Kared's Children - Chapter 17

It was only after the headmaster, old Jake Redrot, had given the order to set fire to the wagons they’d been able to drive off the unspeakable things which had groaned and grunted and howled in the darkness around them, and which had been attacking as though hunger were the least of their reasons for hating them. For a while, though, after the wagons had caught fire, the monsters hadn’t stopped their attacks, and while the wagons had blazed, the screams of the wretched and the dying had pealed coldly upward to the disinterested stars. And a Corporal, green and terrified, had been convinced he wouldn’t live to see daylight again. Ned never had forgotten that night; he wouldn’t. It certainly wasn’t one he’d want to repeat. But relive it-he couldn’t avoid that, every journey, every hour, every minute and every step he experienced within that scarred land.

He didn’t know what could have created such a place. He didn’t know what could twist creatures of nature into such misshapen vicious horrors. But he’d seen things that night he couldn’t have dreamed, things so outlandish they’d made him believe demons could indeed stalk the wilderness. It wasn’t that they were demons; no, they’d died, truly enough, under any blade quick enough to keep up with them. But few blades had been. In fact, from what he’d seen, none had been, and it was only desperation and luck that had kept any of the Caravan alive that night.

He looked out the back flap of his wagon, at the Quartermaster’s which trailed behind, and Jacob, its driver, as he struggled with its horses, and pulled the neck of his hood closer to his throat. They wouldn’t spend the night in that place, despite the rain, despite the difficulties. He’d rather they all drown first. As would every member of that Caravan if he’d seen what Ned had seen.

He’d been a soldier all his life and respected the chain of command. He never had disobeyed a direct order and never would. And Captain Redrot had been an experienced officer, a fair and capable leader. He’d commanded many crossings. But that Caravan had been ill-struck; broken axles, contagion among the horses, and a storm far worse than this little rain that pattered on their heads had brought it almost to collapse.

Still, when the Captain had called his officers together, including Ned, new as he was, and solicited opinions about whether they should try to cross the Harshland, given the lateness of the day and how far behind schedule they’d fallen, it had been the single most important moment of Ned’s career. And he’d been afraid to say what was on his mind.

In defense of the other officers, it was true none had any reason to believe anything other than tradition prohibited them from trying to cross the Harshland at night. It had been so long since anyone had tried that no one remembered how the tradition had begun. Or why. But it was that very unknown that had made Ned worry, and his worry the reason he should have spoken.

Ned had been the junior officer, but that wasn’t why he’d kept quiet. Instead, it had been his pride, his desire he felt so strongly to be accepted by the others, the men he hoped would become his peers, that had kept him from saying what he’d thought. And it was his pride, as much as the Captain’s decision or anyone else’s acquiescence to it, that had led them to their ruin.