Harbinger’s End: Herald Free Preview (chapter nine)

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The Praetorian

Part 8

He was still holding the grimal claw when he returned to his quarters. He was about to disarm when he noticed a note lying on his pillow summoning him to the east watch tower immediately. He sighed, removed his weapons, rubbed his eyes and left.

The way up to the tower was long and strenuous on the best of days, but for Duncan, every step left a burning sensation in his legs. The doctor was right. He needed to rest. Soon, he promised himself. After this Godforsaken meeting. It was approaching late afternoon and the sun was beginning to set. The temperature was dropping. Duncan’s impatience was rising.

He entered the foot of the tower and stared at the long ascent he had yet to make. He estimated that it had to be at least a dozen stories high, though for all he cared it might just as well have been a hundred. Every step reminded him of his promise to seek rest, and his body ached even more as he continued the climb. Why was he hurting so much? He had passed endurance tests as a cadet (never mind what he went through as a Praetorian!) which were far worse than this. Why did his body protest now?

Duncan felt physically and emotionally defeated. He still believed in the Praetorship’s integrity, but now there was a scratch on the Keep’s armor. Its emblem was tarnished. Perhaps if he’d done more to convince Wallace of his errors, Duncan wouldn’t be here now and seven hundred Praetorians wouldn’t have fallen. He berated himself for thinking such thoughts. He wasn’t angry with himself. Duncan was angry with his marshal. Wallace’s illustrious career was soon to be recorded as having ended with the most astounding loss in the organization’s history.

Damn you, Wallace, cursed Duncan. Why do I have to be the one to tell the world about your dishonor?

Duncan finally reached the top. The parapet was about four meters square and afforded a spectacular view of the craggy surroundings. Duncan wasn’t in the mood for sightseeing, though. He sat down heavily with his back against a crenel.

The two scouts on duty watched his arrival and noticed his rank insignia. “Sir, is there something we can—”

“No, private, thank you,” groaned Duncan, “I’m just here to meet someone. I’ll be fine. Return to your watch.”

They glanced at a third person before complying. Duncan followed their line of sight with his eyes half-shut. He hadn’t noticed the presence of this one when he got here. The stranger approached him. A long fur cloak hid an attractive, athletic figure. The stranger was Duncan’s height with long dark hair and oak-brown eyes.

The captain felt himself drifting off to sleep. He needed to get back to his quarters!

“Get up, Praetorian!” The woman’s voice was sweet but commanding. The scouts looked at each other in dismay. Praetorians generally didn’t allow themselves to be addressed in such a fashion. Then again, strange rumors were circulating about the Praetorship lately.

The voice sounded oddly familiar to Duncan. He opened his eyes and stared at the woman’s face. His eyes widened and he smiled. “What are you doing here?”

She grinned back. “What do you think?”

He glanced at the scouts who were pretending not to hear. “You’re trying to embarrass me,” he mumbled.

Jarren Entigen chuckled and knelt beside him. She jerked his chin up and kissed him. Duncan lifted his hand and stroked the back of her head. She pulled back after a moment and put his face in her hands. The impish grin returned.

“That was awful. I think I scraped my chin on your stubble.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve been in the field for weeks and—”

“And you couldn’t bring a razor?”

Duncan leaned his head against the side of the parapet and stared at her with a futile expression. “You enjoy doing this to me, don’t you?”

Jarren held his hands in hers and nodded. “Isn’t love wonderful?”

She pulled him up to his feet and they embraced. They held each other closely and kissed again for what seemed to Duncan to be an eternity. The scouts looked away jealously, wondering why they never joined the Praetorship.

Stay tuned for the next chapter…

Buy Harbinger’s End: Herald in print or ebook for maps, extra material and a preview of Harbinger’s End: The Time of Meeting.

www.halcyonchronicles.com

Harbinger’s End: Herald Free Preview (chapter eight)

Buy the full book at www.halcyonchronicles.com

The Praetorian

Part 7

An hour passed. Marcus was shocked at hearing Duncan’s story. Neither captain was quite sure what to do next. Obviously, a report would have to be filed, but this was no ordinary report. A priority message would have to be dispatched to Valor’s Keep. There would be an investigation and testimony would have to be heard from each of the surviving soldiers. Marshal Wallace was sure to receive a posthumous court-martial. It was decided that Duncan’s group would remain at the Palladum until the Keep responded. In the meantime, Marcus begged his counterpart’s leave to obtain advice from a higher authority. Duncan didn’t bother to ask who it was. Usually, the regional marshal was responsible for such matters but Wallace was dead. Duncan didn’t know who would assume this authority and at this point, he didn’t care. The last thing he wanted to do was relive the battle again.

Duncan found himself wandering around the vicinity of the extra barracks where his platoon would be staying. He decided to head for the officers’ quarters where a change of clothes awaited him. Duncan ran his hand along his tattered armor. He was still dressed in the same outfit that he had been wearing during the battle.

Duncan resolved to find the bathhouse, but first he needed to check up on his wounded charges. He jogged down to the lowest level and headed for a nearby bridge. As he did so, off-duty soldiers and civilian attendants looked at him and whispered softly to one another.

The heretical Teivan officer who led his charges through the forest unmolested, mused Duncan sourly. The rumors are already spreading.

He mounted the stairs that led to the bridge’s walkway and strode briskly along the overpass. It was a narrow path, perhaps two meters wide. He glanced down and noted the long fall to the cold river below. There were four archers on duty here and he brushed past them. He reached the other side and descended the stairs. He was now on the western half of the fortress, the part he was less familiar with. He asked for directions from a passing private and made his way to the field hospital. Once there, he sent the troops who had been treated to the barracks, ordering them to get some sleep. He then entered the hospital.

The place was large and spacious. The common room had about one hundred and fifty beds, a quarter of which were filled with the sick and injured. Duncan approached a nurse and asked her to direct him to his people. She led him to one of the far corners, a spot that had been separated from the rest. Duncan’s injured had been transferred from their stretchers into twelve beds, including Blaine, who had stayed behind and was now fast asleep. The captain thanked the nurse and looked at his troops sadly. This wasn’t the first time people had been injured or killed under his command, nor would it be the last. Ordering others to their deaths was an unpleasant fact for a military leader that he didn’t think he would ever be comfortable doing.

“You’re their captain,” came a voice from behind.

Duncan wheeled around to find a doctor staring at him. The woman was short and dark-skinned like Marcus. Her long hair was tied into a tight bun that hung at the back of her head.

“Yes,” he answered. “How bad are they?”

“They’re resting now,” she replied. She indicated the patients closest to her. “These six should make a full recovery. They lost a lot of blood, but none of their wounds is life threatening. Whoever administered their first aid did a topnotch job.”

“Praetorians are trained to do so in battle. We carry our own medical supplies.”

The doctor responded wryly. “So I’ve heard. This captain should pull through as well, though she has a nasty gash in her side. She won’t be up for at least another week. Frankly, I’m surprised she was conscious when she entered the fortress.”

“Captain Blaine is a virtuous fighter.”

The doctor ignored him. “These others, though, I can’t be sure about. The next twenty-four hours are critical. We cleaned up their wounds as best we could, but it may be too much trauma for their bodies to handle. This one’s left lung was punctured. We extracted a grimal claw from the wound. He may not even live through the night.”

She held out the claw and Duncan took it. It was the size of his thumb. It was hard to imagine that such a small weapon could cause so much harm.

“We don’t even know his name,” stated Duncan somberly.

“Pardon?”

“That corporal who had the claw in his lung. He was part of the scouting party that reported to us about Ravelin. None of us knew his name.”

The doctor nodded solemnly and started to walk off. “There’s nothing you can do for them now. When they regain consciousness, we’ll let them know you were here. You don’t look too well yourself. Knowing how to rest and recuperate is as important a virtue as knowing how to fight.”

The doctor headed over to her office and sent a nurse out to monitor the patients. Duncan decided not to argue the point with her. He was too tired.

Stay tuned for the next chapter…

Buy Harbinger’s End: Herald in print or ebook for maps, extra material and a preview of Harbinger’s End: The Time of Meeting.

www.halcyonchronicles.com