The Soldier's Tale Read Online Free Page B

“You two.
Check the wounded. Magistrius Mallister, if you can do anything for
them…”
    But he couldn’t. The wyvern had left
poisoned men, headless men, and the one poor fellow who had been
opened from throat to groin, but it had not left us with any
wounded men.
    I put the recruits to work getting the
horses organized and preparing the slain men for transport back to
Castra Durius for burial. They’d had a nasty shock, but work was
the cure for that.
    Hell, I’d had a nasty shock. I wanted a
stiff drink, but that wasn’t happening for a while, so I went to
work.
    “A bad business, sir,” I said to Primus as
the men went about their tasks.
    “It could have been worse,” said Primus,
shaking his head. “A wyvern. God and the saints! If I’d even
suspected, I would have set out with a stronger force. A wyvern
hasn’t been since this far south of the Wilderland since
Ardrhythain founded the Two Orders. Still, it could have been
worse. When I was a young man, I rode with some knights of
Coldinium in a hunt for a wyvern. The beast turned the tables on
us, and slew half our party before Sir Corbanic could land the
killing blow upon the creature. Speaking of that. Romilius!”
    The young man hurried over. “Sir
Primus.”
    “What on earth possessed you to start
hacking at the damned thing’s head like that?” said Primus.
    Romilius hesitated. “It…seemed the thing to
do at the moment, sir. I figured the beast might not be able to
lift its head if I pinned its neck, and it was about to bite off
the Optio’s head, sir.”
    “Indeed it was,” I said. “You did
well.”
    “Aye,” said Primus. “We’ve lost good men
today, but we would have lost more of them if not for your quick
thinking, Romilius. Well done!”
    A cheer rang out, and to my surprise the
men-at-arms had been listening to us. Romilius looked around,
embarrassed. It was the first time the boy had earned the accolades
of his peers, but I suspected it would not be the last.
    My head still hurt, and getting knocked
over had not helped. God, but I wanted a drink.

    ###

    We returned to Castra Durius, and the slain
men were interred in the catacombs below the fortress with full
honors, the Dux’s own priests presiding over the burial rites as we
commended the men to the Dominus Christus. The day after that, Dux
Kors held a feast to celebrate the wyvern’s defeat. Sir Primus
Tulvan had been in command, so he received a reward. Romilius, as
the man who had struck down the wyvern, received a purse of gold.
Romilius insisted that the gold go to the widows and families of
the dead men, which so pleased the Dux that he gave the gold to the
widows and the orphans and instead rewarded Romilius with a new set
of armor, a new sword, and his choice of horses from the
stable.
    After, I retreated to my favorite watch
tower to drink, and this time both Mallister and Romilius came with
me.
    “Have a drink on the Optio, lad,” I said,
passing him a wooden cup. “God knows you earned it. If you had been
a little slower, I would be asking St. Peter for admission to the
kingdom of heaven.”
    Romilius gave the cup of whiskey a dubious
glance, shrugged, and lifted it to his lips.
    “Don’t drink it all at…” I started.
    Romilius swallowed the entire thing in one
gulp. Mallister winced. About a heartbeat later, Romilius’s face
turned bright red and he started coughing, and I gave him a few
slaps on the back.
    “Mother of God and all the saints!” he
wheezed at last. “That’s strong.”
    “I’m friends with the miller in the town,”
I said. “Man has his own still, lets me buy direct from him.”
    “I think the monks could have used this to
strip the paint off their walls,” said Romilius, blinking tears
from his eyes.
    “Probably,” I said.
    “And you drink this every night?” said
Romilius, astonished.
    “No, not every night,” I said. “Never in
the field. Only on nights when I don’t have duty the next day.”
    “Is it because…”