not let this evil stand,” Mar hissed, trying not to let the men hear his complaint.

  “That is enough, Marten,” Dryden’s tone was harder than he had heard it in a long time. The stress of the ride, of their urgent mission, was cracking the man, Mar realised.

  The girl was handed back over to the villagers. They brought her to the pyre and placed her atop it. Dryden began to turn his horse as the group of scouts with Gideon mounted back up.

  Mar reached out and grabbed his reins and turned him back. Rosie neighed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Dryden demanded.

  “You will not bloody look away, John,” He stared daggers at his friend, “You will watch and see what woe you have made.”

  Dryden ripped the reins back from Mar but did not turn again. The men of the 13th lined up in a wide semi-circle to watch the proceedings. A shaman or priest or whatever the village had, Mar was unsure what to call them, stepped forward and began to say words in their tongue. Fire was brought on a burning branch. The girl in all her finery stood atop the pyre crying, but she did not run. They had not even tied her. The girl covered her face with her hands. Fire took the kindling at the base of the pyre. The wood was dry, and it caught the flames with speed. Gouts of fire licked into the air. The girl did not cry out as the pyre began to burn. Mar’s heart hammered in his chest. The girl was standing there amidst the smoke, and finally, before the flames took her, she looked up. Mar’s golden eyes locked with hers.

  He realised that he could not allow this abomination. He could not live with himself if they let this happen. Nobody else moved to stop it. Dryden’s jaw was jutting forward in the way it was when he was set on something he did not care for.

  “Damn you,” Mar growled, and without warning, he spurred his horse hard.

  His steed shot forward towards the flames. A villager stood in his way, but his horse knocked the man aside. He pulled the reins, and his horse leapt through the flames. He leaned down and scooped the girl up in his arm and took her into his saddle. She seemed to weigh so very little. Flames licked at him hungrily. Then he was through, and his horse landed on the other side of the pyre. Villagers scattered. He cantered back to the lines of the 13th. Ravindra shrugged as he came back, half concerned at the idea of defying a goddess, the other half impressed by the act. Gideon was grinning ear to ear.

  Dryden glared at him, “What have you done?” He demanded.

  “You may be content to let a girl burn. I’ll not be a monster, John. I will not.”

  “She’s your responsibility alone, Marten.”

  Mar could live with that.