Peter Roberts
patreon
Told In Stone Chapter 16: Into the Echo
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 10:59:34 +0000 UTCThe heavy rain burst the banks of the river Grave and forty thousand marching Faelen infantry turned the ground around the looming gateway to a muddy quagmire.
Riot struggled through the bog, the sticking mud pulling at his boots. The flood waters had seeped into the Echo itself and small shoots of grass had appeared. Would the gateways breathe some life into the Faelen prison? It seemed hard to believe, as far as he could see the land was brown and dry, with naked red rock formations littering the horizon.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a horse? It might help you get off on the right foot with your half-company, perhaps inspire them a little,” Deacon asked as she rode beside him.
No-one who had ever seen Riot clinging miserably onto the neck of horse would call it inspirational, besides horses cost money, and even though captains were paid better, none of the regiments had been paid anything for a month. “I’m better on my own two feet, ma’am.”
“I’m not a soldier, Riot. Deacon will do.”
Riot still wasn’t sure how to take the Wikkan. They’d fought together, they’d drunk together. But the slip of a girl still wore a face like a stone mask most of the time. Though today he sensed she sagged a little in the saddle, and he would have said that she looked often to the shadows. But that was Wikkan, wasn’t it? Married to the shade, or something.
“Have to keep up appearances when we’re traveling with royalty, ma’am,” Riot replied, nodding to the gaudy golden carriage ahead of them.
The future king of the Faelen leaned out of the window of the golden carriage, waving regally to the Faelen heading through the Echo to Fallow. All saluted him, calling out commiserations for the queens passing and praising him as the new king of the Faelen.
The future king of the Faelen leaned out of the window of his golden carriage, giving encouragement to the two dozen Faelen infantry that struggled to move the monstrous carriage through the mud.
Two more heavy wagons were lined up behind. One held supplies, tents, and a dozen large barrels of water and three barrels of the precious whisky ration that was the only thing that would keep the Leybound marching. The other was loaded with furniture, clothes, and a dozen other useless items that Gwilhelm had insisted on bringing. A carved writing desk was strapped to the back that would at least be useful for firewood, given the lack of trees.
At last the carriage and the wagons were freed and the Faelen cheered.
“He’s not even crowned yet, and they love him,” Deacon mused.
“Let’s see how many of them are still cheering in winter when the siege is six months old and they’re taking a shivering shit in a ditch,” Riot replied.
“Ever the optimist, captain.”
Captain. Riots hand strayed back to the pendant on the metal chain around his neck. The weight of it felt right, and would feel even better if Leguard ever arrived to see it. “No sign of the Erudorans,” he said, looking back at the looming gateway.
“We won’t for Leguard and that’s fine with me. You’ll not repeat this, Riot, but the man is an ass. Travelling without him will be much more pleasurable. Ah, it looks like your half company have found their way here.”
Riot almost laughed out loud to see them. He thought Kerne would saddle him with a company of detachments made up of broken down regiments, but instead fifty of the first Leybound regiment sat around off to the side of the main road, watching the endless stream of traffic pass by them into the Echo. They smoked, lounged and generally grumbled and among them twelve who wore darker blue uniforms scrambled up to greet Riot warmly, congratulating him on his recent promotion.
Deacon nodded approvingly as she was introduced to them. “The hero’s of Morbian, seems I’m in good company.”
“We saw you at the battle for the gate, Warcaster. That was something I dare say I’ll never forget for the rest of my days,” Rimmer said, tipping his hat.
“The road we take will be easier I promise you. His highness has insisted we detour to visit the site of the breaking of the Echo, and after that we should arrive in time for the battle at Fallow. Here’s a map for you, Riot. I’ll inform the Prince we’ll be leaving immediately,” Deacon said, urging her horse gently in the direction of the golden carriage.
Riot glanced at the map. It was more like a sketch, lines that could have been trails winding between high rock formations, and this was the first he’d heard of any detour. But those empty sections of the map could be where Fletcher and Miller were being held. He folded the map.
“Good to have you back, Sir.” Crease said.
“Crease, still alive?” Riot asked the tall cutthroat.
“Barely sir, couple of close calls.”
“You been living like a Lord, Sir?” Oliver, the youngest of the unit asked.
“I’ve been bloody bored up till now and I can’t promise it’ll get any more interesting than this.” Riot replied. “Rimmer, thought you’d have wanted to stay on the front lines?”
Rimmer gave a wide gap toothed grin. He was one of the shrewdest men in the unit at shirking hard work and when they’d first met he’d pissed and moaned at every order Riot gave. But now he was one of Riot’s bed men, and one of the bravest in a fight.“Came for Fletcher and young Miller, Sir. We getting them out?”
The men looked to him, all radiating concern for their missing comrades. “Our job is to protect his highness through to Fallow.” The heads of the men dipped slightly and Riot felt the weight of the pennant around his neck. Getting the two men back would mean dropping Gwilhelm off and heading right back into the Echo. It would mean loosing the commission, but in the end there wasn’t even a choice. “I won’t leave them in some long-ear prisoncamp, so keep your eyes and ears open, when this is done, we’ll get the lads back. Now form up, marching order.”
Loic looked doubtfully up at the red sky above them, the clouds racing across with no breath of wind to drive them. “We’re really going in there?” He asked in a low voice.
“The Prince is, and we’re here to see him safely through. That’s the job.”
“Join the regiments, you’ll see the world they said. But they never said which one,” the northman grumbled and lowered his voice as he went on. “About Fletcher and Miller. I tried to look in to the prisoner lists, had to bribe the clerk a guilder.” The northman paused, waiting expectantly.
Riot sighed before fishing out a half guilder coin and handing it over. Loic had likely threatened the man for the information, but he knew the men only cleared a silver Duke and eleven measly splits a day, and they were owed backpay for three months.
“They weren’t there.” Loic went on. “But I found out something else. Twenty Leybound were on patrol from from the second Leybound company. They’re all missing, no prisoners reported.”
So more Leybound were missing than just Fletcher and Miller. Kerne must have known, but she said nothing. Not that that was much of a surprise. Were they also taken by these Cetic monks Deacon told him about? Twenty two men to think about now. “Three days to the battle Loic, then we come back and put those red-robed bastards to the sword until they found out what was going on.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Might have a nosey around for some of that gold while we’re at it.”
Though their road took them away from the marching Royal Faelen regiments, they were not alone. The fortune seekers had finally been admitted to the Echo and their slow moving trail of humanity stretched into the distance. Swaying wagons heaped with tools rolled alongside shabby miners carrying only a knapsack and a pickaxe over one shoulder.
Riot gave a rare smile and settled into the comfortable rhythm of a march. There was none of Colonel Worthy’s blustering to worry about, no Captain Clarkson being given special treatment. After so many years slogging it out in the ranks, then being made Leybound, things were finally starting to look up.
Riot chatted with the men, sharing jokes. Rimmer gave them a few warbling choruses of marching songs and they all admitted that Fletcher sang better, and wondered how the old soldier was faring in the Faelen prisons.
At noon, a camp formed on the horizon and as they approached Riot saw that it was a town of sorts. It was mostly tents of varying sizes, but there were a handful of buildings, and the start of what looked to be a chapel of the Prior.
“How in all the hells did they get that built so damn quickly?” Loic said.
Deacon went ahead to investigate and after a time rode back to meet them, the hooves of her horse kicking up red dust. “The place doesn’t even have a name yet, a frontier town and likely the last before we head deeper into the Echo. Gwilhelm wants to stop, he says the carriage is too hot.”
“Place like that might have a tavern,” Loic added.
“I expect so, but I don’t think you can expect much in the way of comfort,” Deacon said.
“What he means, ma’am is that if this lot get within a half mile of a tavern we’ll never get them out again until the barrels have been licked clean.” Riot gazed around and pointed to a spire of a rock formation on the other side of the settlement. “Loic, take the men and the wagons around and keep your distance.”
“They won’t like it, sir, perhaps something to sweeten the pot?” Loic asked a hopeful tone in his voice.
“Double whisky ration tonight when we stop.”
Loic grinned and snapped off a smart salute.
“You let him take command of a half company?” Deacon asked, watching Loic stride away bellowing orders at the Leybound.
“Most of them will follow me, but the ones that don’t will come because they’re scared of him,” Riot replied.
The town was one dusty street with a hundred of half finished wooden buildings on either side. A workman stood on a rickety ladder putting the finishing touches to a sign that proclaimed a rickety wooden shack to in fact be a general store.
Gwilhelms golden carriage drew attention as it rumbled through, but at the sight of a Wikkan most made the wise decision to busy themselves with their own tasks.
Only one man who sat on the shadow of a half finished building watched them. He was a Tarian with a swarthy face, deeply tanned with a small black moustache and a pointed goatee. The studded leather armour he wore was good quality and the sword breaker at his waist looked well used. Leaning on a fence post near him was a seven foot tall Orc with a face all squinty like he was always looking into the sun. His shaved head covered in his clan markings and the scimitar at his waist almost grazed the floor.
Mercenaries. Riot watched them calmly and the Tarian gave him a small wave.
Gwilhelm leaned out of his carriage window and complained loudly about the heat and declared he wanted to visit the ale house.
Deacon dismounted, but Riot waved her on. “I’ll watch over the carriage.”
It only took a handful of minutes before the Tarian approached, the Orc trailing several steps behind. “Ho traveller, come to seek your fortune in the red land? If you find your self short of hands I’d be open to offering our services, for a fee of course.”
“Bring your own shovel and pickaxe do you?” Riot asked.
The Tarians bright smile showed a row of bright white teeth but did not reach his small eyes. “Unless I miss my guess, you’re not prospecting, and our talents lie in other areas.”
“I see.” Riot pointed to the spire of rock where a low cloud of dust was catching the breeze. “I have fifty talented men over there, they can do all sorts of things, they have shovels too, we try to dig four foot deep most of the time or the rats get in.”
The Tarian held out his hands, palms out. “I meant no offence, only I see those bindings on your hands, Leybound. I’ll tell you for free that the deep Echo is a dangerous place for folk such as yourselves. My Captain will see you safe on your journey.”
“For a price?”
“Nothing in this world is free, friend.”
The door to the tavern swung open and Deacon and Gwilhelm emerged. The young Princes face was twisted in a scowl and his elderly Valet, Paulie struggled on behind him, bowed under the weight of a large clay jug.
“I’ll have to turn you down, friend,” Riot said, waiting until he heard the carriage groan before he turned and followed.
“Trouble?” Deacon asked falling back to ride beside Riot.
“A couple of sell-swords looking for work,” Riot replied. Looking back he saw the two mercenaries mount their horses and head back out of the town, away to the south.
“There will be many more than that now the gateways are open and the Mazral army have been forced back.”
“All looking to get rich on Faelen gold?” Riot scoffed.
Deacon flashed a smile. “There’s enough buried under this red land for everyone, Riot, I’ve seen it.”
Riot marched on, wishing he’d bought a couple of pickaxes after all.
Comments
George R
Thanks for the chapter
