by Jen Williams
Sebastian was marched through the camp with the boy at his back. Everywhere he looked he saw the banners of the god-peaks, men and women with their sigils sewn onto their cloaks, painted on their shields. They were all busy, tending to equipment, brushing down horses or running through drills, but some looked at him curiously as he went past, clearly wondering who this tall scruffy man was. He saw no recognition in their faces, for which he was glad. It was like walking in a dream, or a memory. How often have I thought about coming back to them?
The lookout took him to a large tent in the centre of the camp. It was yellow and green silk, the colours of Ynn. There was a brief discussion with the guard at the entrance, who looked at Sebastian with open hostility, and then he was taken inside.
It was hot and close, and it took Sebastian’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom. When he saw who was waiting for him, he winced.
There were three men in the tent, standing over a low travel table covered with maps. They looked up as the guard cleared his throat.
‘Lord Commander, Novice Cooke found this man skulking at the edges of the camp. He says he is—’
‘You!’ One of the men at the table straightened up, the look of surprise on his face quickly melting into anger. ‘Of all the abominations.’
‘It is good to see you too, Spirron,’ said Sebastian.
Sir Spirron was a wiry streak of a man, his thin, grey lips always wet with saliva. The boys had called him Sir Spittle behind his back.
‘Who is it, Spirron?’ The man Sebastian didn’t recognise frowned at him over the maps. He had a neat auburn beard and patches of sunburn on the tops of his cheeks.
The last man, a tall, powerfully built knight in his middle years, cleared his throat.
‘This is Sir Sebastian, John. He left the Order before you joined us.’
‘It is good to see you, Lord Commander,’ said Sebastian, and he meant it. Sir Spirron rounded on the older man, his wet lips working.
‘May I remind you, Lord Commander, that the title of “sir” was stripped from this abomination when he was exiled?’
‘I am aware of that, thank you, Spirron,’ said the Lord Commander coldly. There was a moment of silence. Sir John, the man with the auburn beard, shared a glance with Sebastian and raised his eyebrows. Eventually, the Lord Commander rolled up the map in front of him and passed it to Sir Spirron. ‘Get that to the people on the front, Spirron. Now, Sebastian. What are you doing here?’
Sir Spirron made to leave, but paused at the entrance to the tent.
‘Lord Commander, this man was a disgrace to Ynnsmouth.’ Spirron kept his eyes on the grey-haired knight. ‘By rights he should be taken prisoner. It is a grave personal insult to me that—’
‘I am not in Ynnsmouth, Spirron,’ said Sebastian. ‘And since I am no longer part of the Order, as you keep pointing out, there is very little you can do. Unless you’ve started imposing your nonsense on civilians now, too?’
‘Enough!’ thundered the Lord Commander, and Sebastian felt a chill of recognition on the back of his neck. The Lord Commander was a good man, but you never wanted to be on the receiving end of his anger. ‘Sir Spirron, I asked you to do something for me, did I not?’
The knight nodded curtly and stalked from the tent. The Lord Commander shook his head slowly.
‘There was always an odd, rebellious streak in you, Sebastian.’ He tugged briefly at his beard, which was white and cropped close to his jaw. ‘A good knight, one of our best.’ Sebastian allowed himself a small smile. ‘But you didn’t have the steel. The resolve.’ The Lord Commander met his eyes briefly, and looked away again. There was disgust in them. Sebastian’s smile faded. ‘Your weakness was your undoing.’
‘Can you still not speak of it?’ Sebastian could feel the old anger rising to the surface.
‘That’s enough,’ said Sir John mildly. ‘You might be exiled from the Order, lad, but you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head.’
The Lord Commander gestured at the lookout and the guard to leave. Sebastian supposed it would take all of a handful of heartbeats before the entire camp knew who he was and what he’d done.
‘What are you here for, Sebastian?’ The Lord Commander sounded weary now, and his eyes were back on the maps in front of him. ‘We have more than enough to worry about without past misdemeanours appearing out of nowhere.’
‘I imagine I am here for the same reason you are, my Lord Commander. The bloody great dragon flying over Relios.’
Sir John chuckled dryly.
‘You noticed that, did you?’
‘Lord Commander, I can help. I have knowledge of the dragon, and the army that travels with it.’
‘Knowledge? What can you know that we do not?’
‘I know how it moves, my lord. I know how they think.’
‘And how could you possibly know that, lad?’ asked Sir John. He sounded genuinely curious.
Sebastian closed his eyes briefly. Of course they would ask. And what could he say? That his blood had nourished the brood army and birthed them from the ground beneath the Citadel? At best they would cast him out as mad, at worst they would put him to death for allowing such a thing to happen in the first place.
‘I would rather not say, sir.’
The Lord Commander waved at him dismissively.
‘I don’t have time for this nonsense. You will leave this camp and if you’ve any bloody sense you will go far away from here.’
‘My lord, the brood army leave no prisoners,’ said Sebastian quickly. ‘They take no land and keep no resources. They do not leave garrisons behind to defend the lands they have caught.’ He took a deep breath. ‘They do not eat and do not appear to sleep, although they sometimes eat the flesh from the men and women they kill. Am I right?’
Sir John frowned. ‘You are.’
‘They have few of the weaknesses of a conventional army,’ Sebastian continued. ‘They do not need to find food, so they burn everything they come into contact with, and do not need to bring supplies with them. The swords they carry are not made of steel or any other metal, and they very rarely break. They are relentless, tireless, and yet they move slowly through Relios.’
‘They do,’ agreed the Lord Commander. ‘We cannot predict where they are going. They seem to meander.’
‘It is because their only goal is destruction,’ said Sebastian. He thought of the smell of ashes and blood in his nose, night after night. ‘They do not wish to capture kingdoms. They only wish to see them burn.’
Sir John picked up a piece of parchment from the table.
‘King Mirelle of Relios has sent army after army against them, and the results were bloody, to say the least. Eventually, he sent envoys, asking for terms. These green-skinned women, or the brood army, as you say, sent back the envoy’s heads. Or at least, that’s what we assumed they were. It was difficult to tell.’ He frowned, examining the parchment. ‘Now King Mirelle entreats us to stop them, before his entire country is laid to waste.’ He put the paper down. ‘But how to defeat an army when you must always be looking up?’
‘How is it you know so much of this army, Sebastian?’ The Lord Commander crossed his arms over his barrel chest.
‘I have been tracking them for weeks,’ Sebastian replied quickly. ‘I can assist with any strike you make against them, Lord Commander.’
The older man looked at him for a time. He had not changed all that much since Sebastian had last seen him – a few more white hairs at his temples, perhaps, a few more lines around his eyes – and the look of wary consideration was very familiar. He remembered it well from the time of his trial, and suddenly he knew he was about to be denied. He opened his mouth to protest and the Commander spoke over him.
‘It is no longer your honour to assist the Order, Sebastian Carverson. You were dismissed and exiled in disgrace, and that was to have been an end to it. The trouble you caused us …’ He looked back down at the maps. ‘Go away from this place. Get out of my sight.’
For a moment Sebastian could hardly draw breath.
Over the years he had often contemplated what he would say to the Order, should he ever meet them again. He had composed long arguments, rallies against their injustice and bigotry, their ignorance. In his head he’d said everything he’d ever nursed in his heart and seen shame cross their faces as they realised the mistakes they’d made. The Ynnsmouth knights would regret their actions, and he would triumph.
But in the end, he could say nothing. He nodded once, refusing to bow or salute, and he left the tent.
48
Sir John found him an hour later at the very edge of the camp. Sebastian had managed to scrounge a bucket of water from a squire and was splashing cold water over his face and hands. It wasn’t helping. Despite the overcast day the heat was relentless, and his head was pounding.
‘What will you do now?’
Sebastian looked up to see the auburn-haired knight standing to his right, staring off across the plains to where they knew the brood army were massing.
‘Why do you care?’ snapped Sebastian, irritated with the childish petulance in his voice but unable to stop it.
‘It’s a reasonable enquiry.’ Sir John lifted himself up on the balls of his feet and let them drop again; an old soldier’s trick to keep from getting stiff legs on a long watch. ‘You seem like a very capable knight, Sebastian Carverson, despite your appearance. Why were you expelled from the Order?’
Sebastian stood up, shaking the water from his hands. He smiled bitterly.
‘You mean Spirron hasn’t told you?’
The squire who’d given Sebastian the bucket of water had watched him very carefully, as if expecting to be groped at any moment. No doubt his old instructor was spreading his version of the story at every opportunity.
Sir John nodded once.
‘I would like to hear it from you.’
Sebastian sighed, and threw the damp cloth he’d been using to wipe the mud from his armour into the bucket.
‘You are aware of the Order’s oath regarding celibacy?’
‘Of course.’ Sir John nodded once more, still staring off at the distant plains. ‘It is one of my personal favourites.’
Despite his exhaustion and anger, Sebastian laughed. ‘Well, I broke that oath.’
Sir John raised an eyebrow.
‘I’d heard it was rather more than that.’
‘That’s what it comes down to.’ Sebastian looked at the older knight. ‘I was an exemplary novice. You can ask the Lord Commander. I excelled in my training, passed every test they put in front of me. I was made to be a knight, they said, and I agreed. I passed into the Order with flying colours, and for some time I was the man they pointed to as an example for new recruits.’ He grinned at Sir John. ‘Can you believe that?’
‘What happened?’
‘It is not natural, what they ask of us. To live and die with each other, but never to love one another.’ Sebastian looked down at his feet. He struggled to recall their faces sometimes. ‘I led a troop of five men, and over the course of several missions we forged a bond.’ He looked at Sir John severely. ‘We were brothers. I’d have died for those men, and they for me.’
Sir John said nothing.
‘I grew particularly close to a man called Cerjin.’ It hurt to say his name. ‘One day we were making our way back across the lower hills, when another group came across our camp. It was the Lord Commander making a surprise inspection. He found Cerjin and I in the same tent together. It was fairly clear we weren’t playing cards.’ He glanced at Sir John. The older man’s face gave nothing away. ‘It was a huge scandal, particularly when it came to light that my men knew about the affair and had protected us. To be aware of a knight breaking his vows and to not report it is – well, you know what it is. And, of course, Cerjin was Sir Spirron’s nephew.’
‘Ah.’
‘Spirron was mortified. He insisted the matter be taken to trial, although it wasn’t long before he twisted everything to sound like it was my fault.’ Sebastian rubbed the last of the water from his hands. ‘I was grateful to him for that, at least. Cerjin was a kind, quiet man. Having his business aired like that, in front of the entire Order, was an agony. If they made it look like my fault, then it would save him from some of the shame. Except Spirron wouldn’t stop there.’
‘No wonder the man hates you.’
‘He shamed the rest of our troop too, said that we were all “at it”. Why else, he said, would they cover up for me? The men who served with me were permanently demoted, never to be knights again, and I was exiled.’
‘What happened to Cerjin?’
‘He killed himself. Or someone killed him,’ said Sebastian. ‘They found his broken body at the bottom of a crevasse.’
‘A bad business,’ said Sir John quietly. ‘A bad business all round.’
‘You could say that.’
A silence grew between them. Sebastian poured the last of the dirty water from the bucket onto the red soil. It vanished into the thirsty ground almost immediately.
‘They must know we are here,’ Sir John said eventually, gesturing to the west. ‘Yet they do not seek us out. The army crawls slowly north along the western coast, attacking anything that happens to be in their way. They will sometimes spread out from their path to obliterate the odd village or settlement that is just outside their furrow of destruction, and once everyone is dead the dragon comes and covers everything with fire, a fire which nothing can stand against. I ask you, what is the point?’
‘We aren’t dealing with a regular army, sir,’ said Sebastian. Talking about Cerjin again had been exhausting, and all he really wanted to do now was sleep. Proper sleep, with no nightmares, no voices. ‘You have to think of these creatures as a disease, or a plague of locusts. There is no sense to any of it.’
‘When I was a boy, there was one summer when our village was beset with hornets. Swarms of the blasted things, some as fat as your knuckle. I must have killed hundreds, and received twice as many stings for my trouble. We only solved that problem when we located the nest, and set it on fire.’
Sebastian looked at the older knight.
‘They have no nest.’
‘No, but she is their spawning ground and their protector.’
Sebastian raised his eyebrows.
‘You have a way to kill the dragon?’
Sir John shook his head, and much frustration was evident in that abrupt movement.
‘Not as such. The truth is, lad, the men are as nervous as horses for the gelding. They’ve seen the remains of the Relitian army – hell, they’ve seen the remains of everything that has come into contact with these creatures.’
Sebastian considered telling him that his friend had fought the green-skinned women and survived, but that would mean revealing how he had so much knowledge of the brood army, and he wasn’t prepared to do that.
‘What we need,’ continued Sir John, ‘is something to give the men hope. Something for them to rally behind.’ He glanced back to the main body of the camp, checking no one was in earshot. ‘There are ruins south-east of here. They have stood for hundreds of years.’
‘I saw them in the distance as I worked my way across the plains.’
‘Good. There is a family that lives in those ruins.’ Sir John grimaced. ‘I say family – I don’t rightly know what you’d call them – but they have something in their possession. Something that could turn this battle for us.’
‘What sort of item?’
‘A set of armour that grants protection to the wearer.’ Sir John paused, then laughed at himself. ‘Of course, that is the point of armour. This is demon-touched, enchanted. Our scouts have spoken to what local people are left and they insist there is truth behind it.’
Sebastian thought of the Children of the Fog, and Fane, whose body they had never found.
‘These things do exist,’ he said, a touch hesitantly. ‘Although there is often a cost to their magics, in my experience.’
Sir John snorted noisily.
‘Against the cost we are paying now? The people of Relios and Creos have already paid more than anyone should. Speaking of cost, though, this family have offered the armour to us, as a loan, but for an enormous amount of money.’
‘And the Order won’t pay?’
‘Ah, it’s not that, not really. These people, they are – abominations.’
‘Abominations like me?’
A brief smile passed over Sir John’s face.
‘Not like you, no. They are demon-worshippers, and if the stories are to be believed, murderers and cannibals. The Order cannot be seen to do business with such creatures. To make common grounds with them would be against everything the Ynnsmouth knights stand for.’
Sebastian shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I’m surprised.’
‘You should not be,’ said Sir John. There was a shrewd look in his eye that Sebastian didn’t entirely trust. ‘You, more than anyone, know the strictness of our code.’
Suddenly it dawned on Sebastian. He laughed, although there was little humour in it.
‘You want me to go. To fetch this armour. Because I am not one of you.’
‘You are not,’ agreed Sir John, ‘and your honour is already in question.’
Sebastian rounded on him angrily. ‘Say what you will, sir, but do not question that. I have more honour—’
‘Yes, yes.’ Sir John waved a hand wearily. ‘More honour than any of the men in these tents, no doubt, and certainly more honour than the unpleasant Sir Spirron. But you wear the badge of Isu when you have no right to, lad, and if the Lord Commander were less kind, he’d have torn it from your breast himself. You are not one of us, but I am offering you the chance to help us. Help us defeat the dragon and her children.’
49
The woman leaned out of the doorway, two flagons clutched to her chest. The lamp above her head made her silvery hair shine like a halo.
‘What do you want, gel? I’m busy, as you can well see.’
Wydrin glanced back down the alley to make sure they were still alone. The back door of The Steaming Pot was usually quiet, save for the occasional drunk making their own steaming deposit, and the intermittent rain was keeping most people off the streets. Still, she was certain someone had been watching her from the shadows on the way here, and there was no harm in being extra cautious.
