“I’m glad you’re awake. Are you feeling any better? You’ve barely moved since we left Darien.”
“We’re all right. Still tired, but better.”
“You just rest for as long as you need to. We’ll stop to rest the horses at the next inn, but there’s no reason for you to move. I’ll get us something to eat as well if only to keep up appearances.” Nial managed to give him a little smile as she drifted off to sleep again.
Days passed in a blur. The girls kept nodding off, unable to keep their eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. Occasionally, they would look up and see Skeg’s ever-present shape in front of them, guiding the wagon. They were so grateful to him. Skeg had left his shop, his city, everything he’d known and worked to build in his life. All of it for them, a girl and a demoness who’d just happened to walk into his shop one day. He’d taught them and helped them far more than he needed to. They knew for a fact that they’d cost him far more business over the time they’d spent together than they’d ever brought him. They shared more than knowledge now, of course. In a strange way they were kin, both of them carrying the essence of Karethin demons.
Skeg shook his head and looked around with bleary eyes. His head was hurting. He felt dizzy. Nial and Zuly! He’d left the cart pulled up next to an inn to find something to eat, desperate for an easing of the hunger after days of not feeding. He’d handed a silver coin to the innkeeper to keep an eye on his niece who was fast asleep in the back of the cart, with the promise of more when he returned. The man had been skeptical of the arrangement but had reluctantly agreed once he was handed the promised coin and saw that there was more where it came from. And then . . . Skeg remembered nothing. He tried to move and came up short. His arms were chained to the wall behind him. Long enough to let him slump against the wall but too short to bring his hands together. The wall behind him was made of long planks that let in a faint breeze from outside. He strained against the chains, but the pain in his head made him give up before he could split the boards. Skeg heard dogs barking outside the building. Then a door creaked open and a light shone in, forcing Skeg to avert his eyes.
“Well, look what we got here. The thing’s awake, Jax. Let’s see what it is.” A dog whining was his only answer. “Dammit, Jax, get in here.” More keening from the dog. A burly man walked in to what Skeg realized was a small barn. He wore mud-stained breeches and a simple homespun shirt. His head and bared forearms showed an impressive network of scars. He looked down at Skeg with watery, piggish eyes. The blinding light was nothing more than a single lamp he carried. When Skeg tried to focus on anything, he felt like the world was tilting under him. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
The man glared down at Skeg from a safe distance halfway across the barn. “You’re not fucking human, are you?” He waited a moment for Skeg to answer, then continued. “You sure as hell heal faster than any man I’ve ever met before. An’ I was in the Legions so that’s sayin’ something. And your smell is freaking out my dogs. None of them will come near the barn with you in here. Even my Jax won’t come in, and he’s as mean as a helldog.”
“Let me go,” Skeg whispered. His head was clearing slowly, but he was still feeling weak. The shit must have hit me with something. Goes to show, magic isn’t everything. He felt strangely calm. He’d been attacked and taken prisoner, but he was sure he could get out of it given time to recover. His body was starting to tremble, but more from hunger than weakness.
“Now why would I want to do something like that? I find you creeping around my fields in the dead of night. Seems to me you had some bad intentions. Especially now I see how my dogs are reacting to you. I think I’ll wait till morning and get the guards in here. You some kind of freak?” He picked up a heavy shovel. The flat of the blade was crusted with dried blood.
My fucking blood, thought Skeg. “Listen, I don’t mean anyone any harm. I was just passing through. Didn’t even know I was on your land. Just let me go and I’ll be on my way. No harm done.” He pulled himself to his feet, leaning against the wall.
“No harm? You freaking bounce back in a couple hours from a shovel to the head that should have killed you. You’re not natural, and the guards are going to want to see you. I might even get a reward for catching some dangerous freak thing.” He waved the shovel menacingly. Skeg reacted more by instinct than by intent. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he drew on his power. Pain be damned. Skeg made a fist with his right hand and sent a surge of power out, knocking the man’s shovel out of his hands and slamming it against the far wall so hard it embedded itself in the wood. The he opened his hand and pulled. He grabbed the man around the throat as he stumbled forward, and let a trickle of power seep into his left hand. Blue flames flickered in his palm.
“Last warning,” he told the farmer through gritted teeth. “Otherwise I’ll just burn you and the rest of this place to the ground and walk out.”
The man didn’t say a word. He was trembling and Skeg could smell urine.
“I’m running out of patience. Take off the chains now and I’ll walk out of here. Like I said, no harm done.” Skeg was feeling the hunger growing in him. Using his power was only making it worse. He realized he was looking at the man he was holding more as food than as a person—actually enjoying his fear. He was disgusted with himself. The man was fumbling with his right manacle. As soon as it fell off, Skeg pushed the man back and removed the left chain himself.
“The guards don’t scare me,” Skeg said. “But if I find them hunting me, I’m coming back for you. You won’t catch me by surprise a second time. If I come back, I will raze this whole village. You understand me? Every man, woman, and child will burn alive. Every fucking cow and dog.” The man sat in a puddle of his own urine and nodded, his piggish eyes looking everywhere but at Skeg.
Skeg left the barn. It was all he could do to keep on his feet and not vomit from the intense searing pain in his head. He could hear the farmer weeping in relief. Outside, the dogs howled. I’ve got to get back to the girls. They’ll be missing me. And I still haven’t found anything to eat. They couldn’t get out of Bialta fast enough. The lands south of Darien were far too crowded for Skeg’s liking. He stumbled through a field and almost collided with a cow. Hunger flared inside him and before he knew what he was doing, he had his arms wrapped around the animal and his teeth planted in its neck. The cow screamed and thrashed. Skeg’s demonic strength and hunger proved to be stronger. Hot blood gushed into his mouth and he drank hungrily, the blood pumped out of the animal by its frantically beating heart so much sweeter than the cold cup Nial used to bring him. By the time he had finished, the cow was dead and he had practically ripped its head completely off its body. He looked down at his gore-caked clothes in disgust. I’m becoming a monster. I can’t let my hunger get this far ever again. If that hadn’t been a cow . . .
CHAPTER 21
The Bialtan army was making good time. They had moved down toward the Ragged Coast where the Icespine Mountains met the Black Sea. If the Tolrahkali were going to move through in any sort of numbers, this would be the place. It was the only pass that would accommodate wagons. No matter what abilities and strange equipment they might have developed, they must still be bound by the normal needs of an army—food, equipment, basic supplies.
The Arcanum worked its divinations and detection spells. Most were unsuccessful. This wasn’t much of a surprise. They had expected the Tolrahkali force to include a number of warlocks who would be hard at work trying to obscure the presence of their army. Swarms of magically bound lesser demons were also sent out. Few were able to find anything. Those that did were quickly destroyed.
The war effort devolved into an infuriating game of cat and mouse. Lost magical servants provided some small clue as to where enemy troops might be. The Western and Northern Armies were split off from the main force again to increase the chances of finding the invaders as they swept across the countryside.
The Southern Army was still a week from the Ragg
ed Coast when their first scouting party vanished. “Ten good men mounted on fast horses don’t just disappear. The scout units always keep eyes on one another, and that’s not including the Arcanum’s . . . things,” growled General Felkin as Gurt passed the information on to him.
“I agree, General. There must be some trace out there. I’ll pull the Night Guard back from the vanguard and have them search.”
“Do so, Commander. And find out how they did it. The Tolrahkali have drawn blood again. I mean to make them pay for it. Whatever resources I can provide to you and your men are yours.”
Gurt saluted and left the tent. The gold skins must have more mages than expected to keep the Arcanum blind. Not weak ones either.
Salt led two squads of Night Guard to search for the lost men. As it turned out, they weren’t difficult to find. All ten mounted scouts had seemingly had been drawn into a small hollow just out of sight and killed so efficiently that not one soldier or horse had a chance to call for help or scream. Salt looked around at the bloody corpses. “Anything, Min? Brolt?”
“There’s a hint of sorcery all the way around the hollow,” Brolt said. “As for killing them without making a sound? That looks like it was just a blade through the lung . . . on every one of them at almost exactly the same time.”
“This is becoming less fun every minute,” Salt grumbled. “Which way did they go?” Min pointed off into the distance. Salt turned back to the rest of his team. “Seely, report back to Gurt. We’ll hold here and wait. I’m sure he’ll want to bring in more men if we’re going farther from the main column.”
The trail left by the Tolrahkali was obvious and deliberate to a trained tracker. It led like an arrow to the village of Sweet Trees, famed for its orchards. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Gurt led the whole of the Night Guard force, all one hundred and twenty-six of them, to investigate.
Smoke rose in plumes from the charred remains of houses. The Guardsmen fanned out and moved in fast and low from three sides. But it quickly became clear that not a single Tolrahkali remained for them to fight. The village had been ransacked and left to burn. The villagers themselves had seemingly been led to the town square before being systematically butchered. Bones were stacked randomly—those that hadn’t been split for the marrow. Even the Guard were shocked by the savagery the attack had shown. The loss of their scouts was no more than a means to show off the killers’ handiwork. All Salt could think was, The people have been eaten!
The trail that had led so clearly to the village vanished beyond it. Not even Lera or the Night Guard scouts were able to find the least trace, either mundane or magical.
Gurt was quick to organize a corpse detail. “I want all these bones stacked together. Lera will fire them with magic. We don’t have time to sort through them all and bury them, but these people deserve better than having their bones left out for the birds to pick at. Any of you who follow a god and want to say a few words over the pyre are welcome to. Now move, people. I want this done and us on the way back to camp in half an hour.”
For weeks they maneuvered and followed false trails. The Arcanum grew so frustrated at losing their magical servants that they refused to send any more out. “You’ll simply have to rely on your scouts, General Felkin,” insisted Dantic. “We simply cannot continue wasting our efforts on scouting. The time and effort involved in summoning even a minor demon and binding it with any level of certainty is not something we can easily do on the move. Unless you are suggesting leaving us behind?”
“No. Of course not, Archmage Dantic. But I need you to find a way to neutralize their advantage. Tell me how they are managing this? Dammit, it has to be magical. No army can move with such speed and with no supply train. They’ve been running circles around us for weeks and haven’t even bothered taking much in the way of supplies from the villages they’re raiding.”
“I don’t have an answer for you, General. I wish I did. We’ve even got teams of researchers working on the problem back in the Arcanum, but so far none of the possibilities we’ve considered seem even remotely possible.”
“Could they be teleporting? Flying?”
“Teleportation is highly unlikely. There are only a few documented cases of mages able to perform that type of magic in all our recorded histories. Even if they did have someone capable of creating that kind of weave, it would take time to build a gate large enough to send an army through and they wouldn’t be able to move it around with them either. We’ve considered flying as well. One of my colleagues guessed that they might have created a flying fortress of some sort, but the power required to create such a thing, much less control it and keep it in the air, would be astounding. Every single Arcanum member would have to work on such a project for years with no guarantee it would even work. No, General, the solution either isn’t something we’ve considered, or it’s not magical at all.”
The general turned away in anger and called for the scout captains to assemble again.
The Bialtan army was growing frantic as frustration and anger mounted. For all their numbers they felt increasingly helpless as word spread of further atrocities committed by the invaders. Scouts had now confirmed a dozen villages and even a midsized town had been attacked. Each one had been devastated, their populations dead to the last. The generals grew more reckless as time went on, sending out more and more contingents of scouts. The Night Guardsmen were constantly on the move, half of them on patrol at any given time. They were approaching the Keral border and just about to set up camp late one afternoon when scouts reported they had found a solid trail. It had been partially obscured, but it seemed like a large group had been through the area.
“Thank the gods,” Gurt said with a sigh. He gestured to one of his ever-present messengers. “Get the Night Guard together. All of them.” The man took off at a run. Gurt paced impatiently in front of the command tent. He didn’t have long to wait. The frustration of not being able to close with their enemies was affecting the Night Guard as much as anyone. They assembled in short order. All of them looked at him eagerly.
“We finally have something!” Gurt announced. “I want each squad to go out as soon as the last of the light fades. Fan out from south to west and see if you can actually get eyes on the slippery bastards. If you meet small groups and can do some damage, I’ll leave that decision to your squad leaders. Just don’t get carried away; we won’t be able to get any support to you if you stir things up too much. I’ll be handing out tokens for you to carry tonight. Lera and her friends from the Arcanum have cooked up some sort of enchantment that should make it easier for you to sneak around unnoticed.”
Lera nodded. “The weaves should last until morning. They will help hide you from most senses, but they won’t hold up if you’re standing right in front of someone. Archmage Dantic and his team are putting the final touches on them now, so they’ll be ready by the time you head out.”
Gurt looked at them in silence for a moment. “It’s time for us to turn the tables on these invaders and who better to do it than the Night Guard. Make me proud. Now go get ready. You leave in an hour.”
Salt’s squad found the enemy camp about an hour before midnight. The Tolrahkali army filled the valley with their campfires. Salt directed his men down the hillside trying to keep as low as possible. “We going for the baggage train then?” Brolt asked in a whisper. Salt shook his head. “Getting close enough to get a reasonable count is going to be hard enough. They have too many men out.”
“Flyer!” hissed Min. The squad dropped to their bellies. A few tense moments passed while the creature and its rider passed overhead.
Slowly, slowly they made their way down to the camp. They crawled on their bellies as often as not, sneaking between patrols as much by luck and boldness as by skill. The flyers passed by overhead at odd intervals.
Early guesses of the invaders’ numbers seemed to be accurate—the Tolrahkali army seemed far too small to challenge the Bialtan force. Min and Brolt estimated no more than
ten thousand fighters in the camp, as well as support units and slaves. But then there’s no guarantee this is the only camp they have in the area, Salt thought. Rows of supply wagons were visible, each harnessed to strange creatures that were covered in the same chitin the Tolrahkali warriors used as armor. A large number of the flying creatures were being tended to on the edge of the camp. A group of thirty were preparing to leave, each carrying two warriors. Well, that explains how they’re outmaneuvering us. Our whole army’s probably been chasing raiding groups that they’ve been moving around on those things.
The ground shook as a unit of heavy cavalry moved in from the opposite side of the valley. It was more of the strangely equipped Tolrahkali soldiers, but these were mounted on monsters. Covered as they were with the same red-black chitin, it was hard to tell where the mount ended and the rider began. They were clearly similar to the pack animals though these were a more warlike variety. Their horns glinted in the firelight like swords, and their breathing, as loud as bellows, sent clouds of steam into the night air. Packs of the lizard dogs the survivors of the Eastern Army had told them about darted around the cavalry. Salt counted at least a hundred mounted soldiers in that one group. And I’m sure that’s not all of them.
“Good enough,” he whispered to his squad. “Let’s get out of here.”
By the time Salt and his squad made it back to camp, the sun was just starting to lighten the horizon. Other squads were drifting in around them. Gurt met them in the same spot outside the command tent, obviously not having slept at all while they were out. He took the time to speak with each squad leader individually before sending them all off to rest.
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 43
