Chapter 29
Who knows where an order is born? Where does a mountain stream begin? One can only point to the crest of the mountain and say, there, there is the origin. The king is the crest of the realm. Every order, no matter where it is born, comes from the king.
And what if the king is wrong? What if the king is immoral and the stream poisonous?
Revolution.
—From “Rise Now, or Lie Down Forever.” Author unknown.
Beldrun Shanks was on perimeter. He stood ten yards from the camp, where eyes could better see in the darkness, where ears could better detect foreign sounds. He knelt on the ground, his hands scooping at the soft earth. When he rose, he held a toad cupped within them. He peered into his hands then hurled the toad as high as he could into the air. He lifted his lantern swiftly, watched as the toad came down and bounced hard off the leaves. With a jump he was on it again, scooping it into his hands, chuckling. He hurled it upward once more, lifted the lantern again and lost it in the shadows above. He waited, but he neither saw nor heard the toad striking the ground. He held the lantern high, stared into the trees, scowling.
“Beldrun,” Grae whispered behind him.
The infantryman leaped. “Bloody victories, sir. You ought not be sneakin’ ‘round like that, sir.”
“Let’s have a stroll shall we,” Grae walked into the blackness of the forest.
Shanks stared out at the void, at the absolute nothingness of the night. “You joking, sir?”
They walked thirty yards out. Grae felt the tightness of his jaw. Forced himself to relax. He had thought this through. There was no place in the Standard for an officer that questioned orders. When he was titled, he would draw and quarter any man that questioned one of his.
Shanks didn’t need to know much.
“I take no pride in what I am about to ask of you, Beldrun,” he said. “But I have orders directly from the Duke himself.”
“The Duke himself?” said Shanks. “Now, this does sound in’eresting, sir.”
“You’ve noticed the gem in the boy’s head?”
“A gem?” asked Shanks.
“Let’s not play, Beldrun.”
“Well, nows you speak of it, I may have caught a glimpse.”
“The Duke of Nuldryn has asked us to bring back that gem. It is of great importance for the war.”
Shanks crossed his arms and leaned back against a tree. “I see.”
“Yes.” Grae fidgeted with his fingers behind his back. “So, Duke Mulbrey asked us to bring it to him.”
“Asked you, he did,” said Shanks.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, brig, sir,” Shanks replied. “You said ‘asked us.’ I was just pointing out the difference between asking you and asking me.”
“There is no difference, Shanks. My squad is an extension of me.”
“Course it is, sir,” said Shanks.
Grae opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. “As I said. I take no pride in this, but there is no other option.”
“I take it he don’t want the boy attached to it,” said Shanks. “The Arlineouses never had no love for the Cobblethries.”
“I would never ask a man to do such a thing,” said Grae. “I should do it myself. But there’s not a moment when I can get near him, not when he’s by himself. And as an officer, it wouldn’t be proper for the men to associate me with such an act.”
Shanks smirked. “So, you thought of me.”
Grae said nothing.
“How would you want it done?” Shanks asked.
“With subtlety,” said Grae. He took a breath and let The Headsman take over. “Do it in the night. Leave the gem in place. I’ll take care of that. Do it and run. I will make certain that no one follows.”
Shanks chuckled. “So I’m to run off by myself in the forest? Maybe I should tie sausages to my legs and drag a dead deer behind me, in case the Beast don’t pick up on my scent straight away.”
“You can wait until we kill the Beast if you must. I wouldn’t mind having your axe when we find the creature.”
“I dunno. I suppose it’s better to be running out the forest than toward the Beast, sir.”
“So you’ll do it?”
They stood in the light of Shanks’s lantern. The skeletal branches of the forest thrust toward Grae. Clawed, pointing fingers. A fox screeched in the distance like a dying woman.
“If I do this thing, what’s to say you don’t forget all about this talk ‘a ours? Seems you might need someone to take the blame, him being a noble and all. I got no proof you ordered it.”
Grae removed a folded parchment from a leather poke at his waist. Held it up so that Shanks could see it. “This is a full pardon. It states that you are not responsible for the crimes you committed while under my command. That you were simply following my orders. If you agree to this assignment, I will give it to you.”
“That’s all sunshine and daisies, sir,” said Shanks. “But one of the things I remember from training is that Laraytian Standards ain’t supposed to lay hands on a noble. Any noble. Three days of torture before they bury you, right? I’d be putting myself in harm’s way, no matter what fancy paper I got.”
“This is fully sanctioned, Beldrun. But how’s this for motivation: You do this, and you are free to leave the Standards. All your past crimes are wiped away. Your two years under scrutiny will be removed. You are a free man. You can do what you want, be what you want. It’s all in the letter.” Grae noted the glint in Shanks’s eyes.
“That’s not a bad start, sir,” said Shanks. “But if I left the Standards, I might not find a good means to support myself. Might be I’d go hungry. Might be I’d need a horse to leave the kingdom.”
“I’m not going to pay you to do your duty to the Standards and the King.”
Shanks shrugged. “Well, sir, maybe you should kill ‘im.” His voice was louder than it needed to be.
Grae darted a glance back toward the camp. “Keep your voice down!” he whispered. “I will give you one drake, for expenses.”
“One drake?” asked Shanks. “I’m putting my life and career on the block for one drake?”
“Career? You were in a dungeon when we dug you out.”
“Five drakes, sir,” said Shanks.
Grae felt the bile rise in his throat. “Five drakes.”
“All right then,” said Shanks. “My two years and five drakes.”
“Done,” said Grae. He gave the big man the folded document and counted out five drakes. They clinked as he placed them into Shanks’s hand.
The infantryman put the drakes away and held out his arm. “Grasp on it?”
Grae hesitated then extended his arm. They grasped shoulders and lowered heads. Shanks backed away, nodded, then turned and made his was back toward camp.
The brig wiped at a muddy handprint Shanks had left on his half-cloak. A thought occurred. “Shanks,” he shout-whispered. “When?”
“The right moment is bound to come up,” he whispered back. “Probably best you don’t know.”
Grae worked at the stain with his fingers, trying to pick the mud out of the cloak.
Shanks stopped again. “Brig, sir?” he called
“Yes?”
“I could be a good soldier, sir,” he said. “I know I could.”
“You’re a criminal, Beldrun,” said Grae. “You act like a murderer, you talk like a brigand, and you look at women like a rapist.” Beldrun’s hands clenched. “Yes,” Grae continued. “You’ve got spirit, and you fight like a demon. But you can’t be two things at once. The moment you decide, truly decide, to stop being a criminal is moment you will start being a good soldier.”
Shanks pursed his lips as he pondered. “If this pardon here gets me off the noose, maybe I could stay in the Standards. Maybe get a promotion. Get things moving downstream for Beldrun Shanks.”
“Good night, Beldrun.”
“Night, sir.”
Grae watched the big man make his way toward ca
mp. The Brig placed his hands behind his neck and rocked back and forth against the tree, hating Duke Mulbrey’s Chamberlain more than he’d ever hated anyone.
A jurren bird ran past him, fluttering and bobbing. Grae watched the creature, barely visible in the darkness. He had an impulse to take it back to camp and feed it. But the Beast howled, and its cries shook the forest. The howl was like a wall of cold rain. Louder than it had ever been.
Grae walked back toward camp. There were no more Cobblethries. No more Black Murrogar.
It’s our turn. It’s come for us.
Chapter 30
The Beast tears at the bodies of its victims, and at the minds and spirits of those who remain.
—from “The Black Beast of the Forest,” writer unknown
The soldiers donned mail and bevors, bracers and greaves. They strapped sword belts across hips, pulled on gauntlets. Rolled spears to test for warping, pounded shields for vibration. They scanned the forest. And they waited.
Grae waited by the fire with them. It wasn’t protocol to mingle with the squad but tonight he was nostalgic for the earth ranks. They waited for a half bell, sitting quietly on their bedrolls, the fire settling and dimming. A rank odor wafted into the camp.
When the Beast screamed again Grae jumped even though he was prepared for it. The soldiers drew their weapons. Their bedrolls had been arranged, without any real intention, in roughly the same order as their battle formation. It would be a simple thing to stand and form their lines. Hammer called out a few reminders, but even his voice was subdued. Rundle Graen suggested a prayer to Lojen, so Hammer led the Words of Courage:
Let blade bite. Let shield bark. Let my fury shine.
For now will I cast aside Blythwynn, and be son of Lojenwyne.
†††
The fire was almost dead. The lanterns at the soldiers’s haypads had long gone to black. The monster howled again. Perhaps it was closer. It was difficult to tell. But the foul odor in the air grew stronger. Shanks and Rundle sat up slowly. Lokk Lurius put a hand on one of his theiyras but remained on his back. Jjarnee checked the tension on his crossbows for the third time that night. The sallet helmets were off. As were bevors and gauntlets.
At the camp’s center, Ulrean’s teeth chattered, though he was sitting inches from the fire. Aramaesia held him with one arm, and her bow with the other. Some instinct gripped the boy and he glanced sideways. Beldrun Shanks sat five feet away, staring back at him. No emotion played across the big man’s face. No smile, no wink, not even a nod. The infantryman simply stared. Ulrean turned away from him and hugged Aramaesia tightly, then put a hand on the collar of his shirt, over the necklace she had given him.
†††
A quarter of the night passed without formal watches. Not enough of the squad was asleep to demand it. Meedryk flashed the flames again, but the firewood was running low. And always the stench in the air. The smell of death.
The Beast howled once more. Aeren closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. Drissdie, lying on his bedroll, pulled his shield over his head. Grae looked at Beldrun Shanks once again. His eyes searched out the big man every few minutes. Like a scab that your finger can’t stop visiting. He spared a glance at Ulrean and Aramaesia.
†††
There was no more firewood.
No one rose to get more. The flames grew dimmer. Only Grae, Hammer, Sage and Jjarnee still sat up. The latter two stood near the ramparts with spears and shields, forming the suggestion of a watch. The rest of the soldiers lay in a mockery of sleep. Hammer rubbed his thumb on a dry, painted bone in his palm and chanted something under his breath.
When the shriek tore through the night again it was pitched differently. A challenge. A threat. A cruel laugh. Maribrae rose to her feet. Aramaesia saw her rise, reached for her, but the songmaiden lumbered away as if sleepwalking, her shoulders shaking. She plodded toward the low ramparts around the campsite. The soldiers didn’t react until she was past them, standing at the earthen wall.
“Enough!” Her cry chilled the soldiers almost as much as the howls of the Beast. “Make an end! Come for us, you abomination!!You miserable creature! You coward!”
Sage and Jjarnee pulled her back. Sir Jastyn embraced her and tugged her backward, whispering. “Come, my spring breeze. This gains us nothing.”
“Do you not see?” she cried, her voice breaking. “It derives pleasure from our fear. That is what it does. It tortures us!” She surprised Jastyn with a spurt of strength and slipped away, ran forward again. “Come for us now!” she cried. “Come now and see who is tortured. My Jastyn will tear the legs from your twitching body—”
“There love,” said Jastyn. “No need for that sort of talk. Let’s go back to the …”
And the Beast rose suddenly before them, standing like a lunatic’s darkest hallucination.
†††
It was difficult to distinguish Beast from bramble, until the phosphors blared to a brilliant green. Ragged patches of light all across the bulk of it, as if a god’s lantern had been cloaked by a moth-eaten quilt.
The creature was like something that had died years ago. A rancid tangle of vine and muscle. A thing of nature, perverted. Ancient and weathered as the western mountains. Moss sprouted in thick clumps from its pits and joints. Vine-like tendrils crisscrossed its body, and long, primeval spines bristled from the back of its neck like a frightful mane.
It stood just outside the ramparts. Maribrae, just inside the earthen walls, gazed up at two great horns that curled from the madness of its head. She gazed at the thick bone ridges above the black eyes. But most of all, she gazed at the teeth. Child’s-nightmare teeth. Enormous and black, packed tightly, curved and jutting from its mouth like a ball of ebony tusks too big to swallow. Maribrae could see herself in those inky mirrors. She noted absently the look of horror on the faces of Sage and Jjarnee behind her, fish-eyed on the curved fangs.
The teeth parted like a dozen curling portcullis, and behind the fangs simmered a pulsing green light. A well of glowing slag that seemed both scorching and frigid.
It howled. The sound flooded Maribrae’s senses, set her braids fluttering, crashed into the camp from seemingly every direction. The songmaiden’s jaw dropped open. Her eyes rolled upward and she fell to her knees. Something tried to force its way out through her open mouth, a scream, a sob. Only a croak escaped.
Sir Jastyn drew his sword and charged, helmetless, toward the towering beast. The creature, still on the far side of the ramparts, turned its attention from Maribrae to lash out at the charging knight. Its movements were swift as sparrows shifting in flight. Sir Jastyn was thrown sideways and crashed in a heap beyond the ramparts.
“Formation!” Grae’s voice bit through the night. The soldiers arranged themselves into a V, ten paces from the low walls of the campsite. Drissdie Hannish sobbed as he took his position. Hammer called out to them to keep shields up. Called for Lokk Lurius to get into formation.
The Beast reached for Maribrae with a foreclaw, its movements almost tender.
“Don’t you teach her!” Jjarnee stumbled over his words as he ran at the monster, spear and shield raised high.
The creature turned from the songmaiden, its face a mass of creases and vines and bared teeth. It hissed and scooped up Jjarnee in one taloned hand, then stopped.
Everyone stopped.
A knell cleaved through the night, rhythmic and clear. Over and again. Metal on metal, ringing through the forest like the bells of a blythallow.
Lokk Lurius stood with his theiyras drawn and raised over his head. He struck the flats of the blades together and the sound they made reverberated and clung to the ears. Lokk’s eyes never wavered from the Beast. The creature snarled at the Eridian. A sonorous, rattling challenge. The ragged green phosphors burned brightly once again. The spines on its head rose.
“Forward!” Grae roared. Lokk Lurius lowered his swords, pointed the tips away from his body and toward the ground. The Eridian ran toward the creature
, past the line of soldiers, and neither Grae nor Hammer could call him back. The Beast whirled as if to flee into the forest with Jjarnee Kruu, so Lokk hurled one of his theiyras. Grae watched the flight of the blade. Marveled at the accuracy of the throw. At how Lokk Lurius could anticipate the movements of a creature as fast as this one. The blade skimmed the Beast’s flank and the creature halted just inside the treeline. It turned fluidly and sent a howl of such ferocity at the charging Eridian that the soldiers in the formation behind him took a step back.
Lokk lunged at the earthen wall, planted one foot on it and leaped. Grae held his breath at the sight of the Eridian soaring through the air, one hand coiling the theiyra sidearm, legs curled backward, the firelight gleaming off the blade like a splinter of sunlight.
Lokk slashed, torquing his shoulder for power. But the Beast swatted him from the air casually, before the blade could bite. Lokk tumbled over the ramparts to the squad’s right and disappeared into the darkness.
Sir Jastyn, looking dazed, scampered on all fours to Maribrae. He helped her stand and pulled her back from the rampart as the squad arrived in formation. Maribrae screamed Jjarnee’s name and tried to break free from the knight’s grasp. An arrow shimmered orange overhead and the Beast ducked low to avoid it. The creature, standing just beyond the rampart, turned toward Aramaesia, then jerked its gaze downward and leaped back a step. It looked at Jjarnee’s fallen helmet. Smashed the sallet with one of its middle claws. Another arrow flashed. The Beast turned its attention from the sallet and batted the arrow out of the air. Aramaesia lowered her bow and gaped at the Beast.
The creature hopped backward away from the advancing squad and gripped Jjarnee’s arms with one set of talons and his legs with another. It lifted the Hrethriman into the air and raked at the Hrethriman’s abdomen with its middle talons. The claws tore through the ancient. Rings of mail sprinkled from Jjarnee like magic dust. Blood caught the firelight and spattered the grass beyond the earthen rampart. The crossbowman’s cries shredded the night.
Soldiers scrambled over the rampart and charged the monster, courage primed by their brother’s cry. But the monster danced out of reach. Meedryk Bodlyn reached into the sleeve of his meridian cloak and removed one of the pellets he had made. His hands were trembling and the pellet was slippery with vinegar and animal fat. He hurled the spell at the Beast. Felt the pain of the bloody welts on his back with the motion. Watched the pellet sail wide by ten feet. The blast of it lit up the night and set vegetation on fire. The Beast leaped sideways and hissed at the explosion. But it stopped abruptly and shuddered, then leapt back from a dark shape in the forest.
Stars and Graves Page 13
