Sarpedon - part 3.
Oct. 4th, 2012 08:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunTitle: Sarpedon.
Words: This part 2650 words (Total posted 7250/55,000)
Genre type information: Military Adventure set in a no magic fantasy setting with technology roughly equivalent to 1830-40 western Europe, but are starting to develop steampunk type technology. Story also has a very secondary m/m relationship subplot.
Advisories: Death and injury related to war of both people and animals.
Summary Transporting a cargo of rifles through the mountains to the small fort at Timballie should have been a routine job, but as events take a turn for the worse, Lieutenant Jago Sarpedon finds that the situation in Sitherand may be far more unstable than he'd suspected.
Sarpedon blinked water from his eyes. Standing over him was a scared and slightly scorched looking Private Perrin holding a water canteen.
His head was pounding as he struggled into a sitting position and he groaned as he saw what remained of the camp. Most of the tents had been blown over, and some, despite the fact that the canvas had been damp with dew, smouldered slightly from the explosion. Bodies littered the ground, bloody and still, both infantry and bandit alike in death. To the side of the camp the wreckage of the powder wagon was visible, the second rifle wagon had been next to it and was shattered into little more than matchwood, while the horses that had pulled them both were dead.
“Sir.” Perrin began, his voice hoarse. “Sir, what should I do with the prisoner?” He glanced across at a solitary tent that had been furthest from the wagon and which was still mostly upright amidst the chaos.
With his head feeling like it was filled with wool, Lieutenant Sarpedon tried to formulate a response, his voice finally coming out as a dry croak, “What prisoner?”
“One of the bandits, I think. I'm not sure who he is, sir. I found him down in dip by the side of the road, where the bandits had been. So I got him back here and I tied him up real good and put him in a tent.” Perrin looked expectantly at his lieutenant, as if expecting some further order or an admission that he has done the right thing. When Sarpedon hadn't replied he added, “I'd just finished doing that when the wagon went up.” He looked over at it. “Why did it blow up, sir?”
“I don't know, lad. Maybe they shot it by accident or they might have fired it on purpose.” Grimacing, Sarpedon stood up and leant against the tree he'd been thrown into. Although the force of the explosion hadn’t knocked him out from the way the ground seemed to pitch and roll beneath his feet it had probably been “Who’s guarding him?”
The private swallowed nervously before he replied, “No one, sir. That is to say there isn’t anybody else to do it, sir. He were really well tied up though. I thought that I should look for survivors.”
A leaden weight seemed to settle in Sarpedon's his stomach as the young soldier spoke. “Who else is alive?” It seemed vaguely surreal that a scant few hours ago thirty men of the 57th Jondheim plus eight wagon drivers were sleeping or keeping watch here. Now there was nothing but a valley of corpses.
“I don’t know, sir. Sergeant Terris and a few of the men went after the wagon that got taken. He hasn’t come back, sir.” 'They're probably all dead as well' hung unspoken in the air between them.
Sarpedon nodded and wished he hadn’t, his head aching fiercely. “See if you can find any survivors, ours or theirs. We need to get these bodies buried, and I want some damn answers.”
“Do you want me to take you to the prisoner, sir?” Perrin asked as he looked around at the bodies.
“No, I should find it all right.” He didn’t want the young private to see he his reaction to a man that may very well have been involved in had effectively killed all his command.
“Understood, sir.” The young man hurried off to do as ordered.
Sarpedon shook his head and then made a mental note that he shouldn't to do that again any time in the near future. Looking at Perrin, he wondered if he'd been so keen when he had been his age, as he made his way to the tent.
Inside the tent was a man tied with his back against the central pole. He looked up as Sarpedon entered the tent, a slightly confused expression on his face.
The man was in his mid to late forties and of around average height with gingery blond hair that was starting to recede at the temples. The most obvious fact that stood out to Sarpedon was the fact that this man was not a Sithian, or from his clothes, a bandit of any kind. The smart, if rather travel stained coat and waistcoat more suggested that he was a wealthy traveller or maybe a merchant from Avronia or maybe even Nelanmar.
“Could I trouble you to untie me?” he asked, his upper class Avronian ascent taking away any lingering question as to the man’s nationality.
The question took Sarpedon by surprise, and he stared at him for a moment.
“There really has been a huge misunderstanding here. Those ruffians out there captured me and I would rather not be tied up for any longer than I have already been.” He shifted uncomfortably against his bonds. “I should thank you however for freeing me from those men. They had the gall to suggest ransoming me back to the guild of exploration and trade in Solidago. And when I said I was a traveller of independent means, their leader got the ridiculous notion that I was a spy for Empress Saldea of Corris and that...”
The slightly nasal whine to the man's voice was grating, and did little to ease the pounding in Sarpedon's head. It was tempting just assume he was lying, gag the idiot and wait until they got back to Timballie and turn him over to Major Bellon to sort out. Sarpedon knew he couldn't do that though as he needed all the hands he could get if here to get out of this place and back to Timballie.
Despite the fact there was nothing to suggest that the man was anything other than an unfortunate traveller, Sarpedon's gut instinct was that something that didn’t sit quite right about man.
Sarpedon shook his head, he was sure that he would be the scapegoat for this debacle. Blame the ex-mercenary, never mind the fact nobody else would have likely been able to do any better without having more men or that wagons were a bloody stupid way to transport guns and powder over the mountains in the first place.
“…So I said told him that if he'd ever been to the floral gallery in Tirion there were examples of greater flowering …” The Avronian noble was still talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Sarpedon had show no sign of being interesting in what he had to say.
“All right, I’ll untie you; you probably are not going to thank me for this though.” Sarpedon pulled a knife from a strap on his belt. The man flinched as the rope was cut. “As the main reason I’m doing this I need help burying bodies”
The man paled slightly at the mention of bodies. “I give you my thanks for untying me.” After standing, he made a small bow, and said “My name is Cade, Wenham Cade. I’m a botanist and amateur mapmaker.” He rubbed his wrists were the ropes had been and looked nervously at the tent flap. “Are there many bodies, lieutenant?” he asked his voice a little less than steady.
Sarpedon frowned. There it was again, the something that didn’t sit right. Somehow Cade knew he was a lieutenant, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing his uniform jacket and that the rest of his clothes were barely more presentable than that of the common soldiers. Most people would have assumed he was private or maybe a sergeant from his dress or perhaps captain, as a captain would usually have charge of such a detachment. But not Wenham Cade. No, thought Sarpedon, he would have to watch him.
“Quite a few. Most of my command and pretty near all of the bandits who were still here when it went up.” Sarpedon rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. The dizziness had started to recede, but the headache was pounding dully through his head. “There are about thirty to thirty five men I reckon, I’ve got a private out searching for survivors.”
The man looked at him questioningly “Went up? What happened out there? Surely the attack was not so fierce? I do remember a loud noise though after I was tied up here. Was that part of the battle?”
“Hardly a battle. The powder wagon went up, most likely hit with a stray shot. Took out anything near it, men, horses, tents, trees the whole lot.”
Wenham shivered. “How awful. Do you want me to start now? Only I’d like to see if I could find my saddle packs, I suppose it’s too much to hope that my horse, they kept it you know, is still alive and hasn’t bolted”
“Probably.” Sarpedon shrugged, not really caring about the man's lost luggage. “What is so important in those saddle bags that they take precedence over burying the dead.”
“Oh dear I must have sounded so terribly crass. It’s my research on the geographical distribution and cultural superstition of the flowering herbs of the Arram-Sibesh, I am hoping to get it published, well if it survived.” He looked downcast. “There was nearly a years worth of research in those bags, and the dried samples, some of them are probably irreplaceable. Especially with all these dratted rumblings of civil war on, it makes field expeditions like this nearly impossible to get any financial backing for.”
Sarpedon glared at him. “If all you’ve lost today is some damn flowers them you are a very lucky man”
“Well I suppose if you put it that way I am,” Cade said miserably. “How I wish it hadn't been my misfortune to run into those mercenaries on the road though. I had just stopped to...”
“Mercenaries?” Sarpedon interrupted. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I heard them talking, they called the man in charge Captain Lasona. Although why they chose to dress so poorly I couldn't say,” Cade continued, seeming more confused at their worn and ragged clothes than the fact that there was a mercenary unit attacking the Avronian military while in Sitherand. “You wouldn’t think they’d get much employment dressed like that. A very poor show I thought.”
Sarpedon frowned. Lasona. The name was vaguely familiar from his own time as a mercenary, not as a captain, but as something, a corporal or maybe a lieutenant. Thinking too much though made his head ache worse than before, so he stopped. Hoping that when he felt a little more able to think without his head feeling like it was about to explode he'd be able to remember which company Lasona had been with.
Preoccupied by the fact that if it really were a mercenary company that had attacked them then it had to have been backed by somebody with substantial financial resources, Sarpedon pushed his way past Cade to stand outside the tent.
He drew a deep breath of the dusty air and tried to think what his next course of action should be. He wanted the task of burying the dead over and done with and he wanted to be away from this place, as it was of course also possible that Lasona’s company, if that's what it really was, might not have been the only mercenary unit in the area. With his unit reduced to virtually nothing any encounter, however minor, could only prove fatal to them.
The temperature was starting to climb now although the sun was still only low on the horizon, and a few vultures drawn by the smell of blood where circling in the narrow ravine where the camp had been.
After a few moments, Cade came cautiously out of the tent, carefully looking at the ground as he moved, avoiding the grim site around him.
Private Perrin could be seen at the other end of the camp helping a man limp in to the shade of an outcrop where one other man was lying half propped against the stone. Once he was settled, Perrin started to once again move cautiously amongst the bodies looking for signs of life.
Shame we're not still a mercenary unit, Sarpedon thought as he watched him. If they had been he could have given him a proper reward. The lad had looked about ready to keel over when he'd first found him, and he doubted he was much better now. Suppose I should list him down for a commendation or something, Sarpedon thought. Although seemed a bloody poor way to reward somebody by giving then something which would probably only mean more work for him to do. But that was how the army worked.
The ground was far too rocky to be able to dig a grave for burial, even if they had had any suitable tools to dig with. The rock overhangs that were a common feature on the inland cliffs provided an alternative to burial, they could move all the bodies underneath one, and collapse it over them.
He looked over at Cade who appeared to be carefully studying his boots, and said, “Change of plan, I don’t think we have any shovels anyway. I want you to help me get the bodies under that overhang over there.”
Cade swallowed loudly looking more than a little panicked about it. “Now?” His voice quavered a little as he asked a question to which it looked like he already believed he had the answer to.
“Get a drink of water if you can find one. Then we’ll make a start. I don't want to still be here if Lasona comes back, do you?”
“No.” Cade looked around nervously. “No I'd really rather not.”
Moving stiffly as the bruises started to pull tight Sarpedon made his way over to the private.
Private Perrin saluted wearily as Sarpedon approached. “Two additional survivors, sir. They are both ours,” he said proudly. “But I didn’t want to move them too much in case it hurt them more.” He looked at Sarpedon expectedly, obviously awaiting orders.
“Do you think that you’ve found all that are still alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see anything odd about any of the bandits, like a uniform or a unit badge?”
“No, sir,” Perrin said rather more hesitantly this time. “I hadn't thought to look for that. Should I have done, sir? I mean they were just Sitha bandits, weren't they?”
“Mr Cade seems to think that they were being led by a Captain Lasona, a mercenary. He'd been caught by them, held for ransom apparently. I've untied him and he'll be helping us until we can get to Timballie.” Sarpedon shook his head to clear his thoughts; it didn’t help. “Private Perrin, So I want you to assess the situation of the water and food supplies. Water the men and provide them with food if they can eat it, yourself also. Then if they are able to assist make a detail to collect any undamaged rifles, ammunition, water canteens, powder flasks and ration packs. After that report back to me.”
Private Perrin saluted again. “Yes, sir.”
Sarpedon could see the relief in the youths eyes that he wasn’t going to be helping to move the dead as he hurried away.
Keep them busy, Sarpedon thought. That was what he’d been told many years ago when he had been newly made an officer. Keep them busy that they wont have any time to dwell on the present. Doesn’t work once your in charge though, he thought grimly, then thinking about the present and the immediate future is all you can do. It’s only once you reach high levels of command that you are allowed to stick your head back in the sand again.
Words: This part 2650 words (Total posted 7250/55,000)
Genre type information: Military Adventure set in a no magic fantasy setting with technology roughly equivalent to 1830-40 western Europe, but are starting to develop steampunk type technology. Story also has a very secondary m/m relationship subplot.
Advisories: Death and injury related to war of both people and animals.
Summary Transporting a cargo of rifles through the mountains to the small fort at Timballie should have been a routine job, but as events take a turn for the worse, Lieutenant Jago Sarpedon finds that the situation in Sitherand may be far more unstable than he'd suspected.
Link to first part: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/196132.html
Second part: http://the-silver-sun.livejournal.com/196486.html
Sarpedon blinked water from his eyes. Standing over him was a scared and slightly scorched looking Private Perrin holding a water canteen.
His head was pounding as he struggled into a sitting position and he groaned as he saw what remained of the camp. Most of the tents had been blown over, and some, despite the fact that the canvas had been damp with dew, smouldered slightly from the explosion. Bodies littered the ground, bloody and still, both infantry and bandit alike in death. To the side of the camp the wreckage of the powder wagon was visible, the second rifle wagon had been next to it and was shattered into little more than matchwood, while the horses that had pulled them both were dead.
“Sir.” Perrin began, his voice hoarse. “Sir, what should I do with the prisoner?” He glanced across at a solitary tent that had been furthest from the wagon and which was still mostly upright amidst the chaos.
With his head feeling like it was filled with wool, Lieutenant Sarpedon tried to formulate a response, his voice finally coming out as a dry croak, “What prisoner?”
“One of the bandits, I think. I'm not sure who he is, sir. I found him down in dip by the side of the road, where the bandits had been. So I got him back here and I tied him up real good and put him in a tent.” Perrin looked expectantly at his lieutenant, as if expecting some further order or an admission that he has done the right thing. When Sarpedon hadn't replied he added, “I'd just finished doing that when the wagon went up.” He looked over at it. “Why did it blow up, sir?”
“I don't know, lad. Maybe they shot it by accident or they might have fired it on purpose.” Grimacing, Sarpedon stood up and leant against the tree he'd been thrown into. Although the force of the explosion hadn’t knocked him out from the way the ground seemed to pitch and roll beneath his feet it had probably been “Who’s guarding him?”
The private swallowed nervously before he replied, “No one, sir. That is to say there isn’t anybody else to do it, sir. He were really well tied up though. I thought that I should look for survivors.”
A leaden weight seemed to settle in Sarpedon's his stomach as the young soldier spoke. “Who else is alive?” It seemed vaguely surreal that a scant few hours ago thirty men of the 57th Jondheim plus eight wagon drivers were sleeping or keeping watch here. Now there was nothing but a valley of corpses.
“I don’t know, sir. Sergeant Terris and a few of the men went after the wagon that got taken. He hasn’t come back, sir.” 'They're probably all dead as well' hung unspoken in the air between them.
Sarpedon nodded and wished he hadn’t, his head aching fiercely. “See if you can find any survivors, ours or theirs. We need to get these bodies buried, and I want some damn answers.”
“Do you want me to take you to the prisoner, sir?” Perrin asked as he looked around at the bodies.
“No, I should find it all right.” He didn’t want the young private to see he his reaction to a man that may very well have been involved in had effectively killed all his command.
“Understood, sir.” The young man hurried off to do as ordered.
Sarpedon shook his head and then made a mental note that he shouldn't to do that again any time in the near future. Looking at Perrin, he wondered if he'd been so keen when he had been his age, as he made his way to the tent.
Inside the tent was a man tied with his back against the central pole. He looked up as Sarpedon entered the tent, a slightly confused expression on his face.
The man was in his mid to late forties and of around average height with gingery blond hair that was starting to recede at the temples. The most obvious fact that stood out to Sarpedon was the fact that this man was not a Sithian, or from his clothes, a bandit of any kind. The smart, if rather travel stained coat and waistcoat more suggested that he was a wealthy traveller or maybe a merchant from Avronia or maybe even Nelanmar.
“Could I trouble you to untie me?” he asked, his upper class Avronian ascent taking away any lingering question as to the man’s nationality.
The question took Sarpedon by surprise, and he stared at him for a moment.
“There really has been a huge misunderstanding here. Those ruffians out there captured me and I would rather not be tied up for any longer than I have already been.” He shifted uncomfortably against his bonds. “I should thank you however for freeing me from those men. They had the gall to suggest ransoming me back to the guild of exploration and trade in Solidago. And when I said I was a traveller of independent means, their leader got the ridiculous notion that I was a spy for Empress Saldea of Corris and that...”
The slightly nasal whine to the man's voice was grating, and did little to ease the pounding in Sarpedon's head. It was tempting just assume he was lying, gag the idiot and wait until they got back to Timballie and turn him over to Major Bellon to sort out. Sarpedon knew he couldn't do that though as he needed all the hands he could get if here to get out of this place and back to Timballie.
Despite the fact there was nothing to suggest that the man was anything other than an unfortunate traveller, Sarpedon's gut instinct was that something that didn’t sit quite right about man.
Sarpedon shook his head, he was sure that he would be the scapegoat for this debacle. Blame the ex-mercenary, never mind the fact nobody else would have likely been able to do any better without having more men or that wagons were a bloody stupid way to transport guns and powder over the mountains in the first place.
“…So I said told him that if he'd ever been to the floral gallery in Tirion there were examples of greater flowering …” The Avronian noble was still talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Sarpedon had show no sign of being interesting in what he had to say.
“All right, I’ll untie you; you probably are not going to thank me for this though.” Sarpedon pulled a knife from a strap on his belt. The man flinched as the rope was cut. “As the main reason I’m doing this I need help burying bodies”
The man paled slightly at the mention of bodies. “I give you my thanks for untying me.” After standing, he made a small bow, and said “My name is Cade, Wenham Cade. I’m a botanist and amateur mapmaker.” He rubbed his wrists were the ropes had been and looked nervously at the tent flap. “Are there many bodies, lieutenant?” he asked his voice a little less than steady.
Sarpedon frowned. There it was again, the something that didn’t sit right. Somehow Cade knew he was a lieutenant, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing his uniform jacket and that the rest of his clothes were barely more presentable than that of the common soldiers. Most people would have assumed he was private or maybe a sergeant from his dress or perhaps captain, as a captain would usually have charge of such a detachment. But not Wenham Cade. No, thought Sarpedon, he would have to watch him.
“Quite a few. Most of my command and pretty near all of the bandits who were still here when it went up.” Sarpedon rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. The dizziness had started to recede, but the headache was pounding dully through his head. “There are about thirty to thirty five men I reckon, I’ve got a private out searching for survivors.”
The man looked at him questioningly “Went up? What happened out there? Surely the attack was not so fierce? I do remember a loud noise though after I was tied up here. Was that part of the battle?”
“Hardly a battle. The powder wagon went up, most likely hit with a stray shot. Took out anything near it, men, horses, tents, trees the whole lot.”
Wenham shivered. “How awful. Do you want me to start now? Only I’d like to see if I could find my saddle packs, I suppose it’s too much to hope that my horse, they kept it you know, is still alive and hasn’t bolted”
“Probably.” Sarpedon shrugged, not really caring about the man's lost luggage. “What is so important in those saddle bags that they take precedence over burying the dead.”
“Oh dear I must have sounded so terribly crass. It’s my research on the geographical distribution and cultural superstition of the flowering herbs of the Arram-Sibesh, I am hoping to get it published, well if it survived.” He looked downcast. “There was nearly a years worth of research in those bags, and the dried samples, some of them are probably irreplaceable. Especially with all these dratted rumblings of civil war on, it makes field expeditions like this nearly impossible to get any financial backing for.”
Sarpedon glared at him. “If all you’ve lost today is some damn flowers them you are a very lucky man”
“Well I suppose if you put it that way I am,” Cade said miserably. “How I wish it hadn't been my misfortune to run into those mercenaries on the road though. I had just stopped to...”
“Mercenaries?” Sarpedon interrupted. “Are you sure?”
“Oh yes, I heard them talking, they called the man in charge Captain Lasona. Although why they chose to dress so poorly I couldn't say,” Cade continued, seeming more confused at their worn and ragged clothes than the fact that there was a mercenary unit attacking the Avronian military while in Sitherand. “You wouldn’t think they’d get much employment dressed like that. A very poor show I thought.”
Sarpedon frowned. Lasona. The name was vaguely familiar from his own time as a mercenary, not as a captain, but as something, a corporal or maybe a lieutenant. Thinking too much though made his head ache worse than before, so he stopped. Hoping that when he felt a little more able to think without his head feeling like it was about to explode he'd be able to remember which company Lasona had been with.
Preoccupied by the fact that if it really were a mercenary company that had attacked them then it had to have been backed by somebody with substantial financial resources, Sarpedon pushed his way past Cade to stand outside the tent.
He drew a deep breath of the dusty air and tried to think what his next course of action should be. He wanted the task of burying the dead over and done with and he wanted to be away from this place, as it was of course also possible that Lasona’s company, if that's what it really was, might not have been the only mercenary unit in the area. With his unit reduced to virtually nothing any encounter, however minor, could only prove fatal to them.
The temperature was starting to climb now although the sun was still only low on the horizon, and a few vultures drawn by the smell of blood where circling in the narrow ravine where the camp had been.
After a few moments, Cade came cautiously out of the tent, carefully looking at the ground as he moved, avoiding the grim site around him.
Private Perrin could be seen at the other end of the camp helping a man limp in to the shade of an outcrop where one other man was lying half propped against the stone. Once he was settled, Perrin started to once again move cautiously amongst the bodies looking for signs of life.
Shame we're not still a mercenary unit, Sarpedon thought as he watched him. If they had been he could have given him a proper reward. The lad had looked about ready to keel over when he'd first found him, and he doubted he was much better now. Suppose I should list him down for a commendation or something, Sarpedon thought. Although seemed a bloody poor way to reward somebody by giving then something which would probably only mean more work for him to do. But that was how the army worked.
The ground was far too rocky to be able to dig a grave for burial, even if they had had any suitable tools to dig with. The rock overhangs that were a common feature on the inland cliffs provided an alternative to burial, they could move all the bodies underneath one, and collapse it over them.
He looked over at Cade who appeared to be carefully studying his boots, and said, “Change of plan, I don’t think we have any shovels anyway. I want you to help me get the bodies under that overhang over there.”
Cade swallowed loudly looking more than a little panicked about it. “Now?” His voice quavered a little as he asked a question to which it looked like he already believed he had the answer to.
“Get a drink of water if you can find one. Then we’ll make a start. I don't want to still be here if Lasona comes back, do you?”
“No.” Cade looked around nervously. “No I'd really rather not.”
Moving stiffly as the bruises started to pull tight Sarpedon made his way over to the private.
Private Perrin saluted wearily as Sarpedon approached. “Two additional survivors, sir. They are both ours,” he said proudly. “But I didn’t want to move them too much in case it hurt them more.” He looked at Sarpedon expectedly, obviously awaiting orders.
“Do you think that you’ve found all that are still alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you see anything odd about any of the bandits, like a uniform or a unit badge?”
“No, sir,” Perrin said rather more hesitantly this time. “I hadn't thought to look for that. Should I have done, sir? I mean they were just Sitha bandits, weren't they?”
“Mr Cade seems to think that they were being led by a Captain Lasona, a mercenary. He'd been caught by them, held for ransom apparently. I've untied him and he'll be helping us until we can get to Timballie.” Sarpedon shook his head to clear his thoughts; it didn’t help. “Private Perrin, So I want you to assess the situation of the water and food supplies. Water the men and provide them with food if they can eat it, yourself also. Then if they are able to assist make a detail to collect any undamaged rifles, ammunition, water canteens, powder flasks and ration packs. After that report back to me.”
Private Perrin saluted again. “Yes, sir.”
Sarpedon could see the relief in the youths eyes that he wasn’t going to be helping to move the dead as he hurried away.
Keep them busy, Sarpedon thought. That was what he’d been told many years ago when he had been newly made an officer. Keep them busy that they wont have any time to dwell on the present. Doesn’t work once your in charge though, he thought grimly, then thinking about the present and the immediate future is all you can do. It’s only once you reach high levels of command that you are allowed to stick your head back in the sand again.