Normally, Ulrick prided himself on being an obedient soldier. He followed orders, to the point where his old sergeants used to tell him to take a deep breath, relax. That he wouldn’t be court martialed for not executing orders exactly how his betters told him to. Even Eza, one of the most uptight people he knew, had told him to relax a time or two.
Was running off to steal horses probably what Eza had in mind when she’d said that? Absolutely not. But, maybe she’d think twice before telling him that he needed to learn to rebel every once and awhile.
The horses weren’t that well guarded: just one sentry, who’d fallen asleep at the stable door. Sneaking past him wasn’t exactly difficult. The horses didn’t even seem to mind him putting saddles on them, or bridles. He took it as a sign from the Gods: his horse wasn’t even that patient with him while he fumbled with straps.
Thanks, Caithe, he thought to himself as he mounted one horse, holding the reigns of the other. To think: he’d been wondering if the goddess had brought him back just so Blair could kill him again just an hour earlier-
The rapport of rifles pierced the night, louder than the thunder. Right in the direction of…
Shit! Of course, Eza had managed to find trouble.
Ulrick sent his horses into a gallop, racing towards the tavern. Praying that he’d reach them in time.
***
Eza was going to kill Ulrick.
Her plan had been so simple, so impossible to screw up: get in, get Ulrick, get out. Easy; nobody would have any idea that anything was amiss until they were back in Airde. But, of course, Ulrick wanted to go and save the day. And she let herself get dragged along for the ride. Now, he’d either wandered off or been recaptured, and she was pinned down with a girl who looked like she’d never even seen a rifle.
She didn’t care if he was dead, or even if she ended up dying that night, herself. She was going to find him, and she was going to kill him.
Eza ducked behind the wall as she reloaded. The situation was getting uglier and uglier. By her count, there were ten Giskens firing at them, give or take. Ten Giskens versus one her. And she didn’t have much ammunition left. Her best bet of survival was to retreat, shake off those Giskens. But, to do that, she’d have to move from her cover, face a hail of bullets. Drag a civilian through a hail of bullets. And as far as she knew, whatever lay beyond that position was far worse than what she was experiencing. And as far as she knew, they were planning to rush her right then, or maybe flank her. That’s what she would do.
All she knew was that she wasn’t going to let the Giskens take her alive.
“What’s the plan?”
Eza turned to Elise. She’d pulled a knife out. A kitchen knife, one that barely looked sharp. As if she intended to rush the Giskens with it while they reloaded.
I like this one. If Eza had had the heart to tell her that they were probably going to die that night, before, she certainly didn’t now.
“Get the hell out of here,” Eza said as she began firing, again.
“How are we going to do that?!”
Good question.
However, as if on cue, Eza began to hear something: horses. Horses, another gun firing, and Giskens screaming about a prisoner.
Eza took a deep breath. “Cavalry’s here.”
The firing stopped as Ulrick rode up. Suspicious; they needed to get going.
“Why’d they stop?” Eza demanded as Ulrick rode up on a black charger, another horse in tow.
Ulrick grinned like a maniac. “The charger’s Fleischer’s.”
Nice.
“I don’t know how to ride a horse,” Elise said.
“Can you shoot?” Eza asked as she mounted the second horse.
Elise nodded. Not a hint of hesitation.
I hope you’re not lying.
“That’s good,” Eza said as Elise climbed onto the horse. Eza handed her the rifle. “You’ve gotta cover us while we get out of here.”
Eza didn’t wait for Elise to say anything, or for the Giskens to decide whether or not killing them was worth risking the life of their general’s horse: she gave a nod, and the three of them raced out of Thaos, Ulrick leading the way.
***
Finn watched Elise and the two Watcmen as they rode out of the city in shock. His mind struggled to wrap around what he’d just seen. That second Watchman had tried to shoot him, had managed to graze his arm. They’d stolen General Fleischer’s prized horse. And… that second Watchman had looked familiar. Like a ghost of his past, come back to haunt him after five years of trying to forget.
That second Watchman had looked exactly like General Kurzhak’s daughter. Had the same scar and everything.
But, that was impossible: she’d died soon after Ilyaskoe. There was no way a twelve-year-old had managed to survive the massacres that had followed the siege-
“Sir?!”
Finn looked to the side at Lieutenant Levegh.
“What were you saying?” Finn asked.
“… I was asking if you needed a doctor. For your arm.”
Finn looked down at his arm. Right: he was still bleeding. He didn’t even feel it, now.
Battle shock. He was very familiar with it, though it had been awhile since he’d felt it.
“Sir, are you okay?” Levegh asked.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “What were General Fleischer’s orders?”
“He’s sending Sergeant al’Heida after them with a few of his men.”
Blair was going after them? They didn’t have much of a chance, then. The part of him that could still feel felt remorse. But, a much bigger part of him couldn’t feel a thing. They were dead. If not, they were going to be dragged back there, and the torture would begin, again. Until the General finally decided to kill all of them.
That was the nature of a campaign in the Gisken army.
“Sir, I think we need to get you to the doctor,” Lieutenant Levegh said. “You need to get looked at.”
Finn didn’t argue as Lieutenant began to call for Dr. Braun.
***
Elise, as it turned out, was afraid of horses.
She remembered being fascinated by horses as a child, thinking that it would be great fun to ride on one. Have the wind roar in her ear, run its cold fingers through her hair. Race away from all her problems on a majestic animal.
As she rode on that horse with the Watchman, however, all of those childish ideations fell away. As it turned out, being on a horse was terrifying: they were fast, and they didn’t care if you were struggling to stay on them; they were going to keep running whether their rider was still on their back or not.
Combine that with the knowledge that Gisken riders intent on killing them likely weren’t too far behind, Elise was officially more afraid now than she’d ever been in her life.
“How far back are they?” the Watchman yelled over the wind as she spurred the horse forward. Frankly, Elise was shocked that she was able to breathe with how tightly she was holding on to her.
She managed to loosen her grip to turn around to look.
Elise had to squint to see past the darkness and the rain that pelted her. She could see it in the distant wood line: lights. Dim, orange, warm. Lanternlight, bouncing. Dancing. Coming a little closer every second.
She knew exactly what it was the second she saw it.
“They’re catching up!” Elise called out.
The Watchman glanced over her shoulder and immediately cursed.
As if to punctuate the situation, a gunshot rang out, splintering a nearby tree.
Elise’s heart leaped into her throat.
“Remember when I asked if you could shoot?” the Watchman asked.
Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought. She was going to have to let go of the Watchman to do that. And she barely knew how to use a rifle properly; it was going to take a miracle for her to figure out how to shoot to kill while turning around in her seat. On a horse. Which she could barely manage to stay on, even while gripping onto the Watchman for dear life.
Gods help us all! She thought to herself as she slowly let go of the Watchman, praying that she wouldn’t fall off the second she did.
Another gunshot whizzed through the air. Elise could feel it brush past her head.
Her blood ran cold. Just a couple centimeters to the left, and it would’ve killed her.
“Elise: if you want to survive the night, you’re going to have to start taking shots!” the Watchman yelled as more bullets cut through the night.
Elise nodded and unslung the rifle that the Watchman had given her from her back.
Fighting against her quivering arms, Elise turned around in the saddle, pumping the lever as she did.
She took aim as best she could at the lead rider and fired.
The gun recoiled into her shoulder, hard enough that it nearly knocked her off the horse, launched the barrel upwards. The firery blast from the rifle shook her entire body to the core, sent the acrid smell of burning gunpowder up her nose. For the most part, the raw power held in that rifle scared her. Part of her, though, was exhilarated.
For all the excitement, however, she knew full well that she didn’t hit anything: the riders were still gaining, and they didn’t seem fazed by the shot.
Panic began to set in.
“I can’t hit them!” Elise said, her hands shaking more. “W-we’re bouncing too mu-“
She felt like someone had smashed a hammer against her head. Hot, blinding pain sliced against her scalp, making her yelp. She could feel blood dripping from the wound.
A bullet graze.
“You alright?!” the Watchman asked. Elise could barely hear her past the throbbing.
She pumped the rifle lever, aimed, and fired, again.
That shot was even worse than the last one: the bullet hit a tree on the side of the road, far in front of the riders.
Elise felt hot tears streaming down her face. They were about to die, and it was all because she didn’t know how to shoot a Gods-damned rifle.
“I’m sorry,” she said past the lump in her throat. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Take a deep breath,” the Watchman ordered. “Pump the lever, take aim, but don’t fire, yet.”
Elise did what she ordered.
“Look down the barrel,” the Watchman said. “Line it up with what you want to hit and fire.”
She did her best to follow those instructions.
She fired.
She still missed the lead rider, but she managed to hit one of the men behind him. The horse began to lag behind, falling back from the rest of them.
Just five more to go.
“Two bullets left in that gun,” the Watchman called out. “Make ‘em count!”
Two bullets. For five riders that were gaining on them.
That was when Elise saw it. The lead rider was carrying a kerosene lamp. Maybe if she hit the lamp…
She took a deep breath and took aim.
She pumped the lever on the rifle and fired.
The shot went stray, hitting a rider in the stomach. He fell off the horse, grabbing at his stomach.
It occurred to her that she might’ve just killed a man. The thought only lingered for a few seconds, quickly replaced by the throbbing pain in her head, the deafening ringing in her ears, and the knowledge that all of them were going to die if she didn’t make that last shot.
Elise pumped the lever, took aim, and took as deep of breaths as she could manage.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Her vision – the whole world – seemed to narrow to a pinpoint, until the only things that existed were her, the rifle, and the lantern bobbing in the darkness like a giant firefly. Her heart slowed in her chest, the throbbing keeping time with it.
Gods, let me hit something!
Elise fired.
The light was blinding as the kerosene lantern shattered, the heat from the liquid fire that poured from it reaching even them. For a moment, she watched in awe, relief flooding her chest. She’d done it; it seemed impossible, but she’d done it.
And that was when the screaming started.
The second she heard it, she knew full well that she wouldn’t be able to forget it. The lead rider sounded inhuman, drowning out even the screaming of his horse as his uniform caught fire. The screaming shook her to the bone, clawed at her chest. She knew full well that those sounds – the sounds of a man being burned alive – would be in her nightmares for the rest of her life.
Elise slung the rifle back over her shoulder. The riders all stopped to aid their comrade, getting farther and farther back until they disappeared into the tree line.
She turned, holding onto the Watchman. “I got them,” she said, quiet enough that she doubted the Watchman even heard her.
She squeezed her eyes shut as another wave of pain washed over her. She didn’t know where they were going, but she hoped they weren’t far: she didn’t know how much longer she could last.
***
Blair stood over the charred corpses, a pit forming in his stomach. He’d known the man: Corporal Strauss, from a small town by the coast. He’d lead the group out of Thaos: the Caithians had stolen his horse, so he’d ordered them to ride ahead while he looked for another horse. He’d just managed to catch up with the rest of his riders when the Caithians shot the lantern, set the corporal on fire.
He could still hear him screaming. Could still smell the burnt hair, the charred flesh, the cotton uniform melted to skin. He had only one thought on his mind: that could’ve been me. It should’ve been me.
“Sergeant: what are your orders?”
The sound of Blair’s men pulled him back to reality. Back to the rain-soaked, tired, scared faces in front of him. All of them looked like they were trying too hard to not look at the burned remains of Corporal Strauss. Or the sounds of Private Katz struggling to hold onto his own life.
Blair’s blood began to boil. The corporal was the fifth of his men to die at the hands of the Watchman, and from the sounds of it, Private Katz would be number six. Two while the Watchman made a run from the front, two when the Watchman escaped their camp the first time.
The Watchman was going to pay for it. Every Caithian in that damned country was going to pay for it. And they’d pay with their blood.
“We’re going back to Thaos,” Blair said. “And we’re going to make certain that they know what happens to people who resist the Gisken Imperial Army!”
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