Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  At any moment the farm would come into view, but Argoth already knew he was too late, for a huge pillar of blackened smoke rose above the trees where the farm should be. It would take a burning house to make that much smoke.

  He’d racked his brains trying to figure out how the traitor had found out about the hiding place. He’d been very careful to make sure people saw River and Talen in the fortress after the attack, very carefully slipping them into the barrels behind doors without notice. With all the preparations going on, the comings and goings that night, those two barrels would not have stood out. It was impossible, yet there was the smoke piling up in the sky.

  A gust of wind hissed down the hill on Argoth’s left, blowing through the tree tops and shaking loose great sheets of fluttering orange and yellow leaves. Argoth and his terror of men galloped through them.

  The road dipped and bent around the hill. When he rounded the last corner, he saw Len’s burning house. The flames, bright and roaring like rushing waters, leapt above the tops of the trees and poured smoke into the sky. The fire had engulfed the roof of the house, but the other buildings had not yet been touched, which meant the fires had only just been lit. Maybe he wasn’t too late.

  Argoth raised his arm, signaling his men to ready themselves for attack. Argoth’s own Fire was raging inside him. He was multiplied to his limit. His whole body was a spring, compressed, yearning to be released.

  Oaks motioned for the line of horsemen to fan out, and the riders spilled out into the field on their right. A third of his dreadmen carried crossbows. The other two-thirds had recurved horse bows. All they needed to do was pin the dreadmen in place. Some of them might still be suffering from the clumsiness of the forced progression, but, if the report was right, he still had better than a three-to-one superiority in numbers.

  In the corral on the far side of the barn, a girl fled from three men, but one of them cut her off. Back in the yard, two men prepared to fire the barn. Len, Tinker, and a number of their children crouched, bound to the doorposts, which meant these maggots were planning on burning them alive. Two more men stood back from the fire, watching, waiting for the fire to work its way down the roof and consume Len and his family.

  But these men weren’t dreadmen. They were dressed as common Fir-Noy soldiers.

  One of those preparing to burn the barn must have heard the thudding of the hooves for he turned and saw the attack. He yelled something to the others, dropped his burning brand, and dashed for a line of horses tied to a fence post. The other man tossed his burning brand through the barn’s open doors and followed. The three in the corral either didn’t hear or were too focused on their victim. One of them grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the ground.

  Argoth counted seven horses tied to the fence. The message he’d received said there were thirty men moving toward Len’s farm. It was clear these were the ones left behind to clean up after the initial raid.

  “I want them alive,” Argoth shouted. “I want answers!”

  The men shouted the command down the line.

  The horsemen thundered over the field. Two Fir-Noy mounted and galloped down the road that led south. Those in the corral finally saw their predicament. Two sprinted for their horses. The other ran for the woods. But Argoth’s men galloped into the yard of the farm and cut off all escape.

  Argoth and Oaks dismounted while their horses were still moving and ran to Len and his family. The fire roared overhead. The children were huddled as low as their bonds would allow, Tinker trying to covering them from the heat. Len was tied up straight, and couldn’t crouch. He coughed and wheezed in the smoke.

  Argoth ran to him, cut the bonds at his wrists and legs, and carried him a number of yards away from the blistering heat of the house. Oaks freed Tinker, then set to work on the children.

  Len continued to cough and hack, gasping for breath. His eyes were blood-shot. His hair singed. Argoth laid him on the ground.

  A man brought a bucket of water from the well. Argoth ripped off a piece of his tunic, dipped it in the water, then daubed Len’s face, trying to cool him. Even though he was a number of yards away, the heat from the burning house was so hot Argoth could feel it through his padded tunic and armor. A few minutes more and the heat and smoke would have killed Len before any flames could have reached him.

  Len had been a tenant on this part of Argoth’s land for many years. He’d managed it well and with good humor. So well that Argoth had come to admire him. “My friend,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Len gasped for breath.

  Tinker coughed behind him. “Do not be sorry for the wicked deeds of other men,” she said. “They’re only a few minutes ahead. You can catch them.”

  “Did they get Talen and River?”

  “No,” she said hoarsely, “they escaped on that ungainly steed.”

  “How many were there?”

  “We saw nine, all dressed in dark colors with foreign honors,” she said. “Your job’s with them. Me and mine will take care of these rot.”

  Tinker—practical and level-headed in every crisis. “When this is all done, I’m going to make you a captain,” he said. “Then our enemies will indeed shake in their boots.”

  “Go,” she said.

  Argoth looked down at Len. “I’ll be back, old friend.”

  Len wheezed horribly and nodded. Argoth stood. His men had tied up the Fir-Noy. Despite Tinker’s capability, he couldn’t leave her here alone. Who knew if there were other Fir-Noy coming? He commanded a fist to stay behind.

  Argoth walked over to the captives, who, to his surprise, weren’t all Fir-Noy. Three were Shoka. “Who’s the leader here?”

  None of the men answered or looked him in the eye.

  “Fools,” Argoth bellowed. “Your only hope in this life and the next is in Shim.” He turned to one of the Shoka. “What did these Fir-Noy idiots promise you? Eh? Lands, cattle? And for what? You think they want to rid the land of a dangerous rebellion? Let me tell you something. I fought one of the gods of Mokad down in the caves. I saw what rules over the Divines. I saw what took Lumen and fashioned him into a beast of grass and stone. That monster was a Divine’s beast. Not one of sleth making. The master of Mokad does not want land or cattle. It wants your very souls. That’s what guides Mokad. That’s what you’re trading your good names for.”

  The house fire raged behind him, sparks and embers flying into the sky. The intense heat of the blaze still licked his skin even at this distance.

  Argoth needed to give the captives a reason to talk. He lowered his voice. “I can understand you don’t know what you’re dealing with. And you were just obeying orders. A man can’t be faulted for that. But you can’t cite ignorance any longer. You’ll see proofs back at Rogum’s Defense. Then it will be your time to choose. I hope you choose life.”

  By this time many of the horses had been watered and the fire in the barn put out. Some horses had been given a handful of oats from Len’s barn. Argoth walked over to the scummy watering trough, pushed a horse aside, and knelt, using both hands to scoop up a number of handfuls of water for himself. He wanted to gallop after the dreadmen, but he knew the animals needed a short break. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood, and took his horse by the reins. “Get yourselves watered, men. We’re going to run.”

  A minute later, he and the terror of dreadmen started out. They had formed two lines, each man holding the reins of his horse. The columns ran down to the creek bed, across, and up the other side.

  The tracks made by the caulkins on River’s firesteed lay easily enough to see in the dirt as did the hoofprints of those that pursued them. They followed the tracks for a mile to where the turf had been churned at the wood’s edge. The sign on the forest floor was clear, so Argoth followed the tracks into the woods. The trail bent around toward a meadow. At the edge of the tree line he found Talen’s hat, and then
he saw the tracks of the firesteed. The animal had shot forth here. At this point, River and Talen had still been free.

  Oaks brought a handful of leaves to Argoth. They were splattered with blood. Blood that wasn’t fully dried yet.

  They were close. Very close. “Mount up!” he commanded his men.

  Argoth followed the tracks of the firesteed down the wash and up again. He followed them through the woods, out into a meadow, and onto a road. Then he lost them, and his heart fell, but one of his men called to him from farther down the road. The tracks of the firesteed were so far apart, they’d thrown him off.He rode his horse farther down the trail and found another set. The horse must have been running full out while multiplied. The speed must have been astounding.

  He and his men followed the trail in a fast trot. They wound their way through the woods and then toward the borders of the land. At no time did he see any sign that would suggest Talen and River had been taken. Then they came to a part where the road dipped down a gully and up again. The wind gusted through the trees.

  On the far side of the gully the tracks turned off the narrow road and ran through a meadow with a trail of grass bent by the hooves of a number of horses. The trail ran straight past an obelisk marking the edges of the land to a mountain that marked the beginning of the Wilds.

  Argoth looked up the slope. He knew exactly what lay back there and what it meant—River was going into the Wilds, leading dreadmen to Harnock’s door. Not a good idea.

  There was movement up the slope close to the cliffs. Two crows circled. Below them a number of men and horses flashed through a break in the trees.

  That had to be Talen’s pursuit. A determined anger rose in his breast. The Wilds were tricky, but he knew the ground behind that mountain. They did not. He could probably have them cornered before nightfall.

  Moreover, he didn’t want them anywhere near Harnock. Harnock had been twisted by Lumen. But the Divines weren’t fools. Harnock might be fashioned to kill, but he was also fashioned to be controlled by a master. As mighty as Harnock was, if a Divine got his hands on him, Harnock would be turned against them.

  Argoth was just about to order his men after them when shouts rose from farther down the road.

  A group of about two or three dozen women and children hurried toward him and his men. They must have been hiding in the shadows of the trees. Some seemed to be injured. Two children were up on a white horse.

  “Zu!” an old woman wearing a Shoka shawl cried. “Woolsom is attacked!”

  Argoth looked back up the mountain to the men making their way to the cliffs, but urged his mount forward. His men followed.

  Woolsom was one of five villages clustered along one part of the Short Falls River. Argoth recognized the woman. Her name was Larkspur. Many years ago when she and her husband were newly married, they had gone out to fell trees to build their first small house. In a terrible accident, a massive pine had fallen on her husband, skewering his leg and pinning it to the ground. He would have bled out and died, but she cut the leg off and saved his life. She’d built that first house on her own, put him in it, and brought him back to health. When he was better, he fashioned his own long peg leg, often festooning it with bright ribbons, and the two of them eventually raised five stout children just outside Woolsom.

  Argoth rode up to the group and reined his horse to a halt. The faces of the women and children were full of horror and grief.

  “They’ve slaughtered Woolsom,” Larkspur said.

  “Who?” demanded Argoth.

  “I don’t know. They wore a black and red sash at their waists. Their heads and faces were all shaved and painted.”

  A short thin woman behind Larkspur spoke. “There was a blackness, Zu. We were up on the hillside above the village gathering late season berries and acorns. We saw ships’ masts on the river. Then the blackness descended upon Woolsom.”

  Woolsom, Larkin, Fishing and the other villages lay a number of miles from here, but not too far. Argoth turned to one of his men and pointed to a tall tree that stood on the top of a rise just a few yards away. “Get up there,” he said. “Tell me if you see smoke from the warning beacons.”

  The man stowed his crossbow, then removed his helmet and padded tunic. Moments later he’d kicked off his boots and was climbing.

  Up on the slope the dreadmen continued to move higher through the trees. Argoth turned back to the thin woman. “What about the blackness? Where did it come from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How many were there?”

  “I didn’t see them,” said Larkspur. “Not with these old eyes. My daughter did. She went running to the village to gather her sick husband. But she never came back. And there’s this—the mists groaned.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A great sighing. Like some great beast in the midst of it.”

  “It’s the curse,” another woman said.

  Larkspur nodded. “We’ve offended the Six.”

  Argoth thought back to the words of the lord of Nilliam, about how the Devourers protected their herds from predators. “The only curse at work here is the one laid by our enemies,” he said.

  “Zu!” The dreadman in the tree called down. He stood braced at the very top. “Smoke’s rising a number of miles northwest in the direction of Woolsom.”

  “What of the beacons?” The clans had located watch towers on the tops of a number of high hills. They used beacon fires to signal danger and to call for aid.

  “I see no beacons.”

  Argoth turned back to the group of women and children. “How many ships’ masts did you see?”

  “I counted ten,” a boy said.

  Ten could mean two to three ships. Depending on the size of the ships that might have been enough to land a few hundred men. Maybe more. But why would anyone land there? Woolsom and the surrounding villages weren’t strategic; they didn’t possess any great treasure. Just as with Redthorn, it made no sense.

  However, they were closer to Rogum’s Defense. Maybe this was a landing for a surprise attack.

  What Argoth did know is that he had a third of Shim’s dreadmen with him. Others would be out on patrol, which meant Rogum’s Defense might itself be threatened.

  “You can’t fight the mists, Zu,” a grandfather said. “We sent men to investigate, but the blackness took them, struck them to the ground.”

  Argoth didn’t dare split his men. It would be pure folly to send forty new dreadmen against a hammer of Mokad’s most powerful. He’d need his whole force to overwhelm those dreadmen, which meant he either chased after them and attempted to rescue River and Talen, or he went to Woolsom.

  If the enemy captured Talen, they’d enthrall him. In time, they’d turn him into a weapon, a Glory. At least, that was the plan of the Devourer that had planted him. Who knew what Mokad might do with him? But the Wilds were treacherous, and so Harnock would have the advantage there. River was fearsome in her own right. But against a full hammer of mature dreadmen?

  Argoth cursed. By all that was holy! They were his sister’s children! But the greater danger lay in Woolsom. He made his decision and turned to the travelers. “Did you send word to Rogum’s Defense?”

  “Yes,” said the old woman, “but who knows if they made it through?”

  If Mokad was landing, he had to be there. He couldn’t leave Shim with only part of an army.

  Argoth took one last look at the mountain and the crows. He prayed the Six that River and Talen would be able to get to Harnock’s.Then he faced his men. “We ride to Woolsom!”

  28

  Woolsom

  ARGOTH RODE INTO Woolsom too late. Dead animals lay about the houses. The bodies of the inhabitants were scattered about as well, but the bulk of them, both old and young, lay in piles next to the village workshop.

  Argoth dismounted. The wind
whistled about the workshop and houses. Great numbers of flies flitted about the bodies, filling the air with a loud buzzing. It was grim work searching through the bodies, especially when moving the little ones. He moved one small girl with a sprig of lavender woven into her hair. The sight of it struck him. That was something Grace would wear. In fact, not two weeks ago she’d tried to weave such a sprig into his own hair. Argoth laid the girl gently down and moved to another. With each body his dismay and anger built.

  None had survived. All had an odd blackening about their necks and chests. The eyes of a few of the corpses had begun to cloud over, but the stiffness of death had only begun to set in. Furthermore, there were no frights. He suspected the last of these good folks had died less than an hour ago, which meant that whoever had done this was not far ahead.

  Oaks was out by the road. “They’re headed for Fishing,” he called. “The tracks are clear as day.”

  Fishing was a small community scarcely more than a mile away. It was named, not for its fishermen, but because of its role in a practical joke played by locals on unsuspecting travelers. If he hurried, he just might be able to catch the murderers before they repeated there what they’d done here and at Redthorn.

  Argoth ordered his men up. He sent a handful of riders to scout ahead and on both flanks. He also ordered a hammer to form up a rearguard. The remaining seventy-five dreadmen followed him and Oaks. The scouts raced ahead. The rest of the men came behind at a trot.

  The road cut through fields with their short stone fences, then into the woods at the base of a row of hills. Fishing lay on the other side of the hill ahead. Argoth and the column of riders trotted into the wood. They rounded a bend and saw one of his scouts up ahead, a man lying on the ground next to him.

  Argoth rode forward and looked down upon the man.

  “We got him before he could blow a warning,” the scout said.