Old Dog, New Tricks (The so-called Chapter 6)

“Spread out.” Lieutenant Risa Sturmpike scanned the woods for any sign of movement. Nothing. Only the gentle sway of the boxwoods as their mantles of summer-green were blown by the wind, and the hum of cicadas.

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Beside her the white gravel scar of the road back to Dellport beckoned. One order and her team could be on their way home. It was a day’s march, but an easy one. The road cut like a ribbon through the fields, skirting fingers of wooded hills and ridges until finally the journey would end in beer, wine and, if she was lucky, the arms of a lover. She looked up at where the thin column of smoke rose into the summer sky. It sounded good in theory. The only problem was that for her, luck had never been a dependable commodity.

Beside her, she noticed that her sergeant, Sweetlip wore a similar expression. “What do you think?” She asked. She followed his gaze from the road to the woods, and back to the smoldering husk of what had once been the very image of the word idyllic; a rustic, cottage surrounded by golden fields of ripening rice, their heads bowing beneath the weight of their precious grain.

“They're still here,” said Sweetlip. “Or not far away.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “Could even be that they’re looking right at us.”

She nodded, watching Python, Kearney and Weasel make their way back from one of the outbuildings. “If you’re right then we should take cover.”

He smirked, then the expression turned dark. “If I'm right?” He sniffed disapproval. “There's been no sign they have bows with them. Not a single arrow. If they want to engage it will be close up.” His lip curled in distaste. “I’d put good money on it that it's the same outfit responsible for the last place we saw too.”

Her gut told her to back away, take the road and get them home safe.

You should go. You don't belong here. As always the voice was in her mind but sounded as if it came from right beside her. It sounded like her dead grandfather. He'd been dead since she was nearly too young to remember.

She noticed Sweetlip looking at her, a concerned look on his face. I should go? I should bloody go? An understatement if ever she'd heard one. Under her breath she said, “Go and haunt someone else, you old goat.” It never hurt to ask. Hells, she was probably crazy. But who really knew? In any case it seemed to shut him up this time, which was just as well.

Sweetlip pointed to the side of his head. “You should get that seen to.”

“What are they going to do? More than likely lock me up. Screw that for a joke.”

He shrugged. “I heard there's a guy down in the Withers that will drill a hole in your skull for a couple of coppers,” he offered.

She laughed, surprising herself that it was even possible after the day they’d had. “I'll take my chances with the voices. Besides, if I let them drill my skull who’d keep you lot out of trouble?”

“Fair point,” he said. “I’ll do a sweep. If they're out there, I'll holler.”

She nodded. They might have been a rag-tag team put together out of the unwanted dregs of Severnhelm’s worst soldiers, but there was barely a day that passed where they didn't make her proud. They were barely a rank above common brigands, but they were her brigands, and as always they’d done well. The mission was meant to have been easy. Just a search sweep around some of the outlying farms. If they were lucky they'd be bringing back the key suspect in the King’s murder. Out and back, the Captain said. And something about being back in Dell before all the lanterns were lit. Such a crock of shit.

And you know all about shit.

“Shut up.” Maybe Sweetlip was right. Lately the voices the were getting louder and coming more frequently. It was hard to tell sometimes which of her thoughts were her own. She turned back to the farm, putting her lunacy as far from her probably fractured mind as she could.

She could guess what had happened here, even without seeing it herself. The folk who’d lived here would be dead—every man, woman and child. Their livestock slaughtered. The well-water poisoned with the carcasses. And somewhere the bastards who were responsible would have carved the rams-head sigil of Devilsbluff into something no one would miss, more than likely into the unwilling flesh of one of their victims.

The last place her team had come across had been only a short walk from where Risa had grown up. There they’d found the sigil hacked into the back of a poor girl that Risa thought likely to have been the dead farmer’s daughter. She suppressed a shudder. It could have been her but for years and circumstances. She knew the people of these parts, and not a one of them deserved such a fate.

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For all the stories Risa had heard about the house of Stephron, sending raiding parties through the countryside and slaughtering innocents didn't seem his style. If the stories were true he was more like to appear at your gates with an army and make his complaints to your face. This was the man who’d successfully succeeded from the Kingdom after all. None of this made much sense. Why murder farmers and in broad daylight?

As Python and the rest drew near she could see he had a body slung across his shoulders. Python lowered the man to the ground. The others spread out instinctively to keep watch.

“Found one alive,” said Python. “He’s hurt bad, but breathing.”

Risa knelt beside the man. He looked to be in his thirties but Risa judged him far younger. Loss of blood had left him looking drawn and older than his years.

“Water,” she said. The word came out as an order, more harshly than she meant, but Karney was already removing the stopper from his canteen. If he had noticed anything about her tone he did not show it. He passed the canteen across to her. “Thanks.”
While she administered the water, Python removed the mans shirt to reveal a deep stab wound in his stomach. Python grimaced as he peeled back the bloody fabric. Risa judged by the odor that the man was unlikely to survive the injury.

He coughed, then tried to drink more. After a moment he said,” Thank you.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Who did this?” asked Risa.

The man mumbled something but Risa couldn't quite hear. She leaned in close . “All dead,” he said.

“What are you trying to—”

The man cleared his throat, a horrible gravelly sound. “Hearth.”

Risa glanced at Python. He returned her gaze. “Karney, go get Sweetlip and check the cottage hearth, but be careful. The bastards are likely still close.”

“I’m on it.” Karney moved off in the direction of the tree line where Sweetlip was beginning to make his way back.
Risa stood. “Make sure he’s comfortable.” She doubted the man would last long. It was yet another example of lords riding roughshod over the people. Entire families were being murdered within a days march of Dell’s capital. Anger at the unfairness of it all rose within her like a sudden flush of heat. She clenched her jaw to contain it and felt herself shake slightly with the effort. Standing around waiting wasn't going to work for her this time. She needed to move—to do something. “Wait,” she called to Karney. “I’m coming with you.”

She reached the ruined remains of the farmhouse as Sweetlip and Karney were crouching beside the fireplace levering at the flat mortared stones of the hearth.

“Hearth’s got a loose stone,” said Sweetlip. After much grunting, and an unbroken stream of obscenities that seemed to flow between him and Karney like a foreign language, the stone came free. “Got it!”

Sweetlip reached into what appeared to be a hole beneath the stone and pulled out a leather bag. It was stained in dark patches and marked and marred with the deep scratches that come from long use. Risa heard sound of coin clinking as Sweetlip hefted the bag.

“Well, well,” said Karney. His face lit up like a toddler who’d been handed festival candy.

Time to run!

Startled, Risa gasped in a ragged breath. A terrible feeling of cold settled over her. She had just been about to ask Karney to show her the contents of the bag when the voice had rung out louder than a churchbell in her head. A moment later the sound of approaching hooves and the rattle of tack echoed across the farm yard.

“To me!” Risa shouted, drawing her blade. Karney and Sweetlip fanned out beside her joined shortly thereafter by Python and Goatturd.

Within minutes they were surrounded by a full cohort of mounted infantry and staring into the glinting points of half a dozen spears. Their kit was standard, light armor, spears and swords. Risa was surprised there was not a bowman or crossbowman among them and their uniforms were the black and green of Devilsbluff.

Thanks for reading. As some of you know, this chapter did not come easily, so this is a lot less polished than what I usually try to post when I post one of these chapters (with the emphasis on try!). This is also only about 3/4 of what I actually wrote. The rest will go into a later chapter, but every one of these words hurt. Huge thanks to everyone for reading and encouraging me to keep posting this. Let me know what you think of Risa.

The earlier chapters are here:

Here is what passes for Chapter 1.
This is Chapter 2.
This is Chapter 3.
This is Chapter 4.
This is Chapter 5.

If you like my work, please consider following me for more. If you enjoyed this please do upgoat and resheep!

You left the reader alert - it wasn't immediately clear that her cold feeling came from hearing the voice in her head, and I liked that. Better not to spoon feed and rather reveal. Also, we've only just meet Risa's voices. We don't know who they are yet; you've given us some breadcrumbs (her grandfather, if I remember correctly?), but we know we need to read more to understand these and who else they might be. And is it some supernatural phenomenon - after all, this is fantasy, not a neuropsychiatric piece? What has her previous experience been with these choices - do her people trust her because they know the voices will warn her of impending danger? And how does it affect her physically (you've given us hints...)? This chapter have is am intrigued to the voices. We assume you'll expose the voices over upcoming chapters 😊