Too Cold to Bleed

by D Murray

  “It’s worth it,” she mumbled, feeling a deep fatigue about her. She had an arm about Tusk, and stroked the big dog’s wet back. Tusk looked up at her with his big dark eyes and shifted up from where he lay on the ground, flopping down across Ruah’s legs. Tusk’s heat felt good against her, even if his weight caused her leg to throb.

  “Hal,” Culver said, “that’s enough now. Best come back and stay close. Our bodies will warm us up now we’re out of the wind.”

  “Not sure I’ll ever get warm,” the younger man said, sitting down to Ruah’s left. Culver moved to her right, with Tusk between them. “Tired,” Halpern mumbled.

  “No sleep,” Culver said, leaning forward, close to Ruah’s face. “No sleep for anyone. We’re too cold for that. Just keep talking.”

  “Don’t have much too say,” Hal grumbled.

  “Just talk shite like you usually do.” The words stumbled out of Ruah’s mouth, such was the weariness that veiled her. She pulled her blanket from her pack and spread it out across her legs and over Tusk’s back. She looked at Culver as he squeezed in close to her. Even in the drab blue light of the snow-hole, she could pick out the scars and faded bruises about his face. “What happened to your ear?” she asked, stroking the sleeping Tusk absently.

  “Got kicked in the head the other day. You were there.”

  “A kick don’t bust an ear up like that.” She pinched her leg to chase away the sleep that threatened to overwhelm her. “You hurt it before the riders. What happened?”

  “I got into a fight. It was bitten off.”

  “What happened to the other guy?” Halpern asked.

  Culver looked at the young man, then back to Ruah. “He’s dead.” Culver sat back and rubbed at the palm of his gloved hand.

  “Did you kill him?” Halpern asked, his words shambling from his mouth like those of a drunkard.

  Culver stared off at nothing for a moment, his mouth open as he seemed to hold the word on his lips. “It wasn’t my blade, but I suppose I killed him all the same.”

  “What were you fighting about?” Ruah asked.

  Culver frowned and shook his head. “Talk about something else.”

  “Why don’t we talk about how we’re lost?” Ruah said, annoyance flaring as Culver dodged the question. “Why don’t we talk about how that rider you killed was just lying to us so we’d freeze to death out here?”

  “Steady, Roo,” Halpern said, his hand resting on her forearm.

  “Get off me.” She pulled her arm away, her action and anger causing Tusk to raise his head in alarm, issuing a low growl towards Halpern. “Steady, boy. Steady.” She petted the dog’s broad head. Tusk lowered his head, but kept wary eyes on Halpern.

  “We’ll carry on our course. Once the weather eases, we’ll find the way the rider spoke of. I believe it,” Culver said, his head tipped back and his finger and thumb rubbing at his eyes.

  “If this is the right course,” Ruah snapped. “If that fucker wasn’t lying to us, how come we’ve seen no sign they even came this way? What about their wagons, their horses, the cattle, the hundreds, thousands of feet falling?” She stared hard at him, her brows knitted tight and an all too comfortable sneer about her lips.

  “Fresh snow will cover any tracks. Below the snow line, they could have a troop working behind them to obscure tracks. I reckon they’ll have slaughtered any of the cattle they were driving by now. Or they’ve found a way around to the pass. Chances are there are lower routes, if you know the way. May even be they split the force, and sent some back to Jerras Port.”

  “Shite.” Ruah sighed and shook her head. “Why are you so keen on getting our people back?”

  “Could ask you the same thing, Roo,” Culver replied. “The way you tell it, the folk of the station treated you like shit. Tell me, why are you so keen to get them back?”

  “Shit or no, they’re still my people,” Ruah said. “What’s in it for you? What are you searching for in all this?” Ruah pressed him, feeling the heat of anger flooding her cheeks.

  “Not searching for anything,” Culver said, rolling his head to the side to look at Ruah. “Just trying to do something good, that’s all.”

  She looked at him, and felt the flush of anger slide from her cheeks, replaced with the pain that came from warming up. The tone of her voice softened as she realised why. “After a life of shit?”

  Culver smiled, showing his pristine teeth. “After some amount of it, yes.”

  “I’ve never seen teeth so perfect on a common soldier.” Ruah narrowed her eyes at him. “Come to think of it, you don’t act like any common soldier I’ve ever seen. What’s with that?” Ruah rubbed at her hands as she spoke, wincing at the pain that now burned about her swollen pink fingers.

  “The pain is good,” Culver replied, seeming to dodge the question. “Means you’ve still got blood flowing in them. It’s if you can’t feel them that you should be worried.”

  The sound of deep, slow draws of breath from her left drew Ruah’s attention. She turned, and saw Halpern asleep, his head tilted towards her shoulder. “Hal, wake up.” She shoved at him, but he was deep.

  “I guess he’s just sleeping. He should be fine,” Culver said, looking at the younger man. “Put your arm about him, share your heat.”

  “You think we’ll be fine?” she asked, looking at Halpern’s peaceful face in sleep.

  Culver rustled about his bag and pulled out the remains of the candle, and his spark rod and kindling. “We’d be better with some more food and a warmer shelter.” He reached in and pulled out more dried beef, putting a slab in his mouth and handing Ruah two pieces. “A bit for the dog as well.” At that, Tusk raised his head and, with a gentle bite, took the beef from her hand. “The candle will give us a little warmth,” Culver said, leaning away from Ruah to strike sparks into the small tuft of kindling.

  Within a few moments, the drab blue of the snow-hole was replaced with a sparkling yellow glow. Amidst the impression of warmth, Ruah fancied she was in a cave with a diamond ceiling. She chewed on the tough beef and marvelled at the way the candlelight played about the tiny angles of the snow and ice. Tusk exhaled a deep breath and curled about in a ball half under the blanket, head nuzzling into Ruah’s stomach. Halpern’s head lay on her shoulder, her left arm about him, his rhythmic breathing almost matching that of Tusk. A wave of tiredness washed over her, and she felt her eyelids droop, then shut. She tried to open them and saw only the flickering image of diamonds about her. The image sparkled in the light of the sun. She basked in its warmth, letting it flood her body. It tingled about her fingertips, and wrapped about her legs, smothering the pain of her ruined limb. It nestled in her belly, spreading out and touching her shoulders, neck and reaching up into her head. The sun-bright warmth sparkled in her mind's eye, glistening with golden rays.

  She was lying amongst long green grass. A warm breeze carried across the plains and into the small wooded gully where she rested. The gentle breeze played about the fronds of grass. Ruah’s bare feet rested near the small burn that babbled through the gully. She heard a peal of thunder in the distance, and shivered as a chill ran through the warm, summer breeze. The thunder sounded again, and the burn quickened along its course, swelling. It rose up the bank, and touched at Ruah’s bare feet. It was icy cold, and chilled her in the instant. The sky darkened, and black powdery clouds spread like swollen bruises across the sky. The breeze quickened into a buffeting gale, spraying her with icy hail. An urgency flared in Ruah’s chest, and panic coursed within her. She tried to get up, cold fear gripping at her chest. Her heart pounded, and the ice-cold water of the burn rose higher, spreading over her legs and chest. She tried to stand, tried to wake up, but she couldn’t. The chill nestled about her, and the icy water reached her chin, then spilled over her face.

  Twenty-Two

  Veterans

  Subath heaved a sigh and stared out of the window at the darkening sky. If he slumped any further in his chair he would be down amongst the ho
unds under the table where they licked their arses. The room had been full of people licking arses, in fairness. The last man remaining in Merkham’s office along with Subath and the newly elected governor was a fat man, whose name Subath had decided he would forget before he even heard it. The fat man bleated on about sanitation, or hospitals, or building squads, or some other tired old shit. Either way, it hardly seemed to matter after fourteen hours of endless talking. Fucking administration. Subath huffed again, and felt his elbow sting. It had been supporting the weight of his head as he leaned it on his fist for nearly an hour now.

  Merkham looked down at Subath from the other end of the long table. A look of the most pronounced exasperation flitted across the new governor’s face, and he cleared his throat.

  The fat man stopped talking for a moment, then looked around the table, as if expecting someone to encourage him onward, but the room was empty save for Merkham and the ghost of Subath giving two shits. The fat man looked back to Merkham, his jowls wobbling under his arse of a chin. “Lord Governor,” he said throatily, “don’t you want to hear more about my strategy for the re-commencement of the City Lampers' Guild? With the right funds, we can have the main thoroughfares lit up this very night.” The man’s voice tightened further. “This very night!”

  That’s it! That’s what he’s spouting on about, fucking lamp-lighting prick. Subath appraised the man with a critical eye. Wouldn’t like to see that fat fucker up a ladder lighting a lamp. Dajda, I’m bored.

  “Thank you, Master Nortan, but no.” Merkham did not bother to hide the annoyance in his voice. “If you’re telling me there is a chance, upon the agreement of coin, that you could have the Lampers' Guild at work tonight, then I tell you, as your governor, that it is your civic duty to work for your city – no, your nation – without the promise of coin.”

  “But–” Nortan began to protest.

  Subath felt his eyelid start to twitch.

  “No buts.” Merkham cut the fat lamper off.

  “But, Lord Governor–” Nortan whined on.

  “Listen, you sack of shite.” Subath exploded from his seat in a fury, placing a heavy emphasis on the 'shite.' “When the governor tells you to shut the fuck up, you shut the fuck up.” Subath rounded the table to the man. Nortan’s fat shining face seemed to shrink into the blubbery folds of his chin as Subath approached. “If the lord governor were to tell you to place a candle in your arse and light his writing desk, then you will do it, and be grateful to take your governor out of darkness. Dajda, you should be thankful he hasn’t given you to me.” Subath leaned in close to the man’s face. He could smell the stink of a throat flux from the man’s fearful panting. Sweat beaded on the lamper’s forehead as Subath’s violent smile spread across his whiskered face. “If this were a military matter for me to deal with, I’d have you fuel the fucking city lamps with the rendered-down fat of your bloated carcass.” The man swallowed hard and closed his eyes tight. Subath moved his mouth to the man’s ear and whispered, “Do I make myself clear?” A squeak emitted from the man’s lips. Subath felt his eye twitch again. “Do I make myself fucking clear?” he roared.

  “Yes, Chief Marshal, sir,” Nortan blurted, before panting for panicked breath.

  Subath stood up and smiled a wide and warm smile. “Excellent. Now, off you fuck!” He flicked his hand in the direction of the door.

  Nortan shambled his way towards the door, stopping to bow to Merkham, and a panicked fart slipped from his arse to crown his shame. “Sorry, my lord. Sorry. I’ll see the guild are at work tonight.”

  “Very good,” Merkham said, rubbing his weary eyes with finger and thumb.

  The door thumped shut behind the fat man, and Subath pulled out the chair Nortan had just vacated. It was nice and warm, and Subath offered small thanks that the man’s fat arse was useful for something at least. “Fuck me, I’m weary.” Subath groaned and swung his feet up onto the table.

  “You know,” Merkham said, grinding his seat back, “ordinarily, I’d be pretty upset by you putting your boots on my table. After all, I know where they go, and I don’t really want you dragging in some crotch-rot on the end of your feet, and having you place said crotch-rot where I eat my supper.” Merkham swung his own boots up onto the surface of the table. “But at the end of a day like this, I don’t think I’d have the energy to fight you off even if you tried to put those feet in my mouth.”

  Subath ground out a dirty-sounding laugh. “You mistake me.” He tilted his chair back and placed his hands behind his head. “I haven’t docked anywhere in more than two weeks. We’ve yet to hear a petition from the whores to get them up and running again.”

  “Whores up and running.” Merkham stared at the ceiling a moment. “I believe that is somewhat paradoxical.”

  “What?” Subath frowned, his chair legs clacking down on the floor as he swung his legs down off the table.

  Merkham shook his head and smiled. “Doesn’t matter. Can you pour me a cup of wine?”

  Subath reached over and uncorked the blue glass bottle of red wine, and filled two tin cups right up to the rim. “Sorry. Came out a bit fast.” He lifted one to his lips and slurped it, then did the same to the other before handing it to a grimacing Merkham with a smile. “That’ll be how you catch something off old Subath!”

  Merkham took out a handkerchief and wiped around the rim of the cup before folding the delicate cloth into the sleeve of his jacket. He lifted the cup and took a long draw of the wine. “Ah!” He sighed, then smiled a tired smile. “I think we may be getting the city back on track.”

  “What’s left of it.” Subath thumbed a drip of wine from the outside of his cup and sucked it. “You’re too soft with them all,” Subath grumbled, swigging his wine. “You can’t offer promissory notes, or coin the nation – never mind the city – doesn’t have.”

  “We need to get things moving, and we need the merchants back. We need their ships, their trade agreements, their not-so-legal deals with other nations. If it takes a promise of coin, or some other reward further down the line, then I’m willing to commit us to that.”

  “Still, it doesn’t sit right with me.” Subath emptied his cup and reached for the bottle. “I could do with getting my hole tonight.”

  Merkham grimaced. “Dajda, but you really do murder the language, don’t you? Promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Subath said with a grin.

  “Don’t ever turn to poetry.”

  Subath grumbled a ragged laugh. “What makes you think I haven’t already? How else could I have had all these fine and mannered courtly ladies swooning over me? It’s not my face, that much is for sure. Want more wine?”

  “Please.” Merkham reached over with his cup. “The new hospital will help.”

  “It will.” Subath frowned. “If the merchants don’t start taking advantage over supplies.”

  “The sanitation crews will help, too,” Merkham continued.

  “It’ll take troops we need for the walls to keep the crews working round the clock to get the sewers clear and the wells restored,” Subath said, staring at the lip of his cup as he fingered it with one thick, chipped fingernail.

  “We should see the first of the merchant ships returning from Terna with grain and other provisions.”

  “Aye, if the bloody Cannans haven’t blockaded the ports.” Subath peered out of the window towards the docks.

  “And if they do, we’ve given orders to dock where they can and transport the goods overland if necessary.” Merkham tossed back his cup and swallowed the wine in three long gulps. He placed down the tin vessel and wiped the wine from his lips. “And in any case, it’s been days now and we’ve heard nothing back from the emissary. Perhaps the Father of the People has seen reason.”

  “Wouldn’t bet on it,” Subath said. “He’s grief-mad, and is being fucked with from within his own court. I'm not even certain Leilah will still be alive. I would expect to find ourselves assailed again before too long. You heard wh
at the Lihedan priestess said to Kalfinar.”

  “Dedicant Valus?”

  “Aye,” Subath grunted. “She said Dajda and Canna had been dominant over the other gods for so long. What’s to say Canna doesn’t see this as a chance to have sole power?”

  “You really believe that?” Merkham asked.

  “Aye. I do,” said Subath cheerlessly, “and what’s more, I think the Father of the People’s condition is allowing any factions within the Cannan court and church to create the situation. The Daughter of the People is just an excuse. They’d have found another.” Subath looked back out to sea. “I’m not even sure they’ll take the time to blockade us or starve us out. I reckon they’ll see us on our arses, already half broken, and send a full assault on Carte before too long. That’s what I’d do.”

  “When should we expect reinforcements?” Merkham asked.

  “Terna will drop down to a skeleton troop. I’d expect a division from them any day now. The same with the Enulin Division. The Gerloup Division will be another week at least.”

  “And that will give us, what? Thirty thousand extra troops?”

  “About that. Probably not quite as much.” Subath felt the palsy tremble through his hand as his fingers rubbed at his dry eyes. “Hells, I’m tired.”

  “That would give us a defensive force of near forty thousand. That’s enough to hold.”

  “Hold what?” Subath sneered, reaching out and taking the bottle again. “The fleet is decimated, the city half-scorched. We have little food, little clean water, and little stomach left.”

  Merkham nodded thanks for the fresh wine, then shook his head in disagreement. “It’ll come together. We’ve the merchants working for us, and supplies coming in. As for the fight, you and I have the stomach for it, and we have the duty to lead this half-breathing nation. Dajda, even Lucius seems hungry for a fight. If Apula can hold against Grunnxe with only a handful of troops and a great big fucking hole in their wall, then Carte can hold against an invasion that may not even happen!”