Bleak hadn’t been to the armoury before, and let out a low, impressed whistle at the scope of weaponry before her. Swords, daggers, bows, spears, katars, throwing stars, axes and everything in between were displayed proudly on the shelves and hangers. Henri handed her a dagger.
Bleak pushed it away. ‘I’ve already got one,’ she said, lifting the right leg of her pants to reveal Fiore’s dagger tucked into her boot.
Henri looked as though she might laugh for a moment, but she returned to the task at hand. Henri strapped all manner of blades to her body, her signature katars already at the sides of her thighs. She then took a hessian sack from one of the benches, its content clanging loudly.
‘Let’s go,’ was all she said.
The two women re-shouldered heavy packs with rations and water for the journey, and made for the Sticks. Athene was waiting.
‘I thought that had been too easy,’ Henri said, not quite smiling.
‘I’m just here to see you off, and to give you a few things from Allehra.’
‘Oh? Farewell gifts?’
‘Sort of. Not for you.’ Athene turned to Bleak and opened a satchel she had at her side. ‘Here,’ she said, handing Bleak a forest-green leather wrist cuff.
‘What is it?’ Bleak said, turning it over in her hands.
Athene unbuckled it, looped it around Bleak’s wrist and re-buckled it. ‘It was made with our protective herbs,’ she said. ‘It should make managing your abilities easier. Perhaps soothe some of those headaches you get.’
‘Hurry this up, Athene,’ said Henri, irritated.
Without looking at her, Athene rummaged through the satchel again, this time extending two sheathed daggers to Bleak. ‘There’s a belt, too,’ she said.
‘I can’t … I can’t accept these …’
‘You have to,’ Henri snapped. ‘No one rejects a gift from a Valian matriarch.’
Bleak took the daggers and belt and fastened the set around her waist. The weapons and their sheaths were beautifully crafted. Allehra must have ordered them made not long after Bleak’s arrival.
‘We need to go,’ Henri said.
Athene nodded and closed the satchel. Bleak watched as the first-in-command met Henri’s gaze, and for the briefest of moments opened her mouth as if she were about to say something. But Henri turned away before she could. They left Athene at the edge of the Sticks. Bleak thought of Lyse and how she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to her or the other groundlings. Perhaps if she survived this, she’d come back and visit them.
‘Let’s pick up the pace,’ Henri said, lengthening her strides across the mossy bridge path before her.
They’d been running the bridges for about three hours when Bleak heard the sound of running water. Her stomach dipped, remembering her fall at the crossing. She’d thought she was going to die. She felt nauseous just thinking about it. But it was not the King’s River below, it was Valia River, and waiting by the water’s edge were Commander Swinton and Fiore, holding the reins of four horses. When Bleak dropped down to the forest floor, she also saw that there was an old man with them, manning the ropes of a big barge.
Bleak and Henri strode out of the forest and the old man by the barge gasped. No doubt it was the first time he’d ever seen a Valian kindred.
‘We’d like to cross with these men,’ Henri said, not looking at either the commander or Fiore. Things were going to be … tricky from now on, Bleak realised.
‘Of course, of course,’ said the man, tripping over his rope, ‘no charge for you, m’lady.’
Henri simply nodded her head, as though this was to be expected.
‘Ladies first,’ said the old man.
Fiore handed Henri a set of reins and she led the restless beast onto the barge. Bleak followed with her own horse and watched the man untie the barge from its dock. He wasn’t using the right knots at all. When all four travellers and their horses were onboard, she turned to him.
‘What you really need is a mooring line fed through the centre of a cleat at the slip,’ she heard herself say.
‘What?’ he said.
‘To dock the barge properly. Your knots aren’t secure. If there’s a big surge in the current, like a flood or something, your barge’ll be smashed to pieces on the rocks.’
‘What do you know about barges, girl?’
‘I know about knots. And ships. And how to dock them.’
She could feel the others watching her as they were pushed across the raging river. She had to steady herself on her horse’s flank.
The old man considered her. ‘What’s this about a cleat, then, eh?’
When they docked on the other side of the river and disembarked, Bleak showed the old man how to tie his ropes more securely. By the end of it, Henri was tapping her foot and Swinton looked ready to strangle her, but the old man was happy. He slipped Swinton’s silver into her palm.
‘Where you’re going, you’re gonna need it, girl.’
She nodded in thanks and accepted his leg-up onto her horse. As soon as she was astride, Henri urged them all into a gallop, and they crossed over into the East Farmlands.
The East Farmlands was a massive territory in itself, housing several villages dotted around its crops and livestock. Bleak wasn’t comfortable in the saddle at all. The extent of her experience on horseback amounted to those few days from Angove to the Hawthorne Ranges with the King’s Army and Fiore for company. She was definitely not a natural rider.
‘Not enjoying the ride?’ Fiore said to her, laughing at her grimacing face.
‘This wasn’t my first preference for travel.’
‘Shame you can’t sail from Valia to Heathton, eh?’
‘Well, if I had a say, I wouldn’t be going to Heathton at all, would I now?’
They rode hard all day, and Bleak could tell that even stoic Henri was biting back her complaints. The sun was harsh, and her loose pants and shirt still made her feel as though she was swelling like dough in an oven. Henri must be suffering in her tight-fitting leathers, and even Swinton was mopping his brow. And then there was Fiore, who hadn’t so much as broken a sweat, holding the reins in one hand and smiling absentmindedly.
‘Aren’t you hot?’ Bleak couldn’t help asking him.
‘Call this hot?’ Fiore said with a grin. ‘Been to Battalon?’
‘I have,’ Henri offered from the lead.
‘Then you realise this is practically winter for us. No true heat but for a summer on the fire continent. There’s a reason we Battalonians pray to Liir.’ He stretched out his arm from atop the horse to reveal the swirling black artwork of the almighty fire goddess. Bleak chanced a look at the patterns that crept up his forearm and disappeared under his rolled sleeve. Bleak chanced a look at the patterns that crept up his forearm and disappeared under his rolled sleeve.
‘Explains a lot,’ Henri said, and turned back to the road before them.
They crossed fields of corn and wheat, and made their way through several paddocks of cattle and sheep. Yes, the East Farmlands were doing very well indeed. Of the farmers and villagers they saw, barely anyone spoke to them. Though Bleak was glad for it. Three unwanted companions were more than enough.
Her thoughts were never far from Bren. He would have woken up a long time ago now and realised she’d left him, yet again. It seemed somehow harsher than every time she’d left him beforehand. But he had Tilly there now; he’d be fine, she decided.
They came across a crop of sugarcane as night was falling, and it was agreed that they’d camp the rest of the night. When they dismounted, Bleak didn’t let herself pause over the pain for a second. She watched Fiore and Swinton take great efforts to slowly stretch out their legs, groaning at the aches and raw spots. As Swinton unsaddled their horses, Henri started on the kindling for a fire, though she looked in no mood to be sitting around trading war stories.
Bleak wandered around collecting more fuel for the fire. Mist dweller, Allehra had called her, but who was she? Who was she re
ally? She wasn’t sure she was ready to go down that path yet, or if she ever would be.
They chewed on dried meat and bread from their packs. The chatter was light, with Swinton briefing them on where they’d be heading in the morning.
‘I’ll take first watch,’ Henri said, cutting the conversation short.
Swinton’s brow furrowed for a moment, before he nodded and turned his back to her. Bleak had felt her head drop half a dozen times already. If only there was some wine or ale to be had. She didn’t dare bring it up, though. Henri got to her feet and moved to the edge of their campsite. Sucking on the end of a sugar cane, Bleak heard her sigh, and she felt yet another pang of guilt, this time for the Valian matriarch to whom she’d brought so much trouble. Bleak dreamed of the word she’d seen carved into the stone by the stream. It glimmered before her – Oremere. Was it a name? Who was he? Or she? She’d never know now.
The next day, Henri didn’t look like herself. She had purple rings beneath her eyes, her face was smudged with dirt, and she moved with a stiffness Bleak hadn’t seen before. The men were just as bad, if not worse. In contrast, Bleak felt fine, normal. She packed up her bedroll and stretched her limbs before the ride.
She gave Henri a grim smile as the warrior queen passed. ‘Not my first time sleeping in the dirt,’ she said.
Henri didn’t reply, and simply tightened the straps of her katars around her thighs.
They took turns relieving themselves among the crops, and Bleak sincerely hoped the farmers gave the vegetables a thorough washing before they sold them at the markets. They started riding before the orange sun broke away from the horizon. The ground was still damp with the morning dew, and the paddocks full of crops around them were blooming with life. Some farmers were already out harvesting the wheat.
‘Aren’t half the people in the capital starving?’ Bleak said as they surveyed the fertile land and the vast expanse of crops.
‘Half the people in any capital are starving,’ Swinton snapped. ‘It’s the choice they make for living in the capital.’
‘Horseshit,’ Henri said.
‘Nobody asked you.’
‘Tell me again why you think the capital is so amazing,’ she said.
‘I don’t need to tell you anything,’ Swinton snapped.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Shut it,’ Swinton hissed. ‘Heathton keeps its people safe. King Arden is one of the few leaders in this realm doing something about the mist.’
‘Oh? And what’s that?’
‘We have mist trackers sending reports every month. He even has it contained beyond the King’s Forest.’
‘And how did he manage that?’
‘He erected a wall.’
Henri laughed, actually clutching her stomach as she did. It was a cruel sound. ‘A wall, Commander? You think a wall is what’s keeping out magical mist that’s plagued this realm for decades? Your naivety amazes me.’
‘Watch your tongue.’
‘Watch who you threaten,’ she countered.
Bleak sighed. This was going to be a long journey indeed.
The sun was high by the time they reached the King’s Road. For a royal stretch of road, it was nothing more than a wide path of yellowed dirt.
‘There’s a town called Hoddinott an hour or so ride from here,’ said Swinton. ‘We’ll rest there and get a hot meal.’
Bleak had to suck her stomach in to stop it from growling. The bread and cheese they’d had to break their fast hadn’t filled her in the slightest, not with all this travelling. She was dying for any kind of steaming roast meat.
‘Commander,’ Fiore called again, ‘are we expecting visitors at the castle?’
‘No. Why?’
‘There’s a company riding hard towards us.’
Bleak twisted in the saddle and looked back. Sure enough, there was a group of people on horseback – nearly just a speck in the distance, which seemed to be heading their way. Clouds of dust suggested they were moving at high speed.
‘Be alert,’ Swinton said, ‘but maintain the current pace. I want to see who they are.’
They didn’t have to wait long before the group was nearly upon them. They didn’t stop, or even slow, but rode right past them.
‘Blue and claret,’ Fiore muttered, ‘envoys from Battalon.’
‘And you didn’t know about them?’ Henri jeered.
‘That’s not your concern,’ said Swinton.
‘You seem concerned enough for the both of us, anyway.’
When they got to the gates of Hoddinott, they dismounted.
‘We don’t want to seem imposing or threatening,’ Swinton told the others. ‘There’s an inn just off the town square. We’ll go there.’
The four travellers led the horses through the dusty streets. Bleak took in what she could, not that there was much to look at. A butcher with several pig carcasses hanging in the window, a baker, and oddly, an apothecary. The town in general was sleepy, with barely anyone out and about, though Bleak guessed many of them worked on the farms, or the cotton mill that she could see looming in the distance. Ahead, she watched Swinton and Fiore talk hurriedly. The commander had been restless since the Battalonian envoys had passed. If Bleak were to hazard a guess, she’d say that Swinton didn’t like being kept out of the loop, or not having control.
At the end of the road was the inn he’d described. They tied the horses to the posts near the water troughs and walked up the creaking porch steps. Old and run-down, the Hodd’s Nott looked as though it had been through the wars. However, despite appearances, inside was packed. Bleak had guessed wrong. The population of Hoddinott wasn’t out working; they were in here, drinking. Drunks, whores, gamblers and all else in between chatted loudly within. It was as though they were all deaf. Perhaps everyone was, after spending so long in there.
‘Commander Swinton,’ a man called, making his way over to them.
Bleak had to grab Henri’s arm to stop her from drawing her katars. The warrior queen was forgetting that they were in the king’s territory now, where people were bound to recognise the Commander of the King’s Guard. Maybe this was the kind of establishment the commander frequented.
‘Leslie,’ Swinton greeted the man stiffly.
‘It’s been too long, Commander, here – we’ve got a booth available for you and your —’
Leslie’s mouth gaped as he spotted Henri. His eyes scanned her face, her long hair, and then trailed over the rest of her lithe body. Henri shrugged off Bleak’s grip and drew one of her katars, slowly, making a point of putting it in front of her body. Bleak realised it must have been a long while since someone had dared to look at the Valian matriarch like that. The last person who had probably hadn’t been able to look for very long.
‘A booth would be great,’ Swinton said quickly, gesturing for Leslie to show them the way.
Henri stalked after them, sheathing her katar, fury practically glowing from her. Bleak understood, she really did. Besides Valia, from what she’d experienced, the other territories had no respect for women. Women were objects, entertainment or servants, existing solely for the whims of men. Bleak didn’t even blink at the leers aimed in her direction. When a hand reached out to grope her, she caught it before it touched her and simply flung it back to the offender. Bleak caught Henri staring at her.
‘Spent a lot of time in taverns,’ she said, raising her eyebrows at another man who called out to her.
Behind them, Fiore was visibly uncomfortable, but he said nothing. Swinton was waiting for them at a booth towards the back of the inn.
‘Ladies first,’ he said, allowing Bleak and Henri to slide across the benches before he and Fiore slid in. The men now blocked the women from sight, and Henri took a deep breath.
‘This was not the sort of establishment I had in mind,’ she said, narrowing her eyes at Swinton.
‘Me either. It never used to be this bad. When I last stopped by here, it was like any other pub. But it’s changed.
The clientele … has changed.’
‘You don’t say.’
Leslie returned, and placed four steaming bowls of broth in front of them. He made to walk away, but Swinton grabbed his arm.
‘You won’t be joining us, Les?’ he said, his grip still firm on the man’s arm.
‘Uh … You honour me with your invitation, Commander, but I have clients to attend to.’
‘Stay,’ Swinton said, pulling Leslie down onto the bench. ‘In fact, you’re welcome to try a little of everyone’s.’
‘Oh, that won’t be necessary, Commander.’
‘Oh, but it is.’ Swinton slid his own bowl towards the innkeeper. ‘Drink.’
Bleak watched on, begrudgingly impressed as Swinton forced Leslie to sample each of their bowls. When Swinton was satisfied that none of them were about to be poisoned, he dismissed the whimpering innkeeper and pushed their broth back to them. Bleak brought the bowl to her lips and savoured the hot, salty liquid. It wasn’t a roast boar, but it would do. She used the stale bread from her pack to mop up the dregs. She sat back, having almost forgotten about everyone else in the inn, and suppressed a sigh. A hot meal could always help lift damp spirits.
‘I’m going to find the … powder room,’ she said. She slid past Fiore easily, and didn’t give the group a second glance as she walked away. She let herself be swallowed by the crowd, and found an empty stool at the bar. She slid one of Swinton’s silvers across the counter and ordered herself a jug of ale.
Chapter 25
Swinton wove through the throng of dirty bodies and spotted Bleak at the bar. She was drinking. He paused, watching her raise a mug of ale to her mouth and gulp down the liquid as though her life depended on it. If she got roaring drunk it wasn’t his problem; he had his orders. He pulled up the hood of his cloak and continued through the crowd, sneaking out of the service entrance of the Hodd’s Nott.
Heart of Mist Page 25
