I brought Ploster up to speed with what he’d missed and told him what my plans were for the future. Conversation was difficult, not because of the terrain, rather because the woods were hushed and oppressive. I would normally ignore such fanciful thoughts, but the feeling drained my enthusiasm and eventually we fell silent. Weevil and Beamer had no such problems and they talked endlessly, most of it being soldier’s banter. It was the most I think I’d heard either of them talk in a long time.
Sinnar walked with me and Ploster. His eyes roved constantly amongst the trees and he said little. Sinnar was a man who generally only talked when he thought he had something valuable or thought-provoking to say. I liked that quality in him. Idle chatter for the sake of it bored me - outside of the campfire, at least.
At the end of the first day, we camped. The word camped implies some sort of shelter and comfort of which we had none. It didn’t really matter to us. We stayed close, set a watch and rested with our backs against the trunk of two adjacent trees. Apart from Weevil, who was happy enough to lie flat on the wet leaves.
“Reminds me of home,” he said by way of explanation.
“You used to sleep on wet leaves?” asked Beamer.
“Sort of,” Weevil replied without giving any more details. We all had a past that we were free to talk about if we wanted, or to keep it to ourselves if we preferred. I detected something pained in Weevil’s few words but the secrets were his to keep.
Mid-way through the following morning, we broke out of the trees. There was little warning of it – they didn’t gradually thin or become smaller, they simply ended. We found ourselves on a vast area of flat land. There was a criss-cross pattern of low walls made from rough stone, demarking what I took to be agricultural land. Away from the shelter of the trees the snow fell heavily and the ground was pristine and white.
“At least it’ll cover our tracks,” grunted Sinnar.
“That’s if anyone’s looking for us,” I said. “It’s Craddock who’ll be most grateful for it.”
“Yes,” he replied, sounding like he wanted to say something more.
I surveyed the land – the walls provided little in the way of cover and I guessed that someone with sharp eyes would be able to see us approach from a good distance away. I was already beginning to feel exposed. To the north, the trees continued as far as I could see, their line wavering back and forth. It was tempting to retreat into their cover, but in the end, we’d have to leave them and we were going to Angax in the north-east. Heading north first might cost us several days’ travel and the journey was a long enough one as it was.
I took the lead and trudged across the snow. It was ankle deep and hid the imperfections in the ground. It made for slower travel than I’d have liked, however I was impatient to get on so even the smallest of delays would have been an irritation. Behind, a treacherous path of indentations in the snow pursued us.
“They’ll be gone in an hour, Captain,” said Weevil, kicking up a cloud of snow just for the hell of it.
The first of the walls was half a mile away. I vaulted over it and continued across what was sure to be a field beneath the white blanket. I didn’t much like the snow, though it had the positive effect of freezing any mud there might be.
“Give me the rolling hills of the Duke’s lands,” said Ploster, clapping his hands together as if to ward off the chill that his flesh could no longer feel.
“I know what you mean,” I replied. Most of Warmont’s lands – the Saviour’s lands – were covered in hills. They had a stark beauty that I’d grown to appreciate and the undulation of the terrain also made it much easier for the Cohort to travel without being seen. Other parts of the Empire were like what we saw now – flat, fertile and extensively farmed. There was death aplenty in the Empire, but at least if you died it was normally with a fully belly. It was good that food was easy to come by – winters lasted for many months in the north and the snow could lie for a long time in some places. To the west, it was mostly rain that fell. Day after day of miserable, dreary rain from skies so grey that you forgot they could ever turn blue.
After a couple of miles during which we took the most direct route over walls and across fields, we saw a farmhouse away to our left. It looked ramshackle but smoke came from the single chimney. We could have walked past it and on our way. Instead, I headed for it to see if there was anything we could glean from the occupants.
Up close, I could tell that the farmhouse had been made from the same stone as the dividing walls and the gaps filled with a coarse mortar. The windows had wooden shutters over them, all closed to keep out the cold.
There was a man waiting for us at the front door – he’d evidently seen us and had decided to take the initiative by greeting us as we approached. He was dangerously close to leaving his middle years, balding and broad. He looked at us warily, but with no outright hostility or fear.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. He attempted cheer without much success. No one wanted to find a gang of armed men on their doorstep, especially not ones who looked like we did.
“We’ve been separated from our unit,” I told him. “Which way to the nearest town?”
His eyes narrowed and I caught his gaze flicking over our armour. I didn’t know of any other units who looked like we did, though I didn’t expect a farmer to be an expert in the area. “Over that way. Solking, it’s called,” he said, pointing mostly to the north and a little to the east. “Nine miles, maybe a touch more.” As he pointed, I noticed that his smallest finger was missing. The stump looked red and sore.
“Do they have a place to stay?” I asked.
“There’s a place above the tavern,” he replied. “I doubt it’s full at this time of year.”
“Have you seen any other men come this way?” I asked.
“None. We don’t usually get soldiers this far north. Usually they come from Cinder in the south. Are you sure you’re going the right way?” he asked. The man sounded nervous now.
“We’re definitely going the right way,” I told him. “Nine miles this way?” I asked him, pointing.
“That’s right. You’ll meet a track across the next two fields. Follow it and it’ll take you there.” I thanked him and we took our leave.
Once we’d passed out of earshot, Sinnar spoke to me. “Something struck me as not quite right there,” he said. “I don’t know what.”
“Different lands, different people,” I said. In truth. I agreed with his assessment, even though there wasn’t much I could do to investigate further. “Let’s get to Solking and see if anyone’s seen anything.”
11
It was already getting dark when we reached Solking. The farmer’s nine miles were closer to twelve and the track he’d mentioned wended circuitously around fields. Snow fell and the skies become progressively greyer. We came upon the place at last – it was a settlement of only a few hundred buildings on flat ground. A wide stream ran through the middle and smoke came from many chimneys. In all, it looked like any one of hundreds or thousands of similar villages.
The streets were narrow and unpaved, the shops and dwellings mostly one or two storeys high. The people were dressed in rough, drab clothing that nonetheless looked sturdy and warm. They hurried from place to place. Some spared us a glance, while most kept their eyes averted. They had the air of a people oppressed. We reached the centre of the village and it turned out that it was large enough to accommodate two taverns. Only one had a sign outside advertising the availability of rooms and I pushed the door open.
It was warm inside – hot almost. Two wood fires blazed in opposite walls, their heat filling the room. At that strangest of times, I suddenly thought that I preferred the cold to the heavy, cloying heat of the tavern. The room was large and wood-beamed. There were many tables, about which sat labourer types – they were all men, though I was not surprised by the absence of women. We got a lot of attention, even if none of the patrons would meet our eyes when we looked back at them.
I approached the bar keep. He was a short man with a paunch, who looked like he enjoyed spreading rumours. I don’t know why I got that impression – perhaps I’d seen the like too many times.
“I need lodgings for five,” I told him. “All in one room if you can. I have coin to pay up front.”
He nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve always got rooms spare in the winter. Money up front, like you said.”
I handed over the money. There were regional variations in the Empire’s currency, but I’d not yet met a person who’d turn down a coin on the basis that they didn’t like how it had been stamped. I ordered ale and food, then we picked ourselves a table close to the door. None of the other customers liked a draught so there was plenty of choice. I preferred to be near the exit when I was in a place I didn’t know.
After we’d settled, the chatter returned to a usual level. I reclined in my chair and took a drink of my ale. I was ready for it and expected my mouth to appreciate the bounty. Instead, the ale was flat and warm. I finished it anyway.
“See that, Captain?” asked Weevil, leaning towards me and doing his best to look casual.
“What is it?”
“At least half of these people have bits of their hands missing.”
It was hard to look without drawing attention to myself, so I took his word for it. “Maybe they do a lot of work with blades,” I said, not yet particularly interested.
“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “Must be a lot of clumsy folk around here, then. They all look fresh.”
After ten minutes, I returned to the bar. There was another man waiting before me. He had his hands pressed flat on the surface of the bar and I noticed that he was missing the little finger on his left hand, as well as two knuckles from his ring finger. Now that Weevil had drawn my attention to it, I looked at the bar keep’s left hand. At first glance, it seemed to be whole, then I noticed that the top joint of his little finger was gone. The wound oozed blood and he absent-mindedly wiped it on a cloth. He came over and I ordered more drinks.
“Our unit’s been stationed north, close to the border,” I told him. “We got split during exercises in the Forestwoods. Have you heard of anyone passing through? They’d look like us.”
“I’ve not seen anyone,” he said. “At least no one that’s worth mentioning.”
I recognized the invitation and slid over a coin, thinking him to be a tight bastard for asking. “What sort of no one?” I said.
“Not soldiers like you,” he said. “Though you’re not the first person to ask today.” That got my attention and I tried to act only half-interested. It was called playing the game.
“Perhaps that’s the men from our second group,” I said, being deliberately vague.
“Oh no, these didn’t look like soldiers,” he said. “One was dressed all in robes. Black as night they were, with one of the arms burned off. I didn’t much like what I saw of his flesh underneath.”
“You said there was more than one?” I prompted.
“There was two of them. The second was a big fellow. Bigger even than your man over there,” he said, gesturing towards Sinnar. “He was proper scorched, he was. Over half his body, must have been. He didn’t seem to mind much.”
“Are they still in the village?” I asked, as easy as you like.
“They left a good few hours ago, I heard. I expected them to have trouble leaving, but they got away without any bother at all.”
I didn’t get a chance to ponder these strange words. The bar keep looked distracted for a moment and glanced at something unseen behind the wooden counter. He reached down as if to give it a pat and I was sure I heard a crunching sound. The man winced and I heard something patter away, keeping itself hidden behind the counter. The bar keep lifted his hand and I saw that the end of his ring finger was squirting blood. Staring into the distance like he was in a trance, he pulled a white cloth out from a pocket in his apron and pressed it over his hand. A rich crimson spot soaked through at once. The bar keep’s action distracted me for a split second and when I looked to see what had injured him, I was too late. A dark shape vanished through an opening into his cellar, quickly enough that I wasn’t able to make out what it was. The man caught me looking.
“That’s my son,” he said. “He’s a good boy. Always underfoot when his daddy’s trying to work, though.” He smiled fondly, while the patch of blood on his cloth continued to grow.
“What happened to your finger?” I asked.
“This?” he said. “I must have cut it with a knife earlier. Yes, that’s what happened. I remember it happening when I was chopping vegetables. My wife always used to tell me how clumsy I am.”
“What just bit you?” I asked pointedly.
“I wasn’t bitten,” he said, his voice already rising an octave in the beginnings of anger. “I told you I cut it when I was chopping vegetables.”
He finished serving the drinks and I picked up the cups, pretending that I hadn’t noticed the smears of blood down the sides of three of them. As I turned to leave, the bar keep spoke once more.
“They won’t let you leave, you know.”
I didn’t answer and pushed my way through the customers until I reached our table. I put the cups down on the table, though we wouldn’t be drinking the contents. The conversation froze when they saw the look on my face and I saw Beamer unconsciously reach for the hilt of his sword, to check that it was still in the same place that it always was.
“We have a bit of trouble,” I said, reversing my chair and sitting on it. I lowered my voice so that it wouldn’t carry further than it had to. “I don’t know what I saw, but something just bit off the bar keep’s fingertip while he was serving me. At first, he acted like nothing had happened and then he told me it was his son. It vanished into his cellar before I could see what it was. There’s probably another hour left until it’s too dark to march, so we’re going to leave our drinks and head to the north-east.”
The men didn’t seem worried. I saw another look in their faces.
“Captain?” asked Beamer. “Are these the Saviour’s people too?”
I don’t know what expression came to my face and I immediately realised what he was saying to me. Our lady hadn’t just come to save the Duke’s people, she’d come to stop shit like this happening to people in places we’d never heard of, everywhere in the Empire. I recalled my earlier thoughts about how death now held too great a hold over the living. You shouldn’t spend your life fearing your death, else you might as well be dead anyway. These people were being robbed of the most valuable thing they had and it seemed like no one was interested in stopping it. The Empire is beginning to fall apart I thought to myself. Malleus is losing his grip, he just doesn’t know it yet. It came as a shock to think it, since the Empire had stood for so long.
“Message understood, Beamer,” I told him. “Let’s see what we can do for them.” The soldier’s face brightened at once. I knew him to be a principled man. There again, we all thought the same of ourselves. “Thank you for the reminder,” I said aloud. He understood what I meant.
We stood as one and I motioned them towards the bar. Sinnar, Weevil and Ploster put their backs to the counter and watched the room, hardly even trying to look anything other than threatening. I jumped over the bar and Beamer came after. Our booted feet crashed onto the wooden floor.
“What are you doing?” demanded the bar keep. I saw that his rag was sodden with blood now, as if the bleeding hadn’t stopped.
I didn’t answer him and walked to the cellar opening – it was in the furthest corner of the serving area, positioned so that you would be unlikely to fall down it accidentally. There was a trapdoor to cover the hole, but it was hinged open and propped against a wall. A steep set of wooden steps descended into the cellar and there was plenty of light below. I drew my sword and heard an immediate clamour from the other patrons when they saw me do so. The opening was wide and I climbed nimbly down the steps, keeping my face to the front in case something came
upon me suddenly. The cellar floor was fifteen feet below and when I reached it, I moved to one side so that Beamer could follow.
We found ourselves in a large room – over twenty feet to a side and lit with two oil lamps which burned orange. Barrels lined the walls and I saw sacks of flour, potatoes and onions. There were nooks and crannies, but nothing which could hide anything larger than a cat. I crossed the room with my sword held in front of me. There was another doorway, through which I passed. This next room was unlit. Some light filtered through. It wasn’t enough to see the farthest corners, so I gave my eyes a moment to adjust. There were more barrels and sacks.
“Over there,” whispered Beamer.
The walls of the cellar were made of bricks. In the middle of one wall, was a hole, visible as a darker patch against the surrounding area. I advanced towards it warily, Beamer at my side. We crouched next to the hole – it was about waist high and cut through what I guessed was a heavy clay that lay beneath the surface. The idea of crawling inside didn’t greatly appeal to me, but I led by example, so in I went. The folly of it soon became apparent when I found out that I couldn’t see anything at all. I whispered for Beamer to go and bring me one of the oil lamps from the other room. I heard his footsteps clatter over the floor behind me. As soon as they’d faded, I heard a familiar whispering sound and ahead, two glowing points of white appeared. They were startlingly close. I wasn’t stupid enough to fight blind and backed away quickly. The points of light darted closer and I thought it was going to attack. Then, they vanished and I caught the faint sounds of something retreating.
Light washed over me, signalling the return of Beamer. “Here you go, Captain,” he said. “Watch out, it’s hot.” The banality of the comment almost made me laugh.
“There’re more of those children creatures here,” I said. I’d been reminded of Weevil’s first words when he’d heard them – they sounded like whispering children. Beamer understood what I meant and he nodded.
Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3) Page 12
