Chapter 55: Marks on a Doorframe

They all stood at the exit to the fort. The taker Penitents wore only their breastplates with their helmets belted at their sides and their weapons of choice which for Michael meant a sword sheathed at his waist and a shield on his back. They all had rations for four days, and water in their canteens. The regular Penitents were wearing just chainmail and hardened leather caps with spears in each of their hands and long daggers at their waists. The difference in kit was stark, and Michael found himself feeling grateful for his hand-me-down armor and academy training. In front of all of them were two scouts. They wore simple outfits with no obvious armor, shortswords at their belts, arrows at their backs, and bows. They were in their early to mid twenties. One of them was short with blonde hair and dark eyes, and the other was average sized with a dark complexion like Marcus’s and a dour expression on his face. Michael noticed that his eyes were just a bit wider than they should be, and his ears slightly pointed. Their names were Thom and Bran respectively. Thom looked over them and nodded his head. “To reach the caravan we’ll need to pass through the enemy lines. We will be travelling through forest paths the entire time, no time at all on the main road. We won’t be linking up with any other scouts, or meeting any of the columns further up. We want to draw no attention to this action, and if we perform it well enough it will seem as if it was ghosts that struck at them.” Michael and the other academy penitents saluted to acknowledge they understood, and that prompted a laugh from the others. They ignored them. Bran stepped forward lightly. “You won’t have to cast muffle for some time, so save your magicka until we tell you to use it. Stay close, and follow orders.” He pulled his sleeve down a bit to show his control brand and emphasize his point. This time there was no saluting acknowledgement, their winces made it clear they understood what was expected of them. The start of the trek wasn’t too bad. They were off the main path, but there were a number of smaller forest paths and old hunting trails that the scouts were able to guide them through easily. Once the sun was completely down they activated their night vision spell. Marcus didn’t have it, but he somehow managed to keep up without too much trouble. Whatever training he’d received compensating for his lack of magical ability. As they hit late night things started to become more tenuous. The paths became thinner, and harder to push through. The scouts had them cast muffle to help hide their movements, and they started to have to avoid Tusinian patrols. Michael didn’t get a good look at them as they hid each time and the washed out colors caused by the night eye spell obscured finer details, but he could tell they were all wearing the same kind of sleek full-plate that he was used to seeing on the Stent knights, except even their regular soldiers appeared to be equipped with it. The next several hours consisted of frequent starts, stops, hiding, and clutching the hilts of weapons while they hoped they wouldn’t be discovered. The scouts seemed very skilled, able to move so many of them behind enemy lines, and Michael found himself impressed by the other Penitents as well. They’d clearly been through it all a few times, their experience making them as skilled as Michael and the others were through training. They eventually came to a stop at what Michael estimated to be very early morning. They took a moment to drink from their canteens. All, but Michael and the scouts were panting heavily. “We’re through the worst of it,” said Thom. We’re fairly close to the road where we’ll be intercepting the payment. We just need to lay low for a bit.” “There’s the old farmhouse about an hour away,” said Bran. “The one we holed up in hiding from those dogs.” Thom scratched his chin. “I don’t know. It may be better to stay in the deep woods for the night.” “The patrols have been light, and it’s connected to that winding trail that leads to the eastern road. We sleep with some cover over our heads and have a clear way to our target in the morning.” Thom frowned for another moment. “Okay.” He looked to the Penitents. “Two more minutes then we move fast and quiet for another hour. After that we’ll be done until first light.” There were some quiet groans from both Michael’s group and the other Penitents, but he was happy for the opportunity to sleep with some kind of roof over his head. They finished their brief rest and pushed themselves back to their feet to keep moving. It was still a miserable slog through thick forest, but they only needed to stop once when the scouts heard a group of troops marching on a nearby road, so they made good time. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. The farmhouse was an old rotted out thing covered in vines with a small barn nearby. Michael wasn’t sure of what they could’ve possibly been farming with all of the forest nearby, but he was likely the only one with the energy to think about that. Bran pointed to Michael and Pyotr. “You two clear the house,” He pointed at two of the criminal Penitents. “You two clear the barn. The rest of us will do a quick scan around.” Michael nodded, and drew his sword, pushing his way past some vines and over a rotted out door with Pyotr close behind him. The house was long, with only two small rooms, one of which had caved in. They didn’t see anything suspicious. No signs that someone had been there recently from what he could tell. He found himself drawn to the small kitchen. There was what appeared to be a wood stove with a number of small stone tiles around it. He brushed a hand over the tile and saw some faded flowers that had been painted onto them. He remembered his daughter painting very similar flowers on her wall. They were still there when she’d moved out. He hoped they were still there even at that moment, a world away. He sheathed his sword and saw Pyotr looking at a door frame. Michael walked up next to him seeing a series of uneven markings working their way up the door frame to about halfway with three different names jotted next to each them repeatedly as they rose higher and higher. He stepped toward it and ran his fingers slowly down the marks. He felt comforted knowing that in another world they had so many similar rituals to the ones back home.Tears welling in his eyes, and wiped them on his sleeves. Pyotr placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” Michael stood. “No. I miss my kids. I’ll be okay though.” He looked around the dirt and dust covered floor, and at the holes in the ceiling. “You find anything?” Pyotr shook his head. “Looks abandoned from what I can tell. Saw signs of fire in the other room. Old though, may have been our scouts the last time they were here.” Michael nodded and they made their way out of the house. “It’s clear,” he said as he adjusted the hilt of his sword on his belt. Bran nodded, he and the others seeming to have completed their own sweep of the area. “I’ll stay in this one with you and the taker Penitents. Thom, you okay with the barn?” “The one with the soft hay to sleep on and the intact roof? I think I can manage.” “Good. Enjoy all the rats in there then.” He looked at them. “You go further than two hundred feet from us and you know what will happen.” ... Michael woke a couple of hours later. He heard... laughter? Screams? From nearby. He looked at his friends, they were all still asleep, but Bran was missing. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, holding his sword in his off hand as he slipped out of the building. The noise was coming from the barn. He walked over to it, hearing the sounds of impact and grunts. The door was slightly ajar and he took a peek into it. The scouts and the other Penitents were all surrounding a man on the ground wearing a dirty tan uniform. He was bleeding profusely and Michael could tell even from where he was standing that he was near death. He pushed his way inside, drawing the attention of everyone else. Bran had a dagger at and pointed in his direction in an instant, but lowered it when he saw him. “What’s going on?” asked Michael, trying to sound casual as he stepped inside. “We found a Tusinian deserter,” said Bran, sheathing his dagger. “Only thing worse than a regular Tusinian, a Tusinian coward,” said the fat Penitent, Arl, punctuating his statement with another kick. “You’re a healer, right?” asked Thom. Michael nodded. “Why don’t you freshen him up a bit. I wouldn’t mind beating this piece of shit to death a second time.” “Sure,” said Michael, stepping toward him. The deserter pushed himself away, his swollen eyes terrified behind a broken face. He hit the wall of the barn and cowered. Michael raised a hand toward him, taking on all of the pain he was experiencing. It made him fall over, but he managed to disguise it as taking a knee at the last minute. “It’s okay,” he whispered, relieved he couldn’t tell what age the recruit was. He thought through his options. He was alone, and even with the others he wasn't sure he'd be able to fight off everyone. If they activated his brand there was a chance he could send the pain back to them, but with how strong the pain from the brand was he wasn't certain he'd be able to do it. Still, he refused to be party to repeatedly beating and torturing the man to death. "Get on with it," said Thom his hand hovering over his brand. He took his sword and sunk it into the man’s heart. It was agony, then the pain he was feeling faded quickly as the deserter stopped feeling pain ever again. Thom grabbed him and yanked him backward. “What the fuck!?” he said. “Why did you do that?” asked Arl aiming a kick at his back. Michael blocked it and twisted the man’s foot causing him to fall. The other Penitents started to move toward him, but Bran held up his arm and activated his brand causing all of them to collapse as pain dug into the back of their necks. “That’s enough.” He helped Michael get back onto his feet. “You can beat the shit out of each other when we get back,” he looked at Michael, shoving him a bit. “And I’d encourage it in his case, but we still have a mission. Get some sleep.” He pushed Michael out. Michael went back to the house and found his spot he’d been sleeping at. He looked at the marks on the door frame until morning, holding his hand on his chest where he’d felt his own sword pierce his heart.