Borderlands- Act 1 Read online

  Haddar snorts. “Of course, but I suspect she’ll make that clear enough on her own.”

  “Very well, and can any of them ride?”

  “Apparently every single one!”

  Now it is my turn to snort. “I shall believe that once I have seen it! Speaking of which, we obviously have a great deal to do before we can ride out. To save daylight, I suggest we do as much as possible in parallel. We need the civilians kitted up and all the new recruits mounted. We shall have precious little chance for training en route so we need to start drilling them already. We cannot afford any liabilities in the field. If anyone is unsuitable, now is the occasion to isolate and reject them. Get a couple of the experienced hands to help you with some basic manoeuvres.” Haddar nods and I continue. “Whilst you are doing that break small groups off. Start by sending me the civilians in groups of four or five. After verifying how well they can ride, I will sort them a horse from the stables. Then, once they have a mount, they can be kitted out.

  “As the groups are ready, the old boy and Wim here can take them down to the armoury dispenser. Unless they can obviously handle a shorter weapon, it is probably best to just give them all halberds. Once we have seen to all the civilians send me any transfers that need mounting. Meanwhile, Wim can make a list of any extra equipment you and the Senior think we should requisition. After I have checked the list over, Wim can fill out the chits and get everything from the general stores. Questions?” Heads shake. “Very well, if everything is clear, get it done. Dismissed!” We salute and I turn to the stables in search of the Stable Master.

  Things have not gone as smoothly as I hoped this afternoon. Despite the previous evening’s assurances, the stable master has a sudden shortage of good riding and pack animals. I am convinced it is just so he can inflate the prices. It certainly has the hallmarks of his CO, Paul Bijton the Captain of the Afreem guardhouse. Even with our extra funds, I am forced to haggle all morning. In this light, it is perhaps a mixed blessing that, following a couple of displays of dangerous ineptitude, we have rejected a few of the civilians. It is risky enough on patrol without incompetent self-harm.

  If that was not enough, I have spent most of the afternoon dealing with two disgruntled patrol captains demanding their men back. Their threats of escalating to our superiors in central command do not worry me. Before any direct orders have had a chance to percolate up and down the chain, we should be long gone from Afreem. I will just have to deal with any repercussions when we get back.

  It is getting late and I have to make a decision. Do we leave immediately or delay departure until tomorrow? There is no way we can force a night march on this rabble and I do not fancy pitching camp with them in the dark either. If we are to leave, we must break off the drills now so that we can get a reasonable distance and still pitch before dusk.

  As much as they are needed, running training routines any longer means remaining another night in Afreem. Then, if any civilians get cold feet and slip away in the dark, we would have to delay even longer to round up and process the deserters in the morning. However, turning up late to relieve Captain Ganse would be a disciplinary disaster. Worse still, if express orders do turn up, the whole project might somehow get quashed before it even gets off the ground.

  No, staying has too many inherent risks.

  “Sergeant! A quick word, if you please.”

  Haddar trots over. “Captain!”

  “It is clear that all the crews need more training and practice.”

  “Aye, weeks in some cases.”

  “We’ve had a run of short nights recently, but I cannot push our luck about the length of daylight we still have left today. We need to mount up and move out at once. We cannot afford the dark to fall with us still in Afreem. Any further training is going to have to be in the field.”

  “Aye, I suspected that.”

  “I am not comfortable forcing a night march on this circus troupe either, so we shall be pitching camp this evening. However, we must ride to a campsite more than a day’s foot march from Afreem. I do not want to hear the bells for Even Watch, however faintly. Think of it as a ‘long short start’ if you will.”

  “Aye, I couldn’e agree more, Captain. There’s a couple of civilians I suspect are having second thoughts already.”

  “Well then, we truly have no choice. We need everyone mounted up and the column on the move at once. See to the fighting crews. I shall inform Senior Shis directly!” Haddar nods and sets to it. I head over to Daul Shis and his rag-tag reserves praying silently that we have not over stretched ourselves on this one after all.

  With the column forming and the men mounting up. I make my way back to Chalka. She is still waiting patiently where I left her at the railing. Her big brown eyes are locked on the new recruits. I give the little white star on her flat forehead a scratch and then nod at the hurrying soldiers. “So, what do you think?” She blows a fat snort and looks away. I pat her muscular neck. “That is a bit harsh. They are bound to get the hang of it soon.” She shakes her head silently. “Hey, you are with me on this, aren’t you? With this rabble to kick into shape, I need all my old hands performing at maximum, you included. Who is going to be looking after me whilst I’m looking after them?” She turns back and nuzzles my hand reassuringly. I scratch her behind the ear. “Thanks, ready to go?” She gives a curt bob of her head and I pick up the reigns where they hang loosely over the rail.

  Back in the saddle, I slap Chalka’s russet shoulder and smile ironically. My mare must be the most reliable and cool-headed lady in the Homelands. Perhaps, even in the whole of the Rationalle. Even now, with all the bustle around her, she is standing stoically, watching with her critical eye. In contrast, I fidget in the saddle, unable to suppress my growing impatience as the minutes slip by. The trained guards, whether old hands or newly recruited, are following orders and moving with seasoned efficiency.

  The civilians are not.

  With few exceptions, the fresh recruits are demonstrating how clueless it is possible to be. Misunderstood orders, tangled and dropped weapons and badly stowed equipment. The list goes on. Like a river of incompetence, their endless ineptitude flows by, carrying the minutes along with it. Right now, I am sure, even the minions of the Realm itself wouldn’t be as frantic and bungling as this lot. We shall have to see how quickly they can improve during the days of our ride to the watch post.

  Haddar is walking the line of the column giving a final inspection for loose buckles and poor lashings. Looking back down the line towards him, the civilians are easy to spot. Though managing to stay upright in the saddles of their stationary mounts, they lack any degree of military posture. Even the short ride I have planned before dusk is sure to produce a surfeit of aching backs and sore buttocks.

  Eventually, Haddar climbs into the saddle at the rear of the column and waves to signal that all is clear. I glance at Wim on his horse directly behind me. Slightly crouched over in the saddle he is chewing his lower lip. “Signalman! Upright! You are riding at the front of the patrol. Give the new recruits a good example to follow.” He jerks bolt upright. “Good, keep it that way.” Ahead of the vanguard of my most experienced Guards a gravelled way cuts between the buildings towards the Marsh Gate. With a short blast on my whistle and a shouted command, we set off.

  Any hope of slipping away quietly is soon buried in the sawdust of the practice yard. The first horses are barely on the gravel when I hear Haddar whistle and call. Glancing back, I see the column has been pulled apart in the middle. My command unheeded, a civilian recruit is still fiddling with his tack and holding up the rest of the line. I call a hasty halt and wait as Haddar breaks rank and dashes forward. His bellowed reprimand almost blasts the man clean from his saddle before echoing from the surrounding buildings. Now, with all his concentration on the progress of the column, the man nudges his horse into a trot and closes the gap.

  Our second attempt to leave the practice ground is more successful and the horses walk towards the gate wi
thout interruption. However, we are far from alone. Word seems to have spread through the guardhouse. Spectators line our route from the drill yard to the gatehouse. Off duty guards, perplexity written large on their faces, stand and watch us go past. One or two recognise erstwhile colleagues amongst our new recruits and call out various greetings and obscenities.

  The Marsh Gate was originally just a small doorway that gave easy access to the wetlands beyond. Despite occasional enlargement since, it has not escaped its humble origins and remains the lesser of the two portals in the outer wall of the Guard House. With the Grand Gate’s heavy wooden doors swung fully open, two ox carts can easily pass on the threshold. In comparison, riding our laden horses through the Marsh Gate two abreast is a squeeze. However, not only is it supposed to be a less conspicuous exit, it is also the shortest route to the road we must take to Watch Post Seven.

  Thanks to the military origins of Afreem, the civilian township offers little charm. The architectural highlight is perhaps the small slab like town hall and its attendant paved square that lie just outside the Grand Gate. However, their proximity to the Guard House do them no aesthetic favours. The scale of the curtain wall overshadows them and the Grand Gate, with its attendant towers, certainly has more embellishment.

  The Marsh Gate, by comparison, opens into the trade quarter. This area of the town seams to revel in being utterly unbecoming. From tanneries to laundries, smiths to workshops and brothels to storehouses every single building represents a trade or service. As essential to the running of the Guard House as these businesses are, not a single one of them is attractive in any way.

  The multiple streams that run through the area, though of great utility to the industries, fail to drain the land. Once a source of fresh water for the Guard House, they now collect the detritus of the commercial activities. Turned to a grey slurry they seep out from between the factories to dissipate into festering marshland.

  The unpaved streets are eternally muddy from the quagmire beneath. In contrast to the ordered cleanliness of the adjacent guard house, the marsh quarter is nasty and rancid. Other than an irregular farmers’ market on the far side of town, there is no independent trade or commerce. The mean spirited and devious inhabitants exist only to squeeze maximum profit from us soldiers. Though we provide their livelihood, it is rare for them to ever greet us with a smile.

  However, as we file through the portal, it is apparent that this is more than just a rare situation. Our notoriety has spread to the townsfolk and we have been anticipated. The road outside is clogged with onlookers. Every kind of well-wisher has turned out to bid their friends amongst our civilian recruits farewell. Some line the way cheering and throwing garlands of flowers. Others press between the horses to claim last embraces and tearful kisses. The hoped-for hushed departure is turning into a carnival.

  The vanguard pushes forward to the first bridge but once we get there, our hooves clattering over the loose boards, the patrol has become hopelessly stretched out. I call a halt. The nervous stamping of the horses disturbs swarms of black fly that rise through the gaps in the planking to settling in our eyes and nostrils. Swatting them away in frustration, I take stock.

  The crowd is concentrated near the gate so, if we can get the patrol across this bridge, we shall be clear to move freely. I call to the vanguard’s team leader. “Elcas, set up a cordon. Keep the bridge and the roadway on either side clear for at least thirty paces. I shall go back and get the rest of the patrol moving again. As more guards come through set them up to extend the cordon on the far side for another thirty paces. If I unblock the gullet, we can get the patrol moving en masse. Keep the bridge clear of civilians, most likely we will be coming through at speed. Peel off from this end and join the patrol once everyone is through. Do not wait for me. I shall make a last sweep for stragglers and then bring up the rear.” He salutes in acknowledgement and I wheel my horse and canter back to fix the shambles.

  The guards at the edge of the logjam are easily extracted from their farewells with a barked order. Snapping to attention, they set off for the bridge. The central blockage is another matter. The milling crowd is making too much noise for me to call out orders, but freeing my men one after another is going to take forever. A quick glance at the heavens confirms that the light of day is already losing its lustre.

  Standing up in the stirrups, a blast on my whistle shocks the crowd to silence. “People of Afreem, the Borderlands seethe with Spawn from the Realm of Chaos.” The crowd shuffles as people eye each other nervously. “But have no fear, the Aether Guard shall protect you from those vile abominations!” Tentative clapping breaks out. “It is our honour to ensure the safety of your homes and children.” Much cheering and clapping. “Stand back now so that we may pass and perform our duty!” The nearest bystanders understand and start pushing the crowd back to the edges of the roadway.

  Soon, everyone is getting the idea and a path is clearing right back to the Marsh Gate. I blow my whistle and bellow the command. “At the gallop!” As the horses pick up speed, I call to the passing soldiers. “Keep going. Regroup in the first meadow after the Customs Bridge.”

  The pace is picking up and the thundering hooves are beginning to unnerve the civilians. They shrink back as the heavily laden pack horses rush through. So much the better, the wider the opening the quicker we can get out of this farce. I wave the final men through, looking for Haddar. As he bowls past, I call out. “Everyone?” In response he points up the road ahead and disappears after the others.

  I am just about to wheel Chalka and follow when a lone Aether Guard horse catches my attention. One civilian is holding the bridle whilst a second goes through the saddle bags. No Guardsman is in evidence.

  “Hey, you there! Leave that horse in peace!” Shocked at being caught out, they let go of the horse and scoot between two buildings. As I spur Chalka after them, I discover the missing soldier in the alley. Two more men are holding one of the civilian recruits firm as a fifth roughs him up badly.

  “Release my Guardsman!”

  The hitter glances over his shoulder at me. “Unless you’re here to clear his debt, you’d best be on your way!” He turns back and drives another punch into my man’s midriff.

  Thumbing the catch on my scabbard, I unclip it from my back and brandish the sheathed weapon. “I am Patrol Captain Doneir of the Aether Guard. Final warning. Release my Guardsman.”

  The ringleader turns and stalks closer eyeing my scabbard with a sneer. “Shiny leather, must take a lot of effort to polish.” He finishes with a vulgar hand movement and a nasty chuckle. Before I can respond, he lunges for my bridle. He judges the distance perfectly and in the narrow alleyway Chalka’s head is blocking my weapon.

  However, his hand never lands on the harness. Instead, Chalka decides to intervene and strikes him with a front hoof. It is far from ferocious, intended more as a warning, but it still knocks him to the ground. As he sits in the mud clutching his stomach, a raging fire lights in his eyes. Struggling to his feet, a nasty little knife glints in his hand as he wheezes in enough breath for another threat. “I’m going to skin that fucking horse and you with it!”.

  This will get much uglier before it gets better. Remaining on horseback shall put me at a disadvantage in such a confined space. I swing out of the saddle and step in front of Chalka. I point at his blade with my sword. “Really? Don’t you think you are just a little out of your depth here? Why not put that away and just fuck off before you get yourself really hurt?”

  As he inches forward, Chalka snorts a warning. The other thugs are sidling up along the walls on either side. They hope to squeeze past and come at me from behind. I must take the initiative in this fight before I am outflanked. As I join battle, the world slows to a crawl.

  Step in close, draw the leader’s attack.

  He lunges for my gut with his knife.

  Sidestep to the left and draw back sword.

  His blade flashes past my stomach harmlessly and our eyes meet. />
  Smash my sword’s finger guard into his face.

  His head snaps back and he goes down, his shocked expression a bloody mess.

  Spin to my right and step towards the second man on that side.

  He collapses as something snaps where my scabbard scythes into his collar bone.

  Having now passed through the group, I have outflanked the outflankers.

  Now backlit from the road, they are still turning, blinking as they struggle to follow my move into the shadows.

  Surge forward at the last man standing on my new right, weapon low.

  He stumbles back a half step.

  Drive scabbard up between his legs.

  His face glazes in a rictus of pain.

  Grab his hair and smash his head against the wall.

  Another collapse.

  Retract weapon and turn to my left.

  The last two men, wits gathered, brandish their weapons from the far side of the alley. Right has a long curved knife, left a hefty cudgel.

  Step over their groaning leader stamping on his forehead for good measure.

  Slip diagonally to my left into the club’s killing zone, inviting an attack.

  Obligingly, left raises his club and brings it down at me.

  Step in close underneath the blow and punch up against his wrist.

  He yowls as his released weapon spins harmlessly over my head.

  Grab the broken wrist with my left hand and draw him to his knees in the path of the curved knife.

  The last man tries to snuff his thrust, but the blade tip still breaks the skin of his colleague’s left shoulder.

  Reach over the man knelt between us to jab the rounded chape of my scabbard into the knife man’s throat.

  He drops the blade and staggers back coughing as he clutches his windpipe.

  There is a moment’s pause as threat recedes and then the world speeds up again.

  “Thank you, Captain. That was fantastic. I thought I was done for and then you…” The rescued guard’s enthusiasm trails off as I fix him with a stare.