Chapter 4 Gutter Gut #3
Brune sighed for the fourth time that mile, squinting against the bright sun.
It was warmer outside of the city. The road they marched on occasionally snaked through some trees, but it was open and he could feel his skin burning under the harsh glare of the sun.
Was it closer in the countryside? It felt closer.
Niklas trudged beside him, arrows rattling in his quiver with each step.
He was silent, choosing to observe rather than waste energy whining.
Brune could respect that. He couldn’t say the same for the officers.
Whenever they thought they were out of range, they moaned, complaining about how slowly the men were walking.
Big talk from someone riding a horse, but Brune had seen what happened to the first alpha who pointed that out. He liked his blood on the inside.
The excitement of seeing a horse for the first time faded pretty quickly. He had no idea they could be so big. But he didn’t have much of a chance to see them. The officers stayed at the front of their march, occasionally drifting back to yell at them to walk faster.
He tripped over a crack in the dry earth and cursed, shaking out his foot.
The thin leather sole on his boots did nothing to protect him from the long march.
His feet ached. Everything ached. The sword at his hip was heavy, dragging the attached belt down over his hip.
It didn’t fit, and the leather was cracked.
Screwing up his face, Brune lifted his head and forced himself to look around. Even if it was boring, he wanted to remember it.
And it was interesting, in a way. Sure, he had hoped to see the ocean or a mountain, something massive and awe inspiring, but he had seen some things.
Birds, for one. Quick things that flitted from branch to branch.
Some of them even sang high, lilting songs that rose and fell with the sun.
He spent one lunch break watching a small gray bird carry sticks to another, showcasing the branch between its narrow beak before seeming to get approval to place in their nest. He wondered if that was a bird’s version of courting.
Look at me, I’m such a good provider. See how I build our nest? Safe and warm for our babies. Choose me.
It wasn’t so different from people at all.
That had been days ago, and now there was a disappointing lack of birds.
Brune missed them. Niklas told him they were walking through fields of planted wheat.
Golden stalks that waved in the breeze as far as the eye could see.
They didn’t look anything like the bread he knew.
He liked to run his hands along the stalks, letting the tips tickle his palm.
Looking up from doing just that, he gasped as he saw something moving through the field. Its tawny fur nearly blended into the wheat, long legs traversing silently, barely causing a ripple in the long stalks. It seemed to watch them with big, round eyes set in an angular head.
He smacked Niklas. “Is that a horse?”
Niklas jerked, startled out of the daze he’d fallen into while walking. He squinted in the direction Brune pointed.
“That’s a deer, Gutter Gut,” Folsom said, exasperated.
Brune wanted to make a face at the insult, but it was far from the first time he’d heard it. As far as insults go, it was one of the more tame. It was true, too. Only someone from Guttersnipes would eat anything.
“What’s a deer?”
“It’s like a horse,” Niklas observed, head cocked.
It had four legs with hooves, large eyes, and a long neck. It seemed to move like one, too. But it was smaller, bones impossibly frail looking. When it turned, Brune could see the sun shining through its sinewy legs.
Folsom seemed to enjoy the audience. “That’s a female. Harmless outside of breeding season. The males are bigger and grow antlers bigger than their stomachs.” He held his hands out over his head, splaying his fingers wide.
Brune and Niklas hung off his every word.
They took it as truth. Folsom would know.
He’d marched out three times before being transferred to their battalion.
He told them how the males locked antlers, slamming into each other for the right to breed a female.
And then when the season was over, the antlers would just fall off, like a pup tooth, and grow back bigger the next year.
“Do you think we’ll see them with their antlers?” Niklas asked.
Folsom shook his head. “Doubt it. We’ll all be dead before winter.”
Brune felt cold dread grip him. The ease with which Folsom announced their impending doom was chilling. His mouth opened and closed—whether to cling to denial or beg for clarification, he wasn’t sure.
“But…we have so many men,” he said instead.
Folsom laughed dryly. “And this is Clansmen land.”
Niklas swallowed, shouldering his quiver a little higher. Like the act of holding onto his weapon made him more confident. “But the other battalions fended them off when they attacked.”
Snorting, he shook his head. “My cousin was in that last attack. The Clansmen didn’t attack us. We attacked them.”
Brune tripped again, nearly falling to his face.
Attacked them? That’s not what their battalion leader said when they received their marching orders.
King Krait said their patrols were being attacked, picked at by the mindless horde in their never-ending need for violence.
He said this was for the safety of Kaledonea. For the lives lost in their cruelty.
“But why?”
Folsom flicked him in the forehead. The man was twice his age and half his height, yet he somehow managed to look down at Brune.
“Are you blind, boy? Kaledonea is dying. They built the city with magic, farmed with magic. Even collected water with it. Now the magic is gone. No magic, no Kaledonea.”
“The nobles have magic.”
“Humans aren’t born with magic, Gutter Gut. We ain’t like the dragons or elves. They could make magic; we can just use what already exists. Don’t matter how talented a mage you are if there ain’t magic to use.”
Brune didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about magic. He had no affinity for it and didn’t know how it worked, or that it was dying. He supposed there were fewer and fewer enchanters selling their wares on the corner. Even the officers in their ranks seemed to dwindle.
“The Clansmen don’t have magic,” Niklas said suddenly. He’d put it together faster than Brune. “That’s why they’re so—”
“Uncivilized?” Folsom guessed, lips quirking bitterly. “Tell me: you ever seen anything civilized in Kaledonea? I sure as hell haven’t.”
Niklas was still pale. “So why attack the Clansmen unprovoked?”
“Look around you.” Folsom gestured to the endless wheat fields. “This land is alive.”
Brune was numb. He didn’t think he cared about the cause.
What was politics to him? Lofty nobles arguing about things he didn’t understand in their towers high above the filth.
But this? This felt a lot more real. This felt wrong.
If the Clansmen hadn’t attacked them, if they were just living their lives—what made them any different from him?
Niklas? Even Folsom? Does their success mean they should be targeted?
No, that can’t be it. There must be more to it. He refused to believe Kaledonea would send out an army for wheat.
“There has to be another reason.”
Folsom shrugged. “What does it matter? Right or wrong, we still end up at the end of a Clansmen blade.”