by D Murray
“Kalfinar, everyone knows the coast of Hagra cannot be accessed by ship,” Merkham said in a quiet, reasoned voice. “The coast is ragged, with sharp cliffs and pillars of jagged rock that are smashed endlessly by storms.”
“Your man is correct,” Valus said. “The west coast is not an option. Nor is the north, or east for that matter. We can take a boat to here.” She pointed to a bay to the far eastern side of the Cullanain’s north coast. “You can put in here, at a push, though it would be better to land somewhere farther to the west and avoid the worst of the swells. Maybe here.” She pointed to a smaller set of bays, north of land marked as swamp on the map. “Here we could land more safely, and with some luck, cut south and intercept Grunnxe.”
“What of the locals?” Merkham asked. “We don’t have much in the way of reports suggesting heavy population up in those parts. But we want to be informed as best we can. Can’t be sending our folk straight towards the edge of a blade.”
“Aye, would be grateful if we could avoid that,” Broden mumbled.
Subath grinned at the big captain. “I’ve always found a strange kind of pleasure with the slightest touch of sharp metal. Makes me feel alive, in the same way a robust lady can make me feel–”
“Subath.” Kalfinar raised a hand.
“Sorry.” The old warrior coughed, his scarred fist hiding his mischievous smile.
“That far north there are only a few scattered populations. Some are Solansian,” Valus said. “We of the Council have representatives from the region. There are some small populations of Fennsfolk close to any marshland. But we will be hard-pressed to meet them. They shy away from most, thanks to endless persecution. There are the odd Solansian populations, but they are all largely enclosed within small stations. Cattle folk, for the most part. And there are a few surviving pockets of Ravenmayne.”
“Ravenmayne!” Broden replied, looking towards Valus. “Not exactly the company we want to be keeping.”
“The Ravenmayne did not all follow Bhalur, and they do not all follow Balzath now. The Ravenmayne suffered worst of all at the hands of Dajda following the Great Corruption. They have been painted as less than human, as devils. None of this is true. Some have followed a darker path, but most did not.”
Broden frowned as he leaned forward in his chair. “There’s been only one Ravenmayne I ever met who didn’t try to kill me. He’s dead now, thanks to some spirit servant of Balzath’s.”
“The Ravenmayne people are not all servants of the Usurper.” Valus’ tone softened, and she leaned back in her chair, her arms folding slowly across her chest. “As a people, the Ravenmayne were persecuted, much worse than the other faiths, by the children of Dajda. As a people, they fled after the Great Corruption, and made their home in the far north and Hagra, largely around coastal areas of mountain valleys. There appeared to be a split in the people, and whilst some sought vengeance, most sought to live in peace. With Balzath bound by Dajda – as all our gods have been – the Ravenmayne were manipulated by other demi-gods. Thus, some sects within their faith grew in power, none more so than that of the Usurper. There were, however, some of the Ravenmayne who continued to worship Balzath, and others who followed demi-gods of a more gentle nature.”
“How are we expected to know which faction of Ravenmayne is which?” Kalfinar asked.
“The more peaceable of the Ravenmayne were themselves persecuted by the more powerful, vengeful sects. Because of this, they were expelled from the main society. They live now on the outer fringes, largely along the southern coastline of Hagra, and indeed, some are within the most north-eastern reaches of Solansia.”
“And how do you know this?”
“Because, Kalfinar, the Ravenmayne are represented on the Council.”
“What?” he blurted, leaning forward in his seat. “Why did you hide this from me?” He felt Valus’ attention on him. Peace, Kalfinar, we are friends.
Valus replied, “You would not have been as amenable to our message should a face resembling that of your enemy have been present alongside me, nor would it have pleased you for me to mention this at first.”
“You’re correct,” Kalfinar said. He tried to take the edge of anger out of his voice, and sound more reasoned. “But I don’t like it when my supposed friends obscure the full picture from me.”
Valus nodded by means of apology.
“Right then.” Broden heaved a sigh and shoved himself up out of his chair. The wolfhounds stood and stretched their long, wire-haired bodies. “No, you two aren’t coming.” He gave each of them a scratch, then stood straight. “So, we have a plan?”
“We have a plan.” Kalfinar replied. “Can’t take too many.”
“Could do with some more Pathfinders,” Broden added. “Winter specialists.”
“Had a few of Silver Company in Carte during the siege,” Subath said. “I’ll get the roster and find out what condition the Company is in.”
“Can’t take more than twenty. Any more and we’ll struggle to move quickly, and quietly.” Broden added.
“Doubt there’s twenty in the city. I reckon we’re down to the bare bones.” Merkham sighed and rubbed his bristled face.
Kalfinar stood from his chair. “We’ll take what we must from the other ranks within the city. We need people who can endure the wild, move quick, and move quiet. Twenty at most. Broden.” He looked to his cousin. “Can you see to a ship? I’d prefer a trade ship that can make it quickly through the Valeswater.” He shook his head. “If there are any left intact.”
“Done,” Broden replied.
“Good.” Kalfinar nodded. “Let’s reconvene in the drill yard in one hour. I want to be on our way in the morning.”
Kalfinar and Subath watched as Broden stomped across the muddy drill yard, a heavy frown on his face.
“Got a problem,” Broden grumbled as he came near.
“Ships or the troops?”
“Troops are fine. It’s the ships. Aren’t any, really.”
“Shit.” Kalfinar’s attention was drawn by the movement of troops being led through the main gate of the High Command.
The sergeant leading the small platoon into the drill yard barked an order and they formed into two ugly lines of ten.
“We’ll have to make do,” Broden said.
“What’ve you got, then?” Subath asked, his face twisting in a grimace. “Are those meant to be neat ranks?”
“Ever the sergeant,” Kalfinar sighed. “Let it go, Subath.”
“Three vessels,” Broden continued. “Inshore fishing boats. No crew.”
“Shit,” Kalfinar hissed.
“Aye. Shit is right.”
Kalfinar walked towards the gathered troops, followed by Broden and Subath. “Better hope this lot know how to steer a bloody boat.”
“Aye.” Broden sighed.
“What have we got, Sergeant?” Kalfinar asked, approaching the sergeant as he fussed to get the troops into neat ranks.
“Got you the twenty you wanted, sir. Twelve of Silver Company. Other eight are made up of mixed ranks. Got four from the City Guard. All have seen action. Got a cook, who used to be Silver Company, and three of the Fourth Infantry.”
“Good.” Kalfinar stepped forward and appraised the gathered troops. Two ranks of ten stood before him, eyes forward and rigidly at ease. With Broden at his side, Kalfinar walked down one rank, looking at each of the troops. The uniform of Silver Company marked out the Pathfinders. They wore oil-enriched buckskin coats, dyed dark green and with a silver eagle stitched on the left shoulder. The faces before him stared stoically, chins pointed forward. Kalfinar stopped by a female Eagle, her sandy-red hair cropped short. Her sharp features looked no less ferocious than those of the huge man standing beside her. He had a rash of purple scarring, the legacy of some creeping blood-flux, twisting down the side of his bald head and across the left side of his face. “What are your names?” Kalfinar asked the two Pathfinders.
“Murtagh, sir,” the woman answered,
her accent marking her as a native of Carte.
“Jukster, sir.” The big man’s mouth mangled the words, making it difficult to mark him as a native of anywhere but a tavern.
“You both see action against the Solansians?”
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.
“Good.” Kalfinar moved on from them. “You’ll be wanting revenge, then,” he said to them over his shoulder. He walked on and spied what he thought must have been the cook. The man was stocky, and he wore a tired old Pathfinder uniform. He had a round face and sported a thick silver-shot beard. “You the cook?”
“Aye, my lord,” the man replied in a hoarse voice.
“How long’s it been since you served with Silver Company?”
“Five years, my lord. But I cook for them at the Company Headquarters here in Carte.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Had a family, my lord.” The man’s eyes flicked down to Kalfinar’s for a moment.
Kalfinar saw something in his look, something familiar. Loss is as familiar to us all now as breathing. He nodded. “Glad to have you with us.”
The man nodded and stared again towards the back wall of the drill yard.
Kalfinar continued to appraise the ranks, and then walked around to a position in front of them. Subath and Broden flanked him, eyes scanning the ranks.
“You’ve each been gathered here to take part in a mission of the most critical importance.” Kalfinar watched for any reactions as he spoke. “We must travel far into enemy territory, to the far east of Solansia, and into Hagra if we must. Grunnxe has stolen away our closest link to Dajda. He and his new god threaten to plunge the whole of the Cullanain and beyond into peril. If you fought against them, you know what darkness they have on their side. We must, with the greatest of haste, travel to the north coast and sail to the eastern reaches of Solansia. We’ll encounter seas and weather like nothing you’ll have ever encountered before. You’re going to freeze, you will certainly go hungry, and you will very likely die.” A few faint-hearts blinked at his words, and he knew who he had to watch for. “You must not be weak of spirit, and you must not be of absent mind. Think on this clearly, and answer me truthfully: are you ready to serve?”
Frightened or not, the ranks roared a deep response and snapped to attention.
It resonated within Kalfinar and a chill ran down his back. He felt Valus watching him, and he looked up to see her standing on the wooden terrace that lined the first floor of the armoury backing onto the drill yard. She smiled down at him, and her voice sounded in his head. The way awaits.
Eight
Come Together
The stillness of the morning sun had long since given way to a day full of buffeting winds. Heavy grey clouds clawed by overhead, hanging low in the sky. The whole sky threatened rain one hour, then thunderstorms the next. Neither arrived. Ruah cursed the weather. She pulled the hood of her travel-cloak tighter about her to stop the wind coring through her head causing her ears to ache.
Halpern walked beside her. He had barely said anything in the eight hours since they set off from the station. He had grunted a thanks of sorts when they had stopped for ten minutes in a shallow hollow of grass and Ruah had handed over a lump of cheese. Apart from that, he kept his hands buried under his cloak and his tongue buried in his mouth. Probably for the best, Ruah thought. He’d had piss all decent to say to her his whole life until now; wasn’t likely to change just because of one day’s murder and flame.
“Light’s fading.” Halpern’s voice grumbled through the wind.
“So it is.” Ruah kept her eyes on the broad and flattened lines of grass that betrayed the passage of the horde. Hoof prints pockmarked the softer ground, framed in places by wagon tracks. “Suppose we should put up somewhere for the night. No use tracking in the dark, anyhow. Can’t see shit.”
“You know these ways a bit?” Halpern asked, his voice a thinner thing than usual. “Just, I’ve never really been out this far from the station before.”
Whole life spent within pissing distance of the station. “You ain’t never been farther than a day out of the fucking station before?”
“Never needed to be.” Halpern’s quiet voice somehow made him sound younger than his eighteen years. “You been out these parts with Paw and the muck wagon?”
Paw. Was that scorn on your face at the end? “Aye, we caked out these ways a few times in the last few months. Think we’re not too far from a gully. It’s got a small stream running and is filled with some knotted old birch trees. Managed to survive the woodsmen somehow. We can put up there for the night and probably stay out of the worst of this wind.”
“That’d be good.”
They made their way into the gully about half an hour later. The fragments of sky not covered in a bruised array of clouds bled out a red stain of sunset before being closed over and drowned out by darker rain clouds. The gully had been formed by the eroding action of a small stream, carving out a section about ten feet deep, and twice that wide at its broadest. The steep sides were covered in dead ferns, damp clods of bright green, star-shaped moss and stumpy knots of leaning birch trees. They had shed their yellow leaves of autumn onto the banks of the gully, carpeting the grass, moss and pebbles of the streamside in a slippery and rotting golden-brown carpet.
“Good size trees, these are,” Halpern remarked. “Must be next biggest round these parts to the Grandfathers.”
“Aye.” Ruah wasn’t really listening. She could smell the rain on the air and was working her ragged pack open to fetch out the oilcloth tarp she took from Paw’s wagon house. The raiders had taken the wagon, and Mavis the mule. But Ruah was able to make use of some of what was left. She rummaged past the hatchet she had taken.
“Got that tarp? Starting to rain.”
“Just coming.” She took the hatchet out and slid its haft into her belt. She grabbed the tarp under her arm and cinched her pack shut. The rain was coming down fast. “Pissing rain. Threatens all day to shit on us and does it now when we haven’t got our bastarding tarp up.”
“Could be worse, I suppose.”
“Aye.”
They tied off two corners of the tarp to a couple of the stronger looking trunks of birch mid-way up the gully bank. The bottom end had longer lengths of cord extending low across the stream and fixed to two smaller birch trees. “Should keep us dry enough.” Ruah said as she sat down on a mossy stone underneath the highest point of the makeshift shelter.
“Reckon we can have a fire?” Halpern asked.
“Dunno.” Ruah opened her pack again. She couldn’t see shit in the dark. She fumbled around for the dried beef and cheese she took from Paw’s stash. “Probably shouldn’t.”
“Reckon you’re right.” Halpern grunted his thanks as Ruah handed over a lump of cheese and a few lengths of dried beef. “Gonna be a cold night.”
“When me and Paw were out caking far from the station, we’d have to lie up close under the wagon when nights were cold.”
“Is that so–” Halpern cut himself off.
Ruah had felt his comment coming before she’d even finished. Should’ve known better than to give Halpern the chance like that. But he’d surprised her. He’d shut his mouth for once.
“We need to lie up close, then?” Halpern asked, his voice sounding somehow younger again.
“Aye, but don’t get any fucking ideas. I’m not Selby, and you can keep your grabbing hands to yourself.”
“Not really my type anyway, Ruah.”
“No? Is it my fucking lovely leg that turns you off?” That’s the first time you’ve ever called me anything but Twisty. She let the silence grow for a moment, tearing free a lump of dried beef and chewing it. Not the finest of cuts. Bloody Paw and his scrimping. She smiled at the thought of how Paw would always take the cheapest option, even though he was one of the wealthiest traders in Overn Station. ‘Where there’s muck, there’s money,’ he used to say. She felt tears warm and heavy on her lids.
“Sorry, Ruah,” Halpern said, pulling her from her thoughts.
“For what?” She thumbed the tears away. Not that he’d see her cry in the dark.
“I didn’t mean anything by it there. I’d be awful grateful an’ all to lie next to you and steal your warmth.”
“Thanks,” she grunted. “Eat your cheese and shut up.”
The rain woke Ruah as it drummed down on the oilcloth tarp with great slaps. The ground beneath her was damp as rain hit the bank above the tarp and trickled its way down, soaking her sleeping mat. Halpern’s warm breath tickled the little hairs on the back of her neck as he slept, his left arm hooked around her between hip and ribs. It felt nice. Which in itself made her feel all kinds of funny. She settled on unease and shoved the heavy forearm off her. Halpern grunted, but stayed asleep. Bloody pawing. Fuck is that? Ruah saw a flicker of red light casting pock-marked shadows amongst the moss and ferns lining the bank as it curved around with the stream. She shoved an elbow into Halpern’s ribs.
“Dajda, what? Wasn’t grabbing!”
“Shut up!” she hissed. “Know you weren’t. Up there. Someone’s in the gully.”
“What?” His voice squeaked. “What do we do?”
“Dunno. Maybe sneak up and see who it is, how many. What you think?”
“Aye. Maybe. Or we could–”
“I’m not running. Done too much of that already. I’ll check. You be ready with the bow.”
“The bow? Aye.”
Ruah took the leather sheath off the head of the hatchet and stuffed it in her coat pocket. She crossed the little burn, careful not to splash, and walked slow and quiet along the far bank. She edged forward in the shadows, keeping away from the shifting orange light from the small fire. She looked back at Halpern, but he was already hidden in the dark of night. She couldn’t tell if he had his bow raised to cover her, or if he’d run scared for his life. She turned back to the flickering firelight, and carefully placed her foot down in front of her. The sole of her boot sought out a gentle placement before transferring her weight onto her bad leg. She winced as the pain coiled up through her hip and into the small of her back. She covered the distance towards where the burn curved and could hear the dull sound of wood on metal. Cookpot. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a trembling exhalation. Breathe. Step. Pain. Pray.
