Table of Contents – (spoilers)
The court martial and execution of Trooper Horace for murderous assault upon an officer was as perfunctory as it possibly could be. The Baron of Spaggot, Colonel Hart, oversaw both. He did not seem to take any pleasure in it, but nor did he flinch from it.
For whatever it was worth, Trooper Horace died bravely, without offering to name names. There was some idle speculation that this was likely due to his having family members to protect. Some of those he might have named were there in attendance to watch his execution: Sergeant-Major Orel and Lieutenant Hamon had been released from their “special duty” to the church by the town’s new magistrate, Father Spencer Morrenthall, cleric of the Knights of the Holy Sword.
As executions went, it was as brutal as could be expected. In front of all the soldiers left in town, Horace, now stripped of his rank, was flogged with a scourge down to bone, just as Lieutenant Cooper had promised he would be. Then, while there was still some life left in his carcass, he was strung up by his neck to strangle slow. He took it as well as could be expected, screaming just a little less than usual as the scourging ran its course.
With the execution finished just over an hour after dawn, Lieutenant Bartholomew Pekot was ordered to return to his post of Bristlehump, where his platoon was to be its new garrison, incorporating whatever might be left of its old one. As well, Lieutenant Pekot was to continue serving as apparitor for the community’s magistrate, Brother Cornelius Barrelmender of the Brothers of the Holy Stone. Before they left, the platoon’s recruits were upgraded to proper spearmen, to begin drawing pay from that point on. Dom and Lenny, the two men pressed into Choke’s service at the jail by Father Morrenthall, were also promoted to corporals.
The rain that had been threatening for the last day chose to break just as the Pekot’s Bushrats platoon marched from Spitzer Fort. Some of the men trudging along surely regarded this as an omen. Of course, whether it was or not changed nothing for them. The hard rain fell straight down, soaking the men within a minute, and the road became slick with mud. The platoon marched on down the hill and through the town of Spitzer to the road to Bristlehump.
Choke rode at the head of the platoon, upon his warhorse, Nike. Armored in chainmail with his simpler tabard overtop, he rode with light lance in hand. His longbow was in its saddle case with a full quiver alongside. Both were covered with oiled deerskin against the rain.
Next to Choke rode Pinch. As was usual, he was riding with his deer bow in hand and a quiver over his shoulder. He was lightly armored in cured leather armor. He had a fine steel shortsword on his belt, given to him by Peep from her killing of the Chisel’s scouting party. On Pinch’s saddle was the big bandit warhorn he had earned by killing its previous owner, Burkhard, the bandit captain.
Behind Choke and Pinch, the platoon marched in a loose column, with the thirty men spread out over about twenty-five meters. At their center was the pack horse that Peep had procured for them, along with all the necessary equipment and supplies. These were led by Corporal Lenny on his little bush horse. Lenny was armed with a shortbow, along with a shortsword, hand axe, and daggers. His compatriot, Corporal Dom rode at the edge of the column keeping an eye on the men. He was similarly armed with a hunting bow and light melee weapons.
Opposite Lenny rode Knuckle on the big, black warhorse that had been Alan ‘The Chisel’ Mason’s. As always, Knuckle had his greatsword on his back, with his warhammer and dagger on his belt. As well, he now sported the heavy cudgel he had taken off the jailer, Billy, who had been burned by Father Morrenthall. On Knuckle’s saddle was his longbow and quivers in their cases, just as Choke’s were.
Taking up the rear was Peep, riding her beautiful light warhorse which Choke had named Gorgeous Boy. In the rain, she had her wolfhead cloak up. On her back was her custom heavy shortbow, and in its saddle case was her Scythan warbow.
The spearmen were only just armed as such. Unarmored, they had new roundshields, freshly painted in the Baron’s green and black. Their armament was shortspears, just over the height of a man with a wide, iron head. Both the spears and the shields had been provided by the Baron. Whatever else they had, they had to provide for themselves. Of course, all the men had knives and daggers. Some of them were also armed with shortswords, light axes, hatchets, and various cleavers and choppers. While none of the men had shortbows (any recruits that had come into service with such weapons would have been snapped up by the regiment’s other lieutenants), six of the men had slings. As well, the men all carried packs with their bedrolls, eating kits, and whatever other gear they had managed to hang onto.
At the Spitzer church, Otilla of the Holy Fire’s followers waited for them. The Holy Fire Wailers were packed up and ready to march, standing eagerly in the rain with Father Morrenthall. When Pekot’s Bushrats reached the church, Choke raised his hand and Pinch called for the column to halt. They managed it without looking too poor.
Father Morrenthall took some time to sermonize and bless first the soldiers, and then Peep’s followers. There were more of them than there had been even a few days earlier: now sixteen in total, including the children. Of course, Mariola was with them, but she stood off to the side a little, close to Father Morrenthall. Mariola was wrapped in a long, wool cloak and conservative bonnet with its brim pulled low over her face.
When Father Morrenthall had finished his blessings, Choke handed him the letter to Brother Willem before the procession set off for Bristlehump. As was only right and proper, Peep’s followers became literally that, as they fell in behind her at the rear of the platoon.
In any army, it was normal for units to have what they called camp followers. Generally, these were the families of soldiers who could not afford to keep them someplace safe. Depending on the sensibilities of a unit’s commanding officer, the camp followers might also include what some might refer to as women of tarnished virtue. With full regiments on the march, if the commander was not especially stringent, these professional women would also be accompanied by pimps and gamblers. Be all this as it may, there was nothing at all unusual for Pekot’s Bushrats to be followed by a group of civilian men, women, and children. The only strange thing with this bunch was that they were praying to Peep.
The rain had diminished spirits when the platoon had set out from Spitzer fort, but it was not cold and a person can only get so wet. Once one is soaked, marching wet is not that much more disagreeable than doing so dry. As muddy as it was, after the oppression and peril of Spitzer, the open road lifted their spirits, if even just a little; as open roads often do for those leaving misery behind. As well, the realization that they were being joined by Peep’s followers cheered them up further. That most of the followers were women, probably had much to do with that.
Very shortly after setting out from the church, the Bristlehump road veered off the main one into the bush, heading upstream along the now frolicking Bristle Creek. As they entered the forest, Peep issued a shrill whistle from her spot at the rear to bring everyone to a halt.
“All right! Everyone! And that includes you dipshits!” Peep wheeled her mount to point at her followers before continuing around to face front again.
“We are now in the bush! So listen up!” Peep bellowed. Then she sat stock still in the saddle, with the rain pouring down on her wolfhead.
After a few seconds, soldiers and followers alike began to shift around and look to each other, muttering about what all this could be about. Pinch was the first to get it, and he chuckled to himself just before Peep shouted again:
“Quiet, I said! Listen, I said! Not a fuckin sound from any one of ye!”
Again, she sat stock still in the rain. Everyone did the same. Slowly, more and more soldiers understood her point. Most of them were, after all, bushrats. After about a minute of silence, Peep relented.
“Okay! What ye were listening to, was the bush. That is what it’s supposed to sound like. That is what ye hear in a rainstorm in the bush, next to a crick. So even as loud as that is, I guarantee ye that if some other dipshits were walking along that road towards us like we were just walking, we’d a heard them coming before they saw us. Ye get what I’m saying?”
Peep paused for a long moment. The rain fell hard, and the creek rushed by. And everyone got her point.
“Now, all of ye dipshits! Ye listen up good, and ye listen to me now. When things get fucky in the bush, if ye get noticed before ye notice who’s noticing ye, ye more than likely get dead. So, as we move on, there aint gonna be any singing. There aint gonna be any whistling. There aint gonna be any tappity-tap-tapping on yar fuckin shield or yar fuckin cook pot. If ye need to say something, ye keep that shit as quiet as ye can. If yar water ladle keeps swinging on the back of yar pack, clanking against some other shit, like someone’s has been, I’m gonna shove it up yar ass! Ye get that shit tethered tight! All of it! Because if I have to tell any one of ye that yar being too loud out here, you aint gonna enjoy it! Not one little bit! Got it?”
Her audience did indeed seem to get it. Most of them took the time to jostle around with each other to check where they might be making any noise.
“Alright then!” Peep bellowed. Then she stuck her thumb and forefinger back in her mouth and gave another shrill whistle.
Up at the head of the column, Pinch signaled them to move on.
As they settled into the long march along the road next to the Bristle Creek, Peep moved up through the soldiers and pulled the six with slings out of the column. When they were walking along beside her in the rear, she leaned down in the saddle to talk to them just loud enough for them to hear:
“You guys have any stones for them critter crackers yar sporting?” she asked.
Some of them had a few, some did not.
“That’s alright. Ye pick em up as ye find them. Now, any of ye ever kill anything big with a slung rock? A deer? Goblin? Man?”
One of the slightly older men was about to nod when a younger one cut him off:
“A deer? With a sling? Come on! That aint possible!”
“The fuck it aint!” Peep came back at him. “I aint saying I can do it, but I seen it done. You there, droopy mustache man, you looked like you had something to say. What was it?” Peep nodded towards the older man.
“Yeah, well, just that I’ve killed a couple of gobos before. With a sling.”
“Fuckin rights, man! Crack em a good one in the head with a big river stone and that’ll get the job done. And a gobo’s head is a far site harder than any fuckin deer’s, youngster,” Peep said pointedly to the one who had doubted.
The young man flushed, but took his medicine, as the older one swelled with pride.
“What’s yar name?” Peep asked the mustache man.
“Hardmod, miss. I mean, ma’am. I mean, Miss Otilla of… ah…” the man panicked.
“Okay, yeah. Enough. Fuck it, just call me, sir. All of ye’s. Right?”
“Yes, sir,” the slingers said.
“Right. So, Hardmod, was it. You aint bullshitting me about them gobos, are ye?” asked Peep.
“No, ma’am, I mean, so, sir. I aint. But it weren’t at the same time. I got them at different occasions, ye see.”
“That’s fine. It’ll do. So, Hardmod, it aint like I’m making ye a corporal or anything, but yar now my head of slingers. Right? All of ye’s: ye now answer to Hardmod until I say different. Hardmod, don’t let it get to yar head. Ye start fucking around with them and taking liberties, I’ll cut yar fuckin thumbs off and let them assfuck ye to death in a bog. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, we’re shit outta luck on getting ye stones to sling right now, what with the crick blown out like it is, but here’s a standing order for ye guys. When we’re river or crick side and ye got an idle moment, I want ye collecting rocks. And not just little critter crackers, neither. Although, those too. Because I also want ye cracking varmints for the cook pot whenever ye see one. But I’m talking man-killers, right? Them big fuckers that’ll strip a man’s brain right outta his skull. And then ye start practicing with em. Ye got it?”
“Yes, sir!” the men all chorused, clearly excited by this elevated role of theirs.
“Good. And don’t clump up like this again, neither. Not unless I call ye in. Ye spread out and work the edges of the column and keep yar eyes sharp for shit to the side. Watch for ambushes, sure. But also for them cookpot varmints. Fresh meat aint ever a bad thing, is it?”
“No, sir!”
“And in case ye didn’t know this little tidbit, here’s a bit of something for ye. When yar stuck with a bunch of hard killers like this, they don’t tend to fuck with the folk that are putting fresh meat in their bellies. Ye keep em fed, they leave ye be. That’s just the way of it,” Peep said with a sly grin, as she tapped her temple.
“Yes, sir!”
“Good. Get on it. And keep gathering them rocks until humping them around is a problem for ye. Scoot!”
The platoon marched on through the rain. Besides a few minor reprimands for noise from Peep, the morning was uneventful. During this time, Peep and Pinch took the opportunity to begin teaching the soldiers and followers their basic hand signals and bird calls.
At around noon they stopped for about thirty minutes for a rest and a cold lunch of trail rations. During this time, Pinch and Peep conferred with Corporals Dom and Lenny about setting pickets, or the soldiers for a watch. They had not yet managed to determine the makeup of squads, since they had not had any time with the recruits to assess their combat readiness. However, Dom and Lenny did have a notion of those soldiers that were more experienced in the bush, having spent a couple of days with them clearing the woods near the fort. With this the only thing to go on, they divided up the thirty men amongst Knuckle, Pinch, Peep, Dom, and Lenny, so that each had six. Each squad had at least one slinger, as well as one other man that was thought to be worth a damn. Picket duty would be assigned as a rotation between the six squads.
When this was settled, Peep went to have a quick word with her followers. They were hunkered down together in the trees. Among her followers were two couples: one childless, and one with two boys and a girl that seemed to be between seven and ten years old. There was the woman with her nephew, the lad whose clothes Peep had taken. Then there were five women and two men, most on the younger side and single (although it seemed likely that they would soon be paring off).
Mariola was with them, but she was clearly being shunned and was sitting somewhat off to the side. Seeing this, Peep remembered that on the night when they had killed Wes, the teamster boss, she had told her followers that Mariola was gone and had not been what she had seemed. It was clear that they now distrusted her having been placed back in their midst by Father Morrenthall.
“Okay, now, let’s keep it calm and quiet. How’s it going?” Peep asked, without pausing to hear an answer. “Good. Now, we’ll be marching all day today and tomorrow, so keep up. We can’t slow down. Also, I want all of ye to know that Mariola here was a very important help to me and Father M back in town, and that’s why she aint been around for a bit. She is now yar leader. If ye need something, ye talk to her. Then she’ll talk to me, or Lieutenant Pekot. Got it?”
Mariola did not look at all pleased as the Holy Fire Wailers assured Peep, as quietly as they were able, that they understood.
“Good. Now, about these soldiers. We’re gonna talk to them about ye, and they should be steering clear of ye. If any of them pester any of ye, in whatever way, ye let me know and I’ll put a stop to it. It would be best for ye to steer clear of them yarselves. I don’t want any of ye’s to start hopping around between bedrolls at night,” Peep looked pointedly at the women. “That aint worth the kind of trouble it can bring down the road. Ye keep to yarselves until we’re in Bristlehump, and then we’ll figure out a place for ye at the church. Right?”
“Yes, Miss Otilla,” the group intoned.
“Good. Stron bless ye, and all that,” Peep waved her right palm over them in a general wheel. This impressed them greatly.
“Mariola, let’s have a word,” Peep then said as she pulled her aside. “How is it? Anything I need to know about?”
“No, I suppose not. But… I don’t know about this. These people… some of them are barely functional. And now we’re dragging them through the bush with their kids,” Mariola finished, looking pained.
“Oh, no shit? Man, and I thought we had some real winners here,” Peep chortled. “Look, I know it. But they’d be following us anyways, so we may as well do what we can for them. It’s what Father M wanted. Just do your best, and try not to let them get in too much shit. When we get to town, I’ll try to figure out something more useful for ye to do. We’ll sort ye out.”
“Ye mean with killing and the like?”
“Who knows? I hope not, but ye never know. Buck up, sister. Ye said ye were game to come on with us, and this is what I need from ye right now. They need someone who can think to herd them along,” Peep gave Mariola a friendly bump as she left her with her new wards.
Muse Vassal 