Scriber by Ben S. Dobson Read Free Book Online Page B

Lark’s Military History of the Kingsland
     
    The constant bumping of the wagon’s wheels on the rough country road shook me awake. My back was pressed against the sharp corner of a wooden chest, and several bulging canvas bags surrounded me, giving me little room to move.
    The first thing that came to my mind was panic. My hands leapt to check for the terrible burns that I was sure must cover most of my body—but there was no pain, no melted flesh glistening red on my arms or legs. I remembered the agony of burning vividly, but little after it; I could only imagine that I must have fainted. My head ached, and memories of whispered voices and fire flickered through my consciousness. I felt like I was going mad.
    It was some time after midday judging by the sun shining full down upon me; I had to squint my eyes against the brightness. A low buzz of voices filled my ears, and for a moment I feared the whispers had returned, but as my eyes adjusted to the light I saw that the wagon was surrounded by hundreds of soldiers, marching in columns or mounted upon horses. They wore the tabards of the King’s Army, with a numeral one sewn in gold beneath the King’s burning tree—the First Company. Scattered among them were the villagers of Waymark, the women and children sitting in wagons or riding double with the soldiers while the men marched alongside.
    From the look of the countryside I could tell that we were well away from Waymark, on the road heading east to Barleyfield. I was not sure exactly what had happened the night before, but by the fact that I was still alive, I guessed that the First Company had arrived to defeat the rebels.
    I became conscious of several voices closer and louder than the rest, audible even over the rumbling of wagons and clip-clop of hooves. Bryndine’s voice I identified almost immediately, and then Sylla’s, speaking to a third woman whose voice I didn’t know. I tried to stay silent and still, though the autumn chill in the air made it difficult not to shiver. They did not seem to notice that I had awoken, because their conversation continued unabated.
    “It was strange, yes. I did not see him wounded.” That was Bryndine’s voice, in answer to something I had not heard.
    “Strange? Bryn, he was shrieking like his head had caught fire,” Sylla replied. It was not hard to deduce that I was their subject. I didn’t like it, but it was understandable—why should they have faith in my sanity when I was beginning to doubt it myself?
    “Might he have an illness?” a soft voice asked uncertainly. “My uncle used to have the shaking sickness. It would come on him when he got upset.”
    “That may be, Genna,” Bryndine said. “I only hope he was not harmed in some way I did not see. My cousin may have need of him.”
    “Your cousin is an ass,” Sylla muttered. “Why bring him a Scriber? At least in his condition he won’t be able to report you to the King.” I could not imagine what they were talking about, or what Bryndine might be reported for. But I knew that her cousin, Uran Ord, was the current High Commander of the First Company, promoted after the death of Millum Wren two years before. It sounded as though he had been wounded.
    “Sylla…” The soft voiced woman—Genna—sounded concerned. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
    “I will not wish misfortune on my cousin to save myself, Sylla,” Bryndine said sternly. “We are soldiers in the King’s Army. We have sworn to uphold Erryn’s Promise. Such suggestions do not become us.”
    “Sorry, Bryn. I didn’t mean…” Sylla’s gruff contrition trailed off midway. She did not seem a woman accustomed to making apologies. “I wouldn’t trust that Scriber to treat a bee sting, though.”
    “He treated my wound well enough.”
    “It’s twice as swollen as it was!” Sylla protested.
    “He warned me not to use it. I’m afraid I am not the most obedient patient.”
    “You just distrust anyone who is rude to the