The Chronicles Notomol Ch 06

We bedded down in the darkness: Olari, Orsho and his men, and me. The enemy had pursued with a vengeance, making it impossible for us to rejoin our friends on the other side of the ravine.

I couldn't sleep. I suffered a thousand torments: I imagined Senderra and Evane captured by the mercenaries, or Nelime, or Inita ... I even pictured Notomol lying dead somewhere, his body covered in blood ...

In the early light, we moved on, until we reached a strange feature which Olari called the Dip. There was a gap, nearly thirty yards across, where the rock seemed to have crumbled, and then tumbled into the ravine. Again, this was obviously older than Yadha, for there were large shrubs and several trees growing in the Dip.

It was a way to get down, though. And that presented us with a decision to make: should we continue on, looking for our friends - or turn into the gully, and discover what had happened to Dubek and Motekin? We could recover their bodies, unless ... was it possible that they might still be alive?

- "Kolasovets?" asked Orsho.

- "They would come looking for us." I said.

Orsho nodded. "You're right."

And so we descended into the ravine. We tried to be as quiet as we could; it was possible - even probable - that there were mercenaries above us, on the western side of the gully. It wouldn't do to attract their attention.

It didn't take us long to find them.

Dubek was alive. Unbelievably, he was moving. He was covered in blood, still - only now much of it was his. He was also on his knees, dragging Motekin's limp body behind him with one hand. Dubek had broken his left arm, sprained his right ankle, and taken a serious blow to the head - he couldn't see out of one eye, plainly, because it was entirely crusted over with dried blood.

He couldn't have seen us, but he must have heard our approach. Dubek let go of Motekin, and pulled a long knife from his belt.

- "It's me, Dubek - Kolasovets." I said.

The big man was a wreck. He grunted, though.

- "Is it now?" he snarled. He turned his head, trying to see with his other eye - which was caked with dirt. "How do I know for sure?"

- "I was there, at the river." I said. "We were Guardsmen. Remember? When you burned the inn. When Notomol was there."

Dubek seemed to consider that, for a moment.

- "Mmm. Could use some help, here, then. Motekin's ... not doing so good ..."

That was an understatement. With one hand and one leg, Dubek had been dragging a dead body behind him.

Somehow, incredibly, he'd survived the leap into the ravine.

Motekin had not.

***

We found the others. Notomol was alive. So was his sister.

The sheer relief of seeing Notomol and Senderra in good health was incredible. It seemed to mean something to her, as well - she immediately threw her arms around me, and hugged me tightly. Senderra squeezed me so hard, she nearly broke my ribs.

- "Oh, 'Vets ..." she murmured. "I was so afraid we'd lost you."

- "I was terrified, too." I said. I didn't even realize, at first, that she'd shortened my name.

- "We were

all

scared." she said.

Damnation. Why hadn't I simply said 'worried'? Now she would think that I'd been frightened. I was consumed with worry - for her, and for the other women, for Notomol, and so many others.

My return - and Orsho's - were important. But Dubek, alive? That shocked everyone, especially when Orsho and Olari began describing his leap into the ravine.

But there were friends missing. Not everyone had escaped.

By the end of a week, there were 18 dead that we knew of. Eight more missing, including the two guslars. Cirola was dead, and his brother Cinna was simply devastated. They'd argued, before the fight; Cirola had wanted to join Yadha and the non-combatants, to return to being a hunter. Cinna, though, had talked his brother into remaining with the fighters.

Doreg was gone. He and four of the men from Hvad town had died fighting, buying time for others to escape. Five of Nelime's men were dead. Bakhva, Vidrik's friend, was also among the fallen.

The mercenaries had found most of the bodies. In keeping with the practice established by Arnger, they'd hanged the dead alongside the two prisoners they'd taken.

The loss of Cirola hit hard. He'd been with us since Dusova. Cinna was absolutely heartbroken. Naturally enough, he blamed himself for his brother's death.

Losing Doreg was another blow. He might not have been a champion or a great leader, but I saw him as a key figure in our band. I, for one, would miss him. But Notomol took it harder than anyone.

Almost two weeks after our debacle against the mercenaries, he was still blaming himself for our defeat. He'd taken our advice, and abandoned his role as shepherd and provider to the non-combatants, in order to hunt wolves - just as we'd asked.

And he had led us into a trap. Notomol blamed himself for our losses.

***

- "It wasn't your fault." I said, for the third or fourth time. He must have been tired of hearing me say it.

- "Thank you, Kolasovets." he said. "But it was my plan. My error. I underestimated the mercenaries. I saw them as mere killers; I didn't think that they'd fight so hard."

- "We

all

thought that." said Orsho.

- "But I underestimated Arnger as well." said Notomol. "I expected him to use the same approach as he did against Vidrik."

- "

You made a mistake

." said Senderra. "It wasn't the first time - and it sure won't be the last."

- "True. But this mistake cost lives."

- "It was a defeat. A reverse." said Orsho. "It doesn't mean the end of the war."

- "We hurt

them

, too. We just couldn't count their dead." said Senderra. "I know - we ran away. But that just means that we're still alive. We can fight again. We

will

fight again."

I never got tired of seeing Senderra, or of hearing her speak. But I wasn't sure that she understood her brother best at this moment.

- "Excuse me, please." said Notomol. He stood up, and walked away. He had let us have our say - and now he wasn't going to listen to any more tonight.

Once he was gone, Nelime let out a great sigh.

- "

It's partly my fault

." she said, ever so softly.

- "How so?" said Orsho.

- "I read Motekin's journal to him. He asked me what it said. I'd only read a few pages, but it sounded like a history, starting from the time he first met Notomol, when the Guardsmen gathered. Motekin was fascinated with Notomol - I thought ... I thought that it might help him, to know that he was appreciated."

Nelime sighed again. "I was wrong."

- "Nelime?" said Senderra. "Could you read it to us?"

When we found Dubek in the ravine, he was dragging Motekin behind him. The clerk's leather satchel was still attached to his battered and lifeless body. I'd often seen him, quill in hand, filling page after page with indecipherable script. I'd even asked, a time or two, what he was writing.

'Nothing that need concern you.' he would say. Sometimes, he said 'You'll find out, one day.'

- "Should we?" I asked. "Isn't that ... private?"

Dubek chuckled. It was the first time he'd spoken tonight. He was propped up, with his back to a tree, with his left arm encased in a solid splint, and his ankle tightly wrapped.

- "It's a bit late for that. There's no privacy for the dead."

Dubek was ... an object of reverence, almost. People kept staring at him, as if they could hardly believe that he was still alive. Many wanted to touch him - to make sure that he was real - or in the hope that his incredible luck might rub off on them. He'd survived a ridiculous leap into the ravine - a leap similar to the one that had killed Motekin. He was indomitable, indestructible.

Nelime looked to Orsho. He nodded. "Let's hear it. It may help us to understand."

Senderra was there. Dubek and I. Orsho. Cinna, who was now as quiet as his brother had been. Evane, ever silent. Dusca. Inita. Nelime opened Motekin's journal, and began to read to us.

I cannot quite explain what it is that compels me to write about Notomol. There is something about this man that draws me to him, like metal shavings to a lodestone. I hang on his every word, few as they are. Perhaps their scarcity makes them all the more valuable. His bearing, his every gesture - everything about him is a source of endless fascination to me.

It was uncomfortable to listen to - for me, at least. Dubek only grunted when he heard himself described as a brutish lout. But more than once Motekin pretty much called me a fool - and a childish, immature one, at that.

The words were unquestionably his. Even though it was Nelime who spoke them, I could clearly hear Motekin's pattern of speech, his distinctive turn of phrase. He didn't talk like anyone else I knew. To hear his words, now ... it was like a voice from beyond the grave.

There was more disrespect, for Cinna and Cirola. Motekin's description of Senderra, after meeting her for the first time, was revealing. He saw her beauty, but not her skill, or the force of her will. Motekin mentioned Evane only once - and then never wrote a word about her again. How would she feel about that? Her part in all of our dangerous endeavours, her labours to feed people didn't even deserve a mention, according to Motekin.

I'd been taught, as a child, never to speak ill of the dead. But now I learned that my 'friend' had had nothing but contempt for me, and considered his relationship with Notomol more important by far. In fact, it seemed to be the only thing that Motekin valued.

He hero-worshipped Notomol. That's not to say that he considered the object of his fascination infallible. The journal occasionally criticized Notomol - usually when he didn't act as Motekin would have preferred, or when he failed to recognize Motekin's wisdom.

- "Journal Entry #48." read Nelime. "This is the last entry."

It tears at my heart to hear Notomol betrayed by those who owe him the most. How must it feel to be stabbed in the back by one's own sister? Did Dusca form her own opinion, I wonder? Or was she merely manipulated by Senderra?

I am hardly surprised that Dubek would attack Notomol, but I must confess that I was disappointed when Orsho joined in. I would have expected more loyalty to Nelime - but then, she did not support Notomol either. Love has its limits, it seems.

Adrastas' was the greatest betrayal, though. The guslar should have come to Notomol's defence. Instead, he made it easier for the lesser lights to attack him. Doreg sought some sort of middle ground - a cowardly evasion. Kolasovets, too, failed to come to the aid of the man he claims as a friend.

I could have blasted them all. But that would have been to surrender to my rage - and I might have alienated some of the very people that Notomol needs. In the end, though, I should not have worried at all.

Notomol had a plan all along. He had anticipated the challenge from below - from those who claimed to love him - and formulated tactics which would serve our present need.

Once again, I myself am guilty of underestimating him. Notomol is two or three steps ahead, at all times. I can confidently place my life in his hands, certain that he will bring us all through the present dangers, as well as those to come.

Nelime closed the journal. That was the final entry.

There was complete silence around the fire. I was trying to grapple with what I'd heard, and the knowledge that the man I'd considered a friend had no such feelings for me. Everyone, I think, was dealing with the uncomfortable fact that Motekin had considered them traitors to Notomol - or beneath his notice.

- "Fuck." said Senderra.

Dubek laughed out loud. "What an asshole!" he said.

Orsho frowned. "It's not seemly to speak ill of the dead."

- "Seemly? Duke Richwin was an idiot. Baron Harke was a fool. And Motekin was an asshole - he proved it with his own words!"

- "But why would this upset Notomol so much?" asked Nelime. She seemed close to tears. I think that she genuinely loved him.

- "Fuck!" said Senderra.

Somehow, I found the words. Usually, I would find my tongue tying itself in knots, but on this one occasion, I was able to put my thoughts together.

- "He never wanted this." I said. "He never wanted to be the leader. He definitely never wanted to be

led

. But he saved Motekin's life, and he felt responsible for the two of us. Then we met Cinna and Cirola ... and I think he felt responsible for them, too."

I met Cinna's eye, and he slowly nodded his head.

"Notomol had no faith in Bans, or Hospodars, or even the Captain of the Guardsmen, Master Tumay. If we'd been close enough to join up with Duke Richwin, I suspect that he would have led us away."

- "What does that mean, 'Vets?" said Senderra.

- "It means that he took responsibility for whatever happened to us. I think that he blames himself for Motekin's death. And Cirola's. And Doreg's. None of them were from Stonje. They all came a long way to follow him. They wouldn't have been here at all, if not for him."

I saw Evane staring at me. True to form, she didn't say a word. Inita had her lips pursed, but she was slowly nodding her head up and down.

Nelime was crying openly, now.

- "Shit." said Senderra.

***

Adrastas and Obran found us the very next day. They'd hidden under a fern, in the middle of a small copse of trees. With more than their fair share of luck, they'd been found by a young man named Marmos, who was on his way to join us.

They'd hidden again, to avoid mercenary patrols, and had only narrowly evaded capture. In the process, they'd heard a conversation between two Hvadi who were forced to serve the Izumyrians as little better than slaves.

- "Captain Arnger was wounded in the fight." said Adrastas. "He saw two men throw themselves into the ravine. The mercenaries are still talking about it: they call it 'the soldiers' leap'. Apparently a Hvadi archer saw it, too, and fired an arrow, which struck Arnger in the mouth."

I knew who that Hvadi archer was. So did Orsho.

- "What happened to him?" said the warrior.

- "He suffered." said Adrastas, with visible satisfaction. "He lingered three days, in agony, unable to speak before he died."

- "Good!" said Dubek.

- "It was Kolasovets who fired that arrow." said Orsho.

Adrastas clapped his bony hand on my shoulder. "Then you've done us all a service, young man." He turned back to Orsho. "With Arnger dead, Lord Meldoi has taken command. He's the son of the Northern Duke - and, fortunately for us, he is barely competent. The mercenary captains are already bickering, and competing to replace Arnger."

Notomol couldn't refuse to meet the returned guslars. Nor could he decline to meet the young man who'd brought them safely back to us.

Marmos was the same age as I was. But he achieved what all the rest of us could not: he brought Notomol back to his senses.

Adrastas introduced him. "This is Marmos."

He'd been a handsome young man, once upon a time. The Izumyrians had come to the little hamlet where he lived. They'd killed his parents, his brothers, and his sister, while he was away from home. When Marmos returned, they'd captured him, and then tortured him - to force him to reveal where the family's food was hidden.

The Izumyrians had cut his nose open, slashed his cheek, and put out his eye. They'd stabbed him in the chest, and left him to die.

He was a hideous sight. I was not the only one who found it difficult to look at him.

Notomol met his eye - his remaining eye - and then extended his hand.

- "You are welcome among us." said Notomol.

- "I came to join you." said Marmos. "I've heard that you fight the enemy."

That was all it took. Notomol had resisted all of our attempts to comfort him. He was impervious to our attempts to persuade him, or to win him over with logical arguments. But the mere sight of Marmos was enough to bring the man back. Notomol stepped forward, and embraced the disfigured young man.

- "We do." he said. "We do."

***

With Captain Arnger dead, the Northern Duke's son, Meldoi, had assumed command. There were still plenty of experienced mercenary captains, but they were bickering, and competing for Meldoi's support.

The favourite, for now, was a Captain named Dabrel.

Notomol began to re-assert himself. Somehow, Marmos' arrival had snapped him out his funk. We began to scout more aggressively, seeking to find out what the mercenaries were up to.

We were going to be fighting again, soon. That encouraged me to bring Inita to Senderra's fire. Evane was there, of course, as was Dusca. I explained to Inita what I intended, and presented her with two options.

- "You can tell them what you told me," I said, "or else I will."

Inita grew pale. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

- "You need friends." I told her. "But they have to know the truth. You can't lie to your friends."

She did it. Inita told Senderra, Evane and Dusca that she really wasn't an archer. It was difficult for her, but she told them her story. I was extraordinarily proud of her.

Big Dusca came forward to embrace her.

Senderra took me off to one side, just out of earshot. "You made her do this, didn't you?"

- "She needs friends." I said. "And I thought that she could learn from you, and from Evane."

Senderra surprised me, then. She raised one hand, and ever so softly touched my cheek. "You're a good man, 'Vets." she said.

***

Shortly after that, everyone began to address me the same way - as 'Vets'. I liked when Senderra said it; I wasn't sure yet, though, if I wanted it to be my name.

Yadha returned to us. He'd done what he could for the non-combatants, and suspected that we needed him more - which we did.

Notomol was his old self again: full of ideas, decisive, and determined. He moved us out of our familiar fighting grounds, away from the Deadman's Bog.

- "We may find ourselves here another day." he said. "Maybe."

- "I hope not." said Senderra. "It reeks down there." We all knew what she meant: there were over a hundred dead Izumyrians buried in the bog. Even if we couldn't

actually

smell them, our noses knew that they were there.

Notomol shifted our camp south, and to the east - closer to the Ban's steading.

- "Is this wise?" asked the guslar. "There are 200 mercenaries there - if not more."

- "I know."

We could smell it, before we saw it. This time, it wasn't just my imagination. The place stank. On a warm day, with the wind in the wrong direction, we were almost staggered by the stench of urine and excrement. Most of it was human, of course, but there was a potent equine component as well.

That changed Notomol's mind. This was an unpleasant, unhealthy place. And he quickly realized that we could make it even more so.

He found out that there was almost no Hvadi remaining within the walls of the steading. There were nearly 250 mercenaries, four dozen servants and camp followers - and eighty horses.

- "It wasn't built to house so many. Not in the way they're using it." he explained.

Before the invasion, the Ban's steading had sheltered almost 300 people. Most of those, however, worked in the fields or the woods

outside

the walls. That meant that they most often performed their ablutions outside as well.

The Izumyrians, though, treated the steading as a fortress (which it plainly was not). They rarely left it, except to go on foraging expeditions, or to hunt for us. That meant that hundreds of men (and horses) were using overcrowded latrines.

One of the mercenary captains had ordered latrines dug

outside

the walls. It was the correct decision - but this captain wasn't Arnger. Only Meldoi, the Duke's son, might have had the authority to impose strict camp discipline. He didn't.