Chapter 1246: The great hunger(2)
Chapter 1246: The great hunger(2)
Great men in iron scurried along the gutter, the long, spear-like halberds of the heavy infantry slung over their massive shoulders as they scanned the shuttered windows with a hunter’s vigilance.
"Thank you again," the woman muttered for the last time , her voice disappearing into the folds of her rags as she darted down a narrow alley like a startled mouse.
The heavy, rhythmic clinking of iron plate grew closer as two legionaries approached Vilon. The first man tracked the retreating shape of the woman with a squint of deep suspicion, while the second kept his eyes locked steady on the young knight’s crest.
"Morning," Vilon greeted.
"Morning. Kakunian, yes?" the second asked. He was clearly a veteran, as proved by his sunken eyes framed by an open-visor helmet, revealing a square face darkened by a thick, unwashed stubble.
Vilon nodded. "Aye. " Well actually he was Ezvanians but he basically grew up in Kakunia.
The first legionary, who was methodically chewing on a piece of salted lard between his teeth, regarded Vilon with a long, measuring gaze, like he wanted to see whether the giant was trouble, or about to walk into some.
"You looking for a woman to fuck?" the lard-chewer asked bluntly.
Vilon coughed, the suddenness of the question striking him like a blunt arrow. "No. No, I do not."
"Well, good for you," the man said, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe a word of it. "If the itch catches you, don’t go following these local women down the dark alleys. Pick the place yourself, in the open. You may get yourself gazed at by some perverted old man, but better trouble sleeping at night from shame than getting the sleep that never ends.
We’ve had three this week, poor bastards being lured into abandoned tenements by some willing girl, only for four Oizenian dock-rats to jump out of the shadows with meat cleavers. They cut their throats, take the armor, the coin, and the blade. If you want a piece, I can point you to a respectable brothel down by the western gate where some of my boys have been crowding. The women are thin, hell, everything is starved in this shit-hole, but at least you won’t get your neck shagged open during the night."
"Thank you, but no thank you," Vilon said. A small, cold stone dropped into his stomach. The woman had mentioned an empty house just a few blocks over. Could she have been...? He forced the thought down, refusing to believe it. He had given her a silver. A silver bought a lot of grain; she had no need to sell his throat to a gang. Ride and be a good knight, the voice reminded him.
And a good ser was supposed to help maidens in need.
"This fucking city," the lard-chewer muttered, spitting a grey glob of fat onto the cobbles. "We march in, we sets up soup kitchens, we share our own damn rations with their squalling brats, and how do they thank us? By stabbing the first lonely soldier who looks for a bit of warmth." He sighed, looking up at the high, white towers of the palace. " Prince is too soft on them."
"It’s the King now," the square-faced one corrected instantly.
"Shit, you’re right. The King," Drustan muttered, shaking his head. "The King has been too kind to these leeches. Should have let us sack the upper district for three days. If we’d burned a few stores and hanged the merchants from their own balconies, we’d see if these dock-rats still had the courage to pull that alley-cat shit. Instead, we’re the ones playing watchmen, protecting the very folk who prayed for our deaths a month ago. You get me, right? You seem like an all-right dude."
"I do," Vilon said quietly. And he did. He had seen the bodies hanging from the wooden scaffoldings near the grain markets. On the first few days of the occupation, there had been plenty of soldiers who thought a conquered city meant free meat. The King’s justice had been swift; the rapists were strung up before sundown. Now, those cases were fewer, though the number of desperate locals turning to murder in the dark didn’t seem to clear.
Though they were clearly fighting against those too, he had passed a maniple of men raid a building and forcing man to their stomach as they took the cache of weapon behind them.
They had found even armor inside.
Useless to say it would be the rope for them too.
"Can’t wait to turn my back on Oizen and go back to Yarzat," the square-faced soldier complained, rubbing his gloved hands together to catch some warmth. "This place is cold, it’s depressing, and the people are sour as turned milk. You look at them, and you can tell they’re just waiting for another host from the East to come and ’rescue’ them from us.Tough luck on that, last one still rotting on the muddy of the Ford."
"We’ll soon be out of their hair," the other said, trying to appease his companion as he adjusted the heavy strap of his helmet "Word from the subcenturii is that we’re only days out from departing. The core legions are moving out first, leaving just a skeleton garrison to hold the walls."
’’High time, if you ask me," the square-faced one said, scratching at the stubble on his neck before turning his attention back to Vilon’s massive frame. He gave a crooked, half-amused grin. "Sorry about that, then. So you’re dead certain you don’t want a direction to that house? A man of your size must carry a heavy burden in your britches."
"No, thank you. I am not searching for night companions," Vilon repeated, his northern accent clipping the words firmly.
"You married, then?" The soldier looked him up and down, evaluating the clean-shaven jaw. "Bit too young for that, I’d wager. Though I grant you’re tall enough to pass for a veteran of three campaigns... too bad you ain’t got a proper beard to match." He rubbed his own patchy stubble, evidently proud of the sparse hairs he called a beard.’’Ladies like them beard, ya know?Drustan by the way.’’
"No,I did not , thank you for your wisdom,Drustan.Name’s Vilon " he said, drawing himself up slightly so that his breastplate caught the dim November light. "And I have the honor to be a knight."
He spoke as if the title explained everything, though to a pair of professional trench-rats from the regular legions, it clearly did not.
Vilon could have sworn one of them even held pity in his eyes. Now wasn’t that a mystery?
"Well then, Ser Knight, sorry for the bother," Drustan said, his demeanor turning slightly more respectful, if no less cynical. "Just keep a sharp eye on the dark corners. It’d be a right shame if, after surviving that bloody meat-grinder at the Ford, you met the five gods because of some dock-rat with a rusty skewer. Though, if you must go, at least you’d go out after a proper lay."
The two legionaries adjusted their heavy halberds, making a move to continue their patrol down the damp gutter.
"Actually," Vilon blurted out, stepping forward, "if I may bother you for a second more..."
The square-faced soldier paused, leaning his weight onto the shaft of his polearm. "Go on, big man."
"You were at the siege of the Bastion, right?" Vilon asked.
"You can bet your sweet ass on that," Drustan replied, a sudden, dark shadow crossing his features. "You Kakunians may think the Ford was a special kind of hell, but by the Weaver, the Bastion was the bloody warm-up. The worst three months of my miserable life. I wouldn’t go back there if the King himself offered to plate my codpiece in gold.Except for the opportunity to bath my halberd in blood there was little good in all that trouble." He let out a dry, hacking chuckle, and Vilon offered a polite, customary smile in return.
"Need something? Want some war stories to scare your squire with?Or to share with the ladies?" the square-faced one asked.
"Actually, no, though thank you for the offer, I am sure the ladies would indeed love any tale you may have come across. I am searching for a person. He fought at the siege."
"He still breathing?It’d be hard if not, we got all the deads burnt together."
Vilon nodded, a small flicker of hope warming his chest. "Aye. Even after the Ford."
"What’s his name, then?"
"Big Oaf Owen," Vilon said, the words sounding slightly ridiculous now that he was speaking them to proper soldiers. "He’s tall, not quite as tall as me, mind you, but built like a square block of stone. He’s a lad of an easy laugh and a slow mind, if you take my meaning."
Drustan whistled through his teeth. "Sorry, mate. Ain’t got anyone like that in the Fourth. What about you, Marq?" He turned to his companion, who simply shook his head, his helmet rattling against his iron collar.
"Did he tell you what unit he fought in? Was he legion?" Marq asked, finding the puzzle more entertaining than staring at closed Oizenian shutters.
It was Vilon’s turn to shake his head. "No. No uniform like yours."
"Well, that means he was either part of the Yarzat feudal levies or the Herculian auxiliaries,bit harder to find him now..." Marq noted, his analytical mind tracking the logistics of the Prince’s host, or rather, the King’s host.
"He told me he lived in a village," Vilon explained, racking his thick brain for the details of those long, cold campfires. "He told me the name of the place once, but for the life of me, I cannot recall it. Somewhere near your capital, I think. He mentioned how the recruiters came riding through the fields near his home asking for recruit."
"Could be anywhere in the crownlands, then," Drustan said, spitting another remnant of lard onto the stones. "If you say recruiters, it was definitely the royal levy. The provincial lords usually just use forced conscription, drag the boys out of the beds by their hair. But the crownlands had recruiters at the start of every campaign. They usually only do those near the capital however....most certainly Yarzat.
The lads let the plow drop out of their hands to take up cheap steel, hoping to hit it big and win a piece or a sack of silver. Some do, most don’t. That’s just the true nature of war, ain’t it? Some come back to the plow with some silver , and others just feed the crows."
Drustan pointed with the iron beak of his halberd toward the great structures dominating the skyline. "Tell you what, Ser Knight. You’ll have a sight better luck if you head down to the eastern gate district. That vast empty quarter behind the old granaries is where most of the Yarzat crownland levies are sleeping until the march orders are drawn."
"Eastern?" Vilon asked, his eyes instinctively drifting toward the opposite side of the grand avenue where the sun was struggling to break through the grey mist. "I thought..."
"Nah, that’s west you’re looking at," Drustan laughed. He looked Vilon up and down once more, noticing the genuine exhaustion in the young knight’s face. "Tell you what... do you want me to accompany you? Our patrol route ends near the granary square anyway."
Vilon blinked in surprise. "You can? You won’t get in trouble with your centurion?"
"I ain’t got much hanging around, and my feet are freezing ," Drustan said, clapping his gloved hands together. "Besides, you seem like an all right dude to share a walk. And I’ve got a few questions for you at the field, makes for a really nice conversation on a long walk.Your lord a bit of a celebrity, ya know?"
Vilon wouldn’t have been happier if he had found a purse full of gold lying right there on the mud-stained cobbles. He gave a massive, toothy grin that made him look like the boy he still was beneath the heavy plate. "Lead the way, friend. I’ll tell you everything I remember about him."