Kared's Children - Chapter 18

"Burn it!" the Sergeant bawled. "Burn it with oil!" He motioned to several of his men. "You there! You! Fetch the oil!" Several others formed a defensive ring around the body. "Heightened alert! Everyone! To your stations!" Still others fanned out along the Caravan. "And you!" He turned to the onlookers who barely had budged. "The rest of you! Return to your wagons! Jape! Jape! Disperse this crowd! We leave NOW!"

Ned hadn’t moved. Still sitting on his knees in the mud as the rain sluiced from the lowering clouds, he stared blankly, stunned, at the hideously deformed body of the officer he’d known so many years before. Rain which collected on its unmoving shape made it appear to be liquefying, which only added to the horror.

Shaerden and Karec stood above him, Karec’s fingers on his shoulder, while Karec tried to encourage the Captain to rise.

Ned ignored him.

The Sergeant approached and stood beside them uncertainly.

Karec bent and spoke softly into the Captain’s ear.

The Sergeant looked at Shaerden. "What just happened here?"

Shaerden shrugged. "The beginning of a nightmare." He turned and looked at Redrot’s dead body, around which there already was much activity. "We just experienced the beginning of our nightmare." He looked back at the Sergeant. "How long before we get out of this place?"

The Sergeant looked to the north. "The Harshland is marked by a line of hills. Not long. If we get moving. Sunset at best. After at worst."

"Your Captain was concerned we shouldn’t pass the night here."

"That’s correct, sir. He never lets us."

"Then see that we don’t."

The Sergeant’s gaze focused on Shaerden’s face. "Yes, sir. That’s what I’ll do."

The soldiers returned, three of them, carrying flagons of oil, rainwater creasing their armor. The Sergeant looked at them and at the flagons, then gestured toward the body. "Pour it over that heap. Wait until the Caravan almost has passed. Then ignite it."

They turned toward the body.

"Soldiers."

They turned back.

"Don’t dally. Get to Chast at the end of this train and stay with him until we’re out of the area. And no stragglers. None."

They all nodded.

The Sergeant watched them head toward the body, then he dipped his head at Shaerden. "With your permission." He glanced at Ned’s prostrate form. "I’ll check in with you later to see how the Captain’s doing."

"We’ll take him to his wagon," Shaerden said.

The Sergeant slogged back toward the Caravan, where the soldiers were shepherding the last of the curious to their wagons through the rain and mud. It was an easy task: what they’d seen had subdued them all. They went meekly.

Karec managed to get the Captain to his feet; he rose without protest. Shaerden took his other arm. "Let’s get you back to your wagon."

As they escorted Ned away, he twisted in their grasp and looked behind them.

"He’s okay," Karec said. "He’s at peace."

"He’s at peace," Shaerden echoed.

Ned looked at each of them wildly, his eyes doubting their promise. The expression on his face echoed what his eyes said.

. . .

Piskin was waiting quietly when they opened the door. Alone in the headmaster’s wagon, he sat at the Captain’s table, his rain-straggled hair a mess, his cloak dripping, his boots caked more heavily with mud. When they entered, he stood, but made no effort to help, and before he could, they had the Captain inside. Karec eased off Ned’s cloak and slipped him into his hammock while Shaerden eyed Piskin curiously.