by David Wragg
Foss called over the rocks. ‘Boss? We have the churchman.’
An arrow skittered off the boulder beside him and clattered down into the snow.
Rennic’s voice came echoing back. ‘Hear that, Mawnish travellers? We have your paymaster. Your engagement is ended.’
For a moment, the wood was still. Then a woman’s accented voice rang out. ‘Rennic? That you?’
Chel risked standing to look over the ring of stone. Rennic and the others were much where he’d last seen them, although Whisper had moved two trees over and Spider had crawled into thick undergrowth. Rennic was standing, his back still pressed to a tree trunk, staring at the brightly fletched arrow that was jammed in the top of his staff.
‘Grassi?’ he called. ‘Grassi of the Mawn, are you out there?’
Again silence, and then: ‘Black flag?’ came the woman’s voice.
‘Black flag,’ Rennic said, and at a stroke the tension dissipated. Rennic, Loveless and Whisper stood and moved out from their tree cover, Spider climbed to his feet, sheathing a long knife at his blood-soaked belt. Three dark forms materialized out of the trees, one of them only feet from where Spider had lain. Chel had no idea which of them had had the advantage.
Chel passed the mace to Foss. Hurkel began to move, and Foss hit him again.
One of the dark forms advanced on Rennic. She was barely two-thirds of his height, clad in dark furs and leather, her abdomen wrapped with armoured scales and a short bow at her shoulder. She grinned when Rennic stepped to meet her, a playful grin tinged with a hint of malice.
‘Didn’t know we hunt old men,’ she said.
Rennic’s smile was tight but genuine. ‘The fuck you doing out this way?’
‘You didn’t hear? More uprisings down south. Double coin at least, cold as shit down there.’
‘So why are you up here, with these god-bothering arseholes?’
She shrugged. ‘Detour. You know Grassi, if money good, service good.’
‘You were paid up front?’
She nodded. ‘Not imbecile, Rennic.’
‘And we can end it here?’
‘Normal day, no chance. Today, feel, uh, charitable. But—’ she jerked a slim finger in the direction of the circle of boulders. ‘Make sure he dead. This damage to reputation, Rennic. Always complete contract.’ Around them, the other Mawn were retrieving their arrows, yanking them from trunks and branches, completely indifferent to the watching mercenaries. Grassi grinned again. ‘Fortunately, we not go back to Sebemir. We go south. Always where the action is.’
‘Always.’ Rennic nodded and offered a small smile in return.
‘We not the only ones taking contracts from the Rose, Rennic. Nobody else going to give you a pass like Grassi.’
‘Don’t I know it. Good to see you, Grassi.’
‘Good to see you, Rennic.’ She reached up and ran a hand down his cheek with great affection, then turned and stomped back into the woods. Her two companions joined her, then another two before all five were lost among the thickening woods.
‘That’s it? That’s fucking it?’ Spider was up beside Rennic, the long knife back in his hand. ‘Those animal fucks killed the Fly! They butchered her!’
Rennic didn’t look at him. ‘And they could have done the same to us. They haven’t. Let’s be grateful for that much, and take this no further.’
Spider started to speak again, but Rennic was already slogging up the slope. ‘Perhaps you might enjoy a word with Brother Hurkel, Spider. To take your mind off things.’
Loveless fell in beside him. ‘So that was Grassi of the Mawn, eh?’
Rennic grunted.
‘She’s pretty. Little, but pretty.’
Rennic didn’t reply.
‘I liked her armour. Very flash. Hey, don’t you have some like that?’
They reached the rocks where Chel waited, good hand on the cold stone, one side of his face pulsing with waves of pain. He could feel the swelling already, his lip fat and bloody, one eye half-closed.
‘Hells, look at you, boy. The fuck happened up here? Where’s Lemon?’
‘Don’t call me boy,’ Chel slurred through throbbing lips.
Tarfel was crouched over Lemon’s stirring form. ‘I think she’s all right,’ the prince said. ‘She’s instructing me to eat my own genitals.’
***
With one knee shattered, Hurkel hunched like a wounded bear at the centre of the stone ring. He muttered scripture in a monotone through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the muddy slush before him. The crew kept their distance, conscious his muscular arms still had speed and reach. Dawn had broken, the yellow morning sun scraping at the peaks behind them. Downslope, the gully was a mess of churned and vivid pink.
Rennic leaned against one of the stones opposite the stricken confessor. ‘So. Brother Hurkel.’
Hurkel ignored him, rocking gently as he murmured.
‘Foss, what’s he reciting?’
‘It’s the Article of Resolve. He thinks he’s going to be a martyr.’
‘Hey, Hurkel!’ Rennic prodded him with his splintered staff. Hurkel snarled and snatched its end, before Foss thumped him with the mace again and he released it with a growl.
‘Thrice-damned you are, every man, whore and faithless sand-crab among you,’ Hurkel said. ‘The flames of nine hells shall ravage your bleached bones for eternity, while your souls scream for salvation that will never come. You are beyond redemption.’
Rennic stared at him for a moment, hand on his chin, then stood. ‘You know what? Fuck this ape.’ He reached for a knife from his belt. Hurkel resumed his incantations with greater urgency, eyes closed, face raised to the sky and hands clasped.
Loveless put a hand on Rennic’s arm, and he deferred to her. She took a step forward, still keeping her distance. ‘Been with the Brotherhood of the Twice-Blooded Thorn long, Brother Hurkel?’ she said.
‘Demons take you, whore.’
‘That’s a yes, is it? Since you were a tiny meat-stack, I’d guess. Orphan? Foundling? Backstreet accident to some poor Horvaun working girl?’
‘God turns his back to painted harlots, vile whores, accursed street-rats.’
‘Brother Hurkel, that just isn’t true. Your god preaches love for everyone, especially the lost and unfortunate. I’m sure Foss here could quote you an apposite Article.’
Foss nodded, but remained silent.
‘You’ll not speak of God. You know nothing of his will!’
‘I suspect I know about as much as you do, Brother Hurkel.’
He clenched his teeth then spat at her, a gobbet of something landing on the muddied snow beside her boots. She pursed her lips. ‘Quite the charmer, aren’t we, Brother Hurkel? I bet the ladies can’t keep their hands off you. Oh, forgive me, you took a vow, didn’t you? First to the Rose, then when you, let’s say, bloomed into this vision of even-tempered manhood before us, I bet the Thorn couldn’t wait to sweep you into their bosom.’
Loveless took a small step closer. ‘You can’t bear it, can you, Hurkel? You can’t bear to see the pretty girls enjoying themselves, enjoying other boys, enjoying each other. You can’t stand it. That they can’t stand you. Your mother rejected you, the serving girls in the monastery shrieked and hid from you, and now every woman who claps her eyes on your grisly mug runs a mile.’
‘Shut your vile mouth, trollop!’
‘Never was a vow of celibacy so unnecessary.’
He lunged for her then, thrusting forward on one hand with the other outstretched. She danced aside, whipping the short silver sword from its scabbard at her belt. She held it before her face, looking along the flat of the blade at the snarling confessor. ‘Please, Brother Hurkel. Make me do it.’
Hurkel’s face was the colour of rotten beetroot. ‘That’s a fine blade. I’m going to fuck you with it.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘And you seemed like such a nice boy.’
He lunged again, fast and unstoppable. Loveless swayed and the sword moved
in a blur, hissing through the air. Hurkel’s hand gripped Loveless’s jacket. His hand was no longer attached to his arm.
Hurkel began to shriek as the reality of his mutilation dawned. Thick, bright blood pumped from the stump at his wrist, pooling on the ruined snow beneath him.
‘For God’s sake, Loveless, look at this mess. Now one of us will have to touch him,’ Rennic sighed.
‘You will die unlamented and alone, Brother Hurkel, and as your life leaves you, you will realize that you are alone with your god, and that he knows you for what you are. Shorn of pomp and sacrament, you are a transparent nothing. A robed void. A tiny, wasted existence.’ Loveless brushed his severed hand from her clothes, then kicked it along the ground at him.
‘Fuck off and die, Brother Hurkel.’
Something howled in the distance, and Whisper gestured to Rennic.
‘Wolves?’
Foss looked at the carnage that surrounded them. ‘What could possibly have attracted them?’
‘Packs and sacks, Black Hawk Company! We’re away from here right now.’
Lemon struggled to her feet at the edge of the circle. ‘Aye, right, wolves, is it? I’ll tell you what I’ll do to any fucken wolfy comes near me. I’ll …’ She wobbled and sat down again.
‘Foss, carry her, please.’
‘You know,’ came Lemon’s voice as Foss hoisted her, ‘I’ve got this idea for a better kind of crossbow …’
The crew grabbed the remainder of their supplies. Chel wasn’t sure where his supply sack was. He suspected it was in the blood-soaked grime beneath Hurkel. It had his food rations and a small knife. He hoped he’d cope without them.
‘What about him?’ he said to Rennic as the crew began to move off over the ridge.
Rennic didn’t look back. ‘Fuck him. Let the wolves have him. Come on, Fossy! You can pray for them later.’
Foss had his head bowed, his hands clasped as he stood at the peak of the ridge. The effect was marred only slightly by Lemon’s groggy form slung over his shoulder. He shook his head then turned to follow.
As howls echoed from the peaks, the Black Hawk Company left the crimson stone circle and Brother Hurkel, whimpering and trying to stop the blood, behind them.
ELEVEN
Chel pressed handfuls of snow to his face as he trudged, trying to numb the throbbing. His adrenaline had drained away and the exhaustion of the night, and the preceding week, was sapping at his steps. He walked between Foss and Tarfel, hoping one or the other would catch him if he fell. Presumably Foss.
‘Why did you pray?’
Tarfel had hardly spoken since they’d left the trapper’s hut for the second time. Foss nodded at the prince’s question, taking a long breath through his nose.
‘For their departing souls.’
‘But they were trying to kill you. All of us, really.’ Chel thought of the Fly, and his own lingering guilt.
Foss gave a half-smile, a little crack of white on one side of his mouth. ‘They were still people, and they still died before their time.’
‘And that man on the boat? You threw him in the water.’
Foss looked a little uneasy. ‘I may have loosened his bonds before he went overboard.’
‘But what if he couldn’t swim?’
‘Sometimes, princeling, you have to trust in God’s mercy.’
Something stirred in Chel’s memory, and he spoke almost without meaning to. ‘My father once said that every premature death is a tragedy, no matter the circumstances. Even if someone was a bad seed, like Hurkel, the tragedy was that they couldn’t be saved.’ He blushed, suddenly conscious of the attention of the group.
Foss nodded. ‘Your father a churchman?’
‘No. Well, yes. I …’ His father had claimed he’d intended to join the Church, but it hadn’t been God’s plan after all. He’d certainly brought sacrament and faith to his duty as a minor lord. Chel’s chest tightened at the thought of the cost of his father’s devotion. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Foss’s eyes were gentle. ‘Suit yourself, friend. We all have our intimates.’
‘I had an intimate once,’ Lemon said from Foss’s back. ‘Gave me terrible gas, it did. Burned with a blue flame.’
‘You,’ Foss said, levering her down to the ground, ‘sound much recovered. On your feet.’
‘Bah. You’re only saying that because of the smell.’
Chel started to find Loveless keeping easy pace beside him. She looked placid, although a thin arc of what he guessed was Hurkel’s blood stained her cheek below the scar. She said nothing for a time, walking in comfortable silence, then as they crossed a bright snowfield, she spoke.
‘You’re a dutiful sort, aren’t you, cub?’
‘I, uh …’
‘We know what you did at the palace. What you’ve done since. You’re dedicated. Loyal. Where does that come from?’
‘Come from?’
‘Is it from your father? Is he a dedicated sort?’
‘He …’ More memories swamped him. His father’s smiling, open face, his impassioned words, all blurred by time. The great locked door, the coughing beyond. The black wagon that came in the moonlight. Chel felt his throat close, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. ‘He’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry, cub.’
‘He was dedicated.’
‘I’m sure he was. And you want to make him proud, don’t you?’
Chel stopped, his aching legs grateful. ‘Do you always do this?’
She stopped with him, her head tilted on one side, blue hair gleaming in the morning light. ‘Do what?’
‘Analyse people. Pick them apart. Like with that man on the boat. Like with Hurkel.’
She snorted. ‘That fucker required bugger-all analysis, cub. I’ve seen his type infesting the Rose for years.’
‘His type?’
‘Bullies and frustrated sex-pests. The insecure and power-hungry.’
‘Sex-pests?’
‘It’s always about sex, cub. Deep down. You think any man who gives a damn about himself takes a vow of celibacy? Either they have no intention of keeping it, or they thought themselves a lost cause to begin with. And when people deny their nature, they’ve taken a step down a dark road.’
‘And what’s their nature?’
‘Humans are sexual creatures, cub. We rather need to be, don’t we? Propagation of the species and all?’ She stretched her arms high and wide, and Chel watched and tingled.
‘I suppose so.’
‘But pretending things are otherwise, no matter how fierce or how grandly, don’t make them so, cub.’
Rennic’s angry shout from ahead set them moving again, Chel wincing with every step.
‘It’s always about sex. Shepherd knows how much of human history has been steered by some central figure’s urge to fuck someone or something.’ She nodded at Tarfel, who walked a few paces ahead of them. ‘You know how the wars of the provinces began?’
‘The reunification? It was a holy mission, wasn’t it? The schism, the corruption of the old church, the rebel provinces who wouldn’t abandon their discredited faith …’ Even as he spoke, he found his own words ludicrous, trailing off in the face of her wry smile. ‘Fine, how did the wars begin?’
‘Oh, Old Man Rennic can tell you that some day. But rest assured, it has sex at the very heart of it. It always does.’
Tarfel had stopped to let them catch up. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘History,’ Loveless said with a straight face.
‘Oh. Did you notice those ruins back there? They were Taneru, late empire. They were big on circles of things in remote places.’ Then: ‘Where did you get your sword?’
She laughed. ‘That one’s not for telling, princeling. As the Foss says, we all have our intimates.’
‘I had an intimate once,’ came Lemon’s voice from beside them.
‘Lemon, hush,’ said Foss.
***
They made it to late afternoon b
efore the weaker members of the party could go no further. By then, despite the applications of snow, Chel’s face had swollen to what Lemon considered hilarious proportions. The crew made camp in the cleft of a rocky runnel, steep stone to their backs and a clear view over the surrounding woods that covered the mountainside beneath the snow. To Lemon’s roaring approval, Rennic and Whisper allowed a fire, and a moment later she was scampering around gathering wood, barking at Tarfel to assist.
Chel slumped against a fallen trunk. Whisper, Rennic and Loveless stood at the runnel’s edge, conversing in the ruby light of the setting sun. Whisper had led since they’d left the clearing, ranging over the snowscape without apparent difficulty or fatigue. It was hard to read her mood, but Chel thought she looked unsettled. Rennic wore his perpetual scowl, which helped little, but Loveless seemed expressionless, distant. Chel wondered if she was thinking back to her encounter with Hurkel. He’d barely processed the day’s events himself; the Fly’s keening death beneath the starlight seemed altogether like something from a dream.
‘How’s the face?’
Foss knelt beside him, surveying his damaged visage with professional care. ‘Still rotten!’ Lemon called from the fire, and Foss shook his head with a half-smile.
Chel pushed a gentle finger against his cheek and hissed. ‘Not good.’
‘Go easy on the snow, friend. You don’t want frostbite on top of the rest. The lip will heal fast – lots of blood-flow there – and your cheek will repair in time, but you might be a bit lopsided once it settles down.’
Chel tried to grimace, but it hurt too much, and Foss gave a gentle laugh. ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of lopsidedness, my friend. Here, look.’ He pushed the side of his nose, and it went completely flat across his face. He released it and it sprang back.
‘What the … What happened?’
‘Years of bad choices. Rest up now. You did well today.’ He clapped a hand on Chel’s good shoulder and stood. Chel afforded himself a smile of satisfaction.
‘Aye, right, my go.’ Lemon appeared next to him, one of her satchels open on the snow before her, rummaging for fresh dressings. ‘Let’s get those wounds looked at.’
