The Southern Trail (Book 4) (15 page)

“Is there anything available to eat?” Marco asked.  He looked back at the other fire, and saw that Rhen and Ellersbine were embracing each other, as the duchess consoled the princess over the death of her father, and Marco felt an upwelling of sympathy for the princess.  The young lady had become engaged to a man who Marco was convinced she did not love; she had become engaged to help protect her father, who was now dead, while she was left with Argen.  Her father was dead, she was stranded on an island, and there were few things going right for her at the moment.

“I’d like to have something to take back to the duchess too,” Marco added, as a soldier handed him a plate with a small portion of food.  He accepted the second plate, then returned to the tense group that stood in two segments.

“Here you are my lady,” Marco presented the plate of food to Rhen and then ate his own meal.  Afterwards he circulated among the soldiers and sailors, listening to them talk about the evacuation from the ship, and vaguely answering questions about his own escape with Rhen.  Within an hour’s time he was confident that the soldiers would support him if a showdown with Argen or Varsen were to arise.

The next morning, he and Fyld and Hearst went to the area under the trees where the nobles had camped.

“What is our plan for getting off the island?” Marco asked the ship’s captain.

“We’re going to send out three lifeboats,” the captain answered.  “One to go south towards shore, to try to get a rescue mission, and the other two to go west into the shipping lanes to try to catch the attention of the other two ships we left Athens with.

“We don’t know if they’re anywhere in the vicinity, but for the next few days they’re our best hope for rescue,” he explained.

By the middle of the morning the three lifeboats had been pushed out into the sea and rowed out of sight, and the rest of the survivors settled in to a long period of waiting for something to happen.  And on the third day on the island, something did happen; two large ships appeared and dropped their sails as they anchored just beyond the wreckage of the Corsair ship that had smashed into the reef around the island.  The two lifeboats in the sea had found their quarry.

The day was spent using all the small boats from both ships to ferry the shipwreck survivors out to the waiting vessels.  Marco found that he was assigned to the ship that the nobles were not going to, as were many of those soldiers closest to him.  The princess accepted his bow silently, while Rhen hugged him impulsively.  “We’ll miss you; we’ll see you back on shore,” she told him, and then the nobles were gone, Argen and Varsen looking smugly victorious as they reasserted their positions and authority among the crew and soldiers of the new ships.

Life aboard the rescuing ships was crowded, as the soldiers already on board made room for the newcomers who squeezed in among them.  When the voyage ended two days later as they arrived at Tripool, everyone was relieved to depart from the ships, and move on to the next uncertain step in their journey.

Chapter 12

Tripool was a dusty, dry city set in a harbor that was fed by the turbid waters of the Ruritan River.  The group of freed war prisoners that disembarked from the two ships was less than two hundred people.  While the ship that Marco and the others had sailed in had encountered so many calamitous adventures, the other two ships had suffered nothing until they had picked up the survivors of the first, and virtually all the losses had come from the shipwrecked group.

Colonel Varsen had asserted his command over the soldiers on the ship he had sailed on, and he took command of the overall contingent when they were reunited at Tripool.  Marco was briefly in the company of the princess as Varsen ordered people into the positions he called for.

“Thank you,” Ellersbine told Marco in a low voice, not looking directly at him.

“You’re welcome, your highness,” he answered.  “For what?” he asked after a pause, feeling oddly pleased to be with her again.

“My leg – you healed my leg in the ship wreck, and it got better immediately,” she told him.  “And for everything else,” she added after another pause.

“You there, getting moving; go join the squad I assigned you to,” Varsen shouted at Marco then, and he left the princess’s company under the watchful eye of the colonel.

Count Argen secured a carriage, and he rode in it along with the two women and Colonel Varsen as the column of survivors departed from Tripool, for what Marco was told would be a very long, extraordinarily grueling march to Foulata.  The column walked along a dusty road that followed the Ruritan River due south.  The river valley was a narrow strip of green in an otherwise hot and dusty environment.  Marco was separated from everyone he knew, and put under the command of officers who were ordered to keep him away from his shipboard companions.  The other soldiers in his squad sensed that he was viewed as a troublemaker, and so took no initiative to be seen socializing with him.  The social isolation he suffered was unpleasant, but Marco found ways to fill water buckets or remove trash or run other errands so that he had opportunities to often chat with Wilh or Hearst or others that he knew.  And he remained patient, knowing that there would be opportunities for his situation to improve as he headed towards Foulata in accordance with Lady Iasco’s plan.

After two weeks along the riverside road, the journey was following a waterway that had shrunk until it was little more than a wide creek in Marco’s eyes.  They reached the point where the river emerged from a swampy region at the foot of a chain of mountains, and they followed a new road, one that went around the swamp to approach the mountains.

At first, Marco heard the men around him respond to the new direction positively; they had grown tired of the dusty track along the river after a fortnight of walking.  But after two days the road finished circling around the swamp and reached the mountains.  At that point the marching men grew more unhappy, as they started marching up the mountain slope, wending their way along the trail as it rose through the mountains in a landscape that had few level stretches of road and few opportunities to find water.

Marco noticed that there were plants growing along their path that were rarely seen by the alchemists in the northern cities of the old empire of Clovis, and he idly picked them to place in pockets of his knapsack, wondering if he’d ever have an opportunity to put them to use.

The men began to carry water bags between their infrequent discoveries of watering spots along the road, and Marco began to gain popularity as he freely shared his water supply with the others in his squad, helping them to stay hydrated while he quietly relied on the water of Diotima’s spring as it easily flowed from his finger.

“Thank you Marco,” one of his squad mates told him ten days later when they were deep into the mountains, no longer climbing to a higher elevation, but still following a road that rose and fell with uncomfortable frequency.  It was nearly sunset, at the end of a long hot day.  Marco hoped they would find another spring or mountain stream within the next day, because even his excess water supply was almost empty from the amounts he had shared with his companions.

“Company halt,” Varsen gave the command from where he stood, next to the carriage at the front of the column.  The men gladly stopped walking along the road, and they began to set up camp for the night.

“Marco, get over here,” he heard an officer shout.  Marco looked up in surprise; no officer had paid any attention to him since his own captain had concluded that Marco would stir up no trouble, and had stopped keeping the close watch on him that Varsen had demanded.

Marco looked and saw that one of Varsen’s most loyal captains was standing by the coach, waiting for him to arrive.  With an exchange of surprised glances at his fellow squad members, Marco trotted over to find out what the officer had in mind.

“Go back and get your water bags,” the officer told Marco, as Marco tried not to watch Rhen and Ellersbine step down from the carriage.  “The horses are thirsty, and since you’re reported to be so free with your water, it’s your job to make sure they get enough to drink.  You can make sure they find enough to graze, too,” the man smirked as he ordered Marco to work.

“Yes sir,” Marco answered mildly, then walked back to grab one of his water bags, and to tell the squad where he would be.  When he got back to the carriage, there was no one available to help him as he unhitched the horses and led them up the road to a small patch of dry, wiry grass, where he let the pair of animals graze, while he went to work.

He sat and methodically sucked water from his finger, then spit into the water bucket, absent-mindedly working on the water supply for the animals until the bucket was full.  He let the two animals share the bucket, which they greedily drank dry, then he sat down again and filled the bucket again, while the sun set behind the mountains and the stars started to emerge overhead.

Marco moved the horses to a second patch of grass that he spotted by the light of the crescent moon, and he filled a third and a fourth bucket of water for the horses, then led them back on a five minute walk to the carriage.

“What took you so long?  Couldn’t you find any water for the horses?  They better not be suffering, or you’ll suffer worse,” Argen blustered at Marco when they returned to the camp.

“The horses are fine.  They had all the water they wanted,” Marco said cheerfully.  He turned his back to the nobleman and hobbled the animals so that they wouldn’t run off, then whistled cheerfully as he walked back to his own squad.

He ate the food the others had saved for his inadequate meal, then slept soundly.

The next evening, after another day hiking in the mountains, he was required to water the horses again.  He was at a distance from the rest of the column, once again supplying the water for the animals, when there was a sound behind him, and a quartet of soldiers stepped out from among the scrubby bushes that lined the road.

“How are you doing that?” asked a sergeant, one who Marco recognized was a reliable follower of Colonel Varsen.  “Are you using forbidden magic?”  All of the soldiers had swords or spear held ready for use.  Marco looked at the group, and momentarily considered simply drawing his sword and fighting.  The men around him were only following orders though, he realized, and he decided to mount no defense until his situation merited.

“What do you plan to do?” Marco asked quietly.

“We are placing you under arrest for illegal use of magic, and taking you back to Colonel Varsen,” the sergeant answered.

“Hand over your sword,” he commanded, holding his hand forth.

Marco jerked his head up, unprepared for the command.  The sword of Ophiuchus had been at his side continually since almost the very beginning of his adventures, and he took comfort in the presence of the reminder of the powerful, benevolent spirit resting on his hip.  Yet he had the ability to recover the sword if needed, he recollected, as he thought about the time he had been on trial on the island of Ophiuchus, standing in a hostile courtroom with Folence, and had been able to summon the sword to return to his grip by calling upon his powers.  That ability would remain his, and so he decided to surrender the enchanted weapon temporarily.

He carefully slid the sword out of its scabbard, then presented the hilt to the sergeant.  “Treat it with respect,” Marco warned.

The sergeant looked at him strangely, but took the weapon, then told Marco to pick up the water bucket and to bring the horses, after which the group walked down the road and back to the camp as the sun continued to set and dusk descended on the mountains.

Varsen was sitting near the carriage, with Rhen and Ellersbine and Argen, as well as a handful of compliant officers, when Marco and his escort arrived back at the camp.  Marco noted the heads turning among the soldiers he knew, as they watched him tie the horses in place, and then receive an escort over to the campfire where the leadership sat.

“Sir, I present the prisoner Marco, who we caught using magic to provide water to the horses,” the sergeant reported to Varsen.

“He placed his finger into his mouth, then spit out a mouthful of water into a bucket for the horses, doing it over and over again to fill the bucket completely more than once,” the sergeant laid his charges.

Marco’s eyes surveyed the group around the fire.  The faces were unfriendly, though one or two looked almost amused at the notion of spitting as a magical power.  Rhen and Ellersbine both looked sympathetic, and Ellersbine began to rise from her seat, ready to publically protest on his behalf.

Marco looked at her, and as their eyes met, he shook his head negatively, not wanting her to put herself in a compromised position on his behalf. 

The eyes of the princess looked surprised, then puzzled, then resigned as she accepted his silent urging as she stood.

“Is there something you wish to say, your highness?” Varsen asked upon seeing the princess stand.

“No, I’ll leave this situation and await to find out what charges you wish to bring to me to hear,” Ellersbine answered after a moment’s pause.  Rhen looked up at her in surprise, having expected a protest against the charges levied against the man who had saved their lives and acted as their friend.

“Come Rhen, we’ll leave this in the hands of the military for now, and wait to find if they plan to bring a trial for my consideration,” the princess instructed her friend.

“Charges of unauthorized magic would have to be handled by a civil court, not a military one, I presume, and as the ranking member of the royal house I would expect the trial would be brought to me for judgment,” she spoke boldly.

“As a nobleman and your fiancé, I would expect you would choose to turn this matter over to me for disposition,” Argen spoke up, caught off guard by the Princess’s assertion of control.

“I think not,” Ellersbine answered coldly, and she swept away from the gathering, accompanied by Rhen, who threw one more fretful look back at Marco as the two left the scene.