by Tom Lloyd
‘Am I dead?’ he wondered out loud.
‘Probably,’ rasped a voice, Safir. ‘Given how much the gods hate me, it’s likely I’ll be stuck with you idiots in the afterlife.’
The Olostiran had found an armchair from somewhere and slept in that, wrapped in a curtain he’d salvaged from the fire. He stood and spread his arms wide, letting the curtain fall away. A small wine stain marred his kilt but aside from that he had to but adjust his jacket and brush a few crumbs away before looking perfectly presentable. Lynx winced as he tried to stand. He felt like a frosted turd and an experimental sniff inside his jacket wasn’t exactly promising either.
‘We march in one hour!’ roared some bastard of a Charneler sergeant nearby, having completed his mission to kick every one of the Red Scarves huddled there. ‘Get your kit and get ready or we leave you behind!
The bonfire they’d built was still burning, but barely, and Lynx couldn’t feel much heat from it. With an effort he struggled to his feet and wobbled a few steps before he could feel the blood moving. His pack and gun were on the ground behind him, along with a newly replenished cartridge case.
‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen Forel so happy before,’ Lynx commented to Safir, nodding at the case.
‘Our pick of ammunition without having to pay? Aye, doubt we’ll see that again,’ Safir agreed. ‘O’ course, if someone fires a sparker into us, there’s just gonna be one bloody big crater.’
That made Lynx pause. They had naturally gone for the more expensive heavy ordnance and packed as many cartridges in as possible. The rest were going to be blown up so it made sense and the Charnelers hadn’t cared – or asked why they didn’t bother with many icers. Half the company had a grenade bag too, but Lynx had never felt comfortable with them so he’d demurred.
‘Let’s keep away from any fighting,’ Lynx concluded.
His words made Safir laugh. ‘I guess the mercenary life is for you after all,’ he said. ‘Get paid and try not to fight, isn’t that our code?’
‘Best we ask Foren about that. Maybe it’s written down in his book of regulations. Now where can we get some breakfast round here?’
Lynx heaved on his pack, gun-holsters and cartridge case. While they’d grabbed all the supplies they could, the weight was still familiar enough that he hardly noticed it. He wandered over to where the leftovers of their scavenged meal last night had been dumped. Nothing looked overly appetising but there was a ragged chunk of ham left and an end of bread.
As he ate, Lynx looked around the company. Most of the Cards were there, though Toil and a few others had disappeared. Atieno met his gaze and beckoned Lynx over.
‘Go take a piss in the Abbott-Protector’s outhouse,’ Atieno advised him softly.
‘Eh?’
‘Your make-up, it’s rubbed off. Not so noticeable yet, but fix it before we leave.’
Lynx nodded. After pausing to give Atieno a similar once-over look he hurried off. The door to the Abbott-Protector’s mansion stood open. A few Cards had wandered inside to sleep under cover or in private – although in Deern’s case he’d opened the window to make sure everyone heard him and Reft. It was largely bare, stripped of furniture for the bonfire, but in the master bedroom Lynx found Anatin dressing beside a four-poster bed that he’d saved from their efforts.
‘What is it?’ the commander growled.
‘Needed privacy for my make-up,’ Lynx said in an apologetic tone.
‘I’ll do it,’ the greying man said. ‘You be a good little wife and help me with these buttons.’
With stiff, awkward fingers Lynx did as he was asked while Anatin rather more deftly dabbed and smoothed the flesh-coloured paste on Lynx’s cheek and neck until the white tattoo was hidden. There were only a few of them with it visible like that and the rest had been warned about getting naked in public.
‘Done,’ Anatin pronounced. ‘As pretty as ever.’
Lynx grinned. ‘Good, was getting worried for a while there.’
‘How’re the company looking?’
‘Hungover.’ Lynx pointed at Anatin’s feet. ‘You want help with your laces?’
There was a flash of genuine gratitude on the old rogue’s face before his expression returned to the self-satisfied smirk he normally wore. ‘That’d be appreciated. Don’t want to be ready too fast, but I now hold a special hatred for my own damn boots. Seems daft to feel that way about a simple object, but after more’n a year with just one hand …’
‘I don’t think we’ve much risk o’ being out first,’ Lynx said as he knelt and started to pull the laces tight.
Anatin’s boots were tall and maroon, finer than the average soldier’s but still made for walking days on end. The company’s wagons, including the caravan he kept as his own private space, had been left behind in Su Dregir so anything too elegant would never have lasted. Instead, they just had half a dozen pack mules, all horses being commandeered by the Knights-Charnel. It was going to be a long walk for them all.
‘If we survive all this, I reckon I’ll be done,’ Anatin said unexpectedly as Lynx started on the second boot. ‘Get a pair o’ boots custom-made so I don’t feel so damn useless and run the Hand o’ Cards myself.’
‘Retire?’ Lynx said. ‘You’d get bored. Isn’t your pub in some small town?’
The Hand of Cards was the official home of Anatin’s Mercenary Deck. Lynx had never been there, Toil’s schemes keeping the company too busy, but he’d heard it was in a pleasant little town on a busy kingsroad east of Su Dregir.
‘That it is, but all this shit makes me feel my age. Mebbe retirement is the answer. See you lot when you swing back around and laugh at yer bullshit tales, but time for a quiet life.’
Lynx looked doubtful. ‘In the big city sure, I can see that. A bit o’ chaos all around you and a half-dozen gaming tables in your back room. Some way-station town? You’ll eat an icer.’
‘Pft, it’s a fine inn, the Hand o’ Cards. Just the place for an old man to live out his days.’
‘If you say so. Making Payl company commander?’
Anatin’s eyes twinkled. ‘Perhaps. No point making any plans until we find ourselves alive at the end o’ this.’
Lynx nodded and stood. ‘Come on then, old man. Let’s start marching towards our doom.’
‘When you put it like that … where’s the wine?’
Chapter 23
‘I hope someone’s got a leash on the Lynx,’ Llaith commented, his voice breaking the monotony of the morning’s march.
‘Eh?’ Lynx looked up at the mention of his name. He immediately tensed when he saw a grinning face.
‘Our noble Stranger o’ Tempest?’ Anatin replied, taking advantage of the fact they trailed a good fifty yards behind the last of the Knights-Charnel. ‘What could you be thinking of, Llaith? Don’t tell me you think the man’s got form when it comes to encountering Charnelers on lonely country roads?’
‘Form?’ Lynx exclaimed. ‘Once hardly counts as form, does it?’
‘Compared to the rest of us?’ Toil said. ‘It kinda does.’
Up at the front of the red-scarfed troops, Safir turned, walking backwards with arms raised high. ‘Who among us is without blame? Who among us at one time or another has not ambushed a troop of soldiers and murdered them at the roadside?’
‘Fuck the lot of you!’ called Sitain in Lynx’s defence. ‘The rest o’ you were all for walking on by.’
He shot her an appreciative grin. When Lynx had started a confrontation with some passing Knights-Charnel, it had been over them kidnapping Sitain with a view to delivering her to a sanctuary.
‘Walked on by!’ Anatin clutched at his breast. ‘You wound us, fair maiden.’
‘Oh I remember that day well enough,’ Sitain shot back. ‘If it weren’t for Teshen, you’d have handed Lynx over to the gibbering shitpipes too.’
‘Nonsense! I was merely biding my time while I formulated a plan.’
‘A plan to sell me out,’ Lynx commented lo
udly.
Anatin cackled. ‘Sell? There was no question of money changing hands, I promise.’
As the company plodded on, the morning’s mist finally lifted, revealing the landscape. Shafts of sunlight picked a path across the hills on either side of them. Sheltered from a chilly autumn breeze, it was almost pleasant to be walking there, despite the dust kicked up by the troops ahead of them.
Lynx couldn’t help feeling a little anxious at the scrub-covered hillsides surrounding them, however. They hadn’t spotted a single person all morning. That was no great surprise in a sparsely populated region, but the hillsides were so empty he couldn’t shake the fear of ambush. Small family groups of kites circled the hilltops, distantly crying, but no other animals or birds were visible. They had all fled the five-thousand-strong army that preceded the Cards, leaving the landscape even more desolate.
When the general ordered a midday break, the Cards flung themselves down gladly. They’d walked as hard as any these last few months and drunk far less than any of them would have liked, but this was just the start. Any chance to rest had to be taken, given the pace Eperois demanded.
‘How long until we’re safe?’ Hanva, one of the Jarraziran recruits, asked Kas as the company scout gazed up at the cloud-streaked sky.
‘Clear of Brethren territory?’ she queried. ‘Cos we ain’t exactly safe after that.’
‘Aye, that’s what I meant.’
Hanva was a gnarled veteran who’d proved himself a brisk and dispassionate killer the previous day, no great surprise given Suth had recruited him. The man was probably also a spy for the Monarch of Jarrazir the way Suth no doubt still was, but Toil had privately told Lynx she didn’t much care. They weren’t going to have any chance to report back and she wasn’t working against Jarrazir’s interests. Their ultimate mistress was well down her list of things to worry about.
‘Five days’ hard march,’ Kas said, stretching. ‘Due east from the sanctuary takes us clear of the garrisons at Ugrein and Sylevene, both of which were bolstered by Red Scarves when they recalled troops. Anywhere we’re passing should have just a token guard who’re either Red Scarves or wet-behind-the-ears recruits.’
‘Long journey after that,’ Anatin commented. ‘I’m hoping we find some horses soon.’
‘If you’d prefer to go back the way this lot came, you go right ahead,’ Kas laughed. ‘It’s shorter, I’ll give it that, but you’ll be dead before you come out the other side. I’d take a month’s hard march over that.’
As the days stretched on and the pace never slackened, the burble of chatter emanating from the newest battalion of the Red Scarves dwindled. There were no complaints, they knew better than that, only the acceptance of a long and hard journey ahead. By fits and starts the trailing company grew. It started only a day later, fifteen Red Scarves arriving on horses. Their faces were pale, half-expecting to have made a terrible mistake. The sergeant leading them jumped at Toil’s exuberant greeting before relief flooded across his face.
In the week that followed, the contingent of Red Scarves grew steadily. On the sixth day, Commander Deshar himself appeared ahead of a panting column of troops, one hundred in all. To catch up they’d been force-marched for ten days straight. The Red Scarves were so close to exhaustion General Eperois permitted an hour’s halt while he greeted his ally. Aware they would be pushed all the harder as a result, even the regular Charneler troops flopped down on the trampled grass and watched without comment as Toil’s brother made his way forward.
Accompanying him to the general, Toil found herself fighting the urge to hug her brother. It was an unusual sensation for her. They were close in their way, but Vigilance was a reserved man – not cold, but hardly prone to grand expressions of affection.
Not that I’m much better, Toil reflected. Funny that. Mother’s all grace and calm, but she’ll wrap her arms around us before she issues her orders.
Her father was more tactile than anyone else in his family. When you were a bruising bear of a man – all muscle, fury, laughter and charisma – you could afford to be that way. A slap on the back could fell lesser men, a hug could break ribs.
Didn’t Ulith say he did that once? Break a man’s ribs with a hug? Did he mean to?
She glanced over at Ulith, her brother’s second in command, then shook her head. Back in her father’s day, the Red Scarves had been both more lax on the discipline front, and more brutal. Either was perfectly possible. Asking the man himself would only provoke a roar of laughter. Most likely he’d claim drunkenness, but the old bear had always been a canny bastard. Drunk he often was, but rarely careless.
Vigilance had moulded the Red Scarves into a professional army. He traded on the brutal reputation his father had built but was careful to avoid living up to it. That had saved their lives this week, Toil realised, or half of them at least. Every contingent of Red Scarves, scattered around eight different locations, had been ordered to set out as soon as the Charneler army had been spotted – ostensibly to scout out the enemy. Back in the old days they simply wouldn’t have caught up in time, not with the pace that Eperois had set. They’d be forced to abandon their company insignias and hope the Brethren didn’t shoot every mercenary it found in the region.
‘Commander Deshar!’ the general called as soon as they came into view.
He didn’t bother to wait but marched over to greet Vigilance, leaving his attendant officers temporarily trailing in his wake. There was a smile on his face as he offered his hand to the saluting commander. ‘We were beginning to worry some mishap might have befallen you.’
‘General Eperois, you’re a most welcome sight,’ Vigilance acknowledged. ‘We were beginning to worry ourselves.’
‘What of your allies?’ Eperois asked. ‘Have you had sight of them?’
‘None, sir. I’ve sent three riders back to the biggest garrisons in the region, bringing word of you cutting a path west. The regional commanders have been at odds with each other. Until news comes of what you’ve done, they’ll be slow to do anything useful.’
Eperois nodded then looked at Toil. ‘Has Lieutenant Talere filled you in on our success?’
‘Only that it was a success. What was the final count, if you don’t mind me asking?’
The general grinned at that. ‘Planning on charging by the piece, Commander?’
‘Depends on the count.’
‘Your agent, Lieutenant Setony, already negotiated a price with me. It’s hefty.’
‘She’s good at that, but it’s always useful to hear just how pleased your employer is.’
‘Hah!’ Eperois’s laugh echoed around the winding valley they were currently traversing. ‘Your employer is pleased, for the time being. The final count was, ah … one hundred and sixty-four, including the fragments of Banesh.’
‘Do you know how many there are? In total I mean.’
‘Even we have no way of determining that,’ the general said. ‘The Torquen have estimates, but they do not like to share. From all I know, it is likely the Knights-Charnel now control almost one-half of all known God Fragments.’
Vigilance nodded his head at that. ‘Sounds like the winning side if ever I heard it.’
‘You better hope so. The bulk of your payment depends on us conquering the places first!’
‘I’m happy to accept cash too,’ Vigilance said with a small smile.
‘No doubt! But cities are what you’ll get and you’ll be glad of it. Now – how many more of your men are we likely to see?’
‘Few enough. Once you pass out of Brethren territory I’ll leave someone on the road, direct any stragglers north. They’ll burn their scarves and make their own way, make up a story for anyone they meet. Assuming they’re not found out, it’s a quicker journey for them.’
At that, Eperois turned grave. ‘That it is,’ he admitted. ‘We’ve a long and hard path around.’
‘Do you anticipate trouble?’
‘I do not expect it. The journey will cost us, but just i
n gold I hope.’
‘I’ve never been out that way,’ Vigilance said with a shake of the head, ‘but some of my men have. They tell of warlike people who bow to no Order.’
‘That is so, yet even the more warlike of tribes will not attack a professional army without cause.’
‘Assuming reason is part of the decision.’
The general nodded. ‘If your men speak the local languages, this will help. My scouts will bring word of our passage as they determine our path. We will pay for supplies and offer assurances to local rulers. Any assault will be met with overwhelming force. I mean to travel through this region as quickly as I can. What condition it is in afterwards is up to them.’
Chapter 24
General Eperois was as good as his word. Over the weeks that followed his army rounded a stretch of wilds called the Firelakes. A large ring of lakes bordered by forest, it supposedly penned the desolate hunting grounds of many firedrakes – fire elementals. Asking Toil about it hadn’t revealed much, she’d only heard of extremely dangerous Duegar ruins within the dense forest around it. What sort of a ruin, she didn’t know, and while a light sparkled in her eye, Toil didn’t suggest a diversion.
In truth, the whole army, Charnelers, Red Scarves and Cards alike, were all too tired to consider diversions. East of the Firelakes the ground climbed and the wooded valleys fell in favour of grassy plains. Where there were settlements, the Charnelers did pay money to unwilling locals for their recently harvested crops. The autumn rains continued to mostly hold off, content to come in single days of miserable deluge between stretches of dry weather. That at least gave the army firm ground to travel on until they reached a kingsroad worthy of the name and could turn north.
Their scouts had found a large city that, according to the general’s maps, was called Foerim Ei and by the time the army reached it, some sort of agreement was in place. There was no bank controlled by the Knights-Charnel there, but a promissory note from Eperois proved sufficient all the same. They passed one night camped outside the city, soldiers and mercenaries alike spending freely among the merchants, apothecaries and whores who emerged at dusk.
