Blood and Iron 2 by Eli Steele

Author:Eli Steele [Steele, Eli]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Griffon Alexander

Braewood Forest

Kingdom of Beyorn

“Are you sure about this?” Pagan whispered, peeking out from behind a tree.

“That’s the second time you’ve asked,” replied Griffon. “See anything?”

“No.”

The pair slipped out from around the broad trunk and continued into the depths of the Braewood Forest.

“It just seems heretical, especially by an Alexander.”

“If there’s another way, I don’t know it, though I wish I did.”

“What about that?” Pagan said, motioning ahead.

A pile of deadfall loomed in the distance. Branches and limbs lay rotting on the spongy floor. Griffon circled it, careful to keep an eye over his shoulder. “It’s big, but I don’t know if it’s enough fuel. The bark of a braewood is thick, and as hard as iron. It’ll take a hot fire to catch. But when it does...”

“The sap will carry the flames all the way to the top,” Pagan added. “And then there’s no stopping this, Griff.”

“It’s not enough, not this one,” the young Alexander said, “and we’re too close to their camp. We risk their rear guard or a scout discovering it. We need it to be an inferno by the time they know. We need it to consume everything.”

“Then we keep looking.”

The wind carried with it the distant, muffled sounds of war. Chaos and death whispered on its fingers, adding to the urgency of their task. Griffon pushed the thoughts back. He’d found that if he allowed his mind the freedom to wander the battlefield, or to consider the trebuchet, paralysis edged in on him.

Scanning the trees, Griffon stole deeper into darkened grove, his companion close beside him. Up ahead, a brook cut a meandering path through the forest. Sandy, and shallow, and broad, it leisured along. Sunlight threatened to breach the thinned canopy over the stream, but the braewood’s branches clasped tight and held it back yet. A single Meronian knelt at the water’s edge and filled an armful of skins, sword strapped across his back and shield face-down in the moss.

“Cocksure arsehole,” Pagan muttered, stepping behind a wide trunk. “Let me run him through with that spear. He’ll learn to drop his guard so close to the Brae.”

“Shhh... just wait. There’ll be time for that yet...”

Three more scouts, sword and shield in hand, joined the man by the brook. Hardened leather was fastened around their torsos. Nasal helms adorned their heads, the black cross of Meronia emblazoned on the back.

“Who’s cocksure now?” remarked Griffon.

“Hmph, so, what do we do?”

“Outnumbered two to one? Nothing. We wait.”

The guards milled about, eyes searching the trees, while the kneeling man filled the last of the skins. In hushed tones, they spoke words unheard, until finally, they left.

“See?” Griffon said.

“This is not a satisfying conclusion, m’lord, not at all.”

“One day, when you have your own charge of men you can do as you will, but until then, any conclusion where we leave alive is counted as a victory.”

“My own company of men...” Pagan mused wistfully, “Oh, the blood we’d spill and the bowels we’d empty. The bards would tease the taverns with our tales.

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