The Black Hawks

by David Wragg

  Tarfel was shrieking, screaming both Chel’s name and his brother’s. Chel’s voice cracked as he bellowed over the prince’s squeals.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, you old bastard, keep an oath for once in your life!’

  The big man bared his teeth, then pushed away from Palo. He was across the courtyard in a heartbeat, flying on giant strides, arriving with a great crack to the spine of the nearest reaver from his staff. He swivelled and brought it down on the collapsing man’s back, and the splintered staff finally split, disintegrating in his grip. Rennic dropped its remains and grabbed the skinning knife, rolling over the fallen man as his comrade swung at him with an axe. Rennic’s arm flashed out, once, twice, first to the groin, then the abdomen, and this time the reaver’s shrieks were of agony and horror. He staggered back, ripping the skinning knife from Rennic’s hand, still lodged in his gut.

  Rennic rolled again to dodge a slash from the final Horvaun, who advanced on him with a desperate ferocity. He scrabbled for a weapon in the mud but found nothing, and after two more rolls he lurched to his feet. This time, when the axe came swinging around, he stepped inside the attack and grabbed the weapon’s haft. The reaver stared at him, her immobile axe, then back to Rennic. He smashed his forehead against her nose, slammed an elbow against her temple then punched her throat as she wobbled.

  The reaver pitched forward into the mud as Rennic walked back to retrieve his knife, then without visible emotion he cut the throats of all three Horvaun as they lay prone. Chel felt his stomach turn at the efficiency of his actions.

  Da Loran knelt in the churned mud, leaning on her sword, her breath coming hard. ‘I’d thank you,’ she said as he approached, ‘but you’re doomed and damned to nine flaming hells no matter your actions. None in the Church will speak your names.’

  Rennic looked at her for a moment. ‘Fuck off,’ he said, and walked away.

  Tarfel was off, scampering along the gantry toward the rubble ramp, crying his brother’s name. The dark-eyed archer was coming the other way, her bow slung, expression grave. She’d retrieved a couple of arrows, at least. She leaned aside to let the young prince pass, then fished a knife from her belt. The Horvaun at his feet was stirring, moaning and pawing at the bleeding gash on her skull. The archer approached, knife drawn.

  ‘Wait,’ Chel said, stepping in front. His voice was still ragged. ‘Stop.’

  The archer paused, confused. She gestured with the knife at the stunned reaver, then mimed drawing the knife across her throat.

  Chel nodded. ‘I know, I know. But there’s been enough killing. I’m not about to murder a helpless woman.’

  The archer frowned, uncomprehending. Chel couldn’t tell if language or concept was the cause. He motioned knot-tying. ‘Do you have any rope? Anything we can bind her with?’

  The archer nodded, blank, then fished a reel of spare bowstring from a pouch. Chel took it with thanks, and bound the reaver’s wrists with as much firmness as he could muster. He tried not to chafe the skin beneath; that seemed insult to injury.

  ‘Little man! Get down here!’

  He nodded to the archer, who gave him a look of deep uncertainty. ‘Stay here, watch her.’ He mimed pointing the bow at their prisoner, and she nodded, stowing the knife and unslinging her bow. Chel gave her a grin. ‘Maybe she’ll have something useful to offer, eh?’

  He’d gone only three paces when he heard it, just at the edge of his hearing, as the wind lulled through the trees. The gentle clatter of wood on stone. A falling bow hitting the gantry floor.

  He turned to see the archer slumping, the half-crouched reaver before her, the knife in her bloodied grip. Chel stood motionless, then with a scream he charged her, bodily throwing the reaver to the ground, her still-bound hands releasing their grip on the weapon as she fell. They flailed at each other, rolling on the stone, until Chel forced her beneath, thumping at her skull-face with a wild fist while he struggled to keep her sinewy hands from his throat. He scrabbled with his knees, his feet, finding the broken shaft that jutted from her thigh and jabbing it. She hissed and spat, snarling as she tore away his grip on her arms and thumped him sideways on the counterstroke.

  Chel’s vision blurred, something purple exploding before his eyes, leaving a high-pitched squeal that lingered somewhere at the back of his head. He rolled, boots scraping the gantry wall, blindly avoiding the crunch of heavy stone aimed at his head. He found himself next to the fallen knife.

  Another kick to the damaged thigh brought the reaver crashing down, and he was on her again, numb fingers grasping for her bound wrists, weak hand gripping the knife to stab. He forced an opening, pressing the small blade to her throat. He pressed it hard enough to draw blood.

  ‘Yield!’ His voice was a raw mess. ‘Yield!’

  The reaver spat. She wrapped her arms around his weak hand and twisted, throwing him off-balance and to the ground, leaving a shallow groove scored in her neck. Then she was on him, both hands pressed to his throat, her delirious, black-ringed eyes an inch from his. Sweat and blood and saliva dripped from her chin, her mouth drawn back in a horrifying grin. Chel scrabbled and struggled, his arms dead from the elbows, his fingers too weak to prise her off. The incredible pain returned, his body locked with spasms, his movements impossible to control. His vision was dimming.

  The reaver’s head jerked backward, her eyes wide in shock. Something lifted her bodily off him, hauled her backward by the braided hair. Chel gasped as her choking fingers were dragged from his neck, the savage pain lingering despite their absence. A dark fist punched the reaver once, twice, then slammed her down into the gantry wall. The weakened stone crumbled, and the upper chunk of wall slid from view. For a moment, the reaver was there, her sagging body pressed against the yielding stone, and then she was gone, vanished through a spreading hole in the rampart. Something crunched among the tumble of blocks below.

  Rennic’s face filled his vision.

  ‘Nine hells, boy, it’s like you’re doing it for a bet.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Chel sat and nursed his battered throat while the remaining Rau Rel piled bodies in the shadow of the ruined fort. Rennic stood at the foot of the ramp, crusted with dried sweat and ribbons of blood. He was wiping down the skinning knife, the ruins of his staff at his feet.

  Chel shot a look to the young prince, who was embracing his brother out in the courtyard, a discreet distance from where Dalim’s surviving confederate and Palo were slinging corpses. Aside from the reavers, one of Dalim’s men joined the pile, as did two of the archers. Chel tried to tune out the piercing wails of the narrow-faced guide.

  The dark-eyed archer had been his daughter.

  Chel clenched his eyes and knocked his head back against the stone, but it was no good. Nothing was different.

  ‘Gonna ask us to bury them, rat-bear? Better get digging.’

  Spider stood by the corpse-pile, little eyes glittering. He was slick with blood and looking very pleased with himself. Chel though he saw a fresh gold ring at his finger.

  ‘Lay off him, Spider. Shepherd knows you’ve had enough off-days in your time,’ Rennic retorted. He looked drained.

  Spider’s smile shifted to a sneer. ‘Never sat about crying after one.’

  ‘Maybe some quiet reflection would do you good.’

  Spider made a gesture, then turned and slunk away. Rennic leaned back against the stone next to Chel.

  ‘You all right, little man? Anything broken?’

  Chel shook his head. His throat would be purple for a few days, but he’d had worse. Above, the crows wheeled.

  ‘Actual Horvaun reavers. I’ve only ever heard stories …’ What if they’d slaughtered the rest of the hunt? What if Sabina had been with them?

  ‘I’m sure our pal the Watcher can shed some light on the why and how. Come on, I need your help shifting something.’

  Chel forced himself to his feet. His shoulder was on fire again. ‘Not much good at lifting for now,’ he said, trying to remember Fo
ss’s exercises.

  Rennic walked back around the wall, then dragged something heavy through the mud and into view. There, in the churned and blood-soaked mud, bound hand, foot, waist and mouth, and staring up at him with hate-filled eyes, lay the reaver. One of her arms was lashed against her body. It was not bending the right way.

  ‘The fuck is this?’ Chel was numb. ‘Are you mocking me?’

  ‘Get over yourself, little man. You might be criminally unable to hitch a captive, but your instincts weren’t wrong. Now help me get this venomous shit-heap down the hill.’

  ***

  Mendel had taken some convincing that his best move was to accompany them, but given the slaughter of his escort and the likelihood of more Horvaun roaming the woods between the fort and Talis Castle, Palo talked him round. Despite the elder prince’s expectation that his little brother would have been accompanying him back, Tarfel surprised everyone by impressing upon his brother the importance of hearing his escorts out. Thus, the two princes descended the hill with Dalim, Spider and their remaining regulars, as Palo assured them she would retrieve a horse or mule on which to transport the stricken da Loran.

  Da Loran was sitting in the mud, binding her wounds with torn strips of cloth, when Rennic and Chel dragged the reaver past her on their way toward the wood. She paid them no attention whatsoever. Palo approached her, leading one of the recaptured mules.

  ‘About fucking time, peasant. I’m going to flay you all for this, you realize that? You think you’ll survive this little outing? As soon as the prince and I are back in Black Rock, I will scour this land. I will find you, and I will take the skin from you, piece by piece. I’ll show it to you, fucker. Each shred, dangling in front of your eyes. Maybe I’ll make you eat it. Ha, maybe I will.’

  Palo stopped before her with a heavy sigh. ‘Balise da Loran.’

  ‘Don’t even speak my name, you godless bitch.’

  Palo removed a small scroll and unrolled it. ‘You have been found guilty of treason of the highest order, the betrayal of the common people of Vistirlar and its provinces.’

  ‘What?’ Da Loran was laughing. ‘What the fuck are you babbling about?’

  ‘As you were tried in absentia, you may make a mitigating statement before sentencing. Have you anything to say?’

  ‘Shut your mouth and help me up. I assume that mule is for me? Stop talking. Stop talking!’

  Palo nodded. ‘Your statement is noted. Your sentence is unchanged.’

  ‘Shut up! Stop talking!’ Da Loran was looking around now, her eyes wild, her laughter stilled. Mendel had gone with the others. The hilltop was deserted, but for Rennic and Chel dragging their reaver.

  ‘You! Peasants!’ she called after them. ‘Attend me. Your Church commands you. Now!’

  Palo’s voice was quiet and even, her face impassive. ‘I believe you know the sentence. Do you have anything further to add?’

  Da Loran pitched forward in the dirt, scrabbling on crippled legs back to where her curved sword jutted from the ground. Palo was there first, removing the sword and holding it with a steady hand.

  Da Loran threw up a hand. ‘No! No!’

  Palo stepped to the side and swept the blade down. Still expressionless, she placed one foot and jerked the sword free, then swung it down again. Da Loran made no sound as the life left her.

  Rennic yanked on the reaver, and Chel felt himself pulled along.

  ‘What the f—’

  Rennic shook his head. ‘Stay on the right side of the people’s court.’

  They continued in silence.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Chel watched the flicker of the fire through glazed eyes, arms wrapped around his knees, his back against the wagon. It had taken them the best part of the day to retrace their steps, diminished as they were, and the evening was deep and cold by the time they reached their camp clearing. Chel had done little more than sit and watch the fire since they arrived. The screaming of his joints and wounds was distant, as if another man’s. Images flashed and floated before his eyes, and at one point he choked off a sob.

  Rennic levered himself down beside him. He’d got some ale from somewhere; not all of the barrels had been decoys, after all. He offered Chel a mug. Chel took it but did not drink.

  ‘You coping, little man?’

  Chel said nothing. On the far side of the clearing, the two princes were sitting side by side, tucking into whatever Founin had prepared in their absence. Tarfel, his adrenaline spent, was shaking and grinning uncontrollably. Mendel simply looked vacant, but seemed compliant enough, especially beneath Spider’s watchful eye.

  ‘Don’t fret overmuch for our former colleagues. They knew what they were into. Maybe not reavers, sure, but the principle at least. And they got silver for the risk, which is more than some of us.’ This with a meaningful look toward Torht, who was loitering behind the wagon, awaiting Palo’s arrival.

  ‘Does this mean nothing to you? This death? This suffering? This …’ Chel tailed off.

  Rennic took in a long breath through his nose, then sipped his ale. His expression suggested it wasn’t great stuff.

  ‘No, it’s not meaningless. But I’ll tell you a secret. Those who died today, they weren’t friends of mine. I didn’t know them. There. That’s it. If I look like I’m smiling, it’s because I’m alive, and so – bluntly – are the people who matter.’

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because it’s the truth. Want my best advice? Don’t make friends. Don’t get close. Make sure you can cope with the loss of a fellow traveller. Because fuck knows none of us live forever.’

  Chel gritted his teeth. ‘And how’s that approach working out for you?’

  Rennic sat back. ‘Not that well.’

  They sat in silence for a while.

  ‘You need to teach me to fight,’ Chel said at length.

  ‘I need to teach you to tie a fucking knot.’

  ‘I’m serious. You said it yourself.’ He turned to face the other man, grey eyes gleaming in the firelight. ‘What kind of sworn can I be if I can’t defend my liege?’

  ‘You’ve defended him just fine so far,’ Rennic said with a nod to the young prince, who sat on a barrel, beaming at his brother. ‘He’s healthy, like you said, and he’s none to thank more than you.’

  Chel’s glance slid to the reaver, who now lay curled and chained to the wagon’s front axle. She moaned occasionally, sometimes retching, sometimes snarling, never able to break her bonds. Beneath the skull-paint, she looked very pale and very ill.

  ‘She nearly killed me today,’ Chel said, eyes fixed on the bound and shivering form. ‘Twice. Tarfel saved me the first time, and you did the second.’

  ‘And you’ve saved princeling’s hide a dozen times already, and – perhaps – mine, once or twice. That’s how it goes. That’s why we keep each other around, fuck’s sake. It’s certainly not for the stimulating conversation.’

  ‘And what about the next time? What if no one’s around to drag a reaver off my throat?’

  Rennic pursed his lips in irritation. ‘I thought you weren’t a born killer?’

  ‘Don’t need to be a killer to fight. Just need to … not … get killed.’

  The reaver shivered and retched again, her broken spasm ending in a low whimper. Chel shivered along with her, his loathing for her undercut by her visible suffering. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Comedown. These Horvaun berserkers, they chew something, or, I dunno, swallow it or something. Makes them, well, like you saw. Gives them the blood-rage.’ He spat into the fire. ‘Supposed to make them impossible to kill, give them superhuman strength. All in service to the blood-gods, of course. I say, fuck it, it addles their minds and makes them a doddle to read. Idiots.’

  ‘So … So did she know what she was doing out there?’

  Rennic sat back and looked at Chel, his eyes narrow.

  ‘Aye. She knew. She knew enough.’

  Chel nodded. He was quiet for a mome
nt, then said, ‘So will you teach me?’

  Rennic rubbed his eyes. ‘Hells, boy, we’re too far gone for this now. We’re maybe a week from Roniaman, less if we ramp it – and I suspect we will. How much do you think you can learn in that time?’

  ‘More than I know now.’

  ***

  Torht beckoned for Palo the moment she reappeared, his attendant Founin guiding him to the edge of the firelight at the wagon’s rear. She was the last to arrive, leading the last of the mules down into the clearing.

  ‘Ayla, Dalim claims to have slaughtered an entire war-band.’

  Palo was stone-faced as ever. ‘Maybe three dozen Horvaun attacked.’ She set about tying the mule’s halter to the back of the wagon. ‘Despite our prince’s claims, Balise da Loran came with him, and she brought a dozen guardsmen with her. The reavers set about them before they reached us at the fort.’ Palo turned to the Watcher, the faintest signs of strain pulling at her features. ‘How did a war-band from the southern seacoast get this far without warning, Raeden? Could the south-west be so riven by plague that they could sneak through undetected?’

  Torht’s hollow sockets were narrow. ‘There were whispers, hints, but nothing solid enough to believe …’

  Rennic stood with a cough. ‘Uh, the boy and I, we kept one. Alive. She had this on her.’ He held out a rolled scrap of jagged hide. Chel looked up, blinking. This was news.

  The Watcher’s expression was sharp. ‘What is that, Master Rennic? Ayla, describe it.’

  Palo unrolled the hide and stared at it for a long time. ‘I believe it’s a map. These markings are Talis Castle, these the woods. And here is a rendering of the day’s moon-phase. They were targeting the hunt. The same hunt as us.’

  Torht growled. ‘Then there are two possibilities: the reavers were dispatched by someone with knowledge of the court’s social calendar, or someone with knowledge of our intentions. I do not care for either.’ He turned his sightless eyes to Palo. ‘We are so close. We cannot fail, for the sake of the kingdom. Either someone is intercepting our messages, Ayla, or we have a traitor among us. We must find out.’