by D Murray
“Your girl?” Culver asked.
“Aye.” Halpern looked up at him. “Meant to marry after the next Long Moon Fayre.”
Culver nodded.
“You ever had a girl?” Halpern asked.
Ruah watched the exchange in silence.
“Had one. Aye,” Culver said, his voice taking a baleful tone. “Taken from me, too.”
Halpern looked up at Culver. They appeared to hold one another’s gaze for a moment, and then silently nodded to each other.
“We’ll get your girl back,” Culver said firmly.
“Aye.” Halpern’s voice cracked. “Will you ever get yours back?”
“No.” Culver stood up. “I’m going for a piss.” He stepped towards the door and stopped. He picked up his sword, wrapped up in scabbard and belt. He looked back at them. “Can’t be too careful.”
Ruah watched him disappear out the door and into the storm. When the door closed, she turned and looked at Halpern. “You think he’s telling the truth?”
“He’s not lying to us,” Halpern said. “There’s pain in that man’s heart, no doubting it.”
“I think he might be a trench rat,” Ruah whispered.
“What’s a trench rat doing all the way up here?” Halpern said.
Ruah startled as the door snapped open and Culver was back inside, trousers not yet buttoned up. “Turn the light out. Get your weapons ready. No bows this time.”
“What is it?” Ruah asked. The light in the room faded, leaving only the faint glow from the stove.
“Scouts. Probably Grunnxe’s men circling back. Looks like five men from what I can see in this weather.”
“Did they see you?” Halpern asked, gripping the hilt of his watchman’s short sword.
“Don’t think so. There wasn’t much light coming from the hut, and the smoke of the fire’s getting carried away from them by the storm.”
“You think it could be the other drivers?” Ruah asked. “There were only five bodies, and you said you saw five out there.”
“Might be,” Culver said.
“Should we wait and find out who they are?” Halpern asked, his voice trembling.
“We’ll see,” Culver grunted.
They waited what felt like an hour, but if Ruah was being honest, it was probably only a few minutes. Footsteps sounded nearby, or so she thought. She gripped the haft of her hatchet tight in both hands and waited. There were voices.
“Fucking shite draw getting this shift on a night like this,” a voice spoke.
“Aye, Fenrold and his boys are probably in the tent with them station whores right now, getting their cocks wetted. Lucky bastards.”
The door to the hut swung open.
A dark form stepped into the hut, followed by another. “The fucking fire's lit. Someone’s–”
A shadow stepped in front of the door and the first man through wheezed in pain. A gurgle sounded, followed by a crash.
Ruah remained frozen.
The second figure's shout of alarm ended as a wet breath whistled from his throat.
“What the–”
Another voice outside cut off and Ruah heard more footsteps rushing out of the hut.
There was shouting and the clash of metal. One voice screamed, and it sounded like a body landed on the ground outside. Metal clanged. More shouting.
“Help!”
Was that Halpern? Ruah limped across the wooden floor and nearly tripped over the body of one of the scouts. She stepped over it, slipped in blood, and felt the pain flare in her leg. She made it outside and her eyes adjusted. A body was rising from the ground, clad in black and with a mace in its hand. We don’t have a mace. She saw the figure step up behind a broad-backed shape. Halpern! Ruah rushed forward and her arm swung down from above her head. Her hatchet made a cracking noise against the back of the mace-wielder's head. The man stiffened with a yawning cry then fell forward, face first.
Another gurgle sounded, and the frantic movement of dark shapes stopped. The rain lashed against Ruah’s face as she stared at the back of the body before her.
“You all right?” Culver’s voice sounded.
Ruah stared at the body. She fancied she could see brain in the cracked skull.
“Roo?” Halpern’s voice. “Roo?” A hand touched her shoulder “You hurting?”
She snapped from her daze. “What kind of a pissing stupid question is that? I’m always fucking hurting!”
Halpern laughed, a strange sound mixed with relief and nerves. “Aye, well, that’s you all right.”
“And what’s this ‘Roo’ all about? You call me ‘Twisty’ for twelve years, and in two days you go to calling me ‘Roo’? Bloody front on you.”
“I like it,” Culver said. “Good work with that, by the way.” Culver’s shadowy head nodded to the body by Ruah’s feet.
“Well, if I hadn’t, he’d have splashed Hal’s brains all over the plain. Wouldn’t have made much of a mess, mind you.”
“Hal?” Halpern asked.
“A night for new names, then,” Culver said. “Well, whatever the hells you want to be called, I think it’s best we get moving on somewhere else for the night. Don’t much fancy having any more brains spilled.”
“Aye,” Ruah said, her hands starting to tremble at the smell of blood about her. The smell of the blood of the man she killed.
Ten
Of Food And Forks
Demons flooded the snow-covered streets, chasing down the people of Carte. The smoke glowed red from the blazing buildings. The iridescent shimmer of the demons was beautiful and terrible all in one, a mesmeric nightmare. They spilled over the city walls in their scores, their work bloody and quick. Their white-eyed creatures – formerly citizens, before the evil magic took them – ravaged the dying, and the demons moved on.
Kalfinar cut down creatures, Ravenmayne, Solansian, and demon alike. He was sweat-soaked and steaming in the night. His armour reflected the blazing city all about him. He was blood spattered, and mud splattered. Drenched hair tangled about his face, his eyes wide with rage and terror. He looked her way, and smiled. His sword point lowered, and his mouth moved in silent words. The fury slowed before her, and flakes of ash and snow drifted past, sparkling amidst floating embers, and tangled with threads of wispy smoke. One of the demons approached Kalfinar from behind, unimpeded by the semi-frozen time. Two huge clawed arms wrapped about him from behind, but still he smiled. The demon’s talons dug into his chest, and dark blood welled from the wounds and out of his nose and mouth. But still he smiled.
“Kal!” Evelyne jolted awake. A wave of nausea flared in her. She turned on her side and vomited into the mouldering hay beside her. She coughed out the last of her bile, for her stomach was empty, and rubbed her chin on the filthy arm of her dress. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her belly and the hammering pain in her head.
The sound of weeping reached her over the roll and rattle of the wagon. She moved herself to a seated position, her arms trembling from the effort, and opened her eyes. There was no sharp pain from the light. It was night. A faint orange light shone in the distance. Evelyne drew her eyes to the back of the wagon and saw several blackened forms at the rear of the cage.
“Awake?” The familiar sound of Grunnxe’s voice broke the night. “I brought you some friends to keep you company. See, I am kind.”
“Where are the girls?”
“Why, they’re right there.” Grunnxe led his horse closer to the cage. The night was dark, and Evelyne couldn’t make out his face well.
“You know what I mean. What have you done with the girls? And Olmat?”
“Listen here, I don’t want to put you out again. I don’t like to do it. Most ungracious of me, as your host, after all. But we’ve been over this, and I’m not discussing such matters with you. Now, how about some food? We’ve some fantastic dried beef, some roasted chicken, bread and cheeses.”
Evelyne’s stomach rumbled loudly, and her mouth
filled with saliva. She’d no idea how long it had been since she had eaten, but certainly it was several days.
“You were dreaming before you awoke.” Grunnxe spoke again. “Heard you say ‘Kal’. That wouldn’t happen to be the governor of Carte’s boy, Kalfinar, would it?”
Evelyne’s stomach grumbled again and she felt like she would be sick once more. “Believe you’ve been acquainted,” she said with all the smugness she could muster. “Heard he rammed a foot of steel up into your rancid old guts.”
Grunnxe’s fingers wrapped around the bar of the cage close to Evelyne’s face, and he leaned in as close as he could, still riding forward. “Aye, I remember the cold pain of it. You’ll maybe get lucky and I can slide my dagger through your hand tonight, so you have at least a little idea of how it feels. Would you like that?”
Evelyne turned her head away.
“Manners cost nothing, young lady. Now, to show you I still have mine, I’ll fetch you some food.” He clicked his fingers, and the sound of a horse approaching caused Evelyne to turn.
A young page approached the king. “Your Highness.” The page spoke with a breaking voice, neither the height of youth nor the rumble of manhood.
“Fetch our guest some food, and water. Bring her the good stuff from the station. Some of that nice chicken. Bring some of the preserved fruit too.”
The page bowed and turned his horse around, trotting off into the broad, dark snake of the caravan behind.
“What about your other guests?” Evelyne poured all her contempt into the last word. “Aren’t you wanting to show them the same manners you’re showing me? Don’t you think they need food and water?”
Grunnxe laughed, a sound suggesting he was genuinely amused. “I like you. You’ve got guts. But you’re a little slow on the uptake. You see, these ladies, they’re not my guests. They’re for my men to slake their thirst on. Not the thirst one has for wine or ale, but the thirst for all that soft skin. Better I let them burn off their lust on something other than blood. Don’t want them fighting amongst themselves for want of something to straighten them out. Tell me, did you get straightened out by Kalfinar? Sorry. Not very sensitive of me, is it? What with him being dead.”
“He’s not dead.”
The sobbing sounded from the end of the wagon-cage once again.
Evelyne looked down at the dark shapes and made out a head bobbing from crying. “Feed them.”
“Maybe I will. But first admit to me that Kalfinar is dead, unless you want me to get my men to feed your new companions their cocks?”
“He’s not dead. I know it.”
“You know little, girl. The children of Balzath ravaged Carte, and made meat of its people. Your Dajda – very much your Dajda, since she sleeps within you – could do nothing, and so Balzath prevailed. Your dear Kalfinar is meat also.”
“Where are your creatures now? I see none.”
“Correct.” Grunnxe’s voice had taken on an edge of irritation. “They wetted themselves so in blood that Balzath has granted them a little rest.”
A flare of warmth flooded from Evelyne’s chest, and a sense of lightness washed away her thumping head. Balzath sleeps. There is hope.
“I promise you’ll see them soon, though. Ah!” Grunnxe exclaimed with fresh levity. “Speaking of meat, here comes your platter.”
“And for the others?” The plate was slid into the wagon floor, stopping by Evelyne’s side. “Aren’t you going to feed them, too?”
“Listen to me good.” The levity had fled from Grunnxe’s voice, and again the evil sounded within him. “Consider yourself lucky I’m not feeding you their meat tonight.”
The warmth remained in Evelyne's chest, despite the terror that fizzed about her skull. Balzath sleeps. There is hope.
Evelyne ate just enough of the food to appease her growling stomach, then kicked the tin plate down towards the women chained at the end of the wagon. She regretted her decision an hour or so later as her stomach began to complain again. The faint light that began to seep into the sky let her see that the women had been chained by the wrist, above their heads, and their feet shackled and chained to the floor of the wagon. The food remained untouched. The sobbing had trailed off, and it appeared the women slept. Their chins rested on their chests or shoulders, their heads gently bobbed with the movement of the wagon as it trundled along.
The rising sun spread an amber light, silhouetting the landscape about her. Behind, it appeared the land was comprised of undulating plains, filled with the winding black smudge of Grunnxe’s army. Grass swayed in waves like the surface of the sea, the cold wind caressing its soft surface with each gust. A chill ran through Evelyne as she realised how cold she was.
“Thanks for the food.” A small voice sounded from the rear of the wagon.
Evelyne looked to the voice. Even in the poor light of dawn, it was clear she was a pretty girl. Maybe sixteen years old. A dark line of a scabbed-over cut spread from the swollen corner of her lower lip, flowering into a round bruise on her jaw.
“Are you hurt?” Evelyne asked.
“We’re all hurt. No difference between any of us on that account.” The girl looked her up and down with an expressionless face. “You’re something special, though.” Her eyes narrowed and she looked at the soldiers marching about the wagon. She whispered, “Heard the king talking with you in the night. Who are you?”
“I’m no one. A churchwoman from Carte.”
“Trench rat?”
Evelyne coughed out a small laugh. “I’ve never been called that before.”
“Meant no offence. Just what I’ve been brought up saying.”
“No offence taken.” Evelyne smiled at the girl. “What’s your name?”
“Selby,” she replied, the tip of her tongue exploring the split in her lip, causing her to wince.
“Where did they take you from, Selby?”
“Overn Station. They came to the town. Took all they wanted.” Her head bowed, and began to bob. Sounds of crying came soft and quiet from her. “Killed anyone who weren’t any use to them.”
Evelyne felt her cheeks flush hot with fury and she ground her teeth. “I’m sorry, Selby.” Her knuckles tightened in a ball and she wished for Grunnxe’s face before her now. “Where in Solansia is Overn Station?”
“What’s your meaning?” Selby looked up, sniffing.
“I know we are in the Solansian plains, and we’re heading east, but I don’t know where we started from.”
“Station’s in the middle of the plains. Not much else around us at all, just grazing for the–”
“Shut it!” A growl sounded from behind the wagon. “No talking between you lot.” The soldier stuck his head up to the bar, causing Selby to shriek at the sight of the Ravenmayne.
Evelyne looked at the face, so similar to Chentuck, but then she saw the mouth, and the filed teeth.
“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Haven’t you seen men so handsome as the Ravenmayne? I promise you, you’ll get well acquainted with us before long.” The Ravenmayne laughed and thumped a bar of the wagon-cage, then returned to formation.
Selby started to weep again, her head tipped towards her legs.
“Don’t worry,” Evelyne whispered, “we’ll find a way out of this.” The girl did not react as if she’d heard her, though Evelyne didn’t blame her. Her words fell hollow from her mouth.
The morning passed in silence. Evelyne watched as the yellow-green sea of plains grass crept past. The endless grass varied little, with the land rolling in places, becoming more undulating in others. Occasionally patches of rusty heather and bracken would rise up, surrounded by grey rock. Evelyne noted with some satisfaction the motley display of lichen on the west side of one such outcrop of rock; the pale green spreading tendrils of one species, good for healing septic wounds, and the yellow blaze of another, which made tea to cure general pains and tenderness. The purple lichen caught her attention most of all. Slowblood was its common name, and called so due to its
sedative properties. When combined with the yellow lichen, Slowblood would bring on a palsy and then sleep to those who ingested it. If one ingested too much, the sleep could be eternal.
The wagon suddenly came to a halt, and there was the sound of shouting up ahead. Angry voices clashed, and the troops who had been marching alongside the wagon walked up the line to see what was going on.
Evelyne craned her head round as far as she could, eyes peering over her shoulder, neck straining against her chained wrists. She couldn’t see what had happened, but it sounded clear to her: “Wagon’s lost a wheel. Need to repair it. Make camp for the night.”
“Has he got your friends as well?” Selby asked, breaking Evelyne’s attention.
“I think so,” Evelyne replied, sitting back and turning to Selby. “I haven’t seen them since I’ve been captive.”
“You reckon they’re dead?”
“No.” Evelyne tried to smile. “I would know.”
“You got the magic? Are you like one of them, you know, Tudurin, or something?”
One of the other women, black-haired with sad eyes, looked up. The bruise about her right eye was green-brown now. “Tuannan,” she corrected Selby.
Evelyne smiled at the black-haired woman. It was the first time she'd spoken. “That’s right. Tuannan. And yes, I was born with the gift. Not that it is much use to us now.”
The black-haired woman smiled back, though there was little, if any, genuine happiness to it. Manners, more than anything.
“What did Grunnxe mean when he said Dajda slept inside you?” Selby asked, her tone marginally more upbeat than that of the black-haired woman.
“He just meant that I had lost my faith.”
“Have you?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Never had faith, myself,” Selby mumbled, looking down at her bare feet, dirt stained and pale. “Maybe it would’ve helped me if I did.”
“No point saying that, Sel,” the third woman in the wagon said. She had a thick mane of curly brown hair that had become tangled with stalks of hay and matted with grease and dirt. She had a pretty face though, with high cheekbones and a fine chin. Her face was free of bruises, unlike the others, but her left arm was limp, and hung grotesquely from the metal cuff above her head. Evelyne surmised from the slump in her shoulder that the joint had been dislocated. The woman had kept quiet until then, and Evelyne knew the pain must have been enormous.
