silver. A devilwing or perhaps a large bat moved across the face of the moon. All was quiet save for the rush of the water below.
What was he going to do now? Asea seemed determined to throw away her life so he was about to lose his patron. The vision of wealth and privilege that had been so briefly dangled before his eyes evaporated like morning mist in the rays of the sun.
The followers of the Princes of Shadow were going to take over the world, and use humanity as their cattle and the undead as their fist. He saw no reason to doubt that. It was what his father would have done, and Malkior seemed a not untypical representative of the Princes and their servants.
He thought of the world wracked by plague, with humans raised to be devoured by a new generation of masters far worse than even the Terrarchs had been. It made him angry and the most frustrating thing was that his anger counted for nothing. It never had and it never would. The powerful would get on with what they wanted without any regard to the way people like him felt. It was simply the way the world was made.
The anger burned in his gut, warming him like a potent spirit. For a moment, he thought he understood what Asea intended to do. She would defy fate and the Princes of Shadow and attempt to change the way history wanted to be written. Even though she knew she had very little chance she was prepared to take the risk anyway. The alternative for her as much as for him was to flee or do nothing, and she was choosing not to do either. It was admirable in its way, even if it was foolish.
What was he going to do? Perhaps, he should go with her. She had helped look after him, and he should help look after her. He had nothing left to go back to.
Did that really mean he had to throw away his life though? The truth was that his life was most likely thrown away anyway. He was known to be of Asea’s party and he doubted that the Princes of Shadow would be any more forgiving of their enemies than the usual run of Terrarchs. He could hide but the chances were that he would be run down eventually. Even if he was not, all he could look forward to was a lifetime of skulking and fear.
At least it would be a life. Accompanying Asea would be suicide.
Ah, but if she succeeded, he would be famous. What were the chances of that though? Vanishingly small, but he had succeeded against such odds before. Perhaps he could do so again.
The thought began to take hold of him, although the voices protested. They did not want to lose their last toehold on life, terrible though it might be. Their whining pushed him in the opposite direction. He was tempted to go with Asea just to show that he was still master of his life, not their puppet and vessel.
He told himself to sleep on it, make no hasty decision, but he knew that in some strange way his choice was already made.
Sardec studied the compass then the angle of the sunrise. By his calculations if they headed directly south they would encounter the main road. They would also encounter the triumphant Sardean army and its outriders which seemed like something to be avoided at all costs.
He looked at Weasel and the Barbarian. They had just come back from trapping breakfast. They brought with them a brace of rabbits and a bunch of edible roots and herbs and set about cooking them in their small military issue mess cans. Sardec was grateful for their skills. He could not have provided for himself with such efficiency, given the fact that he had a hook instead of a hand.
Small droplets of rain kissed his face, and a drizzle began. A mournful wind blew through the tree branches that so exactly matched the expressions on the faces surrounding him that he almost laughed.
“The heavens weep,” said Handsome Jan.
“As well they might,” added Toadface.
“We’re not dead yet,” said Sardec allowing a tone of warning to show in his voice.
“And even if we were we might not rest easy,” added Weasel. He sounded more thoughtful than mocking.
“We’ve got food, and vodka and some shelter,” said the Barbarian. “Things could be worse.”
“We’ve got bullets and blades as well,” said Sardec, “and we know how to use them. Let’s be grateful for that.”
“I’ll feel a lot more grateful when I’ve had some of that vodka the Barbarian is preaching about,” said Weasel.
“Drink it down,” said Sardec, “and then get ready to move out.”
“It’s my bloody vodka,” said the Barbarian.
Sardec looked over at where the children slept. Rena lay by them, looking just as innocent in sleep. It was only now that he realised how exhausted she must be. All of them were. The defeat and flight had drained them more than the long march and the strange weather was making things worse. He had never known a spring this cold.
What would become of them, he wondered? Would they ever manage to get home? Or would they all die on the long march? There was no way of knowing but they had to do something. Anything was better than simply waiting here for death to come.
He took an inventory of his resources. There were about ten surviving Foragers, four of them veterans that he could trust: Weasel, the Barbarian, Toadface and Handsome Jan. There was Rena, Sergeant Hef's wife and four children. It seemed like they would only slow the soldiers down but Sardec was not going to abandon them. He smiled sourly. There had been a time when he would not have hesitated for a moment to sacrifice a score of human children to ensure the safety of one Terrarch, particularly if that Terrarch was him. Times had certainly changed.
He looked at the sky. The clouds were dark and ominous and tinged with strange supernatural colours that that spoke of wicked magic being cast somewhere. He wondered where Asea was and Rik and Lord Azaar were. He could certainly do with their supernatural knowledge now, or even Asea's leadership to give him some clue as to what to do.
The whole vast structure of the Western armies had suddenly vanished, leaving him abandoned and alone. He had led units before but always there had been the sure and certain knowledge that there was something to come back to and a hierarchy to give him guidance and orders. All of that had disintegrated, vanished overnight in the face of the ominous power of the armies of the dead. It came to him then that perhaps there was no one left to give him orders, that he was on his own and entirely responsible for the survival of everyone under his command.
Was it all worthwhile, trying to be a soldier in an army that no longer existed? Was he fooling anybody, pretending to be an officer now? Surely all the humans could see that he was part of an officer corps that had led them only to destruction and defeat.
He studied the faces of the men around him and saw no trace of those thoughts there. They looked at him as if he was still in charge and as if they expected him to give them sensible orders. That seemed like a joke. How was it possible to give sensible orders in a world gone mad?
He pulled himself to his feet and walked around. He checked to make sure that everyone had some rations and enough water to at least see them through the day. He got the men to count the number of bullets they had and tell them how much powder they were carrying, and he was shocked to find that there was so little. There was no Quartermaster here to resupply them, and no way of telling when they would next be able to refurbish their supplies. The situation looked pretty desperate but there was nothing he could do about it so he pushed the thought to one side.
He made sure that the children had eaten and that the women got something too, and then he ordered everyone to their feet and told them that they needed to move out. He was not entirely sure where they were going to go but he knew they must get moving.
It would be best to keep away from the road for a while. Less chance of meeting enemy scouts even if the march was harder. Rena came over and stood beside him. He was glad that she had not tried to hug him or take his hand. It would not do to show too much intimacy in front of the men. He smiled again. As if such things muttered under the circumstances.
'Where shall we go?' she asked.
'We'll head North and then eventually strike due West and aim for Halim. Hopefully we can join the garrison there and if we can't, we'll head for the mountains.'
'I'm glad you're still alive,' Rena said. 'I'm glad you found me.'
