Hangman's Gate (War of the Archons 2)

by R. S. Ford

  The hag let that sink in and it made a strange kind of sense. Even though she could not remember where she had come from, the concept of Hell was one she knew.

  ‘Then we are damned,’ she breathed. The prospect of facing damnation alone filled her with dread. But then she was not alone. ‘Others? If this is Hell are there more of us? More lost souls?’

  Hera nodded. ‘Yes, there are others,’ she said. ‘It was one of them who sent me to find you. Come. I will take you to him.’

  With that, Hera led the way through the forest. All the hag could do was follow.

  14

  The Suderfeld, 106 years after the Fall

  CTENKA had seen someone hogtied once before, but he’d never appreciated what it did to a man until now. A bounty hunter had come through their village when he was a boy, prisoner in tow. His quarry had been tied hands to feet, lying there like he was waiting to be butchered then hung for ageing. Ctenka and the other village children had laughed and taunted the prisoner. How Ctenka regretted that now.

  The rope burned his wrists and he could feel his legs cramping up as he lay on his stomach, breath coming hard and laboured. He could barely suppress the panic rising within. What were these bandits going to do to them? Worse still, what were they going to do to those priestesses?

  The seven of them were in a clearing surrounded by their captors, around a dozen in all. They hadn’t bothered to tie the women up, and at the moment they were jeering and poking sticks at them, trying to take a peek under their robes. Ctenka knew that wouldn’t satisfy them for long. He and Ermund had been tied and dumped at the side of the clearing, so they were being ignored. For now.

  He could hear Ermund struggling with his ropes. It was futile, he knew that much, but he could only admire the man for his persistence.

  ‘You’ll only wear yourself out, my friend,’ Ctenka whispered.

  Ermund gave him a withering glance, before seeming to come to terms with the finesse with which he had been bound. The southerner finally gave in, exhausted from his efforts.

  ‘So what now?’ asked Ctenka.

  Ermund glared at him. ‘How the fuck do I know, Ctenka? What kind of stupid question is that?’

  ‘I thought you must have had a plan when you surrendered so quickly.’

  Ermund’s brows furrowed. ‘What were we supposed to do, fight a dozen bandits with nothing but a bunch of priestesses for back-up?’

  ‘At least we’d have gone down fighting and not ended up trussed like livestock.’

  ‘Really?’ said Ermund, his face turning a darker shade of red. ‘That’s how you see yourself? A brave warrior dying in the midst of battle?’

  ‘Well…’ Ctenka realised how stupid he had sounded.

  ‘The only thing you’ll die fighting is liver failure, you drunken little shithead.’

  Ctenka turned away embarrassed, as Ermund went back to struggling against his bonds.

  As one, the bandits fell silent. A figure walked from the surrounding undergrowth and into their midst, head and face matted with red hair, eyes glaring down at his prisoners. From his position on the ground Ctenka thought the man looked like a giant, and his need to piss grew suddenly more urgent.

  ‘A sorry bunch,’ said the red-haired man. ‘And you thought these were worthwhile marks, did you?’

  The question was directed at his men, who now stood on the periphery of the clearing.

  ‘We didn’t touch any of the women, boss,’ one of them said. ‘Thought we’d wait for you before we started.’

  The giant ignored the man, still intent on his prisoners.

  ‘I am Tarlak Thurlow,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of me.’ Ctenka hadn’t, but he doubted he’d earn himself any friends by pointing that out. ‘And you have the misfortune to have fallen foul of my band of… loyal followers.’ He said the word loyal as though he could quite as easily have exchanged it with the word dim-witted. ‘I wouldn’t normally bother with you myself, I’m after richer pickings, but now you’re all tied up I guess you’ll have to be dealt with…’

  He paused as his eyes fell on Ermund, who stared back defiantly. Tarlak’s deep ginger brow creased in thought.

  ‘You look familiar,’ he said, glaring down at the southerner. ‘Have we met?’ He shrugged when Ermund failed to answer. ‘No matter. Since you’re a sorry fucking bunch and don’t have anything between you worth taking, you’ll have to compensate me and my men in some other way. I don’t think I have to spell out what way that is. If it was up to me I’d make it quick, but my men… they’re in need of some sport. So who’s first?’

  The priestesses gave no reaction. They were huddled together now, heads covered, awaiting their fate in silence. At any moment, Ctenka expected the bandits to fall on them like wolves, but the silence pressed on.

  ‘That one,’ said a voice from behind Tarlak. Ctenka craned his head to see the innkeeper, finger pointed accusingly. ‘That fucker’s got a smart mouth. Cut his tongue out before you fuck him.’

  Ctenka opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, one of the priestesses stood up.

  Le’Shan pulled back her hood, revealing that head of tightly curled ringlets.

  ‘I will be first,’ she announced, not one hint of fear in her voice.

  Thurlow seemed impressed. He walked forward, towering over the priestess. ‘I like your spirit,’ he said with a grin that made Ctenka want to vomit. ‘Impress me, woman, and maybe I’ll keep you around.’

  She didn’t answer, just slowly dropped into a crouch in front of the bandit leader. Tarlak Thurlow grinned the wider, reaching down to unbuckle his belt.

  Before he could drop his leggings, Le’Shan produced a wickedly curved blade from within her robes. Two quick swipes and she’d opened up deep lacerations in Tarlak’s thighs.

  As the bandit leader fell with a strangled cry, the other priestesses bolted into action. Ctenka saw them abandon their robes, revealing tight-fitting leather tunics beneath. Each of them carried twin blades, the same wickedly curved weapons Le’Shan had used, and they went at their captors with swift efficiency.

  The bandits shouted in panic as the women attacked. Three of them went down clutching their throats before the rest even realised what was happening, but it didn’t take them long to rally.

  ‘What the fuck is happening?’ Ctenka said to Ermund, as the battle erupted around them.

  Ermund said nothing, just watched, waiting for his opportunity. It didn’t take long to come.

  One of the bandits fell gasping his last, right next to where Ctenka was lying. They stared at each other for a moment as the bandit mouthed words that wouldn’t come, his throat open to the world, blood spilling all over the grass.

  ‘Blade,’ Ermund snarled.

  Ctenka dragged his attention away from the dying bandit to see a fallen knife on the ground. As the battle continued to rage, both men shuffled towards it. Ermund was there first, and he turned, fingers probing for the weapon in the wet. Eventually he managed to grasp it, and Ctenka turned, presenting his ropes. The blade was keen, cutting the ropes with ease, and Ctenka let out a long breath as he was finally freed. Quickly he took the knife from Ermund and cut him free.

  Both men stood to survey the battle. The bandits still fought, Tarlak Thurlow barking his ire at them from the ground, legs pissing blood everywhere.

  The priestesses attacked like animals. After their initial attack, the bandits had managed to steel themselves, but they weren’t a match for these women. Ctenka watched in awe as they moved around the clearing like dancers, slashing with those knives, probing at the bandits who did their best to hack at the women clumsily.

  There was no way he was going to let them take all the glory.

  Ctenka looked for where their equipment was piled. His sword lay discarded next to their saddlebags and he grabbed it with shaky hands.

  By the time he’d unsheathed the weapon the fight was almost over. Some of the bandits had fled, but the rest still fou
ght on, too scared of Tarlak Thurlow to disobey his bellowed orders to ‘kill these bitches’.

  Then Ctenka spied the innkeeper, standing back from the fray, creeping up on Sicabel who stood at the edge of the clearing nursing a wound in her side. Ctenka saw his chance. Moving swiftly he raised his blade and brought it down on the side of the innkeeper’s head.

  Whatever Ctenka had expected to happen when he first killed a man, this wasn’t it. The impact of the blow jolted up his weapon and into his hand. The innkeeper went down silently, with no last cry of pain. This wasn’t what he’d expected from all the tales he’d heard. Where was the feeling of triumph? As Ctenka stared at the body all he felt was ill, his arms starting to shake.

  One of the bandits turned, seeing the blade in Ctenka’s hand and what he had just done to the innkeeper, and without a word raced off into the woods. Looking around in a daze, Ctenka saw the rest of the bandits were dead or fled now. The only one left alive was Thurlow, still foundering on the ground. Ctenka, his blood up, panic rising in his throat, stumbled over to the bandit leader.

  ‘Yield, you fucking bastard,’ he screamed. His voice was shrill like a different Ctenka, a more terrified version of himself, had said it.

  Tarlak Thurlow looked around, seeing he was the last one alive, that his men had bolted and left him to his fate. His laugh was deep and rumbling.

  Ermund walked forward, breath coming fast, mouth and nose bleeding from the fight. Thurlow looked up at them both and smiled.

  ‘I know you,’ he said to Ermund. ‘I knew I’d seen you before. You’ve changed. The years haven’t been kind, have they? What happened to you?’

  ‘What’s he talking about, Ermund?’ Ctenka asked, trying his best to stay calm, blood coursing through his veins.

  Tarlak laughed at that. ‘Ermund? Is that the name you go by now? This one doesn’t know who you really are?’ He looked at Ctenka. ‘Your friend here isn’t who he says he is, boy. This is—’

  Ermund buried his sword in the bandit leader’s head and split it with a crack. He remained stock still for a moment, before one of his eyes dripped a single tear of blood and he keeled over into the brush.

  It was quiet in the clearing. The women – priestesses, if that was even what they were – stared at the two men.

  In the aftermath of the battle, Ctenka couldn’t help but admire the way these women had dispatched their enemies.

  ‘Well fought,’ he said, arms still shaking. ‘We make a formidable team.’

  The women looked at one another. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod from Le’Shan, they surrounded the two men.

  ‘Drop your weapons,’ said the dark-skinned Scorchlander.

  Ctenka immediately dropped his sword.

  Perhaps they didn’t make a formidable team after all.

  15

  ‘LET’S just kill them and be on our way,’ said the olive-skinned priestess.

  ‘They just helped us,’ said another with a spiral tattoo up her neck. ‘These are clearly honourable men.’

  ‘No men are honourable,’ said the Scorchlander. ‘Did you not see the way the young one looked at Sicabel? Let’s just cut their throats and be done with it.’

  Ctenka was regretting dropping his sword so readily. He could see Ermund was thinking the same.

  ‘But what would She want us to do?’ said the tattooed one. ‘We are here at Her word. We came to this place to—’

  ‘Enough,’ said Le’Shan, standing up from where she had been bandaging Sicabel’s wound. ‘No more talk.’ She looked at Ctenka and Ermund. ‘I am sorry. But we cannot let you tell anyone you saw us.’

  ‘We won’t say a word,’ Ctenka replied, looking at Ermund. ‘Tell her. We won’t say a word, will we?’

  Ermund stared at Le’Shan, refusing to be cowed despite the imminent threat of murder. ‘She’s already made her mind up, lad. Begging won’t help us now.’

  ‘Wait!’ Ctenka said, not ready to die just yet. He picked out Sicabel from the group and saw the guilt written in her expression. ‘We helped you. We saved you… I saved you.’

  ‘It will be quick,’ said Le’Shan, ignoring his pleas and drawing one of those curved blades.

  Ctenka closed his eyes. Let it be quick. Please gods let it be really really quick.

  ‘Wait!’ Ctenka opened one eye at the sound of Sicabel’s voice. ‘This one saved me,’ she said, pointing at Ctenka.

  Le’Shan looked around at her with an expression of annoyance. ‘You mean you owe him a life debt?’

  Sicabel nodded, looking embarrassed at the notion.

  ‘Stupid girl,’ said the Scorchlander. ‘You know what that means?’

  ‘Does it mean you have to let us live?’ Ctenka smiled in relief.

  ‘No,’ said the woman. ‘We just kill one of you.’

  Le’Shan shook her head. ‘If we let one live then what difference both of them? We owe a debt and it must be paid, no matter the consequence. You may be on your way,’ she said to the men. ‘In return I would only ask you do not speak of our meeting to anyone.’

  ‘It’s the least we can do,’ said Ctenka, feeling relief wash over him like the Suderfeld rain.

  The women gathered what meagre belongings they had. He could see each one had an array of blades about them, which they covered up once more beneath their grey robes. As they disappeared into the woods, Sicabel turned and gave Ctenka a last grateful nod, before she too was gone into the trees.

  Ctenka let out a sigh. ‘Fuck, that was close.’

  Ermund ignored him, already moving, searching the bodies of the bandits for anything useful.

  The ground was littered with corpses. Ctenka suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Killing had seemed so much more heroic in the stories. His father had told him a hundred of them, but not a single one had ended with him shaking like a leaf and needing to shit.

  The innkeeper was staring. Out of one eye at least, the other was a red mess, his arms and legs splayed awkwardly like he’d slipped down the stairs. He hadn’t slipped down the stairs though. Ctenka had smashed him over the head with a sword and now he was dead. A man who’d wanted to see Ctenka raped. A man who’d seemed to take some kind of gleeful satisfaction in the prospect.

  So why was Ctenka feeling shitty about it?

  He should have been elated. He’d defeated his enemy in mortal combat. Well, he’d blindsided the fucker, but the result was much the same. This should have been a great moment, but all Ctenka felt was emptiness. All he could do was stare at that corpse, shaking like he was getting a fever.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Ctenka turned as he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Ermund was looking at him with concern, Tarlak Thurlow’s blood spattered all across his face.

  With a retch, Ctenka turned, stumbling off to the side of the road where he heaved stinging bile on the ground. It welled up in his nose, causing him to gag and retch again. He spat out the foul taste from his mouth and stood, beginning to feel somewhat better.

  When he turned he saw Ermund was still regarding him, but now more with disappointment than concern.

  ‘What now?’ asked Ctenka, trying to divert attention from his weak stomach.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ermund replied curtly. ‘We carry on south.’

  In the confusion their horses had taken flight; where they were now was anyone’s guess.

  ‘That’s a long walk,’ said Ctenka.

  ‘Then we’d best get started.’

  * * *

  They walked the road south for three days. Despite the verdant countryside, there were clear signs that this place had been ravaged by war in recent years. Here and there were the remains of a burned-out hamlet, and for two nights in a row they found inns that were abandoned, furniture left intact as though the owners had upped and left in a hurry.

  ‘What happened to this place?’ Ctenka asked as they walked further south, passing the rotting skeleton of a horse by the side of the road.

  ‘Arethusa endured
the brunt of the war in Suderfeld,’ Ermund replied. ‘Mercenary companies fought more battles in this land than Canbria and Eldreth combined.’

  ‘And now?’

  Ermund looked around him at the open fields left unploughed and took in a deep breath. ‘And now the war is over. The three kings have come to some kind of accord.’

  ‘And we are on our way to?’

  ‘Northold. Capital of Canbria. King Stellan still holds court there. He was a fair man once, though when last I saw him…’ Ermund trailed off as though the memory were painful.

  ‘Let me guess – it wasn’t on friendly terms?’ The way their journey had gone so far, Ctenka could only anticipate yet more adversity.

  ‘I was betrayed,’ said Ermund. ‘The king was turned against me and would not listen to what I had to say. But this time he will.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Again Ermund thought on it. ‘Because he has to. What we face threatens the peace in Suderfeld. He is a shrewd man. He will listen to reason.’

  ‘And yet he didn’t listen before…’

  ‘Do you have to question everything? Just trust me.’ Ermund turned to face him, and Ctenka felt a flash of fear at Ermund’s annoyance. He held his hands up to placate the southerner, but Ermund had already stormed off down the road.

  They walked for a short distance before Ctenka saw another waystone. This one marked the northern border of Canbria. They were almost at their destination.

  Soon enough they’d find out if Ermund was right about whether this King Stellan could be reasoned with. He’d just have to trust in Ermund’s judgement. As Ctenka watched Ermund forging ahead, he could only hope that his trust wasn’t misplaced.

  16

  THE route they travelled became better maintained the closer they got to the city, turning from muddy path to worn stone road to cobbled thoroughfare when they were within a few miles of their destination.

  It also became busier, and Ctenka took some relief in the fact that these were ordinary folk – farmers, traders, tinkers – who seemed to go about their business without fear of being assaulted on the road.