Westhaven - Rowan Erlking (free e novels .txt) 📗

need new, larger leg irons or his feet will fall off.”

Groaning, the boy pulled his legs in, stroking his swollen ankles with dread that they might fall off. Seeing the pair of them stare, he dropped them, pressing his lips closed and ducking his eyes.

Sighing, the driver nodded. “Agreed.”

They turned and walked into the road towards the village as the other soldiers were still searched for that lone rebel with the pistols. The lieutenant crossed to inspect the rest of the damage, sighing at the bullet holes in the side of the automobile. The driver walked with him, automatically slumping his shoulders as he scanned the rest of the vehicle, including the two punctured tires.

“How am I going to get replacements for these?” He ran over and stroked them.

“Don’t you have a spare?” the lieutenant answered back, rolling his eyes.

“One. He shot up two of them!” The driver gestured at them with violence.

“Where’s the general? Maybe we can ask for—”

The driver kicked the flat tire as if it were the offender. “The general is indisposed.”

“Ah…that again?” The lieutenant shook his head. “If he keeps messing with the local girls….”

But their conversation became unintelligible to the boy as the pair of them walked around the damaged automobile to where their military vehicles were parked to see if they had taken any damage.

The boy was left alone once more on the porch. The soldiers scattered with a handful still on watch in case the perpetrator came back to finish the job. The general’s boy looked around then scooted back to his place on the porch. Undoubtedly the general would expect him to be there even if he had been the one shot and killed.

Looking back to where the three dead were, their comrades folding in their arms and lifting them up to where they could be laid for rest, the boy then closed his eyes and kicked the dirt, wondering if the rebel had really meant it when he had said he could free him.

*

“A lone gunman?” Gailert peered at the lieutenant and then his driver. “So those shots were not my men scaring off insurgents?”

The driver shook his head. “No, sir. It was a human with a pair of guns. He also had a hunting knife.”

“And the boy was the lone witness?” the general asked, feeling as if the last straw had been tossed on his back.

“No, sir,” the lieutenant said, glancing to the driver. “Three of my men spotted him attempting to lead away your boy. Others were going to back them up. The gunman shot my three men and then your automobile. I believe you were his main target, but the boy distracted him.”

Gailert blinked. “Purposely?”

“What I mean to say is,” the lieutenant passing another glance to the driver, “he saw your boy and was distracted—long enough to be spotted. When he shot my men he abandoned his cause for the time being. I believe he will come for you again.”

“You do? Why?” A sick feeling of dread filled Gailert’s stomach as he listened to this report.

“Because he said to the boy, ‘I’ll see you around’. That means he intends to come again.” The lieutenant sat back, waiting to see what his superior would say.

Gailert closed one eye, looking at him sideways. “Are you sure he’s not confederate with the boy. That child—”

“I assure you, sir,” the lieutenant spoke with a level of bite that bordered on defiant, “that boy is completely innocent. In fact, I won’t wait to tell you this, but he is suffering. His leg irons are too small for his ankles. They are cutting into his skin. That is why he has been limping for the past several months.”

“Is he complaining again?” Gailert rose from his seat.

“General.” The lieutenant rose also. “I took this information from his mind when I gathered the facts about the gunman. The child won’t dare speak in complaint. He’s terrified of you. But he is also hurting, and I think it is counterproductive to—”

“That is enough!” Gailert shouted.

The lieutenant closed his mouth.

Stepping close to him, the general said, “You are not to give me orders. And I did not ask for your advice concerning my servant. Now your job is to find that gunman, wound him, strip him and drag him back here. Do not kill him before I get to see him. Then I will deal with him myself. Understand?”

He could see the lieutenant stiffen, pressing his lips together and wetting the inside of his mouth as if to ponder what to say. The soldier took a breath and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Alright, then. Go to it.” Gailert waited for the man to comply.

Turning on his heel, stiff with his chin up, the lieutenant exited the room.

Once he was gone, Gailert looked to the driver. “Are the boy’s ankles swollen?”

His driver blinked then said, “I’m not a doctor, General. I don’t—”

Shaking his head, the general turned and marched outside. He walked to the edge of the porch where the boy still sat, as he should, but nodding off like he often did when he was tired. Crouching down, the general peered at the child’s legs and the irons around them. Sure enough, the skin was red and swollen. One side of his right leg was actually crusted with blood.

Standing up, Gailert sighed, resting his hands to his hips. “Innocent, huh? Then why are his eyes always staring like that when he reads? Why does it look like he is always formulating something devious in his head?”

Coughing as if to clear his throat, the driver turned his head. “I…uh, really hadn’t noticed that.”

Gailert smirked then sighed again. “Maybe I am seeing things, then. Perhaps I am getting paranoid in my old age. But I remember that look the boy had when I first saw him. Just a child, but he was going to get a weapon to kill me. He still holds that look. And I still have that weapon.”

The driver blinked. “Weapon?”

Nodding, the general walked back into the inn. “His father was a smithy who made swords, weapons for the insurgents on Bekir Lake. And even after his father was dead, that boy continued to train.” He exhaled. “It was a sword. The most beautifully crafted sword I have ever beheld. Perfectly balanced, but unfinished. I keep it locked away in my study as a reminder of the real threat these humans are.

“And when I look at that boy,” the general said, going back up the stairs to his room, “I sometimes see him as that sword. A weapon hand crafted by that smithy, one I have acquired, one I keep from the savages so they will not use him.”

“But he is just a child” The driver followed him up to the top level. “A beaten, broken, and weak child. The boy hardly even remembers his own name.”

Gailert blinked. “He—how could you know that?”

With a shrug, the driver said, “The lieutenant who absorbed his memory shared it with me.”

Frowning, Gailert walked to his door. “I don’t like how familiar that man suddenly is with that human. I told them taking memories from slaves would make them familiar and start sympathizing.”

“I know,” the driver nodded then chuckled. “Of course it would.”

Gailert paused, thinking. “So, he has forgotten that he was a smith’s son?”

“I didn’t say that.” The driver lifted his eyebrows. “Just that his memories of before he was a slave are selective.”

With a frown, Gailert pressed the door lever and entered the room. “Hmm. Well, keep an eye on him.”

His driver went back down the stairs, sighing with a slight shrug as if he was already going to do that anyway.

Chapter Six: Natural Cures

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To replace the second tire shot by that lone gunman they had to send one of their military trucks back to Barnid Town, which would take three days on the rough road since they had yet to start laying a byway to the city. And though the soldiers kept watch for the lone gunman in case he ever came back, they never saw him after that.

But the Gailert Winstrong hated waiting. And worse, the village seemed to abruptly clean out of young maidens to ease his boredom. So, the general decided to find the nearest smithy to deal with his other dilemma. His boy needed new leg irons. Unfortunately, the nearest truly competent smithy was in Kalsworth Town. And the only way he could get there was to take the train.

The general actually hated the train. It wasn’t just his passion for automobiles that made him prefer that mode of travel. The idea of waiting on a common platform with all the other folk, crowded like cattle in a baking room, and going in single file in a long and dragging line was insulting, if not pure torture. It was worse to do so with five armed escorts and one human boy with a limp. They actually had to carry the child most of the way. That included over the gap between the train and the platform, up the steps, and to a compartment to sit with them rather than in the human seats where he belonged. The only advantage Gailert saw to train travel was that at least the wheels of train would not go flat from being shot at.

The boy pressed his face against the glass as soon as they entered the compartment. He peered out with that same intense look that he had when staring at all things. The lieutenant called it child-like wonder and said it was nothing to be worried about, but the general still felt in his gut that the boy had something devious rolling in his brain. That was why he had the attendants chain the child to his seat.

*

“What does that sign say?” one of the corporals asked, gesturing to the distant placard they were approaching rapidly. It suddenly whipped by and was gone. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

The lieutenant shrugged, setting a playing card on the table between them. The others did also, peering at their hands and shifting their cards in their hands. The general was asleep.

The boy whispered.

“What was that?” The lieutenant looked at him, lowering his hand of cards.

Peeking at the general, the boy said in a more audible whisper, “Lugan Town. Two miles.”

The soldiers glanced at one another then nodded, nudging the lieutenant. They set their cards down. “The kid can read.”

“How come you can read?” the lieutenant asked, putting down his hand also. “Did you father teach you?”

Giving a small headshake, the boy whispered, “No, sir.”

“Then who did?” the lieutenant asked.

Glancing again to the general, the boy said, “He did.”

Blinking at him, the lieutenant then looked to the general. “General Winstrong? Teach a human to read?”

Nodding slightly, the boy ducked his head, hunching over.

“But why?” the lieutenant asked.

Shrugging, the boy then whispered to the floor. “He wanted to civilize me.”

The corporals laughed as if it was good joke. They gathered up the cards. However, the lieutenant pressed his fist to his mouth, thinking.

“Civilize you. Huh. That’s interesting.” He murmured. “Civilize the humans by teaching them to read. Well, if that isn’t jumping the gun.”

“No kidding,” a corporal said, just glancing at the boy. “I thought he wanted to eradicate insurgents, not create one.”

The