Crusade - James Lowder [126]
"Perhaps they'll stay away for a while. Perhaps we hurt the Tuigan worse then we think, Yugar," Razor John offered hopefully. He paused to take off his shapeless black felt hat and scratch his sweaty scalp. The fletcher's sandy hair, once almost long enough to cover his ears, was now cropped short for easy care. This, coupled with the bags beneath John's eyes and the tired stoop in his gait, made him seem haggard and more than a little mournful.
The mercenary snorted a laugh. "They grow 'em stupid in your family, don't they, fletcher? We're outnumbered six- or seven-to-one. The damned barbarians are probably sitting a few miles east of here, laughing at us."
Turning his red-rimmed eyes on the mercenary, Razor John bit back a retort. He'd made the comment about the Tuigan more as a way to lighten the youth's foul mood; he was certainly wise enough to know that their situation was indeed desperate. But Yugar, a young, inexperienced Cormyrian mercenary, seemed intent on finding fault with everything.
With an exaggerated swing of his lanky arm, Yugar tossed down his ax.
"And I was fooled into thinking there was money in this idiotic crusade." He slapped his forehead with a grimy palm. "Worse, I believed Azoun's babble about our responsibility to the rest of Faerun."
There had been times in the last two days when Razor John had questioned his own wisdom for venturing so far from home to fight an unknown enemy. And nothing had challenged his resolve more than the death of some of his friends in the first battle. He could still see their mangled corpses staring up at him as if shocked by their own deaths. Luckily, Kiri Trollslayer had escaped harm, but several soldiers John had befriended had perished the day before. But even those deaths had not convinced him that Azoun's crusade had been foolish.
"Why don't you just slink away?" the fletcher hissed as he slammed his ax into the wooden pole. "The army will be better off without you, coward."
Yugar laughed again, this time loud enough to turn a few heads. The Cormyrian mercenary ignored the blank stares of his comrades and picked up the claymore at his feet. "They call me Yugar the Brave back in the Stonelands," the boy boasted. He spun his sword a little awkwardly and lowered the point at Razor John. "And you'd best apologize or you won't live to see the Tuigan again."
Something inside the fletcher snapped. Without thinking, John slapped the mercenary's blade away and landed a fist against the boy's jaw. Yugar tumbled backward over the pole he'd been working on; As the mercenary's claymore spun through the air, the fletcher rushed forward and planted a heavy-booted foot on his thin chest.
"Braggarts like you make a mockery of everything we've given up-no, everything I've given up for this crusade," John said, pressing his steel-shod boot down over Yugar's heart.
"Let me up!" the mercenary bellowed in impotent rage. He cursed and clumsily swung his arms, trying to get a grip on John's leg.
With lightning quickness, the fletcher pulled the dagger from his belt and brandished it over the prone soldier. "I'm here because I believe in Azoun's cause, sell-sword, not for the silver I'll earn for killing Tuigan." He lowered the blade menacingly. "Don't mock the crusade or the king again. I won't stand for it."
As soon as the fletcher raised his foot, Yugar rolled toward his sword. He glanced back at Razor John, then slowly stood and picked up his weapon. For an instant, the fletcher wondered if the boy was going to attack. An angry shout settled the question.
"I'll have you both standing unarmed and naked before the next Tuigan charge if you don't get back to work!" Brunthar Elventree shouted.
Razor John sheathed his dagger and pulled his ax from the pole. The fiery dalesman who commanded the Alliance's archers moved to the fletcher's side.
"Is there a problem here, soldier?" Brunthar growled, gesturing at Yugar.
"Have you mistaken him for a barbarian?"
Razor John looked up at the general. A broad, bloodstained bandage covered much of the dalesman's bright