God of Night

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘We thank you for your gift,’ Suel said in a diplomatic tone, ‘and the council will consider your words further. Come – we invite you to be our guests until Commander Deshar arrives here. Let me show you to quarters for your officers.’

  Toil and Llaith went without a word. She could see the veteran’s expression was dark. Clearly he hadn’t much liked how the conversation had gone. In truth nor had she. There had been nothing in Aeolae’s manner that suggested he agreed with her assessment. It wasn’t as though she could tell him everything she knew about the God Fragments. It might help her case but it would prompt questions she didn’t want to answer. Doing that would be a desperate ploy, one she’d keep back until she had no other options.

  As soon as they were outside, Llaith upped his pace a shade, trusting to the breeze behind them to muffle his words.

  ‘That weren’t good,’ he muttered, not looking at Toil as he walked back to where the Cards were still milling around. ‘Not by a long shot.’

  ‘They’ll never give the fragments back,’ she hissed back. ‘No council member will agree. There’ll be plenty of hopefuls looking for a way to take their place, quite aside from the Order’s dogma.’

  ‘Was nice how you offered us all up as sacrifice, I liked that bit. Reckon Anatin will too.’

  ‘They were thinking it already. Me being the one to say it just means I get to address the matter.’

  ‘Next time, just put your head on the block, not all of ours! We’re now stuck here under guard until they make their minds up.’

  ‘There’s a war on,’ Toil growled, ‘this isn’t the worst place to be.’

  ‘Keep saying that,’ Llaith said. ‘See how it sounds when the noose around yer neck tightens.’

  Chapter 17

  Sergeant Darail shifted his hood slightly as he watched the monk stride towards them. He didn’t speak. Even though the monk was alone it would be foolish to do so. Instead, he just lifted his tin cup and gave a desultory jerk of the hand as the monk came within a few yards.

  He was ignored. If the monk even glanced in his direction, Darail didn’t notice. He wasn’t really looking anyway so it would be churlish to complain that the monk wasn’t offering his full attention. The bridge behind the monk was what held Darail’s attention. A grand span with a large gatehouse occupying the nearer end. Soldiers on watch, keeping a close eye on the road.

  Once the monk was gone, Darail’s companion, Obe, gave a snort.

  ‘Can see why no bugger was here before us.’

  Hunched under his hood, Darail didn’t take his eyes off the bridge. ‘Eh?’

  ‘No real beggars. They’d fucking starve if they relied on the charity o’ monks.’

  ‘Yeah – famous for all their ready cash, are monks,’ Darail muttered.

  ‘That one had money,’ Obe said. ‘Weren’t no poor brother that ’un.’

  Darail hawked and spat a gobbet onto the ground in front of him. ‘Just as well we’re not here fer that then, ain’t it? Hold up …’

  He paused and fought the urge to straighten. There was a group of soldiers on the bridge. Five in total – all on horseback and led by an officer. ‘Another lot,’ he said. ‘Get going.’

  Obe stood with a groan. Although he was hardly in the first flush of youth, he could be quick enough when he wanted. ‘Rank?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Can’t see, but he looks rich. This could be the one.’

  Obe shuffled away, making for the main thoroughfare that led to the inner city. With his back turned he couldn’t see where the Brethren soldiers were heading. Darail kept his head low. These ones looked like they really could be it. Alert, ready for action – mage-guns shouldered but each man wearing a pistol too. Finally. they crossed and started towards Darail.

  ‘South,’ he hissed. ‘Go quick.’

  Obe wandered away, contriving to look like he was shambling but he covered the ground fast enough to turn a corner. Once round that he’d run, sprinted as best he could to the south gate in the outer city wall. This had been the fourth group Darail had sent someone after. There were horses at the three main city gates waiting for his watchers. He just had to hope they would have enough men to keep this up.

  It didn’t help that Commander Deshar hadn’t told him what the Brethren were carrying. Only that they’d be at least four and move fast, but he’d been with the Red Scarves for a decade or more. Since before the old tyrant had handed over control to his son in fact. Darail was one of the many who’d taken a while to warm to their new commander. Vigilance Deshar wasn’t the larger than life figure his father had been, but he’d proved himself in his own quiet way.

  The riders moved swiftly and Darail didn’t even attempt to hold his cup out. Instead, he kept well back as any real beggar would, afraid of the haughty soldiers and the hooves of their horses both. Once they were past he did risk a look up, watching the uniformed troops trot smartly away. Each horse bore saddlebags and the soldiers had regulation greatcoats on. He didn’t recognise their designations, a red arrow stitched below the symbol of their Order, but knew little about the Brethren of the Shards anyway. All he could tell was that they were setting out on a journey and that was good enough.

  Don’t get caught, don’t get close. Those had been Commander Deshar’s words. If you’re spotted, break off. Telling us half the journey is still worth something, even if you don’t follow them all the way.

  Darail wasn’t certain what sort of riches needed to be treated this way, but he could make a half-decent guess. That was enough to take his commander’s warning seriously. Any hint of pursuit could be deadly. With that in mind he settled back into position and waited for the next of his command to join him. The Brethren unit had disappeared from view and a thin rain began to fall.

  ‘It’s better’n combat,’ he reminded himself quietly, ‘and the pay’s the same. Another few hours it is.’

  Lynx and his three companions spent only one night with the Sons of the Wind. They had parted on good terms the following day once the sun was high. Much of the previous evening had proved a blur for Lynx. Fragments of memory loomed through his dreams. Monstrous creatures haunting the darkest corners of the night.

  Tentatively, it seemed Sendan Kalozhin was willing to play a part in their plans. He was not particularly senior in the Sons of the Wind, but had the rank to speak to their leaders at least, to make a case. Crucially, their Order was more chaotic than most. If he believed strongly enough, he could ride on his own authority and any who agreed with him could go too under his command.

  The gods alone knew whether it would be enough, Lynx had thought to himself. Given what the ultimate goal was, it lent a bitter humour that he still thought that way. That success might lie in the hands of the gods.

  A week of travelling took them south-east, towards the Collotain Hills, where a series of lakes were surrounded with towns. Beyond that was a wide expanse of the wilds, rough ground given over mostly to elementals and the more natural beasts of Urden. For once, those weren’t the dangers that had the people worried. Few people would meet their eyes as they travelled through villages of yellow brick and thatch. Of those that did, they held what weapons they possessed and watched the four pass out of sight.

  When the four Cards stopped at inns, it was clear they were not welcome. Even Deern kept a check on his tongue. While he enjoyed a bar fight quite a lot more than the next man, it was plain to see any such thing would escalate. Matters improved the day they removed their red scarves from around their necks, but still the sight of mercenaries provoked disquiet. Once they found the Honourable Company of the Dregen Red Scarves their suspicions as to why proved correct.

  At the junction of two rivers stood a small city called Jeironne. Outside the city, not entirely besieging it but giving a very fine impression of that, were the Red Scarves. Lynx’s group were greeted by a not entirely sober picket and soon they found their way to where Toil’s brother, Commander Vigilance Deshar, held court to a half-dozen dignitaries from
the city. It was an old story, one certainly as old as the institution of mercenary companies. Employment in war was all well and good, but mercenaries preferred not to fight. If they could be paid not to, all the better.

  The Collotain region was under Brethren control, but had no fortresses or garrisons of significance. Commander Deshar walked a fine line, but they all knew the Brethren would not waste their forces chasing out a nuisance, certainly not when there had been no actual threats or violence. The locals could bluster all they want, but this was a region of reasonable wealth. Paying the Red Scarves to leave would be the easiest route to take in the end.

  When the meeting was finally over, Lynx watched the city’s officials scuttle away. An abbess and nun along with a pair of fat burghers, they looked more relieved than anything else. The thin-faced Brethren of the Shards major appeared less happy, but as she and her aide trailed behind the others it looked obvious they had little sway.

  At last, Commander Deshar emerged and Lynx remembered to salute the man, now they were under his command in one fashion or another. Kas did the same, Atieno and Deern reluctantly following.

  ‘I don’t recognise you,’ Deshar began before realisation dawned. ‘Ah yes, the new recruits.’ He scowled before continuing, any feelings of success evaporating as he apparently recalled whatever Toil had talked him into. ‘Inside.’

  The commander was a stern-faced man with a dark beard – large but not as large as Lynx. At his side was a tall woman who seemed even less pleased to see them than the commander. Given her face was painfully thin and lined with age, cheerful didn’t seem a ready option at any time.

  ‘I know you, don’t I?’ Deshar said as he led them into a large house that someone had probably been gently encouraged to abandon. ‘Some of you at least. We met in Jarrazir.’

  Lynx nodded. ‘Briefly.’

  ‘He was too busy getting yer sister drunk,’ Deern added with a nasty leer.

  Deshar raised an eyebrow. ‘And which one are you?’

  ‘Deern,’ the smaller man said proudly. ‘Jester o’ Blood.’

  ‘Not any more,’ came the reply. ‘Not while you wear that scarf around your neck. Forget that again and Ulith here will issue a reminder.’ With that, Deshar turned to Atieno and Kas. ‘You are one of the mages, correct? You, I would have remembered had we met in Jarrazir.’

  Kas gave him a flirtatious smile. ‘I’ve no doubt o’ that, but me an’ your sister don’t often see eye to eye. I’m Kas.’

  ‘It seems we have something in common then, Kas. Just imagine what it was like for a sensitive young man to grow up alongside that hellcat of a sister.’

  ‘Sensitive?’ She gestured all around them. ‘Oh sure, if you say so, Commander. Sensitive young men often grow up to command a renowned mercenary company.’

  ‘Nepotism and a few unscrupulous friends can work wonders I’ve found,’ he said with the hint of a smile behind his beard. ‘However, I don’t think you are here to discuss my merits, as much as that pains me. You’ve brought word?’

  Lynx hesitated and glanced at the commander’s second, Ulith. ‘Ah …?’

  ‘She’s aware of everything. You can speak freely.’

  ‘We found the Sons – they’re interested.’

  ‘Interested?’

  ‘They ain’t all jumping into bed off the back of one conversation,’ Kas broke in, ‘but we got their attention and they liked what they saw.’

  ‘I have no doubt. How long to let us know?’

  ‘Longer than we can afford to wait. We’re running on guesswork here.’

  ‘Faith more like,’ Deshar said, his face darkening. ‘Even if you’ve got more to lose than me in this scheme, the risks continue to mount.’

  ‘You don’t need to commit yet,’ Atieno assured him. ‘It’s only our heads on the line now. The worst case for you is ending up on the strongest side in the coming war.’

  ‘Not if Toil’s fears prove correct.’ The commander shook his head. ‘I’ve had this argument once with Toil – I’ll not repeat it with you four.’

  Lynx grunted as he felt Kas pat him on the shoulder. ‘Probably for the best,’ she said cheerily, ‘Lynx isn’t really a man of rhetoric, just bloody-minded loyalty.’

  ‘I can speak for myself, Kas,’ he said.

  ‘Aye I know,’ she laughed. ‘That’s often when our problems start, remember? Now, we’ve been travelling hard. Someone show us to some food and wine, eh?’

  ‘You won’t be resting long,’ Deshar warned. ‘We’ve been summoned north to explain ourselves. My sister has been making friends again.’

  ‘Aye, that’s usually where our problems get worse,’ Kas agreed with a grimace. ‘We leave at dawn? Perfect. Just enough time for a few drinks while Lynx tells you his intentions towards your sister. That should be entertaining.’

  Obe slid from his horse and crouched to inspect the ground. Rain started to patter down and he felt a moment of anxiety. He might lose all trace if it continued.

  Wait – there.

  He took a few steps forward. Yes, a distinct hoofprint in the soft ground. Small and shallow, but distinct. A slight drag as it lifted out. He’d seen the horse with its head low, three days earlier. This was the smallest of the mounts the Brethren had, the weakest. A grey gelding that didn’t have the stamina of the others and they were being pushed hard. Obe had been able to keep up with the group of five soldiers for a few days only. They rode hard, every hour of daylight they could without killing the horses, and the grey was suffering the most.

  Not quite lame, but another few days of this and …

  Obe stood and surveyed the terrain ahead. The stony ground was matted with low grass and firm after a dry spell. Little to retain tracks, Obe knew. If it had been a single rider he’d never have kept with them. As it was they were at least a day ahead, but it was safer that way.

  Sergeant Darail had been clear – find out where they’re going, don’t get spotted. Obe knew he risked losing the trail, but the soldiers were on guard. If he followed them by sight, they’d have spotted and ambushed him by now. So long as the rain didn’t wash away their trail, he could follow these tracks at a safe remove and not be shot in the process.

  Obe returned to his horse. His mage-gun was holstered on the side of the saddle, the red scarf he normally wore as his company badge shoved down at the bottom of the holster. A cursory search probably wouldn’t turn it up, not unless someone was really looking for confirmation, but Obe didn’t fancy buying a new one if he didn’t have to. Not when he’d be dead anyway by the time they found it, most likely.

  There was little breeze as he set off again. The cloud cover was light, no indication that the rain would get bad. He didn’t have to rush yet, but he upped his pace all the same. Fortunately, this wasn’t really the wilds. The Brethren and other Orders had largely tamed this part of the Riven Kingdom. One man could travel alone in relative safety, especially one such as Obe who read the land and was a better shot than most soldiers.

  After an hour, he paused and dismounted to give his horse a rest. The black-eared beast cropped the grass in a desultory manner, but soon gave up and started nudging Obe’s ear, looking for something more substantial. He swatted her away as he unrolled his map, trying to make sense of where he was. The Red Scarves had half-decent maps of the area, having passed this way before. This was only a rough copy and as such, he was free to scribble on it, marking what he saw and correcting anything he could.

  ‘Where are we, girl?’ Obe mused. ‘Mebbe … Ah, here?’ His short finger stabbed at the cured hide, so thin it was almost parchment.

  ‘Must’ve travelled twenty miles since that river, that puts us past Ugrein. Not a whole lot out this way, is there? Towns somewhere east, Sylevene north of those, up the Shanat kingsroad.’

  He cast around for a while, letting his thoughts settle. There was nothing in sight that would help, just nearer and further treelines as the land gently undulated.

  ‘We can’t be this way,’
he continued, consulting the map again. There was a river that had several towns marked on its banks, which probably meant it was large. From the trees and the ground he didn’t think he was close to something so big. That put him further south. Helpfully, there was nothing on the map marked for a hundred miles there.

  ‘Mebbe a wild turkey hunt after all?’

  The thought had occurred to him several days before. If he was transporting something of such value and had a suspicious mind, Obe would send an advance party as far as possible the wrong way. And this was about as far as they could go. The Collotain Hills ran up past Sylevene and east of that were wilds more worthy of the name. Given he suspected they were hunting God Fragments, only a fool would be sending them that way. But much further south-east and you’d reach Leshao, an independent state, or the cities of the Lake Salathir, who were aligned with the Protectors of Light.

  ‘Which means we must be close to wherever we’re going,’ he concluded. Rolling the map up again, he returned it to the leather tube attached to his saddle. He rode on through most of the afternoon, during which the land rose steadily. As a cool evening drew in, Obe passed by several villages with large outlying farms. Cattle with dark brown shaggy coats and twisted horns occupied several fields and he kept clear, not wanting to be mistaken for some sort of thief, so it was almost dusk when a glittering play of light in the sky drew his attention.

  It took him a while to work out what the light was, but when he did it seemed to confirm his suspicions. Light elementals danced high in the sky, brushing the thready cloud cover. A large hill rose prominently from the landscape, bald of trees and its slope marked only by steep escarpments of stone that limited any approach. In the encroaching dusk those seemed to wink and shift, as though black flags had been placed at random all around the hill.

  ‘Shadowshards,’ Obe breathed at last. ‘Two types o’ elemental in the same place? Can’t be a coincidence.’

  He left his horse and went forward on foot, slow and careful through the brush that fringed a wide grassy meadow. Atop the hill there were the sharp lines of fortifications – low walls and an outcrop platform, but he’d have bet all he owned that was a disguise. The hill was certainly big enough to contain a sanctuary, maybe more than that if you were clever. Obe didn’t care to investigate. If it was a sanctuary with a charnel vault, he had no intention of finding out what nasty surprises could be found on that hillside.