Act 3

Interlude

A winter breeze blew through Andaban and in through the cracks around the old window where Dryden was resting. Though it was sunny out, it was still bitterly cold. The major was finally well enough to walk on his own and was slowly beginning to feel himself. He had been discharged from the infirmary as the surgeons required the hospital beds with wounded coming in from skirmishes near the Settru pass to the northeast. The pass he had come across and barely survived. Dryden had been given a small room with a window that overlooked a courtyard. Several other officers were billeted in the same large house. The room was small, but it was well-appointed and colourful. He even had his own toilet, which was more than a small luxury in the colonies. Outside the room he could hear soldiers performing drills, practicing. The city was still preparing for a siege, but more regiments had come up to Andaban from the south, and with them brought supplies to last months if needed.

Dryden roused himself slowly. He was still sore in many places, especially in his ribs where they had broken, and in his shoulder where he had been shot. His many other aches and pains were already fading, at least the pains of the body. His nights were restless. He often found he dreamed of Julia, and of Havor, and of the many fellows of his that had perished. He could not completely rid himself of the image of Wolcott’s lifeless body falling suddenly from his horse. The totality of the loss of all these friends and acquaintances struck him at odd times. He would often wake screaming in the night. When he walked down the street, a sudden noise or a horse galloping in the distance would set his heart to racing and his jaw would clench.

As he dressed himself gingerly there was a knock at the door, “One moment.” He said. Then he finished putting on his trousers and went to the door.

It was Major Havelock. It was his counterpart for those squadrons of the 13th Dragoons that had been stationed in Andaban, whose job it had been to guard the road from Golconda to Andaban. Like Dryden, he had been mustered from Marrowick, and they were both under the command, at least nominally, of Lieutenant-Colonel Havor.

“Good morning, John. Hope I didn’t wake you?” They were friends, and they often referred to one another casually.

“Morning, Will. Not at all, I was just rousing myself.” He replied. They had only spoken a few times since Dryden had made it safely to Andaban. Havelock had been riding up and down the road scouting and skirmishing with enemy riders, “How was the road?”

“Dangerous. The enemy is finally advancing across the pass in force. We did our best to harry their scouts, but we’re being pulled back to the city for the siege. That’s not why I called, however. I want to show you something. I think you’ll be pleased.” He gave a wry smile.

Dryden finished slipping on his boots. He still wore his old black leather cavalry boots, even when not riding. He followed Havelock out the door. Dryden was pleased that he no longer needed to walk with a cane, strength had returned to his legs of late. Together they walked down the stairs and out of the mansion in which many officers were housed and across the courtyard. They walked out of the grounds and down a street. The city of Andaban was dense and built up quite a bit more than Vurun had been. Most of the buildings were two stories tall or more and made of a harder kind of brick. Normally the streets were bustling with vendors, but many had fled the city ahead of the Vuruni army that was coming. It was an eerie kind of quiet. Dryden recognized that they were headed towards the stables. Havelock led him in and down a row of horses. The smell of horse and hay entered his nostrils heavily. It was a smell he had spent much of his life around, and he hadn’t noticed it until he had been away. Now that he returned, the heady smell enveloped him like a comfortable blanket. They stopped at a stall with a horse inside. The colour of the horse was bay. She whinnied.

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Dryden’s jaw dropped, “Rosie.” He said with a whisper, “But…”

“She lived. She bore you across the mountains and all the way down to the gates of Andaban.”

“But, I was told she died from exhaustion.”

“Whoever told you that is a liar, I don’t know why they would say that. We took her into the stables. She was certainly in poor health. It wasn’t easy to keep her alive, you can thank Stablemaster McClary for that. He has a way with sick horses.”

“Thank you, Will.”

“Think nothing of it, John.”

Another voice cut the silence, “Ahh, I was told I’d find you here.” It was the colonel, Dansby, “How are you feeling, Major Dryden?”

“Much improved, sir, thank you.”

“Ahh, well I had a moment and I wanted to tell you that a few of your boys had walked into Andaban this morning. Well, not your troopers, but a few of your sepoys made it in. Said they had hidden in the mountains and then marched over the pass once things had cooled down. They were led out by an officer, one Captain Khathan, I believe. He said he knows you, that you can vouch for him that he’s not a spy.”

“I know him, and I can. He’s a damned good fighter. We fought together in the last push.”

“Well then, let’s head down to see him, and get him and his small party of sepoys released.”

“Why do you need me?”

“Well, I want to make sure he is who he says he is. Could be someone else using his name.” The colonel explained.

“You go, Dryden. I have other business. If you want to ride Rosie, just talk to McClary.” Havelock nodded and walked off abruptly.

Dryden followed Dansby out of the stables and off down another unfamiliar street that looked and felt just like the last.

“So, the last stand, eh?” The greying colonel asked.

“Indeed, sir. We nearly made it out. It was that damned wall they put up across the pass itself. We lost so many men there, too many…” He trailed off. They walked in silence for a time afterwards.

Dansby broke the silence, “You know I was good friends with Colonel Gorst when we were younger.”

“I had heard that, yes.”

“We weren’t finished with you telling me the whole story, however. You told me what I needed to know of the witch and her necromancy. I think it will help us defend Andaban. What of the end, though? What of my friend? What of his men? I’m old enough to know there’s no such thing as a good death, lad, but there are better ones and worse ones. Which kind did he have?”

Dryden stopped and found a bench to sit upon, “I need a moment, sir if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Dansby sat next to him.

“I beg to disagree. I’ve seen men die well, sir. A few. There were no good deaths after we got to Golconda, nor afterwards when we broke out, nor even when we made our last stand at the pass. No good deaths there at all, sir, except for Colonel Gorst. He had as good a death as I’ve seen in this life.”

Dansby’s eyes had tears in them as he listened, “I’d hear it if you’re willing.”

“I am,” Dryden said, and then he told the colonel all he had seen, and of the death of the army.