by Sandell Wall
His group was the last to return, having been held up in the Legion camp. As they approached, Grotius spied Pricker.
“Goat’s breath,” Grotius said. “It’s no wonder they left that one behind. That’s the ugliest whoreson I’ve ever seen!”
“He might also be the deadliest,” Remus said. “Tethana says he’s Drathani.”
Remus almost laughed at the dumbfounded expression on Grotius’s face.
“Don’t soil your armor,” Remus said. “He’s on our side. Something’s wrong with him though, he’s not right in the head. Pass the word amongst the men not to mess with him.”
“You’re going to march him back to a fort full of Volgoth?”
“He goes where he pleases. You’re welcome to try to change his mind.”
Grotius muttered and shook his head. “This will end badly.”
“I can’t just ignore him,” Remus said. “He’ll follow us no matter what I say. Besides, he might prove useful.”
At Remus’s command, the squad formed up and left Delgrath behind. As the ravaged town dwindled into the distance behind him, a shadow fell over his memories of the place. He had held out some hope at reconciliation, some hope of finding a way to redeem himself to Axid and Holmgrim. But that option was gone. If they still lived, they were beyond his reach. Someday, he hoped their paths would cross again, but for now he put them out of his mind. He would find his destiny in the Wilds.
——
Remus pushed the squad hard, not wanting to spend a night on the open plains. It was well past sundown when the torches from the fort and the fires from the sprawl of dwellings surrounding it glowed on the horizon. The pace quickened. His men were eager for warmth and cooked food.
When they were half a mile out, Remus called a halt. He had been pondering how to sneak Pricker inside. He turned to Pricker, who had walked beside him without speaking the entire way.
“If you walk in there, you’re going to start a riot,” Remus said. “Do you understand? I know you’re strong, but you can’t take on a thousand Volgoth warriors.”
Pricker gazed at Remus with his grotesque, yellowish eyes. After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “Pricker comes.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Remus said. “Grotius, did you bring your cloak?”
Grotius stepped forward. “Aye, I did. What’s in your mind?”
“Give it here,” Remus said. When he had the garment in hand, he presented it to Pricker. “Will you wear this? If you keep the hood pulled tight, and go straight to the barracks with the other men, you should be able to avoid notice.”
Pricker eyed the cloak with obvious distaste. Remus held it out, and Pricker took it from his hands. Slowly, as if struggling to remember how to don such clothing, Pricker wrapped it around his shoulders.
With tentative hands, Remus reached up and pulled the hood over Pricker’s head. He tied the leather drawstrings at the neck, hiding Pricker’s face in the shadows of the dark hood.
“There, you see?” Remus said. “Now you look like one of us.”
He could not see the thin man’s eyes, but Remus knew that Pricker was staring at him. He would never get used to that emotionless gaze.
“Alright,” Remus said. “Let’s move out. No lingering in the camp tonight. We’ll deliver the prisoners to the fort and then hide Pricker in the barracks.”
On the empire side of the fort there were very few tents. The Volgoth preferred to sleep as close to the familiar sounds of the forest as possible. Marching in from Delgrath, Remus and his men approached the fort from the unpopulated side, and were able to enter the gates without distraction. The men grumbled about being denied a stroll through the makeshift dwellings of the grateful Volgoth, but they knew better than to argue with Remus.
As soon as Remus stepped into the courtyard, he wished they had stayed outside. A night in the open was a hundred times better than suffering the amusement of a garrison full of drunken Volgoth. He did not know the traditions of the barbarian tribes, but it seemed that at least twice a month every warrior not on watch drank himself into oblivion. If they did not hide, It went bad for Remus and his men on those nights. This was one of those nights.
Long wooden tables were set up on the weathered flagstones. Volgoth warriors roared with laughter as they knocked back flagons of mead as big as buckets. The remains of a forest pig sizzled on a spit over a large fire. Several warriors were already passed out on the table, evidence that the revelry was well under way.
Maybe we can turn around and march out. They’ve got to be too drunk to notice us.
Before Remus could open his mouth and tell his men to turn around, a huge voice boomed from the battlements.
“Our mighty warriors have returned!”
It was Goregash. He was not about to let them escape unmolested. Off to one side, observing from the shadows on the wall, Remus spied several Ethari. Ellion stood with them. They would be no help. When drunk, Goregash was capricious and cruel. Not even Promost Lister dared defy him until he passed out and sobered up.
“Come into the light,” Goregash said from where he sat on a makeshift throne. With a fort under his command, he had abandoned the lowly title of chieftain. He now fancied himself a barbarian king. And he looked it, presiding over the festivities from high on the wall.
Remus and his squad shuffled into the flickering torchlight. There was just enough room for his men to stand in orderly rows with the prisoners grouped behind them. Too late, Remus realized that Pricker had stayed by his side at the head of the formation.
Damn!
“There, that’s better,” Goregash said. He flung his arm out to sweep over Remus and his men. “Behold, the fearsome warriors of the empire! When not slaughtering mindless runebound filth, they raid their own homes. Tell me, little ones, did you strike fear in the heart of a farmer?” He roared at his own joke.
From behind Remus, Tethana stepped forward. “Uncle, this is not the time for jokes. We’ve traveled hard and need food and rest.”
Surprised, Remus felt gratitude toward Tethana. She did not approve of smuggling Pricker inside the fort, but she was not giving him up to be killed.
Goregash waved an angry hand at Tethana. “Step aside, girl. Go take off that ridiculous armor and attend to your duties. I’ll summon you later for your report.”
Tethana glanced back at Remus, concern clear on her face.
Remus shrugged weakly at her.
Having been given a direct command, Tethana had no choice but to exit the courtyard at her uncle’s instruction.
“Now,” Goregash said when Tethana was gone. “Tell me about my new province.”
Beside Remus, Pricker stiffened. Remus glanced at him out of the side of his vision. Pricker’s dark hood was tilted upward. He was staring at Goregash. As Remus watched, Pricker’s gaze slid along the battlements, noticing the Ethari for the first time. When his eyes landed on the gray soldiers, Pricker convulsed.
Remus held his breath. Pricker’s fingers twitched in frenzied agitation. His entire body quivered and spasmed like he was having a seizure. Remus thought he could hear Pricker snarling in the shadows of his hood.
What in all the black abyss?
“What’s this?” Goregash said, his tone mocking. “Is the hooded one too frail to stand before the grandeur of a barbarian king?”
Pricker took a step forward, and then another.
“Pricker,” Remus hissed. “What the hells are you doing?”
With agonizing slowness, Pricker raised his hands to his hood. Goregash ceased his mockery, entranced by Pricker’s odd behavior. The entire courtyard paused to see what Pricker would do. To Remus’s shock and dismay, what he did was untie the hood and slip it from his head.
Stupefied, Goregash gaped at Pricker’s bare head. In his drunken state, the Volgoth chieftain was slow to understand what he was seeing. But as comprehension dawned, Remus watched Goregash’s face twist into a rictus of rage.
“You bring the enemy h
ere?” Goregash thundered. “Into my presence? Kill him!” He pointed a furious finger at where Pricker stood in the courtyard below him.
Volgoth shoved themselves away from the tables, grabbing their weapons as they rose. One warrior, quicker than the rest, reached Pricker first. As he charged, he hefted his massive axe over his head and brought it crashing down with tremendous force. Pricker lifted one foot and pivoted away from the strike. The blade of the weapon clanged against stone—the warrior stumbled past.
A second attacker followed close behind the first. This one had no weapon, but his fists were as big as Pricker’s head. The warrior unleashed a crushing blow aimed at Pricker’s skull. Remus could have sworn that Pricker leaned into the attack. Fist hit flesh with a sickening smack. Pricker was flung across the courtyard in a tangle of limbs. Behind him, Remus heard a collective intake of breath from his squad. That punch would have killed a boar.
Pricker came out of his tumble on both feet. One instant he was crashing across the flagstones, the next he was standing as straight as a tree. He grinned. Blood seeped around his huge teeth. Pricker’s eyes burned with fearsome intelligence. He cackled, the high-pitched laugh exploding from his throat. In spite of himself, Remus took a step back.
When the barbarian had recovered from his surprise, he charged again. This time, Pricker ducked under the attack and hammered his fist into the man’s bare torso. The sharp crack of breaking ribs rang out in the courtyard. Pricker ducked around the injured warrior as he fell to the ground.
Incensed, the drunken Volgoth warriors rushed Pricker. In the crush of bodies, they had to wait their turn to reach their target. Remus and his men backed away from the melee. In the tangle of weapons and limbs, Remus caught glimpses of Pricker snapping bones and cracking skulls. He was untouchable. His fists flashed, every strike landing with devastating force. And he looked happy.
There was a lull in the combat as the last warrior slumped to the ground in front of Pricker. He had defeated twenty armed Volgoth with his bare hands. As the fight had progressed, Pricker seemed to become more and more aware. His posture was different, his mannerisms changed. Remus got the eerie impression that he was looking at a completely different person. Now Pricker stood in a circle of his groaning victims, bleeding freely and breathing heavy.
“Enough!” Pricker screamed in the Volgoth tongue.
From the battlements came the twang of a bowstring. A jagged Ethari arrow shot from the darkness, straight at Pricker. He snatched it out of the air.
“Savatch,” Pricker said, his voice like a whip.
On the wall, Remus saw the Ethari physically recoil. They did not shoot another arrow.
“I have no time,” Pricker said. He looked up at Goregash. “Your enemies are my enemies. Make the blood pact with me. I will fight with the boy.” He gouged a wound in his hand with the arrow and held the dripping palm out toward the barbarian leader.
He talks like a normal person! I wonder what summons him, violence or pain?
Goregash glared down at Pricker. Remus knew the chieftain was in an impossible position. Attacking Pricker was madness, but so was making the blood pact with a Drathani. Goregash leapt down from the wall, landing in front of Pricker. He towered over the Drathani’s thin frame. He looked around the fort, seeking any other way. When Goregash’s eyes landed on Remus, they narrowed.
He thinks I planned this.
With a disgusted look on his face, Goregash took the arrow and cut his own palm. He clasped Pricker’s hand. “Blood to blood, till our enemies be dust.”
Tethana was right. Goregash will do anything to avoid a fight he’s not sure he can win.
“Blood to blood,” Pricker repeated. His voice sounded different, like the normal Pricker.
Pact made, Pricker dropped his hands to his side and looked around in curiosity. Blood still dribbled from his smashed mouth. All around him, the battered Volgoth warriors were staggering to their feet. Other than a few broken bones, none of them were seriously hurt. Remus watched one of them spit out blood and teeth.
Remus could not believe what he had just witnessed. If Pricker was only one Drathani, what chance did they have against an entire army of them? He glanced at where the Ethari stood on the wall. Pikon gripped the wooden railing, uncharacteristic fear and confusion marred his face.
“Gods below,” Grotius said from behind Remus. “You weren't fooling. Who ever heard of such strength? He’s ten times nastier than the gray bastards.”
As Goregash stormed out of the fort, Remus stepped forward. Pricker still had his back turned.
“Pricker?” Remus said uncertainly.
Pricker turned and looked at Remus. The emotionless, laconic gaze was back. There was no sign of the terrifying consciousness that burned deep inside the mysterious Drathani.
“Pricker wants hat,” Pricker said.
Chapter 7
UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS, Aventine crawled out of the supply wagon and looked around. The camp was quiet. She and Saffrin had hidden in the cramped space until well past sunset. It had been at least an hour since either of them had heard anything, but that was no proof they were alone. Aventine wanted to see with her own eyes that no one was nearby.
She poked her head back into the dark hiding place. “It looks clear. The nearest fire is a hundred feet away, and I don’t see anyone.”
In answer, Saffrin scurried out after her. They had not talked since being pulled away from Marthis’s tent, but Aventine could sense that the other woman had made peace with her grief. In their brief time as friends, Aventine had grown to trust Saffrin’s practical nature. She could be as hard and unyielding as Umgragon’s black stone, but she was no fool. In the mountains, Saffrin had proven to be adaptable to any situation, even the most challenging.
Aventine and Saffrin crept away from the refugee camp. Despite Saffrin’s sadness, Aventine hoped they would not return to Umgragon for a very long time. They found the dirt highway that led out of the province and started walking south. To stick to the main road was dangerous, but Holmgrim was waiting for them somewhere up ahead. Saffrin did not speak, content to follow Aventine through the night.
After roughly two miles, Holmgrim spotted them coming and climbed out of the irrigation ditch that ran alongside the road. Aventine’s heart skipped a beat when his huge shadow rose out of the ground.
“I was about to come looking for you,” Holmgrim said quietly. They were miles from the city, but in the darkness it seemed foolish to raise their voices. This was still enemy territory.
“We delivered our message, but there were complications,” Aventine said. “We had to hide until it was safe to leave.”
“You weren’t hurt, or discovered?”
“No, but we can’t return any time soon. I was forced to kill one of Wranger’s agents in the camp. They found his body and are tearing the place apart looking for the killer.”
Holmgrim grimaced. Aventine could tell he was curious about Saffrin’s silence, but did not want to ask outright.
“Saffrin was going to stay behind,” Aventine said. “When it came down to it, she decided she couldn't leave her brother to suffer and die in Wranger’s dungeons. But after I killed his man, she had no choice but to flee with me.”
“You did the right thing,” Saffrin said, but her voice lacked conviction. Aventine sensed that Saffrin was still trying to convince herself that she had made the right decision to come with them.
“I can’t change what’s happened,” Holmgrim said. “But I can promise we’ll stay by your side. Travel with us, and you’ll never have want of friend or shelter. And if someday we can return to Umgragon, I’ll come with you to set right the wrongs that have been done to you.”
Saffrin smiled sadly. “In spite of all my efforts, my friends and comrades have come to ruin. But in my darkest hour, the gods have smiled on me. In the midst of all this tragedy, the two of you have stood by my side like the champions of old. You didn’t forsake me, even against impossible odds. If th
is is fate’s decree, then so be it. I’ll travel with you. I’ll take up your quest, come what may.”
Aventine’s heart swelled at Saffrin’s strength and courage. Aventine’s life seemed uncertain, even hopeless, as the empire crumbled around her. Yet she counted herself most fortunate to be in the company of Holmgrim and Saffrin. As long as there were still people who believed in honor, truth, and justice, there was a chance that the world could be made right again.
“Bah,” Holmgrim said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re no heroes. We’re just two people trying to do what’s right.” He coughed and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he sounded normal. “Now, we need to get out of this province.”
“I’ve no doubt my husband will have guards at the pass into the mountains,” Saffrin said.
“Aye, I’d suspected as much. But there are alternate routes we can take into the central empire.” Holmgrim paused, as if he knew what he had to say next would be met with criticism. “We could take the old mountain tunnels.”
“Only the most desperate and foolhardy risk those dark warrens,” Saffrin said. “They’re not safe. Things lurk beneath those mountains that can make the unwary traveler vanish without a trace.”
“I’ve heard the stories, but I think we qualify as desperate, and Aventine’s plenty foolhardy.” Holmgrim winked at Aventine. “I don’t see any other way. The tunnels would cut the travel time in half, and the First would never follow us.”
“The provinces of Lome and Cinder are on the other side of the mountains,” Aventine said. “We’ll be trading one enemy for another.”
“They won’t be looking for us on their doorstep, and we can avoid them if need be,” Holmgrim said. “There are many trails leading down out of the mountains.”
“It seems we’ve no choice,” Aventine said. “Lead on.”
Aventine and Saffrin collected their gear from Holmgrim before setting out. Properly armed again, Aventine’s resolve strengthened. She could face whatever lurked in the tunnels under the mountains.
