21

“This is barbaric,” San muttered.

“Does your land have better ways of ensuring military discipline?” Pavano asked. He too looked uncomfortable with what was going on.

“I’m not sure. I was never in the military, but we stopped using corporal punishment on soldiers or civilians,” San said as he watched two men be stripped of their coats and tunics. They were tied to a post that had been recently planted in the ground and another solider with a lash was limbering up the weapon.

Drunkenness on duty, that was the charge. Two men caught being inebriated when they should have been on duty. San knew he was responsible for that drunkeness. The moonshine he had sold Elgava had made its presence known.

It was comparable to teenagers or young adults getting into the hard stuff. They would figure they knew how to hold their liquor and from that assumption all manner of bad things occurred. In this case, drunk soldiers running about in the snow, nearly burning down a tent, and worst of all, disrupting the Mage Lieutenant’s sleep.

Ilagio was furious, but the Mage Lieutenant was icy cold. Havatair was all for soldiers being soldiers, that getting drunk was just a part of it and there was no need to get bent out of shape. But the Mage Lieutenant and to some extent Ilagio pushed to punish some soldiers. They couldn’t flog the entire militia, everyone who wasn’t on duty had gotten a taste of moonshine.

It was two on-duty guards that had snuck away to have a taste, which hit them pretty hard. Those two had been found out by Ilagio, who told the Mage Lieutenant, which eventually lead to the punishment detail being drawn up for them.

The cold winter wind blew and the man with the whip was taking his time. San could see the tied up men’s skin prickling with cold and soon they were shivering as the Mage Lieutenant stood before the gathered soldiers to make a speech.

“Order,” the Mage cried out. He stalked the ground before the soldiers and militia. “We must have it. We are the Sol Savanis Barony, the Defenders of the North. We are upon the edge of the Empire, where only savages and monsters roam. If we do not have order, then we all die.” He stared at each solider, his face contorted in anger. “This land was redeemed by the Empire and by its soldiers. It was not done through coins and gifts or pretty words, it was done with iron and blood and order. That order has been broken this day, by these two soldiers. They had disrespected their duty and the two thousand years of Imperial military history behind them. For that, they will receive lashes until they fully know the crime they have committed.”

There was a murmur from the crowd.

“Begin!” the Mage shouted.

Ilagio limbered up the long cane he held and with some glimmer of glee in his eyes approached the first man.

San flinched as the first strike fell and the man cried out. A long red welt appearing upon his back. Then again. And again. And again.

***

“What do you want?” Zomia demanded as Elgava ushered him into the medical tent. It wasn’t really a medical tent, but Zomia’s personal tent, which she also looked at patients within.

The healer’s face was creased with annoyance and it only doubled when she saw San entering.

“Have you not caused enough trouble?” she demanded.

“He’s naught to blame,” Elgava said. “These fools made their own choices, can’t blame one man’s doing on another. They were told it had a strong kick, but they claimed they were ‘real soldiers’ and could outdrink even Senta herself.”

Zomia frowned, but still glared at San.

He offered her a clay jug. The healer visibly reeled back from it.

“You bring the cause of all this misery into my tent?”

“Yeah,” San said. “I feel terrible about what happened to these men, it was not my intention to see them injured or punished. What I made was only to be enjoyed socially and with friends.” San set the jug down on a small table. The healer eyed it suspiciously. “This isn’t to get drunk off of. Instead it is to help with their injuries.”

“Are you a healer?” the woman demanded.

“No.”

“Then begone.”

“But I do know wounds fester and once that happens, it is near impossible to stop it from spreading. I can help.”

“How?”

“Wash their wounds with this. It will kill the bacteria in their wounds. Hopefully.”

“Bacteria?”

“That is what causes the festering of wounds. If the wound is cleaned properly and with this moonshine, then it has a better chance of not becoming infected.”

The healer glared at him for a long moment and then nodded. “I have been a healer for many years,” she said. “What do foreigners know of medicine, what I was taught came from the Empire’s greatest healers.”

“I know far less than you do,” San said. “But from my homeland, there are some things that everyone knows. That wounds must be cleaned. You can use soap and clean water or you can use this. It will hurt a lot when applied, but it will also help disinfect the wound.”

“Explain it to me, foreigner. Why would this drink you make to make drunken fools of our soldiers also help clean the wounds?”

“I know basic first aid, my wife, Mary taught me. She was a nurse and-“

“SAN!” Azios voice yelled.

San pulled open the tent flap and saw the boy running past.

“Azios!”

The boy skidded in the near frozen mud and raced back to him. He was wild eyed and panting heavily.

“What’s wrong?” San demanded.

“Endaha. She’s in labor!”

***

“If you were in White Tower, I’d tell you to go to the temple and buy some sacrificial hens,” Pavano said. “An offering to Senta, Kazo, and even Hetvana would ease your mind.”

“Sacrificing animals?” San asked, a little shocked.

“How else would you gain a god’s attention?” Pavano asked.

“We don’t do that in my homeland,” San said. He looked toward he farmhouse, where screams were emanating. His leg bounced nervously and he was restless on his seat.

Pavano watched him for a long moment. “They are not your family,” he said.

San blinked. “What?”

“You think I cannot see loss, lad?” Pavano asked. “I have seen a thousand faces creased with loss and sadness. I know what a man looks like when he has lost everything and everyone he loves.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you imagine yourself settling down upon this komai. Raising the woodland lass’ children and Azios too? To become a farmer and live upon a komai that carries none of your blood and ancestry?”

“I…” San shook his head.

“Lad,” Pavano said, sadness in his voice. “She already has a husband. The lad had a father and has an elder brother to teach him how to be a man. They are not yours to look after or to claim.”

“I’m not,” San said, his voice low.

“I see it in your eyes. I see it in the way you watch them, when you think no one is looking. It is a lovely fantasy, but it is a fantasy nevertheless.”

The cold wind stirred and San wrapped his cloak around himself, staring into the fire they sat before.

“Do you love her?” Pavano asked.

San looked up. “I… I don’t know.”

“Do you instead love the idea of being a family?”

San looked back into the fire.

“How long ago was it that you lost your family?”

“Nearly eight months now,” San said. “There was an accident, I…” San stopped talking and stared into the fire.

“I can see the love you still have for your family. It is etched within your soul.”

“My soul?” San repeated, remembering the Winter’s Lament’s words.

“I would not get attach to those that do not belong to you,” Pavano said. “On that path, there is only pain.”

San nodded slowly. Was he in love with Endaha? Or was it just his grief and desire to have a family once again that was clouding his mind. If it were possible, could he do that to her and Azios? Could he just step in and try to pretend he was the father figure?

It wasn’t fair to them, was it? There was already someone who was the owner of this komai, the head of this family. He was out fighting for the Baron and who was San to walk in and try to abscond with his family. San had never met Kovass Exonaris, but Azios held him in high esteem. Endaha didn’t say much about her husband or the father of her children.

This wasn’t his world. This wasn’t his land. This wasn’t his family. San dug around in his coat and pulled out his stainless steel water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and the smell of moonshine assaulted his nose.

He took a swallow, passing it to Pavano. The old man didn’t say anything, instead took a sip and grimaced at the taste.

“It requires some getting used to,” he said. He handed the bottle back to San.

San looked at the stainless steel contianer and took another sip of it.

“A small amount to steady the nerves, too much and you make a fool of yourself.”

“A drunk man’s courage,” Pavano added. “It doesn’t have much of a taste, although. Just fire and a sudden coolness as it goes down.”

San nodded. “Yeah. Aged in a few years in oak, it would come out pretty nice.”

“Aged in oak?” Pavano asked.

“Yeah, oak barrels. There are coopers, yes? People who make barrels out of wooden staves and iron hoops?” San asked.

“I believe so. There are people who create all sorts of things in White Tower and other cities. The amphora is still used to this day because it is cheap and plentiful.”

“If I had the set up, I could age the moonshine and it would become whiskey. If there was any peat around, I could make scotch.” San smiled. “What you age it in imparts flavor into the final product.”

“Sounds like a lot of equipment to do. Years you say?”

“Yeah, an entire distillery. That would be years of work and I would need a huge set up.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Pavano asked.

“It’s what I did back home,” San said. “I guess I could do it here, there seems to be a market for liquor and beer. It’s not wine, but people’s tastes can change, if you make a good product.”

“Aye, perhaps. Wine is the beverage of Senta. It is said that the first taste a child takes is the wine their father made them.”

“Does anyone do that?” San asked.

“Not really. It’s just one of those things people say they should do, but never do.”

“There was a brewer in my homeland,” San said, “every first-born son was given a few drops of their family’s beer before they even had their mother’s milk.”

San handed Pavano the bottle again. The old man took a swing, grimacing again. He grinned.

“Perhaps you’ll be dropping this fire liquid upon your son’s tongue,” he said.

“Yeah, no. I don’t think getting a baby drunk is going to win me any favors from anyone,” San laughed. Pavano laughed beside him, handing San the bottle back.

Shouts began from the military camp. San and Pavano looked up to see the soldiers milling about, yelling and rushing. A sudden sense of wrongness began to fill the air, San jumped to his feet, followed by Pavano.

San muttered a curse as he realized he had left his weapons in the farmhouse. With the soldiers around, there was a sense of protection, that they wouldn’t be attacked if there were so many armed soliders about. It didn’t matter how many soldiers there were, monsters would still attack.

The two raced back to the farmhouse, just as Azios came rushing back from the military camp. Why had he been there?

“The scouts are back!” Azios shouted. “They’re being chased by battos.”

“Explain it, boy,” Pavano demanded. “Is Bostarion alive?”

Azios breathed heavily and looked at the two. “Bostarion and two scouts returned, they said they found the nest and two other scouts died. They said that they were being chased by batto hunters and that there was a swarm following.”

“Sweet Senta,” Pavano paled.

“Bad?” San asked.

“Very. What the fuck did those men do?” Pavano wondered.

“We killed a new queen,” Bostarion said striding up to the farmhouse.

The older man was haggard and exhausted looking. His clothing was ripped and torn, with blood liberally covering. San automatically handed him the bottle he had been carrying. He unscrewed the top and took a pull, hissing as he did so.

“We found the cursed nest. A big one, they were already starting to produce another queen. That little bitch was about to fly and we nailed it to the wall. That stirred everything up, everything began chasing us. They sent out their hunters, big and mean bastards. You don’t see them often, unless you try to invade the nest.”

Silence fell as they all pondered the implication. A scream filled the air, Endaha’s cries.

Bostarion looked up and frowned. “She’s birthing?” he asked.

“Aye,” Pavano said.

“This is bad,” Bostarion said. “New life only stirs up the monsters.”

“What?” San asked. “How does giving birth do anything.”

Bostarion frowned at San. “A new soul is coming to this earth, the void horrors seek to feed upon all souls. The younger the better. That wee child will be in the most danger.”

San looked back at the farmhouse and then toward the woods. The soldiers were still yelling and preparing to defend their position. Finally he looked to the sun and saw that there was only a few hours before daylight.

“We need to build a big fire. Several around the farmhouse,” San said.

“Aye,” Pavano agreed. “Boy, get those pistols and crossbows loaded. Get the armor and the rest of the weapons out.”

Azios nodded and rushed into the farmhouse, eliciting cries of anger from Zomia. A moment later the healer emerged, followed by Elgava. The two women glared at San and the others.

“What in Hetvana’s cunt is going on?” the healer demanded.

“Battos are coming,” Bostarion said.

The healer eyed him, noting his wounds and torn clothing. “What happened to you?” she demanded.

“I aint’ here for healing, woman,” Bostarion snapped. “We kicked the batto’s nest and they’re swarming. That lass and the wee girl, they’re in trouble.”

It took a moment for the healer to comprehend and she looked back into the farmhouse, a look of worry creasing her face. “The birthing,” she said.

San frowned. “Is it that bad?’ he asked.

“The girl is doing well, but those horrors, they’ll be after the newborn.”

“How far along is she?” San asked.

“Only Senta knows how long a birth will take, could be hours or more,” the healer said.

“Best not tarry, lad,” Pavano said. San nodded and they rushed toward the woodpile and began pulling wood from it. “One fire at each corner, should do the trick.”

“What are you doing?” Elgava asked, watching as they carried arm loads and dumped them on the ground.

“Fire,” San said. “To keep the battos away.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever seen battos,” Elgava said. “They love fire, their nests are hotter than hell and an open flame does not scare them none.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” San asked.

“I’ve helped bring eight of my nieces and nephews into this world. Damn near a midwife, I am.” She grinned at San. “Don’t ya worry, that woodland savage girl will be fine. Got hips that a woolly would envy.” She laughed at San’s expression.

San shook his head and continued grabbing firewood.

The trumpet sound filled the air and San looked to see the soldiers were still milling about, but they stopped and seemed to go into overdrive. San tilted his head and listen, he could hear a faint buzzing sound. The same buzzing sound that he had heard the night they ambushed the battos.

“They’re nearly here,” Pavano said.

San tossed the remaining wood onto the piles they had made. Azios exited the farmhouse carrying torch and a clay cup.

“Heads,” the boy said handing him the torch and cup.

San tossed a bit of the liquid no the dry wood and set the torch to it. A moment later the foreshots ignited and the wood blossomed with flame.

“Do the rest,” San told Azios. The boy nodded, taking both torch and cup. San focused the the fire, the wood was beginning to catch, not fully burning but getting there.

Bostarion exited the farmhouse carrying the steel cuirasses they had taken from the dead Nox mercenaries.

“Lad, you’re better armed then the Baron’s Guards,” he said as he set the steel armor onto the ground. He carried the two matchlock rifles on his back and the bandoliers of ammunition.

“Nox mercenaries,” Pavano said, picking up San’s cuirass. “In you go, lad.”

The two quickly got San into the cuirass and San did the same for Pavano. Bostarion on the other hand continued to wear his torn clothing. San saw that he was wearing chainmail beneath it.

They loaded the matchlocks and by then the fires were burning sufficiently. San stood over the first one and closed his eyes.

“Fire in the Night,” he said. The flames flared for a second and returned to normal.

“You a Mage?” Bostarion asked.

“No.” San said.

“That there is Magecraft,” the man said. “Fire in the Night, the woodlanders magic. Only their Mages know that one.”

“I was given that Power as a gift,” San said.

Bostarion grunted, but said nothing else. San watched him for a moment, wondering what it meant. He remembered the Mage Chief telling him Mages were born with the talent, which made San wonder if that meant they weren’t Leveled like those that consumed the mana gems. He had questions, but now was not the time.

Four soldiers rushed toward the farmhouse from the camp. They came to a clattering stop before the front door, glaring at San and Pavano as they stood in their way.

“The healer is to come back to the camp,” the leader said.

“She’s busy,” San said.

“Back away, foreigner,” the leader growled. “It’s that damn drink you sold Elgava that got Hostin and Shinon flogged. We’re to get the healer back before those fucking flying shits arrive. Mage’s orders.”

The buzzing grew louder and everyone stopped to look to the north. The sun was beginning to set now, the sky alight with yellows and reds reflecting off the high clouds and also turning a deeper shade of purple and blue. A cold wind started up, chilling everyone and making the fires move.

“She’s going nowhere,” San said.

“Hetvana take you, bastard,” the leader snapped and stepped back. The other men did the same, making room to draw their weapons.

“Hold on, you foolish idiots,” a voice snapped. The Healer exited the farmhouse, a scowl on her face. ‘What’s goin on here?”

“The Mage Lieutenant says you are to get back to camp,” the man announced. “This woodland savage can drop her calf like the animal she is, on her own.”

“Steady,” Pavano said as Azios and San reached for their weapons.

“This is no-“ the healer began but stopped. The buzzing had suddenly become overbearingly loud. Every head turned to the north and in the dying sunlight, they saw a mass of darkness in the sky. Not only that, but there was a rumbling in the ground and from the distant trees emerged scores of non-flying creatures.

“Blessed Mother,” a solider muttered.

“Sweet Senta.”

A soldier began ringing a bell and the shouting became more frantic.

“This house must be protected!” the healer cried. “They will come for the child.”

“Fuck that child,” a soldier said. “Get your ass back to the camp. We’re going to need you.”

“My service is to Senta and the Baron,” the healer said. Not the Mage Lieutenant.” She folded her arms and glared at them.

“Fuck,” San muttered. “Get inside, bar the door. You, soldiers, join us or get back to the camp.”

The soldiers glanced back to the north, their expressions draining of color as more monsters began emerging from the woods.

“Those tents and those shitty defenses aren’t going to help any of you,” San snapped. “Tell Havatair and the Mage that you need to fall back to the farmhouse or the barn. These at least have roofs and will slow their charge. They can be defended.”

The soldiers stood there, not moving. Their faces slacked and their hands trembling.

“Courage,” Azios said, his hands were shaking and his stared at San.

San moved quickly, pushing aside the healer and ducking into the farmhouse. He saw Elgava staring at him as he cut across the room and entered the store room. Endaha was screaming in pain, but she stopped as he passed back through, carrying a bottle.

“Drink,” San said, uncapping the bottle. The first soldier looked at him in confusion, staring at the bottle and then back at him.

‘What?” he asked.

“Drink.” San shoved the bottle to the man’s mouth and forced the drink into his mouth. He gagged and staggered back, shock and anger on his face.

“What the hell-“ the man paused as he blinked and stared at San. “What is this? Why… why am I not afraid.”

“Courage,” San said. He held the bottle to the next soldier, who looked at his companion and then took a swig.

The growing fear and terror that was consuming everyone was dispatched as they took a drink. San was the last one to sip, feeling the frantic energy and terror that was flooding his veins slow down. He took a breath and with calmness looked at the soldiers.

“Take the bottle, give it to the others. We’ll need courage for what is coming.” He handed the bottle to the leader of the soldiers, who gave a swift nod and the four men raced off with it.

“Sweet Senta,” Pavano said. “You made that? Courage?”

“What are you?” the healer demanded. “A Mage? Only the cults know such Power.”

San didn’t say anything, instead watching as the darkness approached them.

“Get inside, all of you. They’ll be here any moment.”