Peter Roberts
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Told In Stone Chapter 5: Baggage
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 17:00:20 +0000 UTCLieutenant Clarkson ducked out of the command tent. “I am sure you can go in at any moment, Riot,” he said, extracting another handkerchief and dabbing at his large nose. “Hay-fever,” he said by way of explanation.
Riot already waited almost an hour under the beating sun, glaring at the other officers that walked past without troubling to hide their satisfaction at seeing him kept waiting. A black stallion nearby tossed its head. Its saddle was expensive, stitched with silver thread with the emblem of Erudor stamped into the leather.
Clarkson continued his near constant chatter, his hands closed behind his back. “Can you believe it was a real warcaster? You know it’s been decades since one of them revealed themselves, and we got to see it first hand!”
There was good reason Warcasters weren’t seen. The Wikkan hadn’t always been allies of the Arcanum, or each other for that matter. There were few corners of western Parthanea that didn’t have some story of nightmares called from the abyss. Whole villages massacred by fell beasts, and that wasn’t the least of it.
“You know we were discussing it in the officers mess just yesterday evening. In fact I wondered if you–”
“Who’s horse is that, Clarkson?” Riot interrupted.
“Ah.” Clarkson looked uneasy, retrieving his handkerchief and fussing with it. “Well I believe it belongs to an Erudoran Captain.”
“Vincent Legaurd,” Riot said, recalling the name of the young Arcanist who had stormed into the infantry square as Doyle lay dead. “He’s inside?” Riot asked, nodding to the tent.
“Well, yes. I had thought to warn you, but my Uncle expressly–”
“Send him in!” Came Colonel Worthy’s shout from inside the tent.
“For what it’s worth, I think you did a damn fine job out there.” Clarkson’s hushed tone made Riot felt like he was being ushered in for his own funeral. “For what it’s worth,” the young lieutenant added lamely.
Inside the command tent, Colonel Worthy sat sweating behind an expansive desk. Beside him, Leguard sat in a comfortable armchair. The Erudoran had known Riot’s family name and now his face was twisted in distaste, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly.
Riot took a step closer to him before snapping to attention. All soldiers knew that an Arcanist within arms reach was a just a man, and one more used to holding a book than a sword. Their workings were complicated and took time to form. Drawing a sword was as easy as drawing breath.
“Sir,” Riot said, giving a curt salute.
“Where is your regimental uniform, Riot? You look like a damn peddler in that rag.”
“With the army wives sir, had to press the lice out of the seams,” Riot replied automatically.
Worthy peered over his steepled his fingers in a way that looked like he was studying ten fat sausages. “Bad business at the battle, lieutenant. Doyle dead. Thirty leybound killed, and two taken prisoner. If it weren’t for the actions of the Warcaster, the Prince would have been captured.”
“Not to mention our flank was left exposed. Were it not for the fortitude of my own regiment, the battle might have been lost,” Leguard added.
Worthy nodded sombrely as the other man spoke. “Captain Leguard is right, Riot. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Sir?” Riot asked.
“Major Doyle died and you ordered a retreat, man! When I expressly gave you orders to remain where you were, ready to march to the aid of our allies. We were protecting the flank, and you let them all run away!” Worthy cried.
Riot was momentarily lost for words. Worthy was blaming this on him? “There were a hundred cavalry coming for us, we would have been slaughtered.”
“Captain Leguard, you were present in my infantry square, did you feel that the threat from this rabble of horsemen was enough to call a retreat?” Worthy asked.
“No, Colonel, in fact I ordered Lieutenant Riot to march to the aid of my regiment and he outright refused. An act of cowardice I have noted in my report, but one that I am unsurprised at, given the dishonour of his family name,” Leguard said, his lip curling into a sneer.
Riot felt blood pumping in his ears and the control he held over the ley power slipped for a moment, seeping out into the long scars on his forearms. He wrenched back control and drew the power back to his core, crushing it down. “You gave no such order,” he said through gritted teeth.
Leguard stood. “Are you calling me a liar, Riotus?” He said, his voice radiating calm but his eyes flashing with anger.
“You don’t want to call me out. Your sword’s made for a display stand, mines made for killing,” Riot said.
Leguard glanced at the sword and paled slightly. The sheath still had blood on it from where Riot had finished a downed rider in the battle and not had time to clean it off.
Worthy stood abruptly and slammed his fat and on his desk. “Riot! I will not have you threaten another officer. And Captain Leguard, you know well enough that there is to be no duelling in this army.”
Leguard gave Worthy a small bow. “My apologies, Colonel, a point of honour. As a gentleman, I am sure you understand.”
“Of course, quite right. But all the same, can’t have duelling, General Roveran’s orders, you know,” Worthy said.
“I would never dream of disrupting the alliance between our regiments, Colonel. I expect my testimony has proven useful. I shall take my leave.”
The Arcanist collected his fine cloak and spared Riot a smirk of satisfaction as he left.
“A gallant officer that one. We could do with more like him,” Worthy said, leaning back into his chair.
“Sir,” Riot replied tonelessly, keeping his gaze fixed just above the Colonels left ear.
The silence extended for a few uncomfortable moments before Worthy spoke.“What do I do with you, Riot?”
“Sir?”
“Doyle is dead, and the other senior officers won’t have you serve under them. You contradict them! You contradict me! They give orders and the Leybound look to you to confirm them. It’s just not tolerable, this regiment is built on a chain of command.”
“You could always promote me to captain, sir. Then I could just give the right orders.”
Worthy’s eyebrows furrowed. “This is what I’m talking about. Your attitude is lacking, man. Severely lacking in the humility and respect one finds in an officer of good breeding. I can only put so much down to the misfortune of your birth.”
Misfortune was right. An immigrant in the slums of Fallow-Neck, the daily ache in his belly driving him to rob and steal and worse to stay alive. It had taught him how to fight though, and those lessons had kept him alive long after he left the gutters and pulled on a uniform.
Worthy continued, not meeting Riots gaze. “In any case, the vacant captains commission has already been filled.”
“By who?” Riot said, already knowing the answer.
“The newly gazetted Captain Clarkson.”
“You want me to serve under Clarkson?” Riot failed to keep the disbelief from his voice.
“Have you not been listening to me? I can’t have you under Clarkson, you’d undermine his authority. The men would never listen to him. You made a grave error in the last engagement, and for your punishment, you’re to be assigned to the baggage train.”
“You’re putting me on guard duty? I’ve got men taken prisoner, I have to get them back.”
Worthy slapped his hand down on his desk again, his face flushed. “You should be grateful you still get to keep that lieutenants pennant at all! Major Doyle gave you far too long of a leash, but I won’t make the same mistake. The next time I see you I want you wearing light blue like the rest of us. Dismissed!”
Riot saluted automatically and stormed out of the tent, straight into the newly anointed Captain Clarkson, sending the man sprawling to the ground. The sight of the young man on his backside, puffy eyed with his nose dipping quelled the anger that surged in Riot.
“I should have told you about the captains commission before, I’m sorry. I said it should have gone to you,” Clarkson said as Riot helped him to his feet.
“It’s not your fault, sir,” Riot replied, the title leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
This is what his glorious career as an officer had come to? Stopping petty thieves from stealing from the supply wagons, while wet blankets like Clarkson led better men to their deaths.
“No, I was a coward. To replay you, you’ll come to the officers mess with me,” Clarkson said.
“I don’t think–” Riot began.
“That’s an order lieutenant.” Clarkson nervous laughter and bright smile withered under Riot’s gaze. He coughed awkwardly. “They have a very well stocked bar.”
He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t lead. What else was there but to follow the oldest of army traditions and drown his sorrows in liquor? “Lead the way,” he sighed.
Comments
George R
Thanks for the chapter
