Wood creaked in time with the hoofbeats of two tired draft horses at the front of their overladden carriage. Following the battle nearly a week ago, most of his men walked beside the carriage while Doug and Edgar took their turn at the driver's seat. Weary feet padded along at a glacial pace as the entire group traded places via a rotation on the only sitting room available on the cart, fully aware that they were pushing the horses hard to even maintain their current pace. No one cared though, not with the pressure of a hundred ravening skeletons at their back.
Doug looked over his men as they trudged through the softly falling snow that had just started to coat the land. White flakes spun through the air around them, dancing allong with the passing of the small group of men as they forced their way down the never ending road. They were coming close to their destination at this point, approximately eight days' travel to the south of Midton, and close to one of the largest fortresses allong the southern border.
As of now, however, no sight of Fort Seton had reached them quite yet. So they walked, and walked, and walked.
Only a single man from their group had sustained any true injuries, a man named Oleg who had broken his leg during the ambush. Doug smiled to himself as he thought about the snarky chirps the men had given him considering his name, but as they hastened their pace following the attack their humor hadn’t lasted them very long. The men now walked sullenly, ready to finally end this march as soon as possible.
The last time Harrant had walked behind the cart to check on him, Oleg hadn't seemed much more happy with the situation. He looked out at the road with hollow eyes and a thin grimace as he held his crossbow constantly at the ready, watching for attackers. Thing was, Doug was pretty sure none of his men would even bat an eye if they were attacked by bandits or something of the like. Killing men was routine to them, but what they had just faced? Well, even after surviving the encounter none of the men felt particularly safe on the open roads anymore. Not when they all knew they worked for the goddess that almost sent them to their deaths on this trip.
Harrant let his mind wander with the falling snow. He didn't want to think about what that said about their employer.
—
A tall thick wall enclosed the large fort against the white carpet surrounding the encampment for a thousand paces in every direction. Everything within sight was a barren landscape devoid of cover or even the barest hint of a hill or dip in the land. The perfect type of place for a battlefield, and any enemies worst nightmare if they had to attack the fort. In the far distance, along the southern edge of the fort the field did eventually dip into a dark river with only a hint of ice along the slower moving edges of the current.
Harrant had exchanged places with another two men on the driver's seat by the time they made it to the gatehouse, and the massive iron palisade rose slowly as they approached. The eyes looking down on them from the top of the gate house had been expecting them it seemed, already accepting their small number as allies in the cold due to the distinctive green shoulderguards they all wore.
A single guardsman stopped them just inside the barricade as the gatehouse closed back up behind them. A month ago Harrant would have been unnerved by the situation as thoughts of dual loyalties pulled at him from both sides, but now he was too tired for that. He walked up to the guard to hear what things were about, and deal with the consequences either way.
“We've heard that your convoy was attacked along the way. No survivors.” The guard said.
“Well you heard wrong. Our force mage died on the field so we couldn't send any messages ahead of us, but we're here now.”
“You left your mage behind?” The man asked.
“We left behind the mages corpse nehind, and the dead bodies of close to twenty other men when we ran.” Harrant's voice was hard in the face of this questioning. He wasn't about to allow these men to label them as cowards just because they had lived. “So yeah, we fled after the battle was already more than lost.”
The guard in front of him went a bit pale as Harrant mentioned his casualties. After a moment of consideration however, he waved them forward and led them deeper into the small town. A strange mix of wooden and stone buildings comprised the bastion, though most of them seemed to be built of thick stone bricks laid atop one another. The houses weren't as fancy as most of the stone buildings in Midton, but they certainly looked sturdy as he saw a varied group of men and women conducting their daily tasks.
A forge rang out over the open street with the chime of several blacksmith's hammers falling one after the other. A dog barked in the distance, and several birds picked away at some unknown food left in the cracks of the road until they dispersed at the sound of the oncoming cart. It reminded Harrant of any other town except for the large number of soldiers milling about for every one individual in workers' clothing. This was a war camp through and through despite the well established nature of the dwellings, though perhaps even those too were influenced by the defensive architecture of the entire town.
Everything here had its purpse as they passed several smithies, granaries, wells, and even a couple taverns, all of which were interspersed with small tenements and houses. They eventually cut through the center of town to find a rather large stone building interconnected with the southern edge of the wall. Considering the large amount of people walking in and out of the building over a sturdy drawbridge, it seemed to be some strange combination of a town hall and a defensive position all at the same time.
A peek over the side of the drawbridge revealed nothing but a well dug out hole lined with sharpened pieces of wood ready to impale anyone who fell in. More black birds hopped about below, moving from pile to pile of refuse the citizens had evidently either lost, or purposely allowed to fall into the rotting dredge at the bottom of the empty moat. His men packed in closely behind the cart as it just barely fit over the thin drawbridge into a small courtyard within. A group of soldiers came up shortly after and began offloading the stored boxes within the cart as someone else brought up a few treats for the horses.
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“Sergeant Harrant? Is there a Sergeant Harrant here?” A commanding voice bellowed over the moving workers, causing everyone to stop for just a moment until Doug started jogging over to the voice.
“That would be me sir!” Harrant tried to put a pep in his voice like he was used to hearing from his brother, but was met with an uninterested glare just the same.
“You're supposed to be in charge of this convoy, are you not?” A grizzled man spoke from beneath his graying mustache and disheveled armor.
“I am sir.” Doug responded.
“Then what the hell happened to the rest of it?” The man didn't quite yell, but was obviously upset about the situation.
“We were attacked sir. I got as many of our men out as we could but…” He let the words taper off, not wanting to go into too much detail in public.
“But what, Sergeant?” The man pushed.
Harrant tried to choose his words carefully as he spoke, “But we were attacked by an unknown power sir. They swarmed the caravan and killed our force mage before we found an opening to escape.”
He could tell that more than a couple of the nearby workers were trying to listen in on the conversation, surprised faces marking the few of them that weren't quite as good at hiding their interest in the report. His men crowded around him however, resolute as even Oleg stumbled up, half held up by two companions, to back up his story if the need arose.
The elderly gentleman simply narrowed his eyes at the situation.
“I'm Major Watson, and considering the fact you'll be staying here for a good long while, your new commander at this post. Pick your bags up and follow my men to your quarters. I will however be expecting a more detailed report as soon as your squad is settled. Is that understood?”
Harrant straightened up into a quick salute to the man, then followed the commander's staff deeper into the fort. After his men were taken care of, and he had a chance to meet with Major Watson in a more private room, he'd have to convince the man to let them go back to the capital city. This was no place for them to be.
—
“Absolutely not!” The major bellowed from the other side of his desk.
“Sir, this was just supposed to be a transport mission before I reported back to the capital! You can't just make us stay.” Doug tried to argue.
“I can and I will soldier! Something is gathering on the other side of that river and I'll be damned if I let a group of veteran soldiers out of my eyesight before the battle is through.”
“Veteran soldiers? We've hardly been in the military for more than a month sir.”
“Aye, and you've already been promoted to Sergeant and managed to survive a near total defeat at an enemy mage's hands. If you were in my place, would you do any differently?”
Harrant let his eyes wander over the man's shoulder as he gazed out the wide set window at the back of the office, trying to keep his emotions in check. Dull gray clouds dispersed the day's soft smattering of snow across the sky, while Doug allowed himself to distance his thoughts from the conversation at hand.
The report had gone well enough, the Major taking his story seriously even when he recounted the skeleton attack that sounded like something out of a children's story. Maybe it was the fact that something important had to have happened in order to cause a force mage to die in the battle, so there was at least some sense of preparation for the outlandish to occur. But when he had tried to steer the conversation back towards the topic of getting his men back to the capital? Well.
“Look, I get it. You’ve got it good back at home with your brother running the garrison, I'm sure of it. All that I'm asking is that you put in a bit of good work here, help us stave off whatever force is camping out across the river, then go back home with a couple war trophies to help along your career eh?” Major Watson said.
“It wasn't part of the plan.” Doug still refused to meet the man's eyes.
“Right, just like I wasn't planning on getting hit sometime halfway through the winter season. We all do our part here soldier, just like you.”
Harrant could see that he wasn't getting anywhere with the man, pursed his lips, and saluted.
“Roger sir. We'll support you in the upcoming battle until we can earn a well deserved rest back at the capital.” Doug bargained even as he accepted the demands, and the Major nodded in response, then excused him from the room.
Harrant dropped the salute and left the room without any of the fancy facing movements that other soldiers liked to use all the time. The door slammed behind him, revealing just a little bit of his emotions as he stomped down the cold hallways towards the meeting room he had left the rest of his men in.
When he got there, they were all gathered around the fire, a motley crew with drawn faces despite what should have been a welcome stop after the last week. Edgar was the first to notice him as he arrived and sat down with the rest of the group, pouring him a cup of ale from the pitcher as he sat.
“Boss, they tell you about what was in the boxes?” The one eyed man asked as the rest of the group brought their attention over to the ‘Sergeant’ in charge.
“The boxes?” He asked.
“Uh yeah, I through that with that look on your face you must of found out on your way back.”
“What happened?”
“Oh uh. Well…” Someone else spoke over Edgar as he struggled to reveal the news.
“The crates didn't have any money in them, just weapons. Lots and lots of crossbows so they said.” Oleg called over from the side of the table where his leg had been placed into a simple splint. “I overheard them talking while I was at the infirmary. Ain't no one getting paid until we get out of this dump alive.”
The room quieted once again at the words and Harrant finally understood why his men were so glum as he walked in here. They'd been lied to for some reason. Were told these caravans supposedly held a king's ransom in gold, and paid for it with their lives.
And now Harrant had to tell them that they couldn't even go home until something big enough to make a border garrison nervous was taken care of. Just fucking great.