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“What do you mean that a witch attacked you at sea?” Sergeant Bowman asked skeptically.
They’d spent the better portion of the last half an hour trying to calm the man they’d found half drowned on the beach. They’d been able to get his name, Rackam Morland. Otherwise, most of what he sputtered was nonsense about rats and death.
“I mean just as I says. A woman with piercing red eyes and the darkest hair commanded rats that ate men! They moved as if they understood one another.” Rackam’s wild eyes barely saw the faces of the soldiers who had found him, reliving his horrors. “It was all I could do to escape!”
The sergeant looked to his squad leader, sharing their disbelief at the man’s tale. A witch on their side of the sea? One wouldn’t dare be so bold.
“Then you won’t mind coming with us until your story can be verified, will you?” Sergeant Bowman asked, not truly offering any option.
The sailor, Rackam shook his head, mumbling under his breath about knives being knocked from the air, and a swordsman that no one could touch.
The sergeant nodded to his squad leader, who’d been listening patiently to the side. With the assistance of another of their company, they dragged him out of sight. Judging by his appearance, let alone the filth that hadn’t been washed away by the sea, he doubted most of what they’d been told was actually built on truth.
“What do you think?” Lieutenant Coleman approached, glancing out across the water.
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The sergeant shook his head. “I think that we’ve found a pirate who fears the gallows. What better way than to concoct such a story?”
“An elaborate one at that.” The lieutenant agreed. “And what of the thrasher?”
They both turned to observe the man who stood at the top of the rise behind them. Second Lieutenant of the general’s thrasher division, Hubert Smythe moved as if he were weaving, but with nothing tangible in his grasp.
“Still waiting to hear back on whether or not there was an attack this morning.”
Lieutenant Coleman nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. The summer heat was much more tolerable along the shoreline than it was in the capital. “What do you think you’ll do when we get back to Ribnica?”
Sergeant Bowman ran his fingers along the length of his graying goatee. “I think I’ll see if I can be put on the wedding detail.”
“Oh?” The lieutenant raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware you enjoyed royal displays.”
Sergeant Bowman shook his head. “I don’t, but I’m tired of patrolling. I’d love nothing more than to stand around and do nothing for a few days.”
They shared a chuckle.
“Sergeant!”
They both turned their attention back to the top of the rise, and the thrasher who now raced towards them.
“What did they say?” Sergeant Bowman asked, wondering why the man bothered with running.
“There was a pirate attack out at sea. About eight miles of the coast. We received a distress signal around ten o’clock this morning.”
“Current must have dragged him in.” Coleman said, surprised.
“There are signs that a witch was on board. The First General wants us to meet him in Kearru to investigate the ship involved.”
“The First General?!” The lieutenant’s mouth dropped open. “What is he doing out here? Does he not remember that his—”
“Does it look like I’m willing to question a direct order?” Smythe interrupted with a shake of his head. “You’ve clearly never met the man.”
The sergeant nodded grimly. “I’ve met him plenty, and no, he doesn’t care, Lieutenant Coleman. Gods bless his poor bride.” With a few barked orders to the men who’d been resting while they waited, they were on the road again within the quarter hour.
Their witness would likely be hanged once the merchant captain confirmed that he was not one of his crew. But until then, Mr. Morland was given a spare mount to follow along behind them, hoping that his assistance would spare his life.