by D Murray
The dog lowered itself onto the dusty floor of the barn and then, slowly and gently, it crept forward. “That’s it,” Ruah said, “come on. Good dog.” With eyes locked on Ruah’s, the dog stretched forward with open jaws and, careful as you like, took the dried beef between its teeth and began to chew. Its ears relaxed, and its red tail began to sway on the dusty floor with a short, nervous wag. “See? I’m your friend.” The dog looked up, chewing the last of the morsel, and swallowed. It stood up, then sat, exposing to Ruah the nub of where the leg had been, visible below the hip of its left leg. “Looks like we have something in common.” The dog opened its mouth, its tongue lolling in that dog-smile way. “Don’t have any more on me. Sorry. Will see if my friends want to give you something. Come on.” Ruah stepped out of the shed with the shovel, the three-legged dog limping along beside her. Look at me, with all the friends.
Thirteen
Tusk
Ruah watched the black silhouetted shape of the bird as it passed overhead. The grey-brown drift of clouds was tinged with blue and pink as the sun began its speedy retreat. Cold winds blew now from the east, changing direction since the group left the farmstead in the early afternoon. Ruah tugged her travelling cloak about her shoulders and looked down at the dog. She hadn’t a name for it yet, but the damn thing hadn’t left her side since she fed it the sad little strip of beef she’d had in her pocket. It limped along beside her, keeping pace, not that it was hard to keep pace with Ruah. The big dog’s ears pricked forward at a hint of noise on the wind.
“What do you hear, boy?” Ruah said quietly.
“What was that?” Culver asked.
“Nothing. Was just speaking to the dog.”
“Does it hear something?”
“Guess so.”
“Stop moving, Hal.” Culver held up his hand and they all stopped.
The dog stared intently ahead. Before them, the plains were beginning to be broken up with increasingly large outcrops of granite. The rocks jutted in smaller lumps, leading up to great plugs of stone rising from the grassy hillocks. Rust-red clods of heather grew brushy and rank from about the rocks, partnered by stumpy, twisted birch trees, long since stripped of their leaves by the whip of the wind. The dog took a step and a hop forwards. His sooty brown ears pricked forward in furred peaks. A low rumble sounded from his chest.
“Something’s there,” Culver said. He stuck out his hand, palm turned to the ground, and ordered them to crouch. He dropped down to his knees.
The motion caused Ruah to wince as the pain shot through her leg towards her back. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, straining as best she could to hear what it was the dog had sensed. The wind gusted, the low whistle rising and falling, accompanied by the soft rustle of the grass, the distant call of larks, and a deep, rhythmic thump, thump, thump. That was strange.
“Horses.” Culver's voice sounded.
Ruah opened her eyes. The dog had strayed further forward, and his growl had grown louder.
“Nowhere to hide,” Halpern said, turning about him. The ground to their rear had been flat for several miles. The nearest variation in land was a large hill and cluster of drumlins about four miles back. The only viable hiding places lay in the land ahead of them – the same direction the sound of horses was coming from. The sound grew more clear and distinct.
“No time for hiding. Have your weapons handy, but out of sight,” Culver said as he unslung the travel blanket that was wrapped around his scabbard. He pulled the end of the blanket about the sword's pommel and cross-guard, obscuring it. “We don’t know who’s coming, or their intent. To them, we’re family, looking for work.”
A pair of riders crested a rocky outcrop ahead. They wore helmets and it looked like they had weapons by their saddles. A third rider appeared behind them. In moments, they had been spotted, and Ruah’s hands began to tremble as the riders bore down. The dog slunk back from his advanced position and cowered by Ruah’s feet.
“Let me talk,” Culver hissed. He raised his hands as the three riders approached, dirt flying from the hooves of their horses, and foam clearly frothing at their mouths.
“Pissing well riding us down,” Halpern squawked.
“Steady on,” Culver said.
The dog whimpered and edged closer to Ruah’s boot. “Easy, boy.” The dog looked up, sparkling brown eyes almost as shit-scared looking as Ruah thought her own must’ve been.
The riders reined in several horse lengths in front. The foremost rider trotted onward, coming close enough to Culver to reach out and kick him in the head. Which he did.
Culver stumbled backward and fell onto his arse, his hand raised against his ear as bright blood seeped between his fingers and ran in red streaks down his hand. “Shitting hells! What was that for?” he asked, his accent fitting the mark of a Solansian.
The kicker sat atop his horse looking all the way an ugly, mean bastard. His shaven scalp was pale and notched with lumpy white scars, and his greasy stubbled face had the weathered look of one used to a rough existence. He hawked up some phlegm and spat it onto the ground beside Culver as he climbed to his feet.
“Who are you, then?” the man asked in a bored tone.
“Name’s Culver.” Ruah took it he felt no need to lie. “These here are my children, Roo and Hal.”
“What’s the dog’s name?”
“Dog.”
“That’s one ugly fucking dog.” The man sneered.
“Aye. That he is,” Culver replied, taking his palm away from the side of his head and grimacing at the smear of blood. “What’d you kick me for?”
“Felt like it.” The man leaned over in his saddle and sneered at Culver. “You see, I’m a bit of a bastard.” He turned to receive the ragged laughter of his fellow riders.
“Aye, well, I can see that, all right,” Culver grunted, wiping the blood off his palm and onto his trousers. “What d'you want with us?”
“What you doing out this way?”
“Was just about to ask you the same.”
“Aye, well, I’m not the one bleeding.”
“My children and me, we’re making our way to Jerras Port. Looking for work there.”
“Some ways off the road to Jerras Port. Why aren’t you further south?”
“We was up prospecting north of here. About two days' ride. Left our camp. Nothing doing in the waters.”
“Nothing doing, eh?” one of the other riders asked, a thin man with buck teeth and sunken cheeks. “A poor investment.”
“Aye. A poor one. Figured we’d cut our losses,” Culver said, dabbing at his bleeding ear with the cuff of his coat now.
The dog eased up from where he had been cowering at Ruah’s feet and stepped forward, sniffing the air in front of the horses' hooves as they kicked at the ground.
“That’s that same three-legged mutt from the farmstead the other day,” the third rider said, his eyes narrowing.
“What?” Kicker turned in his saddle to look at the man. “From the farm? You sure?”
He nodded. “Aye. Same one. I’m sure.”
“Now!” Culver shouted, his sword freed from its scabbard in an instant. Kicker turned in shock and vomited blood as Culver’s sword rammed into him above the hip. As Culver tore his sword free, Kicker lurched forward in his saddle, leading his horse into a spin that clattered into Buck Teeth’s. Both men fell from their saddles, horses galloping away from the smell of blood and the crash of violence.
Ruah sprang towards him, ignoring the pain as she pulled her hatchet free from under her cloak. The roar that sounded from her throat was more beast than human, then she realised the dog had lunged ahead of her and latched onto Buck Teeth’s hand as it sought his sword.
“Fucking off me!” Buck Teeth struck out at the dog once, and again, but the animal held him firm in his jaws, long enough for Ruah to clumsily thump the edge of her hatchet onto the metal forehead of the man’s helmet with a loud metallic clunk.
The man’s eyes rolled back
in his head and he went limp.
Ruah’s chest was heaving as she stood up, pain flaring, and looked across. Halpern was standing, blood spattered, above the body of the third rider. Dark blood seeped from an awful wound under the dead man’s chin, his mouth yawning to the sky.
Culver turned from where he was speaking to Halpern and approached Ruah. “You fine?”
“Aye. Thanks to the dog here. He stopped that one getting to his sword.” She pointed to where Buck Teeth lay sprawled.
“Good dog.” Culver smiled and made to pet the dog, but he growled and hopped up to Ruah. “Dead?”
“Think so.” Ruah looked at the man. His helmet had a dent running across the top of his eyes.
“He’s breathing,” Culver said, hunkering down and placing his forefinger before the man’s nose. “Aye, he’s breathing. You hit him there?” He pointed to the dent in the helmet.
Ruah nodded. “Didn’t mean to. Was going for his neck. Missed.”
“All the more reason for me to train you how to use that thing.” He looked at the unconscious man for a moment. “Probably a good thing. We can get him to talk. Let’s get his hands tied.” Culver reached into the pouch tied to his belt and pulled out some cordage. “This’ll do.”
“Alright, Roo?” Halpern said, walking up to them.
“Aye. You?”
“Was close. Nearly had me. Managed to get my sword arm free enough in the end. He fell over on me and it stuck him up under his chin. Don’t much fancy being that close again.”
“The dog saved me.”
“What do you know,” Halpern said, the laugh in his voice trailing off. “Hey, Roo, he’s hurt, I think. Blood about his snout.”
“Eh?” Ruah turned and looked across at the dog. Blood smeared his muzzle. He opened his mouth and did the dog-smile thing again, pink-red tongue lolling out between two lower canines. One was set off to the side now, blood seeping from the gums. When he closed his mouth, the lower canine protruded, standing out white against the fawn-red hair of his snout. “That buck-toothed fucker must’ve punched the tooth askew.” Ruah limped over to the dog, his tail wagging as she approached. “Guess I’ve a name for you now, eh, Tusk?”
“Where are they heading?” Culver asked, his snarling face leaning right into Buck Teeth’s.
“How about you go fuck yourself?” Fresh bruises and cuts covered the man’s eyes and lips. Above his eyebrows, a deep red welt had risen in a fat line, the legacy of Ruah’s misplaced hatchet strike.
“You know, I’m getting pretty tired of beating you about the head. Why don’t we try a new course of action?”
Ruah could feel her palms sweating. What was troubling her wasn’t the violence Culver doled out on the man; it was the fact that she was almost certain she was enjoying it.
The man eyed Culver nervously. “What you mean?”
Culver smiled. “I’m glad you asked.” He presented a sausage-shaped stone from behind his back, about the length of his hand, and waggled it between finger and thumb in front of the man. The buck-toothed rider’s eyes followed the sway of the stone. “You see,” Culver continued, “I was thinking, I’ll take this stone here, and this knife pommel, and I’ll bring them together in a frightening mockery of the work of a dentist.” Culver frowned and looked at the man. “Though I’m guessing by the state of your mouth you’ve never much been a fan of dentists. Well, you’ll certainly not be a fan of this dentist!” Culver grinned widely, showing two rows of perfectly white and intact teeth. “How does that sound?”
The man clamped his lips shut and tried to lean his head away from Culver, but Halpern stood behind him and held the man’s head in place.
Culver pressed the thin, blunt end of the stone to the man’s closed lips and clicked his tongue twice. “Now, if you’re going to insist on being difficult, and keeping your lips shut, I’ll be forced to just work through them. It’s only soft tissue and blood, after all. Shouldn’t prove too much of an obstacle for the makeshift tools of my new trade.” The man’s lips stayed shut, and Culver gently worked the stone against them whilst he tapped his foot on the ground. “Why don’t we try one last time. Where did old Grunnxe take the people from Overn Station?”
The man stared back with a stubborn defiance that was really starting to piss Ruah off.
“Where the fuck are Selby and the rest of them?” she snapped. She stomped forward, ignoring the pain around her ankle and shin, and slammed the butt of her hatchet into the man’s chin.
“Alright, Roo,” Halpern exclaimed, reclaiming control of the man’s head as it recoiled from the blow. “No need to get carried away.”
“There's every fucking need from what I can see.” She spat on the ground and turned away, ignoring the frown Culver had shot her way.
“Selby.” There was the sound of spitting behind her, followed by a seedy laugh. “I knew a Selby.”
Ruah turned and looked at the buck-toothed man. Blood streamed fast from the split she gave him. It dripped onto the dry dirt by his knees.
“Was real tight with a Selby.”
“Aye, how did you know her?” Ruah asked, her nose crinkled in a twitching sneer.
“Aye, what d'you know of my Selby?” Halpern asked, pulling the man’s hair and tipping his head back so their eyes met.
“Fuck's sake, lad!” Culver hissed.
The man laughed again, a seedy, racking sound. It made Ruah’s skin crawl just listening to it. She didn’t need to hear any more. “The better question is what don’t I know about your Selby. The whole of the old king’s fucking army knows all of your Selby, boy. Every inch of her. And her friends for–”
Culver thumped the stone down in an overhead blow into the man’s mouth, smashing lips and teeth as one. Halpern let go of the wailing man and dropped him to the dirt. He followed up with a kick to the man’s stomach, and stared hard as he sucked for air that would not come.
“Shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction, Hal,” Culver said in a hushed voice. “No need for this prick to know you and her are close.”
“Sorry. Didn’t think.”
The man dragged in a shuddering breath and then coughed, a ragged, painful sound. “Gah!” He mumbled something, and then spat out fragments of tooth and gobs of blood, and probably no small amount of his upper lip. He looked up, tears streaming down his face. “Hagra Iolach”
“What did you say?” Culver asked, turning to face the man.
“Hagra Iolach. That’s where they’re going.”
“Where’s that?” Ruah asked.
“How do we get there?” Culver probed.
“The Spire.” The man heaved a breath. “It’s the tallest mountain in southern Hagra.”
“The Spire?” Culver asked.
“Big mountain, biggest on that line. Stretches up and twists like a cathedral.”
“You swear it? On your life?” Culver asked, walking around the man as he leaned on all fours, blood stretching from his mouth in long, viscous ropes towards the dirt.
“I swear it,” the formerly buck-toothed rider mumbled as he struggled up, arms trembling, onto his knees.
“Good,” Culver whispered from behind him. His blade appeared, and drew deep from left to right, opening the man’s throat.
“Fuck!” Ruah stepped back from the initial gout of blood. This, she felt certain, she did not enjoy. “But he just told us. He swore–”
“Didn’t want him behind us.”
The man slumped onto his back, arms still bound behind him. His legs were twisted beneath him, working as if trying to stand. Panic filled his wide eyes as they appeared to rest on Halpern.
The younger man stepped up to the dying rider and pulled free his own sword. He jabbed it into the man’s gut. “You stick my Selby, bastard? Stick her, did you?” He pulled free his sword, its tip slick with blood, and stabbed the man again. “Stick her, eh?” The sword point came out, then went in again, and again. “Stick my girl, fucker?”
“Dajda, lad,” Culver sigh
ed, reaching out and restraining Halpern’s arm. “He’s already dead.”
Ruah looked at the dead man, then up at Halpern, tears glistening in his eyes. The rest of his face was a twisted mask of Dajda knew what. Ruah looked back at Tusk, cowering behind her. “What the hells has happened to us?” Her voice was only a breath on her lips. She thought of turning back to the station. Then she thought of Paw and Selby, and she wished she had Halpern’s sword to stick the fucker on the ground.
Fourteen
Valeswater
Kalfinar stretched out the cramp in his back and spat into the fire, sending a small flurry of sparks flying up from the shingle beach.
They had travelled down the Valeswater and entered the lake called the Night Sea. They sailed across it for the best part of the afternoon, aided by a kind wind pushing them forward towards the end of the lake. As the sun set, they put in, and Broden, almost giddy to escape the boat, set about lighting a large fire for them to huddle around as Cookie set to making the food.
Kalfinar thought of losing his wife, and the daughter he never saw grow, and the pain flared in his stomach again. It was a heavy, cold feeling. His mind drifted to Evelyne, and the feeling grew hot, and angry.
“I was born in Night Town,” the cook said.
“Is that so?” Kalfinar said, grateful for the distraction. “So what were you called in Night Town? I’m sure you weren’t called Cookie your entire days.”
“Had a number of names, I suppose,” Cookie replied as he worked a wooden spoon between pots and pans. “Born to the name Steff. Family name was Cludes. My father was a cobbler. Didn’t make much in the way of good shoes myself. I let my younger brother take the trade, and I went off and joined the army. Was always better at running off into the hills in any case. Named me Clobber in the Eagles, on account of me being a shit cobbler, and having a liking for my club when the fight got tight.”
