The Miscreant (10 page)

Colin and Garran were alone in the wagon with Frank and Wilton, each of them wrapped tightly in a wool blanket. The other men plodded behind, sometimes giving the wagon a push when it became bogged down and climbing back in when they tired, until the cold urged them to walk again.

Colin watched Garran dutifully polishing the brazier to a mirror-like finish. “What are you really up to?”

“What do you mean?” Garran asked without looking up from his work.

“You’ve spent almost every spare minute of the past four days scrubbing that brazier. What’s your game?”

“Why do I have to have a game? Is it so hard to believe I do it out of a profound work ethic?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Maybe I want to impress the commander in hopes of getting off this detail sooner.”

Colin paused and thought. “Bullshit. The only person you might possibly want to impress is Rose, and I don’t see how this is going to do it.”

Garran grinned. “You’re more observant than I gave you credit for.”

“I learn quickly when I know I’m dealing with a deceitful bastard.”

“Congratulations, you found me out.”

Garran brought the bottom of his blanket to his mouth, used his teeth to cut the edge, and tore a strip from its length. He then reached under the bench and brought out a chunk of ice he had spent his evenings shaping into a near-perfect sphere using the heat of his hands. He stood, set the icy orb in his makeshift sling, and began twirling over his head before launching it toward the steep hillside above the caravan.

The missile struck the trunk of a tree perhaps a hundred feet up the slope. The impact sent reverberations through its trunk, dislodging a torrent of snow trapped in its branches. The freed snow struck the ground and created a cascade effect with the layer of loose powder lying dormant just below. Conditions were perfect for an avalanche as the topmost foot of snow slid down the steep slope, struck the convoy near the middle, and buried men and horses to their knees and the wagons to their axles.

Garran leapt over the downward slope on the other side of the road, holding the copper brazier close to his chest, and rode it like a sled. Tree trunks whizzed past as Garran shifted his weight to guide the disc between the towering giants.

Horns blew their shrill cries across the high pass, and soldiers worked to free their mounts from the belly-deep snow. Those not caught in the miniature avalanche spurred their horses over the precipice, and the houndsman released his dogs. Animals and their handlers pursued the fugitive, but Garran was little more than a speck in the distance by the time they crested the slope. The deep snow and steep decline brought the mounted soldiers to a crawl. Even the hounds could do little more than shuffle down the steep gradient and bay their frustration at the wind.

Cyril turned in his saddle just in time to see Garran throw himself down the slope. He sat silently and watched the boy vanish in the distance. He did not need to bark orders at his men. They knew what to do without his shouting to cause distraction and possible confusion. Shaking his head and chuckling, he ordered the wagons dug out and put underway so they could reach their next campsite before nightfall.

***

Cyril and his men were exhausted. It took quite a bit of digging and pushing to get the wagons clear and moving once again. Those who sought to track down the young fugitive returned shortly after dark without ever finding a trace of Garran’s passage. They followed the creek for more than ten miles, but the dogs never picked up his scent. If he stayed in the water that long, odds were he would freeze to death long before the sun rose.

The commander pitched another log into the small iron stove heating his tent and prodded the flames to life with a poker. He then fetched a cup and a bottle of spirits from the trunk at the foot of his cot and sat in a chair to enjoy a stiff drink or three before turning in.

He swirled the liquor around in his mouth a moment before swallowing. “I have to wonder what kind of a man goes through so much trouble to escape just to sneak back in to piss in my whiskey.”

Garran rolled out from under Cyril’s cot and sat on the end. “How’d you know I was still here?”

“Someone like you doesn’t go through so much trouble without sticking around to witness the results. I could also smell my whiskey on your breath and felt the breeze coming out from under my cot where you obviously cut a hole to gain entrance. You’ll be patching that up before you leave.”

“You don’t seem angry.”

“About my whiskey? I’ve consumed far worse in my life.”

“I mean about my escaping.”

Cyril shrugged and poured another drink. “I used to get angry. I used to be angry all the time until I learned the only thing it ever got me was exhausted. Anger is like oil, it can fuel your spirit, but it will burn you up inside.”

“You’re not insulted that I managed to run off?”

“I can appreciate artisanship in work even if it’s counter to my own goals or desires. I was in a brutal skirmish some years back on the Urqua border. My unit got ambushed, and it was looking bad, but we were holding. Then this Urqan came striding into the fray and no one could touch him. He cut through us like a farmer scything wheat stalks. It was a magnificent sight to see, and I thought it was going to be my last. He blocked my swing and kicked me to the ground. I was sure I was a goner, but at least I was going to die to a real master of warfare and not some lucky, green recruit’s arrow or dysentery.”

Garran leaned forward, enraptured. “What happened?”

Cyril grinned. “He slipped in a pile of guts and fell on his own sword!” He laughed, took another drink, and tipped his glass at Garran. “Let that be a lesson to you like it was me. No matter how good you are, there ain’t no amount of skill that can defeat bullshit luck when it decides to present itself.”

“So, are you going to have me whipped and punished?”

“Are you going to escape again? Would it make a difference?”

“No. I was being honest when I said I had nowhere else to go. I’ve never been away from home, and my own mother sold me.”

“Then why go through all the trouble in the first place?”

“Until now, I was here because my mother sold me, and I was here on your terms. Now you know I’m here because I choose to be. I’m here on my terms.”

“It doesn’t change anything. The work is the same.”

“It changes everything that matters to me.”

Cyril gave a grunted chortle and sipped his drink. He reached into his footlocker and tossed Garran a small, canvas bag. “Sew up my tent and get to bed. I want to make it to the work camp before the week’s end.”

CHAPTER 8

Garran picked out his tent from the masses and wound his way through the meager shelters dotting the clearing like wedge-shaped boulders. It was easy to spot his and Colin’s tent due to the trench and small berm dug around it. Garran got down on his hands and knees and crawled through the opening. A booted foot struck him in the forehead the moment he breached the entrance.

“Ow, crap on a cracker!” Garran shouted as the impact drove him back outside.

“Garran, is that you?”

“Yes, you nitwit!”

“Sorry, I thought you were Dominic or one of the other creeps lurking around.”

Garran crawled back inside. “Well I’m not. Sonofabitch!” he cried out when Colin kicked him a second time.

“You did it again, you selfish prick!”

“Did what?”

“You took off and left me here.”

“What was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t survive out there, and I had no intention of staying gone, so your brutality is totally unwarranted.”

“Not totally,” Colin said as Garran unrolled his blanket and sleeping pad and flopped down beside him. “Have you been drinking? You reek worse than my father.”

“I found a little something to warm my bones.”

“Where did you find alcohol?”

“Cyril’s tent.”

“Before or after you escaped?”

“After.”

“Is that why you came back, to steal Commander Godfrey’s booze?”

“No, but it was an enticing motivator.”

“Why did you come back then?”

“Because you are too naïve to survive here on your own.”

“Bullshit. You are a selfish bastard, and you don’t give one whit about anyone but yourself. What’s the real reason?”

Garran stared at the pitched roof of their tent, lost in blackness, and sighed. “I really don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Wow, an actual honest answer. Thank you. And for your information, I would be just fine without you. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

“Oh please, it would only be a matter of days before Dominic or any of the dozen or more rapists came calling on you in the middle of the night. Hell, if things don’t work out with Rose, I might even have a go at you.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Don’t worry, I’d catch you in your sleep. You wouldn’t even know I was there.”

“This may be surprising to you, but raping me in my sleep does not make me feel better about the prospect.”

“You’re asleep, how is it rape?”

“How is it not?”

Garran rolled onto his side and faced Colin despite not being able to see him in the dark confines of the tent. “It’s like the old proverb: If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound?”

“Did you rape the tree? If so, I’m pretty confident in saying it did.”

Garran rolled back over. “You just don’t get it.”

“I’m going to sleep with my back toward the tent wall just to make sure I don’t.”

“Stupid damn farmer,” Garran muttered as he pulled his blanket tighter around him and fell asleep.

***

Garran received another two weeks of extra duty but was not allowed anywhere near the dogs or larger braziers. Colin seemed a little disappointed when he found out he was not going to get to whip him. It took just three more days of dreary traveling before they finally reached the main camp. A dozen tents already occupied the large clearing punctuated by stumps left behind by recently felled trees. It appeared as though most of the trees harvested while creating the clearing went into constructing the few solid buildings standing out amongst the tents and men sitting around eating and talking.

The men watched the newcomers’ arrival with a modicum of interest. The drivers maneuvered the wagons into a semicircle and disgorged their passengers. Garran and the others stood next to the wagons and looked out across the camp. A stack of timbers recently hewed and shorn lay stacked to one side of the camp, as well as twin piles of rock crushed to the size of a thumb knuckle. Tons of cobblestones rested in a mass next to several mounds of sand.

Large tents able to sleep thirty or more men each replaced the cramped shelter halves. Garran counted perhaps fifty men emerging from the tents or sitting near fire pits when they arrived. They gathered at the nearest end of the camp and watched the newcomers unload.

Cyril addressed the crew from atop his horse. “Welcome home, but don’t get too comfortable. We move about once every other week as we build the road toward Leva, and we won’t stop until we meet the other crew working their way from the capital. I am going to split you off into teams.” The commander pointed toward the tents. “You see the colored flags attached to the tops of the tents? Those identify each of the five primary crews. Your team leader will assign you to smaller groups. I will call out your name and a color. When you hear your name and team, grab your crap and report to the team leader.”

Cyril began calling out names and colors. The men picked up their meager belongings and made for the tent that corresponded with their name. Cyril shouted Garran and Colin’s names and directed them both to the green crew. Garran was glad he had assigned him and Colin to the same team, but Colin looked less pleased. He was obviously still annoyed with him, but Garran shrugged it off, certain he would get over it.

An older man with thinning hair and a short, graying beard waved the two young men over, as well as nearly a score of other arrivals assigned to the green squad. The men gathered around the fire pit smoldering at the intersection between the four tents comprising their squad’s barracks.

“Gentlemen, my name is Evert, and I’m the team’s foreman. Instructions come from Commander Godfrey to me. I pass those orders to your team leaders who give them to you. Any problems you might have follow the same chain of command in reverse order. Simple, right? That’s the way we like to keep it here. Green squad is responsible for felling, shoring, and shaping trees into timbers that the red squad uses to make buildings, bridges, and any other construction projects requiring carpentry or engineering skills. I’m going to break you off to your team leaders who will assign you your specific duties.”

Evert began calling names and pointing them to their stations just as Cyril had done. Colin and Garran were once again kept together along with Frank the Free Trader and another man they did not know who introduced himself as Trent. A gaunt man with more gray hair than black beckoned them to him with a sweeping motion of his hand.

“I’m Raimo, your team leader. Our job is to strip limbs, boughs, and bark so the timber team can shape them into boards and such. Any of you have any logging experience?”

Garran raised his index finger. “I wielded a reaping blade for the log crews in Wooder’s Bend.”

Raimo nodded once. “Good. What about the rest of you?”

Colin knew how to swing an axe for chopping firewood, but that was it. Trent and Frank were both city-born and had no experience whatsoever when it came to lumberjacking.

“It don’t matter,” Raimo said. “This ain’t bladesmithing. The most important thing is to do what you’re told. If you have a problem, you tell me and I’ll tell Evert. If neither of us can handle it, Evert will take it to the commander. Commander Godfrey’s word is law out here. There is no higher authority, and he has the power of life and death over all of us. We’re lucky. He’s been a fair and decent sort from what I’ve seen. Not all the camp commanders are, so count yourselves fortunate to be here and not in one of the others. Go pick out a cot in this tent here and stow your gear. If you got sticky fingers, you best wash ’em real good. We consider theft to be one of the more unforgivable crimes in the work camps. We ain’t got much, and what little we have we are ferocious in protecting.”

After picking out their bunks and stowing their few belongings in the footlockers placed at the end of each cot, the men shuffled into the chow hall. The setup was much like it had been with the wagons, only they served the meals inside a massive hall made of rough timbers. A few men chose to take their food outside, but most sat at the tables on long benches.

Rose smiled at Garran as he went through the line, but they were not able to talk. Garran and Colin sat with the rest of the green team amidst the cacophony of dozens of vociferous discussions. Garran scanned the tables and benches while he ate, and found Dominic speaking with a pockmarked man with long, stringy, black hair and a hawkish nose. Garran looked away when both men’s eyes locked with his.

Garran nudged Evert with his elbow. “You see those two men three tables over looking at us? Who’s the ugly one talking to the big stupid one?”

Evert flicked his eyes up from his plate without moving his head. “That’s Clyve. Best stay clear of him. I don’t know who the other one is.”

“The other one is Dominic. I had a run-in with him on the way here from Wooder’s Bend,” Garran supplied.

“If he’s bent on continuing your spat, he’s enlisted a dangerous ally. You watch your back. Accidents happen out here a lot. Most are unintentional, but some are crafted, and none are better at crafting them than Clyve.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

Garran and Colin was still on their punishment detail and was elbow deep in wash water while the rest of the camp gathered around the fire pits talking, singing songs, and playing a few musical instruments they had managed to bring, acquire, or make. When the two lads finally finished their work for the night, they found Evert, Raimo, and a few others of their team near the fire.

Garran and Colin found a seat near the campfire. Garran could not help but stare at what had to be the biggest person he had ever seen. He was a veritable mountain of a man who must have had more than a little Hillman blood in him.

Evert noticed his interest and said, “This is Tye. He leads the gray team. They turn big rocks into little rocks.”

“I feel sorry for the rocks,” Garran replied.

Evert chuckled. “I’ve been hearing stories about you, boy. Some folks say you managed to escape only to show back up the same night. I’ve seen men run before, but none ever came back of their own accord.”

“I didn’t have anywhere better to be, and I had a hunch Cyril kept some booze hidden in his tent.”

“You nabbed the commander’s hooch?”

“I got a good taste.”

Evert studied the young man sitting across from him for a moment. “A smart man would trade you to another team, but if I was smart I guess I wouldn’t be here. Why are you two here? You look too young to have earned a sentencing.”

“Our parents sold us,” Colin answered.

“That’s a damn shame. I can’t imagine they knew what they were sending you to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Life expectancy in the camps is pretty bleak. The few of us you saw when you came in is all that is left of a crew nearly as big as this one is now.”

“What happened?” Garran asked.

“We were working a stretch of road about a hundred miles from here just inside Osage’s border. They caught us in the middle of the night and cut us down like dogs. If it weren’t for Commander Godfrey’s quick actions, none of us would have escaped. Just us few and a handful of soldiers was able to lose ourselves in the darkness.”

“Who were they?”

“The official word is that they were raiders, but most are pretty sure they’re mercenary bands hired by The Guild to interfere with the road.”

“They don’t want the road built?”

“There’s some debate on the subject. Some say The Guild is trying to destroy the project.”

“What do you think?”

“I think The Guild knows how to squeeze two coppers together and make a dinarin. If they wanted the project stopped, they have the money to buy enough mercenaries to make it happen, but they aren’t doing that. I think they want to punish Remiel for defying them and will figure out a way to take it over.”

“If the king doesn’t want them to have it, how could they take it? He’s the king after all, and he controls the largest army in the realm.”

“The crown lost a lot of real authority after the people removed Arvin the Mad. Much of the king’s former power is in the hands of parliament, and parliament is in The Guild’s pocket. How they might wrest control is beyond my understanding. Frank was saying he thinks The Guild might be trying to bankrupt Remiel to force him to come to them for loans. With the road as collateral, it’s an easy thing to foreclose and take full ownership. They get the greatest trade route ever made without incurring any of the cost.”

“That’s shitty!”

“That’s politics and business.”

Two shapes stepped out of the darkness into the firelight and took a seat. Dominic stared hatefully at Garran, but Clyve smiled and greeted Evert and the others.

“Evert, I’m jealous. It looks like you got the two freshest fish out of the bunch.”

“They seem all right. They just need a little experience is all,” Evert replied.

“What say we make a trade for that one?” Clyve pointed at Garran. “My new man Dominic and I will give him an experience he won’t forget. You know I like them before they get hair on their ass.”

“I’m not making any trades.”

“Then we have a little problem. Seems your fish jumped Dominic in the middle of the night and busted him up pretty good. You know the camp laws; we settle our scores ourselves.”