Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

The priest gritted his teeth, struggling against his captors, but satisfaction shone in his wild orange eyes. “I am free,” he gasped.

  “You are meat,” said Berosus, “and will be collected with all the rest.” Then he slit the man’s throat. Blood pumped out of his neck, and then the priest’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he slumped in the men’s grasp.

  Berosus stood and looked up at the sky. The black-headed gull climb to join a flock high above, riding the wind blowing in from the sea. The birds were small and pale against the blue sky. He soon lost track of the one gull amongst its fellows, but it didn’t matter. The priest was up there, trapped, having nowhere to which he might return. The bird he rode would soon go mad. It would die, and the priest would find out that you are never free.

  Berosus looked down at the body. “Get him up on my horse,” he ordered.

  Shouting arose in the old small house. Moments later a young man in a gray hood dashed out the door and off the porch, but one of the dreadmen who had gone to search the house shot out the door after him, caught him, and bore him to the ground. There was a tussle, but the dreadman soon had the boy by the hair and an arm twisted up behind his back. He hauled him to his feet. The second dreadman came out holding a small cask.

  The first dreadman marched the boy forward, and Berosus saw it wasn’t a boy at all. It was a young woman who’d cropped her dark black hair to shoulder length. She had caramel skin. And as she came closer, he recognized her beautiful jade eyes. He’d seen those eyes on the ship.

  She saw the priest’s body lying on the ground, saw the blood, and her face fell.

  The second dreadman popped the lid off the cask he carried and said, “Bright One, you’ll be interested in this.” He brought the cask over and tipped it so Berosus could see inside.

  In it lay a number of items wrapped in fine linen worked with an alternating black and white border design that belonged to Lumen, the former Divine of this land. Berosus unwrapped a number of the items and found half a dozen dreadman weaves, some Fire stomachs, two codices, and other implements of the lore. From the right buyer any one of these items could fetch enough to live on for a year. Some far more.

  Berosus turned to the young woman. “You’re the one that cut loose the ship’s boat, aren’t you? You cut it loose for your master. That’s how he survived after he jumped overboard. He rowed to shore while we were resupplying and getting another ship’s boat. And then both of you left on another ship that sailed from Karsh before we did.”

  She said nothing.

  “Very clever,” Berosus said. He grabbed her wrist and examined the tattoo there. “Cath. That’s a long way from Mungo.”

  But it made sense. If the priest had somehow escaped his master, he’d want to get as far away from the Mungonite Seekers as possible.

  “Do you know any lore?” Berosus asked. “Was he teaching you?”

  “She’s a bit too strong,” the dreadman holding her said.

  The young woman twisted, trying to get free.

  Berosus nodded. He held up one of the Fire stomachs from the cask and examined it in the light. “It’s not your everyday thief that can break into a temple and steal the holy implements. You have to know where to look for the secret chambers. But he would have known, wouldn’t he? There are lords and chieftains and sleth that would pay a great price for such a thing.”

  She took a long look at her master, then glared at Berosus in anger.

  “This isn’t your first robbery, is it?”

  They’d probably been stealing and selling weaves for quite some time. And this team of thieves wouldn’t be the only ones attracted to this land and its temple that lacked its Divine.

  The young woman said with a heavy accent, “I can show you more. Make him let me go.”

  “You don’t know what I am, do you?” Berosus asked. “But you will know soon enough.” He fingered her lovely hair. “Soon enough, my pretty girl.”

  7

  Eresh

  TALEN TROTTED OUT of the cool woods with River and Oaks following behind on the horses they’d stolen from the Fir-Noy barn. Across the fields rose the fortress of Rogum’s Defense, which had been built at the edge of a plain that dropped down to the Sourwood River on the north and the sea on the east.

  When the original Koramite settlers had first come to these lands, their primary threats came from the woodikin and other creatures already here. So the settlers had built a string of forts ten to twenty miles apart, depending on the terrain. Some guarded ports, others fords or settlements, and still others entrances to valleys.

  Rogum’s Defense was one of those early fortifications, build of stone in the shape of a smaller square inside a larger one with towers at intervals along both walls. The lower, outer wall stood fifteen feet high and eight across; it ran roughly 400 feet on a side, and enclosed about three and a half acres. There was 70 feet of space between that outer wall and the inner one; this open space is where Talen and the others trained.

  The higher, inner wall was double the height of the first and ran 250 feet on a side. Inside that inner wall lay another bailey of little less than an acre, ringed with the barracks, smithy, hall, and the other structures.

  Rogum’s Defense was not as tall or as large as the massive fortress in Whitecliff, but it was formidable enough. Besides, Rogum’s Defense was out of the way, which allowed for the secrecy Lord Shim and Uncle Argoth required. Upon the walls, Shim had erected banners showing his new device—a field that was half white, half blue, with a blazing yellow sun in the middle. The banners waved in the lazy breeze above the outer gate.

  Talen trotted with the horses across the open field surrounding the fortress to the bridge that crossed the shallow stream that wound its way through the wide field in front of the fortress. At this time of year the stream was at most a few inches deep. At a bend in the stream, a handful of geese bravely rested in the water next to a clump of reeds. If the geese stayed much longer, Talen suspected they would become this evening’s dinner, for those that trained in Shim’s new army had, as all who used the lore did, an enormous appetite. Just the thought of roasted fowl made him salivate.

  He crossed the bridge, the wood smooth and hard under his bare feet. Behind him came River and Oaks, the horse hooves clopping loudly. The water below was clear in the early light, allowing him to see the stones at the bottom and water plants growing in between, their dark emerald lengths undulating in the current. Watching that flow had always given him peace, but not today, for his mind was too full of worry for Sugar and Black Knee.

  He jogged with the horses to the gate of the outer wall, and then River and Oaks slowed their mounts to a walk. The gutted and rotting body of a man hung from the felon’s pole that stood outside the gate. His white beard was stained. His brown teeth made an awful grin. A crow sat on his shoulder and pecked at the dried flesh of his neck.

  Argoth had sent his call out to the secret groves and orders of sleth weeks ago, but it took a few weeks to sail across the sea, weeks for the message to spread, weeks for those to make the journey down to the ports and across the sea to the New Lands. Only a few had responded at this point. The man hanging from the felon’s pole called himself Pinter. He was one of the first sleth to answer Argoth’s call.

  He’d demonstrated wondrous skill with his axe and bow. He had a knife he called The Judge with a fabulous hilt. He’d wowed Lord Shim with his ability to scamper and climb the buildings of the fortress, but the Creek Widow had caught him stealing Fire from a captured Fir-Noy, a mere boy with flowers in his pocket. It didn’t matter that the Fir-Noy had been a spy. All those that knew the lore in Shim’s army had been forbidden to steal Fire—”We will not,” the Creek Widow had said, “practice the abominations of the Divines and their masters that devour us!” Pinter had disagreed.

  The crow pecked another bit of flesh.

  “Ho!” River shouted to the guard
above. “Any news of Black Knee or Sugar?”

  The man above was eating a meat pie, probably left over from the previous night’s festivities. “Nobody’s come through this gate in the last four hours. They’re probably out sleeping off the dance like we all should be. And where have you been?”

  The guards didn’t know about the mission Talen and the others had been sent on to the village of Plum. Shim was a strict commander and didn’t share knowledge unless he had to. Butter jaws had cost more than one life, as had been so clearly demonstrated this last night.

  “We were in Mount’s village, sleeping with a bunch of goats,” River lied.

  “You went to Whitecliff against orders,” the guard said.

  “Oh, I wish,” Oaks said.

  And so did Talen. River and the guards bantered back and forth a bit more as those below opened the gate. When the trio passed through, the guard up on the gate said to Oaks, “You know, if you didn’t have the brother in tow, I’d suspect you of some bravery. Not everyone can handle a tumble with the Koramite bowmaster’s daughter.”

  “There are things a man can only dream of,” Oaks said. “But wooing her is like wooing a bear.”

  River rolled her eyes.

  “You’re a bit of a weakling,” the guard said. “And look at your hair. Maybe I should have a go.”

  Oaks shrugged. “It’s your own death.”

  The guard grinned. He made an exaggerated bow to River, meat pie in hand. “I propose a wrestle in the outer bailey, one-on-one, you and me. We’ll see who the bear is.”

  “I really don’t enjoy beating up on children,” River said.

  The other guards hooted. River normally would have teased the man further. Or taken him up on his offer. Not only because that’s the way she was, but also because he was Shoka, one of the Mokaddian clans. As Koramite half-breeds, Uncle Argoth had told them they needed to make a concerted effort to help the Koramites and Mokaddians get along in Shim’s camp.

  River waved good-bye as she passed the man.

  “Better luck next time, boys,” Oaks said.

  The trio crossed the outer bailey, passing three fists of dreadman candidates practicing close combat with wooden swords. As they approached the inner fortress, the smell of frying fish and cook fires wafted out at them on the breeze. Hunger gnawed Talen’s belly, but it would have to wait because Legs stood by the gate of the inner wall, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

  A big-boned man, all sinews and weathered muscle, stood next to him. He had a long moustache and plaid pants. Next to him stood a horse with a dead and naked man lying across its back.

  “Sugar?” Legs asked.

  “She’s not with us,” River said.

  Worry filled his face. “She’s still down by the gate?”

  “No . . .” River trailed off.

  The newcomer spoke. He had a booming voice. “The little man says he’s been here all night. I asked him why all the fretting, but he’s tight as a drum.”

  “As he should be,” said River.

  “Aye,” said the man. “Aye. Your Lord Shim runs a tidy operation. It’s to be commended, as is that gentleman hanging on the pole outside the gate with his crow friend. If you’re going to have rules, you had better be willing to enforce them.”

  Talen said, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Talen, Hogan’s son.”

  “Ah, the famous one,” the blond said. “I’m Flax of Lem. You two look to be brother and sister.”

  “Yes,” River said.

  “So you must be River.”

  She said, “You know quite a bit for having just arrived.”

  “A prudent man gets a lay of the land before charging in. I’ve been here for a few days.”

  “Lem,” said Talen thinking. “That’s old country.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Flax. “Old and satisfying. But as fine as the fields of Lem are, they’re too quiet. I thought my skills might be useful elsewhere.”

  River nodded. “And who is that?” she asked, pointing at the dead man.

  “Someone Lord Shim wanted me to catch,” said Flax. “But our Lord is otherwise occupied at the moment. I’m waiting to deliver him.”

  “You said skills,” Talen said. “Are you looking for Silver the Vargon?”

  “Perhaps,” said Flax. “But I don’t think now is the time to talk about that.” He patted Legs on the shoulder. “I sense this one wants to hear about his sister.”

  River took Legs’s hand. “Let’s you and I walk to Argoth’s quarters.”

  “Please tell me what happened,” said Legs.

  “I will,” she said. She turned to Flax. “Welcome, Flax of Lem.”

  “I truly hope Shim shares your generosity,” said Flax.

  As Talen moved to follow River, Flax pointed at the tattoos on Talen’s wrists. “Those are honors I haven’t seen before. Although Legs had something similar. Is that a Koramite clan?”

  At one time it had been. But since the events down in the cave, Talen’s tattoo had been changing, which was another odd thing—tattoos didn’t change. He thought it might have to do with the fact that he’d died and been stuffed back in his body by a monster. In fact, he was wondering if that’s where those rotted lusts were coming from. “It’s Koramite,” Talen said. “I’m a half-breed.”

  Flax nodded. “Myself, I’ve never held with those that say Koramite blood has rot in it. In fact, a number of years ago I employed a Koramite in one of my fists. He was a fine man. Died well.”

  Talen nodded. “Death is overrated.”

  Flax’s eyes crinkled in confusion, then curiosity. “It sounds like there’s a tale there. I heard you were in the caves. I’m putting in a formal request to hear about it.” He clapped Talen on the shoulder.

  Talen suddenly felt a faint gnawing. He’d felt it before, down in the caves with the Mother, something probing the edges of his soul. He stiffened and closed himself tight against it.

  Flax gave him a knowing look. “Very good,” he said. “Very good. Talen half-breed.” Then he let Talen’s shoulder go.

  What had that been about?

  They parted, Talen and Oaks hurrying through the thick gate and wall of the inner fortress to catch up to River and Legs.

  “He seems a likeable fellow,” said Oaks, “even if he is a foreigner.”

  “Yes,” said Talen, still uncomfortable with the probing. Who would probe like that? It was like running your hands up the leg of someone you’d just met. But perhaps that was just the way of sleth. Talen had a lot yet to learn. And unlearn.

  They exited the tunnel made by the gate and thick wall. Off to their left were a number of cook fires with fish spitted and roasting above them. Talen kept moving. They passed a number of carpenters hammering iron nails into an extension of the barracks and caught up to Legs and River as they walked through the door that led to the ante-chamber of Lord Shim’s quarters.

  The door, like the others in the fortress, had been painted with Shim’s blue and white device with the brass sun.

  One of Lord Shim’s clerks sat at a desk with a pile of tally sticks at one end, scratching something down on a piece of vellum. A fat fly buzzed in a circle about him. He looked up as they walked in, then pointed to a bench set against the wall.

  “We need to speak to Argoth,” Talen said.

  “Lord Shim and Argoth will be out soon.”

  “This can’t wait.”

  The clerk leveled his gaze at Talen. “They asked not to be disturbed.”

  Talen said, “I think—”

  Then the door behind them flew open, and a Kish stomped in from the bailey. The Kish were lighter-skinned than Mokaddians or Koramites. Their lands were north of those of Mokad, Koram, and Urz across the sea in the old country. This Kish looked like an old bear. He was muscled, but much had gone to fat. His face
was grizzled and jowled. His nose had a bump as if it had been broken a few too many times. One of his eyes was milked over, but the other flamed with intelligence.

  “Where’s that sluggard Argoth?” the Kish demanded.

  “Zu,” the clerk said. “He’s in conference with Lord Shim.”

  “Get him out here.”

  The clerk hesitated. “They have asked—”

  “They’ve asked for my report,” the Kish said. “Go, man. Be quick. Or I’ll have you replaced.”

  The clerk rose, slowly laid down his quill.

  “Go!” the Kish commanded.

  The clerk jumped, then exited through a door and shut it behind him. The Kish put his hands on his hips, then turned and spotted Talen, River, Legs, and Oaks. He grunted and motioned at them with his chin. “So you’re the monster slayers, eh?”

  “Not I,” said Oaks. “I’m merely escort the notables about. But these three were down in the caves.”

  Eresh openly looked each of them from head to toe. When he finished with River, he said, “You’re a well-turned thing, but can you fight? Can you fight as well as your brother?”

  “Which one?”

  “Well not that one,” said the Kish and motioned at Talen. “I’m talking about the bull.”

  “Ke’s a pie bake,” she said.

  “Is that so?” he said and folded his arms. “I don’t know that it’s wise to have women in the army. I think they distract the men and waste precious Fire. We want to multiply killers, not posies, however pretty they look in a box.”

  River said, “I guess you’ve not heard of deadly nightshade. I think you underestimate the uses of flowers.”

  “I rarely underestimate.”

  At that moment Argoth emerged from the hallway.

  “Uncle,” Talen said.

  Eresh cut in. “You told me you had an army. That’s a joke. Your operations are flabby. Undisciplined. Full of maggots and worms, and worse—I understand you made an invitation to that blond goat turd from Lem. We’re going to talk about him.”

  Talen expected Argoth to bridle at the Kish’s offence, but he laughed instead. “Maggots? Coming from you I’d say that’s a compliment.”