The Skull and the Crow Chapter 7: Bandit

They walked through the mouth of a cave, cleaning their swords of the blood from underground monsters and their clothes of dried clay. Yet they couldn't clear their heads of nagging worries.

After days in the tunnels, eating fungi and moss, drinking heavy-tasting water, their eyes hurt against the light. Azgher, the Sun God, was furiously enthusiastic that morning, and the clouds that had dumped rain on them in Fort Arantar had already melted. Around them, low, stony hills appeared, a forest behind them, and fields and woods stretching as far as they could see. Not all animals fled the ragtag group, which, according to Trebane, meant this was a region populated by many humans.

They were still in Trebuck, now even deeper in its depths.

"We were walking blindly," stammered a soldier from Fort Arantar. "We could have entered the Tormenta area!"

"No," said Ingram. "I would know if we were approaching her."

The soldier accepted the answer and walked away.

"Would you really know?" Orion asked.

"I would know when we were all dead."

Before the day's march, the knight decreed they needed to eat. He assigned Trebane and two soldiers to hunt while others collected water. After the battle and days underground, it was comforting to engage in simple tasks.

"Okay, but where are we going to march?" Ingram asked, sitting down on the floor and beginning to clean his precious pistols.

"For the King's Army, of course."

Trebuck had a huge contingent of soldiers, provided by Deheon and several other nations as a guard against the Storm. The Kingdom's Army had already been defeated once when it attacked the Red Storm head-on, but it had been renewed and now camped on the edge of the enemy's border, waiting.

A nest of loyal men, career soldiers, and mercenaries of all races filled the King's Army with a mix of differences, will, and fear. It was certain it would collapse if not for the strong presence of Lady Shivara Sharpblade, the regent of Trebuck and one of Arton's greatest warriors and leaders.

"Do you really think your father is in that army, Orion?" Ingram asked, breaking the silence.

The knight shrugged. "It's the last clue we have. With the number of mercenaries stationed there, it's quite possible he is."

"Maybe it's just another man with similar armor."

"Perhaps."

"Or perhaps your father has already died of old age, Orion, because Khalmyr and Tenebra know he's old enough. How many wandering warriors do you know who have lived to this age?"

"I don't know how old he is."

"Humans die like flies. If you already have that gray hair, how will your father be, damn it?"

"Alive. He will be alive."

Ingram threw a greased rag on the floor. "Alive so you can kill him?"

"That."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"I never asked you to come with me, Ingram," Orion said seriously. "And you know I can't because this is my job."

"And you know I won't leave you, you human rubbish."

Orion turned to him. "You helped me, and now I help you."

"Which doesn't mean I can't try to talk some sense into that thick knight head of yours."

Orion stretched out on the grass, closed his eyes, and let himself breathe. "And now you promised to help that Ashlen."

Orion murmured, "Yes."

"As if he didn't have enough problems already."

"A Knight of Light never refuses a request for help."

"He didn't ask for help!"

"It's as if I asked."

Ingram rose to his feet, swung his pistol with a flourish, and put it away. "I'm going to talk to the damn centaur. He makes more sense than you."

Orion felt Azgher's light warm his face. Ingram walked a little but then turned back.

"Don't you miss home, Orion?"

"A lot, all the time," he said without opening his eyes. "From my wife. You're going to love Vanessa," he laughed, but then grew serious. "And my son, who hasn't even been born yet. That's why I won't allow him to be born with this stain on his family. I'm a bastard, Ingram, but my son won't be a bastard's son because I'm going to find the Laughing Knight and bring him to justice."

"Humans are all crazy, you know?"

"You knew."

Orion didn't know the Laughing Knight; he had never seen the man he hated so much. But thinking about "crazy," he felt a shudder, for he thought that word described his father well.

Orion and Ingram were pulled from their conversation when an alarmed officer ran up to them, claiming he had found a road nearby and a large group of warriors marching.

"That was all we needed," grumbled the dwarf.

Orion stood up, straightened himself, and sheathed his sword before following the officer to the road. It was a well-worn path, compacted by countless boots, wide and well-maintained. They were closer to civilization than they suspected, and just ahead, a battalion of armed men approached, some on horseback and most on foot. Orion and Ingram joined Ashlen, and then Trebane. The officer stood close to them, feeling very important.

As the battalion neared, Orion smiled and raised his hand in salute when he noticed they carried the banner of New Ghondriann. The commander of those men, a large man riding a skinny horse that seemed to struggle to carry him, returned the greeting and approached.

He introduced himself as Bryan of Norba, claiming he commanded a company of three hundred men from New Ghondriann and was now returning home.

"Any missions for the Royal Army?" Orion asked. So many foreign soldiers in that region certainly had something to do with the King's Army.

"Khalmyr forbid," Bryan of Norba spat on the ground. "It's turned into a pigsty, sir knight, and the pigs are all celebrating."

"We're going there."

"If I were you, I'd turn around and find a better place to serve. Or else I'd complain to the superior who gave that command," he coughed. "With all due respect to the Order of Light and its kingdom."

Orion and the others exchanged glances. Trebane asked, "Won't you be considered a traitor by deserting like this?"

Bryan of Norba seemed to notice the centaur for the first time, spending a moment examining him before shrugging and replying, "I doubt my lord in New Ghondriann will reprimand me for making this decision. And anyway, if he doesn't like it, I bet my men would rather become mercenaries with me than stay among those snakes in the King's Army, waiting for the Storm."

He touched his sword to ward off the evil the word invoked. "What happened so badly?" Ingram asked. "Is Shivara doing nothing?"

Bryan of Norba frowned, his expression filled with genuine sadness. "For three months, no one has seen Lady Shivara. I don't usually question superiors, and in my time, more than a year has passed without receiving a meager order or communication from my lord—just fulfilling my duty wherever I'm sent. But Lady Shivara has left the worst incompetent this side of hell in charge, and, Khalmyr help me, she herself is throwing away her rings."

Orion looked at him gravely. "Sir knight," Bryan continued, "you can judge me however you want, but I have a wife and children in New Ghondriann, and I refuse to die carrying out the orders of an idiot when I could be defending my family. The Storm struck Zakharov less than a year ago, and frankly, life these days is too short to waste on useless things."

"I won't judge you, Bryan of Norba," Orion said gloomily.

"Lady Shivara asks us to fight her war, but the Storm can attack anywhere, including my backyard," he touched his sword again, "and then I'll have my own war."

"The Storm is war for all of us," Orion replied.

"It was when there was only one Storm area in the Kingdom. Now there's more than one, and it'll be every man for himself if I know the people of this world. Tell me, how many armies did you see helping Zakharov?"

Orion had no answer.

"Zakharov doesn't have one Lady Shivara to win the Kingdom's favor, and neither does Nova Ghondriann."

Bryan of Norba felt he had spoken too much, muttering an apology before awkwardly bowing from his horse and leading all his men south. "It's not safe there either," Orion noted. "We're running from a small army."

"And incisively," he added, "led by Black Skull."

Bryan cursed. "Well, if I die in combat, it's still better than dying because of someone else's stupidity. Thank you, knight."

And he left.

"The rats are the first to run away," grumbled Ingram.

"Those men didn't look like rats to me," Trebane said.

"Yes," replied the dwarf, annoyed. "I don't think so."

❖

General Thomas Yerik opened the large command tent to the exultant early morning sun, taking a deep breath of the invigorating scent of an army. It was the smell of human waste, sweat, food, horses, and blood now and then, mixed with the aroma of unwashed men—a scent he had learned to love a long time ago. He stretched, feeling his head buzzing with tasks to accomplish. He was happy.

A thin, restless recruit approached to clean the general's tent, but Thomas Yerik stopped him from entering and ordered him to do something else. He went back inside the tent, saw the trays of food untouched for several days, the oldest already teeming with wriggling worms. Stealthily, he buried the food along with the worms and everything, hiding the eggs well behind the bed.

Returning to the open sky of the huge camp, he prepared for the day's work. He could feel the immensity of men and weapons around him, the army racing against the sun, working faster than Azgher. He sensed that, with a single gesture, he could mobilize hundreds of those men.

Four captains approached him with important questions, and he made instant decisions. General Thomas Yerik was the leader of the Kingdom's Army.

"General," one of the captains said, scratching the ground with his foot.

Looking away, his pupils tiny, Thomas ordered him to speak. "Men want to know when Lady Shivara will return. What is she doing?"

Thomas turned an angry face toward him, eyes bloodshot and mouth twisted. The captain began to mumble something, but Thomas gestured to three guards and ordered the officer's arrest. He would later try him, along with six others, for insubordination and conspiracy. The man was dragged away, almost without protest, by the unhappy-looking guards.

Camped perpetually in wait for hell, the Kingdom's Army spread like a monster across Trebuck's fields. Maintaining discipline among so many men was a colossal task, and Thomas Yerik decided not to tolerate questions. As far as he could remember, he had already hanged nineteen, and he didn't hesitate to give the ropes more work. He was one of the most valiant and decorated officers in Trebuck's army; he had been personally chosen by Lady Shivara, and he wanted to make that clear.

He noticed the men kept a fearful distance as he walked aimlessly around the camp, inspecting one activity after another. The military salutes were precise, but no soldier met their eyes. Better to fear him, Thomas thought, than to be vulnerable to the enemy.

He saw his second-in-command, the trusty old Lawrence Thelkian, hurrying toward him with his ever-present look of concern.

"Sir," Thelkian gave a stiff salute.

"Good morning, Lawrence," Thomas said, smiling.

The two men were the same age, revealed in their scarred and wrinkled faces, and in their hair—Thomas's dyed white, while Lawrence's was thinning. Thomas was a tall, tough man with wood-colored skin and a long nose that had been broken countless times. Lawrence was short and solid, with a bull's neck supporting a common face of canine fidelity. His blue eyes sparkled as he looked at his old friend, to whom he had dedicated his life.

Lawrence Thelkian was perhaps the only man Thomas could trust, he thought. Both had served together for decades in Trebuck's army, and Thelkian had been convinced from an early age that Thomas was destined for greatness, while he himself was content living in his shadow.

Lawrence had supported Thomas Yerik in all his ambitions over the years, and now he saw it all come to fruition: Thomas Yerik was the commander of the Kingdom's Army, and he was his right-hand man. Except for that wildness in the eyes, which had never been there.

"Bad news, sir," said Lawrence.

"Walk with me," Thomas commanded.

They walked among the men, through mercenary companies with flashy names and gatherings of soldiers from the same kingdom, under the forests of banners, outside temporary stables, along the streets of the tent city.

"Captain Bryan of Norba deserted, sir, along with three hundred others."

Thomas Yerik groaned. "Norba? That's in New Ghondriann, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send five hundred men after him. Offer the soldiers a chance to return to their post without pay for three months, and kill the captain."

Lawrence Thelkian argued against it, claiming five hundred men was too large a contingent.

"We have many thousands; we are the Army of the Kingdom."

"But sir, if we did this to all the battalions that deserted…" Thomas glared at his friend with pure anger. They were not the first three hundred to leave, nor would they be the last. First, a handful of missing men, and then mass escapes led by foreign officers.

"We'll kill all the traitorous officers," Thomas barked, "and deploy Trebuck's loyal men in their place. If foreign commanders don't think they owe loyalty to the King's Army, let's find men who do."

"You don't have the authority to do that, General," Lawrence said, already feeling the pain of punishment. No one spoke like that to Thomas Yerik.

"I command the Kingdom's Army!" he exploded. He was the general, he said, chosen by Lady Shivara, and had many at his disposal. Their lives belonged to him. He fought the Storm, and that was much more important than politics or worldly authorities.

"Yes, sir," Thelkian said unhappily.

"Gather all the officers of New Ghondriann; I want to give them a warning and quash any mutiny before it starts. Betrayal is a seed that germinates quickly, Lawrence."

"Yes, sir," he repeated. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and added, "Sir, we had a survivor this time."

The rest of Thomas Yerik's attention focused on him. "A soldier returned from the Tormenta area?"

"One of Callistia's men. He arrived tonight. He's very hurt and hasn't said anything coherent so far. He screams a lot, laughs all the time, or cries. He already attacked two soldiers who were trying to help him and ate one of their eyes. The clerics say he's crazy, general."

"Good. I want reports on his condition in my tent by noon." Thomas looked infinitely pleased.

Lawrence Thelkian saluted and withdrew.

General Thomas Yerik had begun sending men into the Tormenta area two months ago. Expeditions into the Tormenta areas were not unknown: the Arcane Academy sent scholars, mages, and experienced adventurers to collect information and specimens of demons. Independent groups also took on the task of facing the Red Storm. However, this was the first time that ordinary soldiers had been sent, and of the one hundred and fifty that Thomas Yerik had deployed, this was only the second to return so far. The general believed in training in real situations, stating that sooner or later, those men would have to face the Storm anyway. Lady Shivara Sharpblade never did that; she never threw away the lives of those she commanded after the disastrous attack on Fort Amarid. Thomas Yerik emphasized that the command was now his and did not hesitate to condemn those who questioned his methods.

Desertions had increased under his leadership, but the truth was that the Kingdom's Army had been crumbling for a long time. The Zakharov Storm area had struck new fear into the hearts of soldiers and regents, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to unite the nations under a single banner, even with Shivara. New political disputes and veiled threats between kingdoms that had emerged in the last year made garrisoning one's own borders seem increasingly attractive. Thomas Yerik's suicide squads and the gallows he used with abandon were only catalysts.

Continuing his walk, Thomas Yerik suddenly stopped in front of one of the stables. They were large buildings made of rough wood, hastily erected for the Royal Army, crammed with horses. But in a stall isolated by two other empty ones stood the most beautiful horse he had ever seen. Huge and white, with dazzling fur and a long mane, immense hooves, and a proud yet gentle demeanor. As if noticing it was being observed, the animal turned its head and gave Thomas an intelligent look, opening its nostrils and pawing the ground with dignity. The general was enchanted and immediately demanded the soldier in charge.

"Sir," the man introduced himself, almost shaking.

"What horse is that?" Thomas asked, gesturing with his chin.

"Coming from Namalkah, General," said the soldier, preemptively answering. Namalkah, the Kingdom of Horses, produced magnificent animals known throughout the world for their unparalleled intelligence and strength. The people of Namalkah treated horses like people and were the best riders in the world. "It's a gift," the soldier continued, though he made a silent gesture.

"This will be my personal horse," said Thomas, approaching and smiling as he stroked the animal's nose. "I want him tied up in front of my tent immediately. I'll take you on a tour of the camp." The general's eyes shone, and the horse bowed its head, allowing itself to be touched respectfully.

"We've had problems with this animal, sir."

"Nonsense. Rough men don't know how to care for horses like this. He will be mine, and I will call him Brave."

"He already has a name, sir. His name is Bandit."

Thomas Yerik almost growled at the soldier. "Shut up! It's an insult to this noble creature. Get Valente ready so I can mount him."

"Sorry, I tried to say, sir, but he already has an owner."

"Yes, and it's me. I am the general, and I decide that Valente will be my horse. Go, soldier, before you deserve a court martial."

Thomas Yerik walked away. The soldier cursed his bad luck and looked at the white horse with resignation. The animal reciprocated, as if about to laugh.

❖

The general returned to his tent and was pleased to find the white horse harnessed and tied, looking obedient. He stroked its proud mane and promised, out loud, that Valente would be a horse of many glories. Thomas Yerik untied the animal amidst a dozen furtive glances and had already placed his foot in a stirrup when he was interrupted by a subordinate's voice.

"General, please don't do this," the man pleaded.

Tired of interruptions, Thomas ordered the soldier's immediate execution. He turned back to his new mount and, with practiced ease, mounted the horse.

General Thomas Yerik had just settled himself in the saddle when the animal bucked violently. Thomas grabbed the reins, but the horse reared sharply onto its hind legs, throwing him into the mud. He landed on his back, more dirty than injured, when he saw two huge hooves coming toward him. Bandit delivered a monstrous kick to the general's chest, and the sound of breaking bones echoed. Thomas Yerik was thrown several meters away, landing on his head and twisting his neck at a grotesque angle.

The horse neighed with pleasure.

All around, frantic men called for clerics, rushing to the general, while two attempted to approach the horse but were kicked and bitten away. Thomas Yerik lay on the ground, feeling something working inside his body. Thick liquids coursed through him, his broken sternum repaired, his neck realigned, and the fractured spots filled with something. A lascivious sensation made him moan.

"Where is the soldier responsible for this monster?" Thomas growled at the first man who came to his aid.

"In the infirmary, sir."

The general stood up, shaking off the mud amidst the confused men. They asked if he was alright, and the clerics arrived, wanting to shower him with blessings, but he roared for everyone to leave.

"And kill that horse!"

The men hesitated, but one grabbed an axe, and in an instant, Bandit had run away. He scattered soldiers everywhere, who jumped out of his way. The horse neighed loudly, and throughout the camp, the sounds of loud knocks, kicks at stall doors, and breaking wood began to echo. Dozens of horses fled, trampling the men trying to stop them, following Bandit out of the camp. Under Thomas Yerik's orders, a few arrows were fired, but most of the soldiers missed on purpose; they didn't have the heart to hurt a horse. Finally, the horses disappeared into the forest, and a poorly motivated detachment was sent to recover them.

Thomas Yerik was furious. Rumors began to spread through the Kingdom's Army that even animals were deserting the general. The number of sentries on the edge of the camp was tripled, with orders to kill anyone who tried to leave without authorization.

The general burst into his tent, shouting so that no one would interrupt him.

A morning of irritation had passed, and Thomas Yerik began planning a new incursion into the Tormenta area. This time, he would send two hundred men. This calmed his anger a little. He dragged the bed aside to reveal the eggs and took one between his fingers with loving care when he heard a voice behind him.

"General?"

He turned sharply, already shouting for a court-martial, but saw it was Lawrence Thelkian. The short, robust, and bald man was carrying a pile of thick papers and looked at Thomas strangely.

"You said to bring the survivor's reports," he said.

Lawrence Thelkian was trustworthy. Anyone else who interrupted him at that moment would be killed, of course, but Lawrence was a friend. "Come here, Lawrence. I want to show you something."

The man took a step forward, curious about what Thomas had in his hand. "I'll show you," said Thomas, smiling and extending an affectionate arm. "Come here."

"The reports," Lawrence began, but the general ordered him to leave them somewhere.

Thomas Yerik approached, still holding the egg delicately in his fingers, and hugged his old friend. Lawrence didn't know what to do, but Thomas held him tightly.

"This is my son, Lawrence," Thomas said, holding the egg. "He's one of my beautiful children, and I'm going to give him to you."

The general applied light pressure to the egg, and the shell cracked. The little creature inside began to twist, finally revealing itself and spilling the red goo that covered it. It resembled some kind of insect, a long, thin creature with a segmented body and two very long antennae. Dozens of sharp little paws brushed against Thomas Yerik's hand, drawing blood and tickling him as the thing crawled onto Lawrence's neck.

Lawrence tried to look back to see what was happening, but the general's embrace was iron, and he could barely move. He felt the insect walking across his face, finally heading toward his ear. The antennae caressed the entrance to his ear before the creature buried its head inside.

Lawrence started to scream, but the general silenced him, placing his mouth over his. Thomas Yerik's tongue had a sting; it jabbed the back of Lawrence's throat, causing a hot, dizzying sensation. The insect forced its legs into the ear until it managed to get its entire body inside. Thelkian felt the thing twisting within his head, a tiny biting pain emerging, and a red shroud fell over his eyes.

Thomas Yerik released him, and Lawrence Thelkian's stocky body collapsed, convulsing. Thick red mucus began to overflow from his mouth in a great volume, flooding the floor of the general's tent. Thomas crouched down and began to greedily lick the large pool of substance, pleasure evident on his face. After a few minutes, Lawrence Thelkian's convulsions ceased, and he lay motionless as he was slowly covered by a hard insect shell.

"I envy you, my friend," said Thomas Yerik. "The symbiote invasion is only as delicious the first time."

Now Thelkian was completely encased in a carapace, resembling armor. Its eyes were shielded by translucent half-spheres, multifaceted like insect eyes. Thomas Yerik kissed his outstretched friend on the forehead.

After an hour, Lawrence Thelkian's body had absorbed the armor once more. He stood up and looked out upon a wonderful new world full of duties and possibilities. "It's fantastic," said Lawrence, with red tears in his eyes.

"It's the Storm, my friend," replied Thomas Yerik. "The Storm is swallowing our world and will transform it, and now you are a servant too."

The other smiled and thanked him. "You will meet our master soon, Lawrence," Thomas continued. "Now, you will learn about our true mission."