Gutter Rats: Origins Chapter 10

All the patrols returned intact that night. None of them had anything to report. Nor was there anything to report after the day patrols returned the following afternoon. Nothing, that is, but the Crodin tracks outside the fort, some just outside the walls.

That made the soldiers of Lost Hope keep their weapons closer. Would the nomads attack the fort directly? They’d never done so in the past. But they had never had a leader like Trakar Cornash either. The simple fact that he’d united so many Crodin clans was proof he was different.

He’d shown himself to be a bold leader. He’d raided further into Qarathian lands and attacked bigger towns than any Crodin in fifty years at least. Who knew what he was capable of?

After several more days with no reports from any patrols, the general was beside himself with fury. He mustered the men at least once a day, sometimes twice, haranguing them about their failures. He doubled the patrols. Some of them died, but nothing was learned about the Crodin, their whereabouts, their numbers, nothing.

As angry as the general was, his lady was perhaps even angrier. Her shrill tongue was heard often. Her favorite target seemed to be Stanley, but none were safe from her temper. Breaking glass was heard. Shouts. Slaps. A maid stumbled out of the pavilion one morning with four bloody furrows down her cheek.

After yet another night with no results, the general mustered them again. This time, the soldiers were greeted with something different.

At the front, near the door to the headquarters, a dozen stakes had been driven into the ground. An uneasiness gripped the soldiers as they lined up, every eye on the stakes.

The general appeared on his balcony. He seemed calmer this morning.

“I’ve tried talking to you. I’ve tried reasoning. I’ve tried appealing to your courage. And none of it worked. You think I’m weak. You think you can do whatever you want. But you’re wrong.” He gave them a dark smile. “So wrong.” He gestured.

A line of men came walking in from the side. The men from last night’s patrol. They were all stripped to the waist. Each was tied to a stake. Other men walked up then, all carrying whips. They were not soldiers, but men from the general’s personal guard.

A sort of low growl came from the watching soldiers. The general shouted at them to shut up and ordered the lashing to begin.

By the time the general called a halt, every soldier had been driven to his knees. Blood poured from their backs. Their cries of pain subsided to moans.

“That is what you have forced me to do,” the general said. “This is on you, all of you. You left me no choice.” He pointed at them. “Every patrol that comes back with nothing to report will face the same punishment. Do you hear me?”

An angry roar met his words. He blinked in surprise, then hurried back indoors.

“I’ll wring his fucking neck,” Dravit said as the muster was breaking up.

“Curb that talk, soldier!” Tairus barked.

Dravit glared at him, but didn’t pursue it. All around others were muttering angrily.

“I got patrol tonight,” Quyloc heard one soldier say. “I’ll tell him I saw all the Crodin. I’ll tell him I saw the king of the Crodin, and he invited me to tea. Whatever he wants, that’s what he’ll hear.”

“What else can we do?” another replied.

“He’s going to get us all killed,” another said gloomily. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Something curious happened that afternoon.

Quyloc was wandering the fort again. He’d done so a score of times already, but there was nothing else to do. He was also trying to learn every nook and corner of the place. Part of how he’d survived on the streets so long was knowing exactly where to bolt to when danger showed.

He heard voices by the gate and walked over there.

The soldier on watch on top of the wall was talking to someone outside. Quyloc heard the person outside reply, but couldn’t make out the words. The soldier on watch called down to open the gate.

The gate swung open, revealing a sole person standing there. He didn’t look like much, dressed in a long, dusty caftan of coarse brown cloth. On his head was a large, floppy hat. He had something hanging around his neck on a leather thong that drew Quyloc’s attention for some reason. But he couldn’t see what it was. It was hidden inside his clothing. Still, he wondered.

“What in blazes are you doing out here?” the soldier who’d opened the gate asked. “Are you an idiot?”

“Perhaps,” the man said calmly. “I have questioned the wisdom of coming here several times already. Thank you for letting me in.”

“Well, it’s clear you ain’t a Crodin. I can’t figure how you’re still alive, but welcome to Lost Hope.”

“Not a very reassuring name, is it?”

“Ain’t nothing reassuring about this place. You best leave as soon as you can.”

“I will take your advice to heart.” He was carrying a small, leather pack. “May I set up camp?”

“Go right ahead. Find a sergeant or an officer and tell them who you are. Mind the scorpions. They like to get out of the sun too.”

Quyloc approached the man, who held out his hand. “I’m Dorn.”

Quyloc barely touched his hand before pulling his back. He didn’t much like people touching him. He realized that Dorn was younger than he’d thought at first, still in his twenties he guessed.

“What book is it you have there?” Dorn asked.

Quyloc looked down and realized he was holding his book. “It’s a history of the empire.”

Dorn nodded. “You’ve learned about the Tenders of Xochitl then.”

“Some. Not enough.”

“Is there any mention of Callers in there?”

“Not much. They were men with unholy powers. The Tenders hunted them ruthlessly.”

Dorn’s expression darkened. “Unholy powers indeed.”

“You disagree?” Quyloc asked.

“Wholeheartedly. Be careful. Not everything you read in a book can be trusted.”

Quyloc looked down at his book. To him, books were sacred. He hadn’t considered that they could harbor lies.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You came all this way…and you’re not sure?”

“Call it a feeling. Or maybe something I heard on the wind.” Dorn touched whatever was hanging from the leather thong when he said this. Quyloc wondered again what it was. It seemed to tug at him somehow.

“It must have been a powerful feeling.”

“Or a pushy wind,” he replied. When he spoke, a breeze sprang up around his ankles, swirling the hem of his caftan.

Quyloc blinked, wondering what he’d just seen.

“I won’t keep you from your book.” Dorn gave a slight bow and walked away.

Quyloc stared after him. That was someone he needed to talk to more. Maybe he would have some of the answers Quyloc sought.

Go to next chapter.