The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

She laughed. “Two Crown tourneys ago Strongarm made it to the sixth round. Impressed a lot of people. So last time he was considered a possible winner. Long-shot, but it happens sometimes. The night before, depending on who you listen to, his consort wanted to make him very motivated to win or he was taking advantage of her wanting to be queen. He showed up in the morning totally exhausted, had no sleep, and went zero for two. I don’t think Marigold’s spoken to him since.”

“Heh. Yeah, I can see her being pissed. But that, and how Foxglove was talking, makes it sound . . . transactional.”

Goldenrod shrugged. “Most contenders fight for a spouse or lover. Or friend. Some knights will pick consorts who’ve worked Court so they’ll have someone to handle the ruling aspects. And others . . .”

She blushed. “There are ladies who’d do things for a chance of being queen they wouldn’t do for a million dollars. And men like Strongarm who’ll make the trade. It’s a powerful title.”

Three Days Later

“Hey, I see something orange,” said Husky.

When he pointed they could all see it. The neon shade stood out against the forest greens and browns.

It was a pop-up tent, before it was torn open. The owner picked a good camping spot on a small hill. The crest diverted most runoff from the flat rise the tent was set up on.

Two tents, once they counted the pieces.

Which was easier than counting the bodies. They’d had the flesh stripped off but enough bits of muscle and gristle clung to the bones to keep them from matching the medical displays Newman had seen.

“Found a skull,” said Beargut. “Well—half a skull.”

Toothmarks showed on the remnant of nose. Big pointy teeth. Could be a wolf. The face had been chewed off. Not enough left to identify him.

Newman picked up the skull with a scrap of tent fabric. The back of the head was missing. Bugs flew out as he tilted it. The breaks in the bone were jagged, no tooth marks. Maybe bashed against a rock? He was standing next to an outcropping that would do the job, but any evidence had been washed away by the rain.

He turned it to look inside. Blood and goo smeared the skull. It looked like a batter bowl after his mom let him clean it. His stomach lurched. No, the marks were probably made by a scavenger’s tongue, not fingers. Newman stayed silent. The Kingdom had enough troubles without starting a cannibalism rumor.

“Damn, this rib cage is empty,” said Husky.

Newman took a look at it. “Probably some little scavengers came by later.” He squatted down to take a closer look. One rib was broken and shoved out of position. “This wasn’t done by a bite.”

Borzhoi looked over his shoulder. “Knife?”

“No cut mark on the other rib. Spear, maybe.”

“Could have gotten into a fight with each other,” speculated Borzhoi. “Then last one ran off.”

Beargut asked, “Figure these are the shit-shovelers who deserted?”

“No one else is missing,” said Newman.

“Found the fifth skull,” called Husky.

“That’s all of them,” said Newman. “Let’s get them gathered up.”

“Like hell!” said Deadeye. “I’m not touching any of it.”

“They’re people. Our people. They deserve a funeral.” Newman projected for the whole group to hear.

“I’m not picking up any bones,” said Deadeye.

Borzhoi stepped between them. “Look, let’s just pile up the bones and put rocks over them. Say a few words. Have a funeral here.”

Newman waved the Wolfhead aside. Deadeye had never liked following Newman’s directions. Even after the Autocrat made the lead hunter position official Deadeye kept resisting or evading orders. Newman walked up to the other man, leaning in to go nose to nose.

“These are human beings. They deserve a real funeral. With lots of people attending.” Newman put a harsh tone in his voice. “You will help make that happen.”

Deadeye pulled his knife from its belt sheath. Beargut and the Wolfheads stepped back.

Newman kept his gaze locked on Deadeye.

After a long, tense moment the archer stepped back and looked down. “Okay, okay, have it your way.”

“Let’s use those pieces of the tents as bags. Should be enough to carry all the bones.” Newman set an example by scooping some finger bones onto a yard-long piece.

Husky found a net laundry bag among the camp debris which worked well for the larger bones. There was a shortage of extremities, likely carried off by scavengers. Most of the squad was diligent enough to finish quickly despite Deadeye and a couple of others slacking.

Newman made three loops around the hill looking for more bones or signs of which predator killed the runaways. All he found was sodden clothing blown off the hill by last night’s storm.

A couple of improvised bags had to be consolidated to keep small bones from leaking out. When everything was secure Newman shouldered the laundry bag and led them back toward camp.

He spent the hike composing an apology to Goldenrod.

***

The doorway of Autocrat Sharpquill’s tent was a small opening where the corner of one of the canvas walls was hooked up to open a wedge. It didn’t invite anyone without proper business to enter.

The teenager stooped to peek through. “My Lord Autocrat?” he said softly.

The Autocrat looked up from the table he was working at. “Yes? Ah, Sparrow. Come in.”

The boy ducked through. He took a smartphone and a laptop from a sack. “I’ve charged your batteries, milord.”

“Excellent.” He shoved some slates aside to make room, making a clatter as they bumped into others.

Sparrow put the gadgets down, nodded, and fled.

“Let’s see if they still work.” Sharpquill picked up his phone. It made the normal chimes as it booted up.

“Can’t see what you want that for,” said Lady Cinnamon. “Now this will be useful.” She