“It’s refreshing to agree with your insults for once. The three inquiries the man has launched against the Boarshind is going nowhere, although dealing with the paperwork makes things more difficult than they should be.”
“You don’t deal with paperwork. You have scribes.”
“And they complain all the time, which I have to listen to.” Kefier wiped his beard with his hand and took a draught of ale. “I’ll return to Hafod in two days’ time.”
“Tomorrow,” Yn Garr said.
“I haven’t seen Rosha in weeks, old man. Let me spend time with her. Another day or two won’t matter.”
“Tomorrow,” Yn Garr repeated. “You’re lucky I’m giving you the rest of tonight—I could order you to leave now.” He pushed his plate away and stepped out before Kefier could shout at him.
Jarche and Rosha returned with the cake. “Where’s the master?” Jarche asked.
“Ogres don’t like sweets,” Kefier murmured.
“That’s too bad,” Rosha said. She took her chair again. Kefier still remembered having to put pillows under it so she could reach the table. She didn’t need them now.
If I’m not careful, he thought, I could lose track of time. Before I know it, you’ll be all grown up and we’ll still be stuck here, unable to live our lives. He thought of his house in the peninsula, hidden deep in the mountains where no one would ever think to look for it. If he died in Yn Garr’s war, Rosha would never even know it existed.
Built for a family, Ailat said. But which one? He turned back to Rosha, who was starting to tell him a story about what one of the dogs did. Even though his muddled thoughts made it difficult to understand, her voice still felt like music to his ears.
Enormous, billowy clouds accompanied Kefier on the ride back to Hafod. The only land route from Cael was a narrow dirt road, which was littered with rocks and framed with rows of stunted, leafless saplings. There were ten or so villages along the way, with houses erected as close to the road and as far away from the drooping branches of the Kag forest as possible. Kefier could’ve touched the edges of the thatched roofs from his horse if he wanted to.
For Kefier, the highlight of the road was the clear view of the Southern Sea. It was close enough that you could see the hair-like clumps of seaweed floating on the shimmering surface of the water. Occasionally, the road crossed the shore itself, revealing mossy cairns and ruined buildings of a city that some say used to stand at the base of the southern cliffs, where the inlet began.
The city, people say, belonged to the ka-eng in the days when they ruled the Kag. Kefier had asked Jarche about it once, and she had replied in that cryptic way she would to mask the irritation she felt at having to explain something to him. Whoever it used to belong to, the sandstone walls and half-arches now served as nothing more than hiding places for spotted lizards, giant crabs, and false cockatrices. It was the sort of sanctuary that Kefier would’ve enjoyed exploring as a child.
Eventually, the road diverged further from the sea, and with a heavy heart he took the fork that would lead him north and deeper into the mainland. Here, the road climbed higher, reaching the first of many switchbacks that allowed horses and coaches to climb the hills leading to Hafod. Simple as it looked, building the winding road was a feat made possible only through the efforts of Yn Garr Industries, the old man claimed. Before the company existed, Cael was a backwater place that relied on ships from the port at Nalvor.
“Is that why you live here?” he remembered asking him. “To constantly remind the good people of Cael of your company’s contributions to the local economy?”
“The weather’s milder, too,” the old man had barked.
An hour into the fork, he reached the edge of Gorrhen’s Pass, where one could look down from a cliff into the last view of the Southern Sea before entering Hafod. The horse snuffled under him as he paused, and he reached down to pat its thick neck. “Nothing new to you, I guess,” Kefier said. “Thank your gods for that. My daughter has never even travelled this far.”
He camped by the roadside that night. Bandits were not a problem this far west and after several days of travel, his horse, which may not have been the wisest selection, was already showing signs of exhaustion. The next day, he travelled a little slower, and it was not until late evening that he found himself in Blackwood, a small city at the border of the Kingdom of Hafod.
He returned the horse, along with a verbal reprimand on the poor condition of their animals, to the stable manager of Kosta’s Horses, bought a dinner of goat stew at the Blackwood Public House, and then made the journey to the Boarshind outpost on foot.
The snow made it easy to find his way. The men have been going in and out of town so often that the trail was evident even under the fresh, powdery layer. He followed it as it crested around a hill where a watch tower stood on a plateau overlooking an empty pasture. A row of temporary wooden fences, built for nothing more than marking out the camp boundaries, greeted him.
“That you, Commander?” a raspy voice called out to him in the dark.
“Ab’s whiskers, Ranias, you sound like death,” Kefier said, striding up to the fire.
The man grinned at him, his eyes turning into thin lines as he did so. Ranias’ parents were Jinsein, although he was born and raised in Ni’in—which meant he could spit as well as he could swear. “Wasn’t ready for the blasted cold,” Ranias said, rubbing his hands together. “I wasn’t told you were coming in. Thought you were still up at Tilarthan.”
Kefier wiped flecks of snow from his coat. “I had a meeting with the boss in Cael,” he said.
“And you’re back already?”
“Fast horse.” There was no sense trying to explain Jarche’s abilities. The presence of the ka-eng alone unnerved the men. “Heard you’ve been having trouble with some of the nobles.”
“Assholes, the lot of them,” Ranias snorted. “It was easier to deal with the pricks in Kago. At least everybody knows they’re pricks and we don’t have to do all the head-scraping we do here, neither.” He sniffed. “You gone to see your little girl?”
Kefier nodded.
“You hear from her mom?”
“You know we don’t talk about that, Ranias.”
“Fuck, Kefier, I know that, but we could at least talk a little. I’m just concerned about them, that’s all.” He shook his head just as Kefier narrowed his eyes. “I knew Sume from way back, when we were working a job for Gorrhen yn Garr’s son Ylir.”
“He wasn’t Yn Garr’s son.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn…well, whatever the hell he was, then. We were with him in Gaspar up until he got married and got himself locked up or something. I never did quite catch what happened to him after that.”
That was news to Kefier. “He got married?”
“To some Gasparian princess. I’m not the sort they’d give out details to, right?” Ranias grinned. “He was pretty pissed when Sume ran off with you, though.”
Kefier turned to him. “I didn’t know you were involved that far back.”
“Fuck, of course I was. I was there when Ylir ordered us to attack Enji. I didn’t see you, I didn’t even know you were there until Sume wrote to me because Ylir was ignoring her, but...”
He placed a hand on Ranias’ back. “You haven’t been telling people this, have you?”
“What? Of course not, boss. Talking about you back then would’ve gotten us skewered like the rest of your crew, God rest their souls, and if I didn’t meet Sume in Ylir’s ship I wouldn’t even have started.” He swallowed. “Why?”
He patted him. “Nothing. It’s best if you don’t start now.”
“I pretend I know nothing about your personal life, boss. Honest. Caiso told me.” Ranias scratched his head. “But you really don’t know what Sume’s up to?”
“She’s got her own life, now.”
“That’s too bad, boss. Don’t know why it didn’t work out with either you or Ylir, I mean, she’s a…” He must’ve shown someth
ing on his face, because Ranias drew back with an apologetic expression. “I don’t mean anything by it, boss, I swear. Let me try this again. Hi, Commander! I thought you were up in Tilarthan!” He lowered his voice. “By the way, Duke Iorwin came by to pick at our arrangements here. Latrine’s too close to the fields, he said, and something about our tents bothering the local birds…?”
Kefier cleared his throat. “What did you tell him?”
“It was before I rode in this morning, so I didn’t get the chance. He’s staying at the watch tower tonight. I was just about to ride up there now. I’ll get someone to ready up another horse.” He whistled. A boy standing near the tents looked up; at Ranias’ wave, he took off running.
If there was one thing that Kefier found disconcerting about the Kags, it was the enormous amount of whiskers an otherwise bald man could have. The fashion in Hafod was to let your beard grow during winter, which meant that Kefier spent a lot of time trying to figure out where men’s mouths lay underneath all that hair.
Duke Iorwin was no different. He wore his lengthy white and grey beard with pride, as if it was an accessory all on its own. Kefier, whose beard was thin and patchy in comparison, felt like a boy in his presence. He knew some of the other captains, particularly the part-Jinseins like Aden and Sevlor, had the same problem. It was often a struggle to get these men to take them seriously.
He had found that the best approach was to keep your chin up and look into their eyes when they talked. He also thought it helped to touch the hilt of his sword once in a while, although that might be more for his own nerves than anything.
“I don’t understand,” Iorwin was saying, spit spraying from his mouth as he spoke, “what makes the King so obsessed with your bloody company.”
“A reminder to tone down, my lord?” his seneschal murmured.
Iorwin made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “As if these idiots would dare accuse me of treason! The King is young and naïve. What would he know if you folk have given him nothing but lies?”
“I know less about your king’s plans than you do, Duke Iorwin,” Kefier said, when the man stopped to pause for breath. “Maybe if you speak with him about it…”
“I’ve just come from Tilarthan,” Iorwin said. “The King, I was told, was out hunting wyverns by the hot springs. Won’t be back for days. I couldn’t very well sit around and wait for him, not when I have my land to rule and my people to worry about. What kind of whelp conscripts men while on vacation and then tells his lords to get ready for war?”
Kefier glanced at Ranias, who shrugged. “I’ll speak with Master Yn Garr. I was told that the King desired a meeting with us. I can’t tell you much more beyond that, although I’ll voice your concerns.”
The duke pressed a finger into his chest. “I don’t know what sort of relationship your master has with the King,” he said, “but we’re not happy with it.”
He pushed the man’s hand away. “I’m well aware, Duke Iorwin.”
“Dealing with your men has been bad enough. One of my farmers claims to have lost three cows in the last month alone.”
“The men have been eating in town or hunting food in the woods,” Ranias broke in. “We got permission from the King. I showed you the missive...”
Iorwin glanced at him, a look of distaste on his face. “And you can vouch for them, can you, that they didn’t steal them in the night? You got your eye at them at all times?” When Ranias didn’t respond, he flicked his thumb across his nose. “I didn’t think so. We don’t usually have a problem with predators around here. The last sizable wolf pack was years ago.”
“We’ll speak with the officer in charge of the camp to make sure that your rules are being followed,” Kefier assured him. “I’ll have him send a weekly report to your holdings. I apologize that it wasn’t done last time.”
The seneschal nodded vigorously. The duke continued to frown. He crossed the platform to the edge of the ramparts and looked down for a moment. “Yn Garr Industries built this tower, along with three others around Blackwood,” he said, tracing a finger across the stone merlon. “A gift, he called it.”
His face tightened as he turned back to Kefier. “This is the price we’re supposed to pay, isn’t it? About half of the men the King called for are bloody boys. What war are we supposed to be marching to? Why does your master know, and we don’t?”
Kefier didn’t know how to reply. When this became clear to the duke, he turned away. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” he snarled. “If I see your men within two paces of my land, so Agartes help me, king’s orders or not, they will get turned into pincushions.”
Ranias gave a nervous giggle as they left the tower and returned to their horses. “I suppose you’re not staying the night in camp?” he asked. “You’ll get a better night’s rest in town.”
“I need to see a witch and speak with Yn Garr.”
“Agartes, it’s really happening, isn’t it? We’re marching north. No one’s saying it, not clear enough for me to understand anyway, but you can feel it in the air. Be straight with me, Kefier.”
“I wish I could be,” Kefier said.
“Because if it is true, you should know that I’m terrible at fighting. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Basic reading skills,” Kefier murmured. “You also argue less than the rest of them.”
“Just my luck.” He shivered. “The idea of facing Dageis...terrifies me. That battle in Enji...I can’t shake it out of my mind. There weren’t a lot of mages there, you know? They took out more of us than we did them. Took five of us just to restrain that bastard, what was his name? Bannal?”
“Let’s not talk about him,” Kefier said. “You could always return to Ni’in.”
“Don’t think I’m losing my nerve, Commander. By Yohak’s beard, I don’t want to raise pigs until I’m old.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“If you like the stench, sure.” They stopped at the crest of the hill. Ranias saluted.
“Tell everyone to keep out of trouble,” Kefier said, saluting back. He clicked his tongue. As his horse made its way down the path, he saw Ranias watching him leave, and thought, it wasn’t that long ago when I had to beg for jobs. In the blink of an eye…
He rode all the way back to town and found a witch who agreed to contact Jarche at such a late hour. After she made the preparations, the basin showed an image of an empty room. Kefier waited, basking in the scent of incense. When no one appeared, he cleared his throat and called out her name.
“Perhaps she isn’t home,” the witch suggested.
“It can’t be,” he murmured. “She usually is.” He heard a noise from the basin. “Jarche!” he called out.
A shadow crossed the image in the basin, revealing the jowled face of the household steward. “I thought I heard something,” the man said. “Kefier? It’s too dark where you are.”
“Is the master still at home?”
“No. He left about an hour after you.”
“What about Jarche? Perhaps she could relay a message for me.”
There was a pause, long enough to concern Kefier. “The thing is…” the steward began. “Miss Jarche, she isn’t here.”
He took a deep breath. “Where is she?”
The man scratched his chin. “She told me to try not to tell you.”
“Yet you’ve gone and told me, anyway. What’s happening there?”
“Nothing of concern, she told me. Nothing. Only—she took a little trip, see? A quick stroll, I was told. Hasn’t been back since.”
He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “When was this?”
The steward hesitated.
“Jorbb, please…”
“Aw, sir. Just don’t tell her I told you, all right? She left with the master.”
“Just the two of them?”
“They took Rosha. I didn’t tell you, remember? Don’t get angry. Kefier?”
He turned away, dropping the w
itch’s money on her table before stumbling through her doorway. His mind was blank, except for the steward’s words.
They took Rosha.
He smashed his fist into the nearest wall. He returned to his horse, leaving behind the witch’s cries of protest.
They took Rosha.
He climbed into the saddle. Under his weight, the horse turned a full circle, because he didn’t know where to go. Somehow, he recalled that he had to do something with his legs to make the horse move. It lurched towards the road.
They took Rosha, his mind repeated as he rode into the night. Where? Why? They had not removed her from the mansion in three years. Yn Garr had told him himself that the safest place for Rosha was within its walls.
There was only one answer.
Naijwa’s beast has been found.
Chapter Thirteen
The wind whistled around Sume’s ears as she clung to the rotting piece of wood that dangled with the remains of the bridge against the cliff. She wanted to yell for Arn’s help, but she was afraid that doing that would make her lose her grip. Clutching in the dark, she felt slime under her fingers and tried to dig her shoes deeper into the rock.
A few moments passed. Sume gathered her breath and pushed her feet down, testing the strength of what little ground she was clinging to. When it didn’t move, she reached up with her right hand. The first thing she grabbed was another slippery piece of wood, which made her almost lose her grip. She pushed forward to counter the effect, the bridge swinging with her weight.
It stopped, and she tried again, this time reaching higher until she felt the rough rope graze the side of her palm. Grabbing as tightly as she could, Sume found herself able to breathe a little easier, even though the rope was burning her hand. She tested her feet again, released the other wooden step, and grabbed the same rope she was holding.
Sume screamed as she pulled her whole body up, her muscles straining with the effort. Time seemed to stop as she crawled along. She reached the edge of the cliff and stopped to catch her breath. There was slime and mud smeared all over her chin and arms. As she stood to wipe her face, she saw Arn staring at her from where he had wedged himself into the furthest corner of the ledge. Rysaran stood between them.
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