另类小说人亚洲小说

Whether by design or blundering, I awoke on my back, my cot atop me, wrapped in my blankets. I let out a prolonged grunt of disapproval.

“Don your armor!” someone was shouting in a woman’s voice. “Face the west side of the tent in case they get to us.”

I struggled to get disentangled from my bedware.

“Left face, Ayya. West is THAT wall.” Corporal Drikt sighed. She blinked at me. “Omnifex. Get. Up.”

“This is not a drill.” Tigrin said, hurling a mace toward my head. I couldn’t tell whether he was smiling or grimacing when I caught it.

I managed to get onto my feet, shield strapped to my left arm, mace held firmly in my right.

“Private Omnifex,” Drikt said, “I specifically remember telling soldiers, not just people, to get into armor.”

“The army never issued me armor.” I said.

.....

Mohgson chuckled. “Something to sort out later, if Pale Worm lives.”

“If your inability to fight gets someone killed, don’t think you’ll survive.” Tigrin said.

“TIGRIN!” Drikt shouted. “Who is in charge, here.”

He gnashed his teeth. “You are, corporal.”

“Good. I ORDER you to kill Pale Worm ONLY if he gets someone else killed.”

He blinked. “Your will is my command.”

There was no mistaking the predatory smile he cast my way.

Someone threw aside the door flap on the western wall. He wasn’t even old enough to shave, yet he almost died there. “All troops to the west. Bring fire if you’ve got it.”

“Boy,” Corporal Drikt said, “this is the SUPPLY TENT. Send soldiers here, we’ll get them battle oil.”

“I didn’t know battle oil was a special thing.” Siegen said.

“Potion flasks, lamp oil, kerchiefs for wicks. GET POURING, soldiers, the army needs battle oil!”

It sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? The reality was that the lips of the jars the lamp oil was stored in had no lips, and the metal funnels for pouring into lamps were too wide to fit in the potion flasks. The flasks themselves weren’t all that large, and the kerchiefs were three times the length of the flasks, meaning we had to mash them in with drink stirrers. (The first thing we found that could do the job.) You’d think this was something at least one of us was familiar with, but you’d be mistaken.

We were slow and sloppy, and the oil seemed to cling to our hands and nothing else. It seemed to take no time at all for there to be a line of soldiers, disapproving in looks and voice, each wanting a torch (which they expected us to light for them) and more than the one flask they were entitled to.

“You! Human! Give me that flask there!”

“You! Human!” Drikt shouted. “One each. Chop him in the kneecap if he pesters you again before using the one he has.”

“You wouldn’t...” he began.

I pulled my woodsman’s axe out of inventory, set it on a crate near me. I looked into his eyes, and tried projecting boredom. It might have worked better if my hands weren’t frantically moving.

Literally, I blinked first. Figuratively, he did.

“This isn’t over. I’ll find you later.” he said.

“Won’t be hard.” I said. “I’m the only one in camp with solid black eyes.”

It wasn’t even three soldiers later when a sergeant threatened me with his torch. “I want more, slave! I see the oil on you.”

I passed my hand through the flames, held it up where we could both see my hand burning. He almost dropped his torch.

“Spirits of water, it is I, Shaman and Water Adept. I ask of you to listen to and grant my request. Smother these flames upon my hand and arm. Move Water!”

Oil and water don’t mix; once it was done with its nemesis the glove of water around my hand fell to the dirt that served as floor.

“Mage.” he spat.

“You think normal humans get drafted into the army?” I asked. “Move along, sergeant. Go bully the enemy.”

He snorted. “You should be with support services, raining fire directly onto these vermin spiders.”

I snorted back. “You don’t choose where you serve, what makes you think that I do?”

He stood up straght, then. “That’s not a bad answer, private. Don’t stint my men, we’re going into combat.”

I took a quick look, turning slightly to do so. “We’ve plenty of oil.” I said. “Looks like our limiter is the flasks themselves.”

“That,” he said, “sounds like a problem for the supply runts.”

No, not grunts, runts. As in small animals. Logistics is rarely respected by soldiers; but oh, how they sound off loud should we ever fail.

There was a sound of splintering wood, and Drikt’s voice carried. “Siegen, Mohgson. Start issuing out these acid petards.”

“But those are only for...” Siegen said.

“NOW.”

She inhaled, drew back her shoulders and said, “Okay.”

“Can I get both fire and acid?” a soldier asked me.

I shrugged. “I was only told one oil flask per soldier. I don’t care if you have acid or not.”

And I didn’t. What I cared about was as the sounds of battle came closer, the lines grew more and more disorganized. Eventually, an officer arrived.

“Oh Loki preserve us.” Ayya said, “We’re about to be saved.”

“WHY IS THERE A GATHERING OF SOLDIERS HERE?” she demanded. “WHEN A GENERAL SAYS ALL TROOPS TO THE BATTLE, THEN YOU GET YOUR BUTTS INTO THE FIGHT!”

“Just gathering fire to fight the swarms with, lieutenant!” a sergeant said.

“Whose idea was THAT?” she asked.

“I think hers.” he said, indicating Drikt.

“GIVE ME ONE REASON I SHOULDN’T HAVE YOU SKINNED ALIVE!” she demanded of Drikt.

“The orders also specified fire.” Drikt said. “I have my soldiers pouring as fast as gravity and these tiny bottles let them.”

“FORGET THE INDIVIDUAL BATTLE OILS, GRAB THAT PALLETTE AND THAT CRATE. GET TO THE FRONT, OR I’LL PERSONALLY SEE THAT NONE OF YOUR CORPSES GET BURNED.”

“What about the potion flasks?” Siegen asked.

“FOR WHAT I’VE GOT PLANNED, WE WON’T NEED THOSE PIDDLING FLASKS.”

“One amphora of oil per soldier!” Ayya shouted. “Get it to the front!”

Gods, order broke down fast; almost as fast as that oil vanished off our pallette. Ten by ten by three and maybe a third of another layer, and it vanished in under two minutes.

“INTO YOUR ARMOR.” Drikt ordered.

“TO THE FRONT, NOW!” the officer countered. “NEXT TIME, YOU’LL OBEY ORDERS.”

Drikt shrugged. “We have our orders, move, move.”

A combination of sergeants and officers drove us through the moonlight, toward where part of the camp was already ablaze.

“Wicker Flicker.” I said, “Please tell me you’re awake.”

he sent,

“No, pollen head. I want you to harvest the flames, and redirect them to spiders.”

He manifested about my torch, laid back casually upon it.

“Fine. Do a backfire, then. Save as much of the camp as you can, and then report back.”

I should have thought of that, myself. Instead, I was being outsmarted by a burning flower.

That’s not a good feeling.

I needn’t have worried; it was all over except for the fire fighting by the time we’d gotten there. The medics, most of them Kamajeen, were gathering people, or praying over them, or slitting their throats to put them out of their misery.

A quick look verified that fewer than one in ten of those spiders were larger than my hand. There must have been hundreds of them.

Of the one hundred twenty or so ‘proper people’ who had been bitten, a quarter were dead or beyond help, half were mobile, and the other quarter would just have to be carried on cots.

Or put to death; Thorn officers weren’t the most forgiving of leaders.

“Mother of Hel!” Corporal Drikt cursed when we were back to the supply tent.

While we were away, someone with more Agility than Valor had come through, taken half the food, all the medicines, and twenty four quivers of arrows tipped with steel broadheads.

“Get some sleep.” she said, once inventory was over. “Except for Omnifex. Your shift on guard, Pale Worm. Wake me and only me at dawn.”

Wicker Flicker sent.

I sent.

I sent.

.....

I sat there in the moonlight, using a knife to pop blisters on my hand and forearm. Just because I could withstand the pain didn’t mean there wasn’t pain. And other setbacks to remind me not to light myself on fire as a show of bravado.

THAT was going to have worse consequences than just a dozen points of Thermal damage, though.

The dawn’s light was no more merciful just because I was awake.

In this case, they were parceled out to the ‘inhabited’ farms.