None of them could catch of wink of sleep after that. The fate of their friends in the 2nd weighed heavily on their minds, the disgraceful manner of the retreat rankling within them.
At dawn’s first light they broke their fast on their R-bars, which were composed of dried cricket meat and hog fat ground up with molasses, nuts and berries, the dehydrated ingredients moulded into dense blocks that had all the flavour and consistency of tallow. Ven put the kettle on and brewed tea for the whole platoon to wash down the lardy aftertaste. They emptied the soggy tea leaves at the bottoms of their mess tins into the cold embers of the fire and set off at once, following the tracks left by the Drakenguard all the way to the Foss.
Ven heard the foaming rapids of the river before she saw it, a narrow but deep-cut channel that now marked the Fleet’s defensive line. Beyond the water’s edge a deciduous forest began, the sparse stands of trees tiptoeing amidst a riot of tall grass and shrubs that formed the dense undergrowth. Clumps of bamboo sprouted in great profusion, forming obstacles that would be all but impenetrable to infantry.
Cutting our way in through this mess is going to be a nightmare, Ven thought. As for beating a quick retreat, well you can just forget about it.
She saw Deschane eyeing the terrain and knew he was having the same misgivings right about now. This was markedly different from the tropical rainforests that dominated most of the Northern Hinterlands—those had overhanging canopies that blocked out the sunlight and prevented the creation of thick undergrowth. This would be much slower going.
On their side of the river was a flat stone outcropping that jutted up about three meters above the water level. It was a natural firing position which afforded perfect sightlines over the opposite bank, so it came as no surprise to see three bronze cannons squatting astride it, their muzzles trained on a gravelly ford that spanned the width of the Foss.
The ford was the only point at which the river could be crossed, as evidenced by the profusion of tracks both human and hornblower.
“How long ago did Caitliff cross?” Deschane asked Greymoss. The bog-man tugged at his mouldy beard and considered the prints in the clay.
“Say ‘bout tree, mebbe foe hours,” he rumbled incoherently, “Ain’t bin back since.”
Deschane nodded and strode up to the artillery position. The crews were hard at work limbering their trio of twelve-pounder cannons onto their myropod-drawn carriages, their efforts overseen by an anxious officer who was clearly eager for them to get away.
“Morning,” Deschane called out.
“What do you want?” the man said distractedly, “Whatever it is, I don’t have time for it.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes. Anyplace but here,” the officer replied, wringing his hands, “And I’d advise you to do the same.”
“Why?”
“There’s been another skirmish,” he said, gesturing at the opposite side of the Foss, “Though I’d sooner call it a massacre than anything else. I tried to warn her, didn’t I? Hurry up!” the lieutenant told his crews, “We’ve got be away.”
“Who gave you permission to withdraw?” Deschane demanded.
“Listen here, you,” the man said, rounding on him, “We’re completely isolated out here. The pathfinders were supposed to be our screen, and now they’re gone. This morning the cavalry went in to have a look-see, and we haven’t seen them since either. General Soulk has laagered up all the infantry and is expecting an all-out assault at any minute, so not a man of them will come out from behind their circle of wagons to protect us. I’m getting my section out of here before whatever got them comes after us.”
Deschane seized the man by the collar and slapped him, hard.
“H-how dare you,” the officer said in shock, rubbing at his cheek, “How dare you lay hands on a—”
Deschane gave him a taste of the backhand, knocking his mask off to uncover the face of a frightened young man with a frizzy blonde moustache.
“Name and rank?” he shouted. The artillerymen froze in place, watching as the navigator shoved their commanding officer around like a drunken reprobate.
“Shylo, first lieutenant,” the young man spluttered, blood trickling from his nostril.
“What kind of a mother names her son Shylo?” Cooly guffawed.
“I really must protest at this treatment,” said Shylo, “You can’t do this to me!”
“Sure I can,” Deschane tapped the chevrons on his shoulder pad to let Shiels know that he outranked him, “Now you’re going to calm down and tell me exactly what happened here.”
“Haven’t you been listening to me?” Shylo wailed, “Every last one of them is dead. Cut to pieces, chopped to meat! And there wasn’t a thing we could do about it!”
Their argument was interrupted by the sound of thrumming wings. They all turned to see Captain Caitliff emerging from the brush at head of her troop, their hornblowers hopping nimbly between the clumps of bamboo. The grass creaked and bent under their weight, but did not break.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Nifty,” Ven muttered, taking note of how easily the cavalry avoided getting stuck in the bush. It seemed they were much better-suited to this type of jungle than the pathfinders were.
“You again?” the captain shouted across to them. She yanked up at her hornblower’s antennae, causing it to hover half a meter above the water. Caitliff landed deftly in the middle of the guns and swept her hat off again in greeting, sending the artillerymen scattering out of her way. She was a very able rider, if nothing else.
“She doesn’t look dead to me,” Deschane told Shylo, releasing him with a shove.
“Assaulting a fellow officer now, are we?” Caitliff swung off her saddle and got right up in Deschane’s face, “Didn’t I just tell you to stay out of my way?”
“Sir,” he said with as much politeness as he could muster, “Did you find any of the missing soldiers from my regiment?”
“Nope.”
“Bodies?”
“Zilch. As in not a damned thing,” Caitliff said, suddenly losing patience. It was obvious that she was growing just as frustrated with the situation as they were, “I’ve been scouring their last known location and sending out scouts five klicks in every direction. We’ve found nothing other than a few specks of dried blood on the grass. If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to take a look for yourself. Shogun Creek is only half a kilometre down thattaways,” she nudged her shotgun east to where the river weakened and broke up into several small tributaries, “As for me, I’m staying right here,” she continued, “My beasts need rest.”
The hornblowers were gasping through the spiracles on the sides of their bodies, exhausted by their ride through the brush.
“Is this all of your outfit, sir?” Tooms asked, squinting at the troop who were hopping after her, “I could’ve sworn there were more of you last night.”
He was right. The cavalry troop was missing about a quarter of its strength.
“I sent Corporal Haikes out there with two dozen others to guard our flank,” Caitliff said with a careless wave of her hand, “That should be them coming up now.”
She pointed at a cloud of dust rising from behind the bamboo thickets. Five hornblowers came into view, galloping hard out of Shogun Creek. One of the steeds was missing its riders. They rode up the shallow sides of the Foss at full tilt, the drakenguard casting fearful glances over their shoulders. Ven heard the pop of muffled gunfire, saw another cavalryman coming helter-skelter round the bend, jabbing his spurs into the sides of his flagging beast. With the reigns in one hand, he twisted around and aimed a pistol into the bush from which he had come. But before he could shoot, a piece of the jungle seemed to come alive and plucked him straight out of his saddle, his screams fading as he was pulled up into shivering leaves of the bamboo.
It all happened so quickly. Ven was still struggling to come to terms with what she had just seen when yet another rider was seized, this time by the bough of an overhanging tree. The gnarled limb folded almost lovingly around his waist before giving it an almighty wrench, wringing the guts out of him like a laundrywoman squeezing her clothes dry. The formless thing draped his intestines over the branches and melted back into the foliage, taking the gutted man with it.
“Holy heliopause…” Leming breathed, his musket dropping out of his nerveless fingers.
“Haikes!” cried Caitliff, her grief mingling with rage. She sprang back onto her mount and wheeled towards the fight, “Drakenguard, to me!”
“Wait—don’t!” Deschane latched onto her saddle horn and held fast, refusing to let go even as he was almost dragged off his feet and sent scrabbling over the shoreline.
Deschane dragged her mount towards the middle of the river, the hornblower staggering off-balance. Caitliff snatched at her reigns and fought to keep her seat as the panicking beast bucked beneath her.
“I’ve had it up to here with you, Sollem!” Caitliff roared, unsheathing her sabre, “Unhand me, or by the Helmsman, I’ll unhand you!”
“How do you think it got all those pathfinders?” Deschane argued even as they struggled in the shallows, “It picked them off a few at a time and lured the rest of them in. Just like it’s doing with you now!”
“You don’t know that!” Caitliff said, yet she hesitated all the same.
Pandemonium erupted. Drakenguard and pathfinder alike began unloading their weapons into the spot where the riders had disappeared, their bullets and buckshot stripping the bark off the trees and snipping the ferns. Shylo hid behind one of his twelve-pounders and started rocking back and forth.
“….not me, please not me,” he gibbered, “Take someone else, anyone else but me!”
Knowing she had just the one shot with her Sharpstone, Ven held her fire and searched for her target through the whirlwind of confused gunshots. Where had the creature gone? What did it even look like? Its form had been indistinguishable from the many saplings and shrubs that lined the river bank.
Ven cringed as a deafening explosion went off beside her, drowning out the pop and crack of the rifles.
“Alright! That’s enough!” Caitliff bellowed with impressive vocal range. She stood in her stirrups, all three of her barrels smoking from the simultaneous discharge, “I’m still in command here, and I will have order!”
She guided her steed back onto dry land and pulled Deschane back onto his feet after her.
“Drakenguard, hold your fire,” Caitliff commanded, “That goes for you pathfinders, too. None of you are hitting squat at this range, and we don’t even know what we’re shooting at yet. Sollem, get your raggedy pack in line, or by the ancestors I’ll have your scalp hanging from my saddlebags!”
“Aye aye, skipper,” Deschane said, still panting. Pausing to straighten the creased front of his uniform, he ordered the pathfinders to form a skirmish line and reload their rifles.
Captain Caitliff rallied her shaken drakenguard and had them withdraw to the safer side of the river. Then she demanded that the three trembling survivors from Haike’s detachment dismount and give their report.
“Never saw it coming,” moaned one, his torn gasmask flapping from its straps. His eyes were wide as dinner plates and staring at nothing, “We thought we’d heard somebody crying out for help in the wilderness, one of the wounded pathfinders, maybe. Haikes led the way as we rode into a clearing where there was a man lying against a stump, bloody all over and shivering like he was cold or hurt. Only…” the soldier paused to take a trembling breath, “…only it wasn’t a man, but a corpse all cored out through the middle, like something had been nibbling away at it like a candy apple. The hornblowers were spooked, and so were we. We would've turned tail and fled right then and there. But then the voice came again and told us to look up and see. And we saw…”
He trailed off, holding his head in his hands.
“What?” Caitliff cut in sharply, “See what, Jode? Speak, man!”
“The thing in the trees,” Jode whispered. He pointed a trembling finger past her, to where the tall bamboo swayed and sighed with the breeze. Newly perched upon the topmost branch was a small, round object still glistening wet at its base.
“Oh, gods,” Harmer said, peering down her rifle’s side scope, “Is that what I think it is?”
Caitliff let out a heart-wrenching moan at the sight of Haike’s severed head, his slackened mouth hanging open to form a wordless scream.