"If it's a gift, it's a bitter one. We've got to keep a full scale war from happening, Tov. I've no desire to see your merc army waging war on Margolan soil."
"Aye, you're right there," Harrtuck agreed. "I'm happy as anyone to be the back-up plan. And I hope to the Lover and Whore that we're not needed to step foot across the border. On the other hand, many a barroom brawl's been prevented by having the biggest, burliest guards stand where everyone can see them. That's something I've seen with my own eyes!"
Soterius grimaced. "You and Vahanian. Spare me the details. My question is: now that they're paid for and outfitted, can you keep your mercs from spoiling for a fight?"
Harrtuck nodded. "Principality mercs are the best disciplined, best led mercenaries in the Winter Kingdoms. Nothing like the moth-eaten vermin you'll find elsewhere. Several of the commanders are from Margolan themselves, and no small number of the troops. They're taking this personally.
"Hell, I found a couple of the men Vahanian and I fought with ten years ago who have managed to keep their heads on their shoulders and the rest of themselves in one piece. Didn't hurt that they remembered Jonmarc and knew what happened at Chauvrenne. He's a bit of a legend in some quarters. So having Jonmarc on our side won us points.
"The mercs who knew us then are commanders now, every bit as sharp as you'll find in the armies of the Winter Kingdoms, and sharper than a few generals, I'd wager. They understand the stakes. You won't have any problems with them."
Soterius couldn't resist a grin as he looked at his old friend. Harrtuck was trimmer than he'd been in years, having lost some of the girth that came from too much ale and a comfortable palace job. He was dressed like the mercs in a quasi-uniform of wool, but where each merc company's heavy cloak bore its insignia on the shoulders, Harrtuck's sported Tris's coat of arms, the insignia of Bricen's second son, and now, the mark of the Margolan rebellion.
"Ready to start the night's work?". Sahila and Tadrie joined them, and down the hillside, Soterius could see the rest of his pod of fighters finishing their preparations.
"More than ready," Soterius replied, and knew that it was true. Despite the stakes, he loved the work of soldiering, and the physical exertion of the task at hand kept him from brooding overmuch about the future.
"Keep a lantern lit for us," Soterius joked, slapping Harrtuck on the shoulder.
"Aye, and a warm mug of ale, too!" Harrtuck replied. He grew serious. "The Lady's hand be on you tonight, Ban."
Soterius nodded. "We'll need the luck of all eight of the Lady's Faces before we're through."
They set out two candlemarks later, in the light of the waning afternoon sun. Mikhail would meet them at sunset, at the inn that was the rendezvous point for their contact. Soterius and Sahila rode in front. Tadrie, Pell, Tabb, and Andras each rode with their pods of four fighters. Under their cloaks they wore the leather armor Sahila had bought from the merc units. Each man carried a sword or a battle axe, but after the encounter with the ashtenerath, Soterius had insisted on more distance weapons. So the men now also carried an assortment of crossbows and long bows, bolos, and heavy-duty sling shots.
"Who's this contact of yours at the inn?" Soterius asked Sahila as they rode.
"Alle's from Margolan," Sahila said. "Came East following the rumor that Prince Martris had survived, dead-set on joining up with a rebellion. Brought out a group of bards when Jared tried to kill them. The story I heard said Alle slit a couple of guards' throats when the group was ambushed. Won't say a word about family, but I'm guessing there's some blue blood, wrong side of the blanket or not. Joined up with Lemus, the tavern-keeper. The innkeeper's been running a regular ghost carriage for the last several months."
"Ghost carriage?"
"It's a Nargi term." Mikhail's appearance, moments after the sun set, startled them all with its suddenness. "In Nargi, the Crone's priests persecute and destroy any who get in their way, or who stray from their idea of 'purity.' Those with a gift for magic, or for music or art, can find themselves taken for the Crone's service or dead. Worse if they're found to be vayash moru, or any of the other things that the priests have decided for the Lady should not exist," he said with distaste.
"Over the years, brave souls have taken it upon themselves to spirit away as many of the persecuted as they can save. It's only a fraction of the ones who are imprisoned or die, but it's a remnant at least. They operate in secret, using false names, hiding their identities even from each other. It's said that they have way stations all across Nargi, inns and caves and farmers who look the other way. And so a lucky few disappear from under the noses of their persecutors, as if they stepped aboard a ghost carriage and vanished into thin air." Mikhail smiled. "It's another case where the Blood Council chooses to stick to the letter of the truce and not mind the small details. And more than one the Blood Council has been known to fund such things privately."
"So this Alle is helping the fighters?" Soterius asked.
"Alle is one of our best spies," Sahila said with a grin. "Overhears plenty from the troops that like to get their ale at the tavern. Never supplies a bad bit of information."
It was barely a half-candlemark's ride to the inn. Tadrie and the others secured their horses in a barn behind the inn rather than in the stable to stay beyond the prying eyes of guests. Sahila and Soterius scouted both the stable and the front of the inn before they approached the tavern's back door. They could hear raucous singing in the front room, and the smell of venison and potato pies carried on the cold winter air.
Cautiously, Soterius and Sahila approached the back door. Soterius knew that Mikhail watched from the nearby shadows, ready should there be trouble. Sahila gave a coded rap on the door, three quick knocks and two slower knocks. The door opened, and a blond barmaid stood framed in the light. She motioned them inside quickly.
"We're looking for Alle," Soterius said.
Sahila and the bar maid began to laugh. "You've found me," the barmaid said. She was close to Soterius' age, with a figure that Soterius did not doubt guaranteed her good tips from the inn's male patrons. Her blouse was low-cut, offering a tantalizing view of an ample bosom, and her full skirt fell just to the calf above low-heeled leather boots. She had shoulder-length dark blonde hair framing a pleasant face, and Soterius allowed that she might be quite pretty if she cleaned up from the sweat and stains of the kitchen. He looked at her blue eyes, and paused. There was something almost familiar about Alle's face, but whatever association he could make flitted at the edge of his memory and was gone.
"You're Alle?" Soterius asked as Sahila and Alle continued to laugh.
"Alyssandra," she replied, tossing back her hair. "Alle for short."
Alle gave Sahila a peck on the cheek in greeting and Sahila elbowed Soterius. "Now you see what I meant about being our best spy. A few beers, and most men will tell Alle anything as long as she keeps on smiling!"
Alle sobered and looked to Sahila. "You've got your fighters in the barn?"
"Just as we planned."
Alle nodded. "Let's go then." She reached for a cloak from a peg near the doorway.
Soterius looked from Alle to Sahila. "She's going to lead us to the target?"
In one smooth movement, Alle wheeled, and Soterius found the business edge of a large knife close to his throat. "My home's been burned. My friends are dead. I slit the throats of two of the king's guardsmen the night I brought the bards from Palace City. And every night, I keep the drunks at the bar from getting what they think they're entitled to. I can handle myself."
Soterius raised both hands. "Calm down. I get the point. Let's go."
It seemed to Soterius that both Sahila and Alle were still chuckling as Alle led them back to the barn where the others waited. Covered by the heavy cloak and hood, Alle was less of a distraction for the fighters, who stood aside when she told them to move away from a corner of the barn and directed two of the men to lift away a heavy stone slab that covered a dark entrance leading down into the ground.
Sahila lit a lantern and gave it to Alle, who partially shuttered it to dim the light. "Follow me," she said, descending the wooden stairs.
The men followed her in their marching order. Mikhail brought up the rear, pausing only to move the heavy stone back into place.
"Where are we?" Soterius whispered.
"Caves beneath the barn," Alle replied without glancing backward. "The barn's pretty old. We figure that the settlers found the caves to hide from raiders. Since then, they've been used by smugglers, bootleggers, you name it." She flashed a conspiratorial grin. "Useful thing to have."
The caves were bitterly cold, and icicles glistened along the cave walls in the dim light of the lantern. The trail through the cave was well-worn, broad enough in most places for two men to walk abreast, and in some places, opening into larger rooms of inky darkness. In the distance, water dripped. From time to time, something skittered past their boots, and Soterius had the distinct impression that something-or someone-was watching them.
"Careful," Mikhail warned, his vayash moru senses serving him well in the dark. "There are sheer drops not far on either side-I wouldn't like to bet on how far down they go."
Soterius' fighters stayed close together, following the path. After about half a candlemark, Alle stopped.
"It's safer to cross the caves than to go through the forest at night," Alle said. "We have an arrangement with the local vayash moru. They keep the caves free from squatters and wild things, and they can take refuge here any time they want."
"A reasonable bargain," Mikhail replied. "That explains why the vayash moru we passed didn't try to stop us."
"When we come up to the surface you'll be in the foothills, behind some trees. Just beyond the tree line is a camp. I scouted it earlier today. There are twenty-five Margolan soldiers, plus captives. We think they're the ones who looted a village about a day's ride from here. Burned most of the houses, ran off the livestock, and killed the villagers who wouldn't run. From the sound of it, they've taken a couple of the village girls with them."
"Ashtenerath?" Soterius asked.
Alle paused. "We found half a dozen of those things dead in the village. Haven't seen any in the camp since."
"Fair enough," Soterius said. "What about getting back?"
"I'll wait here," Alle said. "Can't be any more miserable than scouting them earlier." She looked sideways at Soterius as if she anticipated an objection. "Don't worry-I won't try to be a hero. You can do all the fighting. I stashed some bandages and supplies when I came earlier. Just get your wounded back here."
Soterius was impressed by Alle's matter-of-fact manner. "We'll do our best not to need them."
He turned, and Alle grabbed his arm. "Bring the village girls with you," she said. "We've got a couple of healers standing by back at the inn. If they're still alive, they've got no where else to go."
Soterius exchanged glances with Sahila. "That's a big 'if,'" he said. "But if they're alive, you have my word we'll get them out of there."
"Then the Lady go with you," Alle murmured. She gestured for silence and led them around a bend, shuttering the lantern completely as moonlight lit the mouth of the cave. Alle stood aside, motioning for Soterius and Sahila to pass, melting into the shadows.
Mikhail made a quick scouting foray, moving silently down through the trees along one side of the camp. The soldiers had found a small clearing, far enough from the road not to be bothered. It was bitterly cold, and Soterius' breath steamed in the night air. He was glad for his heavy woolen uniform and an equally heavy cloak, and wished for the milder weather of the Margolan plains. He glanced at his fighters. The professionals-Pell, Tabb, Andras, and Sahila-had an expression of anticipation, but did not look fearful. The refugee fighters were doing their best to hide their fear. They looked grimly resolute, firmly gripping their weapons. Within a quarter candlemark, Mikhail had returned. Soterius knew that the vayash moru not only moved more silently than a human scout, but could complete his mission without leaving footprints in the snow.
"It's as Alle said," Mikhail reported in a whisper. "Two dozen soldiers, plus some horses. I didn't see any ashtenerath, and I couldn't smell any, either. Wouldn't be surprised if they can only deploy those once-how do you get them back in the box wagon?" He paused. "I found the bodies of three of their captives in the latrine trench. We may be too late for a rescue."
"All the more reason to kill the bastards," Sahila murmured.
"If there are any captives left, they're in the far tent, over there," Mikhail added.
"Get them out and bring them here, then come join the party," Soterius instructed. Mikhail nodded, and disappeared into the night.
Soterius gestured, and the fighters spread out to find their assigned positions. Whether or not there were ashtenerath, Soterius had decided that striking first and hard from a distance was the best way to reduce his casualties, and so swords and axes were sheathed in favor of the bows and thrown weapons. Soterius heard the owl call that was Mikhail's signal. The soldier on night watch was dead.
"Let's go!" Soterius whispered, giving his own signal, a creditable imitation of a wolf's cry.
Before the echo of the howl faded, arrows rained down on the camp. The long bows and slingshots picked off panicked soldiers, while flaming arrows set tents ablaze and forced their residents to run, half clad and unarmored into the snowy night.
Soldiers who veered too close to the forest fell to the crossbows, or heard the 'snick' of flying bolos around their neck. Soterius watched his fighters with pride. Swords were unfamiliar to farmers and herdsmen, but these men had used bows and slingshots all their lives to hunt vermin, and bolos to round up errant herds. Striking from the cover of the forest, Soterius' fighters exacted a hefty price before ever showing their faces. Instead, they echoed Soterius' wolf cry, until the moonlit clearing rang with the eerie call of the predator.
"Ghost fighters!" one of the hapless soldiers cried, trying to pull his pants up as he ran, fleeing his burning tent.
The captain of the fighters had been drinking with his men around the fire when the attack began. He called for order as his panicked troops fell, with arrows piercing their chests or bolos' straps strangling their throats. Half of his men rallied to him, falling into a defensive formation, swords ready.
"Now! Soterius cried. His best hand-to-hand fighters slung their bows and hefted their swords or axes, running from the darkness of the forest as they shrieked a battle cry.
"Demons! Ashtenerath!" Soterius' fighters waded into the fray. Spurred on by their anger over the lost village and the dead girls, the refugee fighters fought like the blood rage was upon them, giving no quarter and needing none. Any soldier who ran for the forest was met with a deadly hail of arrows, or was sure to encounter Mikhail once he reached the darker shadows beneath the trees.
The Margolan captain and a handful of his soldiers held their positions, launching themselves at their attackers with desperation born of mortal fear. They set about with their swords, still sober enough to stay toward the center of the camp, furthest from the archers.
Close enough now to see the Margolan captain's face, Soterius startled with recognition. "Aeron," he hissed. The captain's head jerked up. For an instant, their eyes met; Aeron recognized him as well.
"The captain is mine!" Soterius headed at a dead run, sword raised, for the Margolan leader.
Aeron's face twisted into a sneer as he met the attack, and their swords clanged loudly as they parried. All of Soterius' anger and frustration found an outlet in his sword. He no longer felt the cold of the bitter night.
"Soterius!" Aeron made the name a curse. "Traitor! What kind of brigand are you?"
"Prince Martris's brigand!" Soterius wheeled to parry one of Aeron's wild strikes. Aeron had been drinking. The ale made his strikes less predictable, but the random blows delivered at full strength were as dangerous as any planned attack.
"Your girlfriend's dead." Aeron dealt a sideways blow that almost got insid
e Soterius' guard. "Took her to King Jared myself."
Soterius set his jaw, focusing all his skill on besting Aeron. He scored a deep gash on Aeron's thigh, and the tip of Aeron's sword opened up a cut on Soterius' forearm. Aeron dropped and rolled, slicing low, a street move Soterius knew wasn't taught in the army salle. Vahanian's training served Soterius well. He evaded the blade, anticipating Aeron's momentum and delivering another deep cut, this time to Aeron's thigh. Limping, Aeron made it back to his feet. Blood coursed down his leg. Soterius closed for the kill, his sword ready. He brought his sword down two-handed, and the blow shattered Aeron's blade, knocking him off balance. With one forward thrust, Soterius sank his blade deep into Aeron's chest, feeling it scrape against bone and then slide free out the other side of the soldier's body.
"That's for Lila." Soterius said with a brutal twist of the blade. Aeron's mouth opened as if to reply, but nothing sounded except a bloody gurgle. The Margolan captain was dead.
Soterius wiped his blade clean on the snow and looked around. In the light of the burning tents, he could see bodies in the snow. The camp was quiet. The snow was trampled and blood stained. Sahila and Pell moved through the camp, counting the dead. Tabb and Tadrie set the surviving fighters to stripping the soldiers of anything useful. Andras sprinted toward him.
"Report."
"Got them all, sir. Mikhail took out two that ran for the forest, and the archers got about half. We finished the rest."
Soterius nodded. "Captives?"
"One girl. She's in pretty bad shape. Mikhail took her to the cave entrance."
"Casualties?"
"Better than last time, sir." It was Pell who answered, with Sahila was a few steps behind him. "Two with serious wounds, a few more with minor injuries, none dead."
"I found this in the captain's tent," Tabb reported, as he and Tadrie lugged two burlap sacks behind them. Soterius knew at a glance where the Margolan captain had acquired such a collection of odd coins, jewelry and small trinkets.
The Blood King Page 12
