by M. D. Grimm
The horse dropped to all fours and eyed Gust in exasperation.
“I know. I am so sorry.” Gust glanced over at the disgruntled men who glared at him. He glared back.
“Who gave you authority over the beast?” Bakari said as Jaden helped him stand. His dark skin paled, and he swayed on his feet, still gripping his shoulder.
“We were just trying to—” Jabari said.
“I don’t want to hear it!” Gust said, fuming. “My patient isn’t dead yet, and you’re already trying to steal his things? You really think a horse like this is going to settle for some farmer or merchant? Maybe don’t be idiots.”
Jaden and Bakari scowled while Amin and Jabari winced in shame.
“Have Heqet check your shoulder,” Gust said to Bakari, struggling to swallow his indignation.
“Shove your concern!” he said.
Gust scowled. “Fine then. But don’t blame me when your wife decides to beat you over the head because you didn’t see her about the injury.”
“Come on,” Jaden said softly and helped Bakari shuffle into the healer’s hut.
Amin and Jabari wandered off without another word.
Gust scowled and turned back to the stallion. “You want that bridle and saddle off? We have stables that—you know what? I don’t think you’d like being boarded up. We have fields and a meadow behind the town you can run in while your friend heals.”
He knew it wasn’t his imagination, and the horse did actually think over his words. It suddenly struck Gust that he’d spoken both Taris and Coptin to the beast, and the horse had understood both languages. Extraordinary.
The horse snorted and moved closer to Gust, flicking his head and chomping hard on his bit. Gust smiled and quickly stripped the horse bare, huffing at the weight of the saddle. It was real leather and, if he wasn’t mistaken, silver. He had to set it down or risk falling over. It was soiled with the warrior’s blood and made Gust more determined to heal his patient.
“Your friend is resting. I’ll let you know when he wakes up.”
The stallion bobbed his head before turning and trotting off toward the fields, flicking his tail. When he passed Amin and Jabari, he feinted toward them and whinnied, as if laughing, when they flinched back.
Gust chuckled. What sort of warrior could earn the trust of such a horse? He hoped the man woke up so he could find out.
Gust handed the bridle, saddle, and saddlebags to Maged, the stablemaster and an honorable man, stressing that they be cleaned and kept safe. He had half a thought to rummage through the warrior’s bags and instantly berated himself. Curiosity was no excuse for bad manners.
He returned to the healer’s hut, and Kissa had just closed the door as he walked down the hallway.
“Well?” he asked.
“He has a fever, but that’s to be expected. We’ll need to take turns watching him. I don’t want to leave him unattended for long.”
Gust nodded. “Agreed.”
“What was that noise earlier?”
“The warrior’s horse. Some of our men tried to stake a claim, and the stallion wasn’t having any of it. He is a fine piece of horseflesh. I, uh, think he might be divine.”
Kissa frowned. “Really? There haven’t been divine animals in these parts for generations.”
“I know. But he understands me when I talk to him, no matter the language, it seems. I see intelligence in his eyes, and he certainly has a personality. He also has undying loyalty to our patient. He’s most definitely blessed by Batsa. It might explain how the rider is still alive despite the severity of his injuries.”
She nodded despite still appearing skeptical. “All right, where is he now?”
“In the unplowed fields. I didn’t think it was safe to stick him with the other horses. He would either spook them or help them rise up in rebellion.”
Kissa chuckled and patted his cheek. “Always the funny man.”
Gust kissed her cheek. “I’ll take first watch.”
“Good. I need to request a council meeting.”
She left and he went in. The warrior’s face would be quite beautiful if it wasn’t for the nasty swelling and bruises that covered his nose and blackened his eyes. He slept peacefully despite the fever. His hair was the color of honey, and Kissa had cleaned it, fanning it out over the pillows. It must reach past his shoulders, perhaps even to the middle of his back.
Gust sat on a chair and tugged off his sandals before resting his feet on the corner of the bed and crossing his ankles. He watched his patient sleep, busting with curiosity. This man was a mystery, an outsider from far away, and Gust wanted to know everything. The thirst to venture into the world grew stronger by the day. He’d resisted it because his aunt needed him here, and grief over his parents’ deaths still weighed him down. But now, with this mystery man, he was ready to explore his curiosity again.
“Wake up,” Gust said softly. “I have so many questions for you.”
Chapter Three
Ulfr wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. How could his greatest weapon betray him?
Ulfr snarled and threw his axe at the table set in the middle of his enormous tent. The large slab of wood already bore visible scars of abuse from previous bouts of anger. He threw two other axes. One hit the table, embedding as deep as the first while the other hit the back of one of the chairs surrounding the table. Anger not yet assuaged, he kicked a second chair, snapping one of the legs. Heaving with anger and—damn the gods!—fear, Ulfr grabbed the pitcher full of wine from the small side table near the entrance and drained it.
If Lance had somehow survived then Ulfr had to kill him. While he hated to waste such a magnificent tool, Lance had betrayed him and that was unforgivable. Ulfr had a fierce and merciless reputation to keep, and to show weakness would mean his own demise. His other warriors had already begun to whisper behind their hands and eye him with distaste as he walked by. He’d been forced to kill five already to make a point, to show strength.
Ulfr crushed the pitcher in his hand and threw the pieces on the ground. It wasn’t just mutiny he was worried about… it was his employer. Not even his warriors knew of his deal with Lord Viljar Egillson, Earl of Jorvikr in Swenen. He didn’t slaughter people just for fun—though that was a big incentive—no, he sacked and raided, and then split the profits with Lord Jorvikr. He stuck to Grekenus since they were in the midst of a civil war. He also helped the war to keep going by destroying villages or camps and making sure the two factions blamed each other. He occasionally raided across the borders into Swenen or Cairon to stay fresh and spread the terror, and yet his strength was in Grekenus. Chaos and war created demand for weapons, which was Lord Jorvikr’s stock and trade.
In exchange for the profits and continued chaos, the earl kept the royal and imperial soldiers from finding and executing Ulfr. That was easy enough to accomplish in Grekenus with its many islands, and even Swenen, since the northern kingdom was depleted of soldiers, having spent decades pushing back the invading horde to the far north. Fierce and beastly, the horde were said to be giants with a taste for human flesh. Whether true or not, it meant many professional soldiers were busy elsewhere, leaving towns and villages undefended. Ripe pickings for Ulfr and his band. But all he’d built and bled for could be destroyed because of one errant enforcer.
Ulfr growled. He’d made Scourge. He’d created that dog, molded him into the perfect weapon. Waste. All a waste. Ulfr remembered when he’d found Lance, a lad of about ten years old. He’d been gaunt, pale, and bloody, with hollow eyes and the inability to speak. They’d been in the northern regions of Swenen, before he’d made the deal with Lord Jorvikr, and even then Ulfr had seen Lance’s potential.
The little bastard had clearly killed before, and it had made Ulfr’s blood burn with potential.
“Ungrateful maggot,” he grumbled. He should have left Lance to rot.
Ulfr gripped the small wooden pendant around his neck that hung from a leather cord. It depicted the glowering head of
Marsus, the Grekenus god of war. He also carried a coin depicting Snet, the Cairon god of chaos, and three small effigies of Lolt, Wodan, and Donnar, gods of war from Swenen. One could never be too careful.
“My lord?”
Ulfr spun around and glared at Benji. The man paled and held his ground.
“Have you found him?”
“N-no. Not yet. His trail went cold.”
Ulfr lashed out and gripped Benji’s throat, squeezing. Benji’s eyes popped wide as he clawed at Ulfr’s thick wrist.
“How is that possible?”
He knew. Oh, he knew. The horse. That damn horse. He’d bought the ungrateful, divine piece of horseflesh years ago and thought it a gift from Wodan or perhaps Marsus. He’d sacrificed many a person to his gods and made sure to paint their temples and shrines with their blood. Yet once again, he was betrayed. The damn horse had bonded with Lance.
Brutus might not have visible powers or use them much and that made it more insidious when he did. He kept Ulfr’s prey hidden from his wrath, and that was unacceptable. Lance should be dead at his feet by now and a new Scourge chosen. While he had the black armor packed away, it would prove difficult to name another when Lance was so perfect for the role. Or had been.
His employer didn’t like loose ends. If Lord Jorvikr decided that Ulfr was a loose end then not even the gods themselves could protect him. Damn them all! Hadn’t he given enough tribute to the gods of war and chaos? Hadn’t he shed enough blood to slake their thirsts? Those devious bastards were never satisfied.
Ulfr growled. Or maybe it was another god that sought to punish him. And those he worshipped did nothing to protect him. Ulfr had not pulled himself up from the cold, filthy life of a bastard orphan in Swenen to be brought to heel by one he’d created.
Even as Benji’s eyes rolled up into his head, Ulfr shoved him away. Benji flopped to the ground and gasped harshly for air.
“I want him found,” Ulfr said. He stalked out of his tent and scanned the warriors gathered around bonfires, eating and drinking as if his entire life’s work wasn’t about to crash down around his feet.
“Listen up!”
Silence fell as everyone gave him their attention.
“I want Scourge found. Now! Split into search parties and find him. Leave no town or village untouched. We’ll either find his body or the unfortunate souls who healed his traitorous hide. If you find the latter bring them to me so I can end them myself!”
Everyone jumped to follow his orders. He’d yet to send word to Lord Jorvikr. He would hold off as long as possible. If their deal went belly-up then he’d lose his edge. Despite the wars and invasions in the north and west, the royal and even imperial soldiers would find him. He couldn’t escape to Cairon either. He had no deal with that kingdom, and they had enough soldiers to bring him before a court. He’d be beheaded in the blink of an eye.
He glared as warriors mounted their steeds and took off into the night.
For destroying his lucrative deal, Lance would pay. For the fear now planted in his mind, Lance would pay. He’d once thought his destiny was to rule and spread terror, to gain such a fierce reputation as would rival that of Marsus himself. Now he knew his destiny lay elsewhere. He would be the one to destroy Scourge.
I’m coming for you, dog.
Chapter Four
Gust wiped the dry, rough skin on the warrior’s face as he burned with fever. Gust managed to get a little bit of water and broth laced with herbs into him and changed the blankets when the liquid worked its way through his body. Just yesterday Gust had found him and already he felt himself growing attached. It was different when he healed a stranger. The majority of his patients were from Thebys, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d healed an outsider. And none of them were warriors, not professionally, at least. Sure there was the sheriff and his handful of deputies, and yet they were guards, meant to protect and keep the peace.
After brushing the warrior’s hair away from his face, Gust set a damp, folded cloth on his forehead. The warrior shuddered and twitched as the fever wracked his body. His eyes rolled behind his eyelids, and Gust prayed silently to the gods for mercy, knowledge, and strength.
“Stay with us,” he whispered. “I suspect your horse would dearly miss you. As would your family.”
Gust glanced at the small effigy of Anknet, his patron goddess. She was set on her own table near the side of the bed. Identical versions were in every room of the healing hut. The small statue was modest and yet well crafted, created by a local artist years ago as payment for healing services.
Anknet was the goddess of healing as well as the one to prepare those for death. She made the transition harmless and guided the souls to their afterlife with Osys, god of the underworld. A two-faced goddess, she was forever stuck between the world of the living and the world of the dead, a solemn, lonely creature.
Help us now, my goddess. He has more life to live.
Gust sat on the bed beside his patient and continued to speak quietly, soothingly, while wiping his face, neck, and chest. Faint scars covered his body from head to foot, all different shapes and sizes. Proof of his rough life. Yet the one that intrigued Gust the most was the faintest one of them all—a half-circle mark on the side of his face, that curved from his temple to his chin. It appeared too deliberate to be given during training or a battle.
Someone knocked at the door.
“Come in.”
Sabra stuck her head in the room. “Heqet sent me. Della’s finally gone into labor.”
Gust smiled slightly. “I would like to say she must be relieved since the baby is overdue by a week but I highly doubt that’d be true.”
She huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Heqet wants you to sit on Della’s husband.”
Gust didn’t bother to contain his wince. “I’d rather help Della.”
Sabra raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t know how Ansi can get,” Gust said. “I’m not a fan of witnessing childbirth but it’s a happy event. Ansi is nothing but misery and woe. Why did Della choose him?”
“Couldn’t say,” she said with a glance at the warrior. “Heqet was insistent that you come. You’re the only one he responds to. Ansi keeps getting in the way and trying her patience.”
Gust looked at the warrior. “I can’t leave him.”
“You haven’t left him all night. He’ll be fine.”
“He’s running a fever.”
“And Heqet says it will be a quick birth. You won’t be gone for long.”
“Anyone in the house that can watch him?”
“I think Ata is.”
“Call him. I’ll come.”
He gave Ata strict instructions and managed to swallow his guilt as he stepped out of the room. He didn’t want to leave the warrior in anyone else’s care. He shook his head. He needed to stop being so possessive. Ata was young and capable, and Gust had no reason not to trust him. He couldn’t neglect others simply because he had a soft spot for the warrior.
Gust nearly forgot to grab his gray jerkin before leaving the hut. He secretly thought it was foolish that he was forced to wear it in Thebys. It seemed rather pointless since everyone knew he was a healer. If he traveled from town to town that would be a different matter. He quickly yanked the ties tight and tied them off, blowing out a breath as he hurried down the road.
Technically he was no longer an apprentice but he’d yet to take on his own apprentice and travel abroad, which were the truest signs of becoming a fully-trained healer. Not long ago he’d been ready to do both. Then his parents—Gust shied away from those thoughts.
He methodically shuffled all bad memories and regrets away and put a smile on his face as he walked across town and approached Ansi and Della’s house. Ansi paced in front of it, wearing a groove into the dirt. He bit his nails and ran his fingers over his braids. They had three children already, and Gust sincerely hoped they stopped after this latest one. He doubted Ansi could handle any more.
The poor man was dripping sweat, staining his white sleeveless shirt and breeches. He wore well-used sandals, his dirty feet showing evidence of his agitated vigil.
“Ansi.”
Gust kept his expression sympathetic when Ansi turned wide, troubled eyes on him.
“What will we do, Gust? How can we afford another mouth to feed? How can we—”
“The way you always have.” Gust patted his shoulder. “Run your bakery and feed Thebys. Train your children to run it. Love them, cherish them. I know you can’t help but do that. You love this child already.”
“I do. Of course, I do.”
There was a faint scream from inside the house and Ansi paled. He spun around, and Gust gripped his arm before he could bolt inside.
“Let Heqet do what she does best. Trust your wife, as well. She’s done this three times before. She’s an expert.”
Ansi quivered, torn in two, before dropping to the ground right outside the front door. He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Gust sighed softly and crouched in front of him. Ansi was a good man but prone to bouts of anxiety. He was a talented baker, a loving husband, and an adoring father. He was shorter than Gust, broad and sturdy, with a wide, honest face and large hands accustomed to molding dough.
“Where are your other children?”
“The bakery. Kea is old enough to run it and watch over her brothers.”
“She hopes this one is a girl, doesn’t she?”
Ansi lowered his hands and smiled. “Aye. She would love a sister.”
“What does Della say?”
“She wants healthy. Always healthy. We gave extra bread to Ysys’s shrine when we realized she was with child. I had three more effigies commissioned and made sure they were spread around the house. Can’t be too careful.”
Considering that Ysys was the goddess of fertility, birth, and a protector of mothers and children, Gust wasn’t surprised by the overkill. It was a harmless bit of caution, and he liked to think the goddess would be flattered.
