Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  Argoth looked at the number of men that had made it out, and his heart sank. Not even half were with him.

  Shouts rose above them at the top of the hill followed by the sound of many horses. An army of horses. Probably the rest of these Bone Face whoresons. He ordered the men to flee to the woods, but a horn sounded the Shoka call to battle.

  That was not an army of Bone Faces.

  Argoth rushed to the hill road and looked up its length. At the top he saw two columns of riders wearing the blue and white of freedom. Shim led them on his stallion, which meant the messengers the villagers sent must have made it to Rogum’s Defense.

  Shim kicked his horse into a gallop, and he and the column behind him descended the hill, bringing the horses for Argoth and his men with them. Argoth did not wait for them, but raced up to meet them.

  “What is that?” asked Shim.

  “Bone Faces,” Argoth said. “The mists are full of wraiths fashioned by a wicked lore.”

  Shim furrowed his brows. “How many are they?”

  “It’s not men you need to worry about.”

  “Lord,” one of Shim’s riders said and pointed toward the village.

  On the far side of the village, the Kragow and the dozen or so of his remaining men sped away from the village on their horses. They raced their mounts up a small hill and paused.The Kragow turned his horse around, raised a lance with three human heads tied to it with cords, and drove it into the ground. It was a Bone Face gesture of warning, a boast of what they would do.

  “I don’t see any wraiths about that maggot,” said Shim.

  “If we take him, it has to be from a distance,” Argoth said. He took his horse from one of the riders and mounted it.

  Shim ordered two hammers to wait and watch the mists, and then he dug his heels into the flanks of his mount. “Do not close with him,” Argoth shouted and put his heels into his own horse. The riders galloped across the field outside the village, then raced up the hill and swarmed past the lance with its Bone Face script and gory heads.

  In front of Argoth and the other riders the fields and meadows stretched out toward the sea. Off to the right the Short Falls River ran through them. The Bone Faces had split up. The Kragow’s men followed the road back to the bay. However, the Kragow himself had broken off from the main group and galloped across a rolling meadow toward the river.

  Shim and his dreadmen charged down the hill. They followed the road for about a quarter mile, then fifty chased the Bone Face warriors. The rest followed Shim off the road after the Kragow.

  The Kragow reached the rivers’ edge and slid off his horse, disappearing down the river’s bank. A few minutes later, Shim and his men approached the spot where the Kragow had been. The Kragow’s horse stood munching grass. It looked up at the riders as they approached.

  Shim motioned for his riders to fan out so more could shoot their arrows at once. He rode forward with his own short recurved horse bow in hand. They closed the distance until they were only a few dozen yards from the Kragow’s mount.

  “Show yourself like a man!” Shim shouted.

  The grass waved in the wind. The river flowed past. There was no response.

  They continued forward. The Kragow’s horse, seeing the line of men closing on it, trotted a few paces away, its reins trailing along the ground.

  Argoth waited for the Kragow to rise and summon his wraiths out of the air, but nothing happened. Shim urged his horse forward to the bank of the river. The land here was flat, the banks of the river short and gentle.

  “Look at that,” said Shim, pointing at the bank of the river.

  From the river’s edge up to where Argoth sat on his horse, the wild grass was pressed down and wet. Argoth walked his horse over to the water’s edge. A fifteen foot wide swath of the river bank and bottom had been churned.

  Shim pointed at a huge swale of mud that had been thrown up. “No ships’ hull would make that.”

  “No,” said Argoth. “There’s no keel or hull mark. No footprints. And why is the grass wet a dozen yards up the bank?”

  “Something came out of the river,” said Oaks.

  As soon as Oaks said it, Argoth knew it was true. The Short Falls River was maybe thirty yards wide at this location, but it was deep and slow.

  Argoth said, “I think we should back away from the water, Lord.”

  “I was just going to suggest a swim, Captain.”

  “Lord,” said Argoth in warning.

  Shim said, “If there’s something in the river, let it show itself. We have three hundred arrows waiting.” But nothing showed itself. A few minutes later, Shim ordered a hammer of men to cross. They did so without incident. He sent more to follow, ordering men to scout up and down both banks of the river.

  After an hour of thorough searching, they returned, having found nothing. The Kragow had not been hiding in the grass or willows, hadn’t left a wet spot in the grass or footprints in the mud as he climbed out of the water. The man had simply disappeared.

  Those who had chased the Bone Face warriors did not bring back anyone Shim could question either. The warriors had raced to the coast and rowed out to a raiding ship waiting off shore.

  Shim said, “They might have rowed another smaller ship up the river.”

  “You saw as far down the river as I,” said Argoth. “There was no ship. And the scouts would have caught up to any small boat in these slow waters.”

  “Then where did he go?”

  Argoth had no good answer.

  * * *

  After the failed search for the Kragow, Argoth and Shim returned to Fishing. The mists had dissipated. The wraiths, as far as Argoth could see, were gone, leaving behind the bodies of the villagers and his men. Sixty-three villagers and forty-seven of his new dreadmen.

  They were good men. He knew each one of them well. With each body they found, the images of the men’s loved ones rose in his mind. A whole multitude of wives and children, mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and grandparents to whom he’d have to tell the awful news. It grieved him to the core. They had been good men who had been wasted because of his ignorance.

  For each fallen soldier, Argoth and the others built a litter that could be dragged behind a horse. Then they placed the bodies of the dreadmen upon them. For the people of Fishing they dug graves. They did the same for those in Woolsom and Larkin. With every spadeful Argoth’s grief hardened until it was cold as stone.

  By the time they’d finished all the graves, the sun had dropped into the western sky. Argoth rode next to Shim. Behind them came the riders dragging the litters which carried the bodies of the brave Shoka sons, fathers, and brothers.

  As they rode, Argoth thought through the implications of this new threat. The dark and smoky mists at Fishing had not quite covered the whole village, but what if the Kragow could extend those mists to cover a wider area? He’d be able to destroy a huge army with only a handful of men. Of course, anyone who saw the mists could flee. But what if the Kragows attacked at night when the black mists couldn’t be seen and avoided? That thought chilled him.

  “I think the Bone Faces might pose a greater threat than Mokad,” Argoth said to Shim.

  “Are you sure they’re not allied with them?”

  “No. But I do know our weaves will be useless against them in an attack. Our men need to grow in their ability to withstand those that would ride their souls. Although that probably won’t be enough. I myself almost succumbed, and I’ve had years to grow into my strength.”

  Shim nodded. “There is one good thing in this bitter brew. Can you imagine what would have happened if we’d met this for the first time in a major battle?”

  It was clear that if that Kragow had been with a few more men, they would have slaughtered Argoth and all those that had been with him. In fact, the only reason any had survived was because
the third hammer had been standing farther back when the wraiths attacked.

  Shim said, “It was not all a waste. We now know what those mists are. Maybe our Kish friend has a way to fight it.”

  “Yes,” Argoth said. “The weapon for fighting this is called retreat.”

  29

  The Practical Thing

  ARGOTH, SHIM, AND THEIR ARMY of dreadmen rode toward the village that served Rogum’s Defense. Out to sea a storm was brewing, dark clouds heaving toward the coast. Inland, the low sun shone slantwise upon the walls and roofs of the houses and across the fields, illuminating all with orange and yellow. A lone rider sat upon his mount at the crest of a low hill a few hundred yards off the road.

  Argoth recognized the rider, even without seeing the tasseled fringe of his clothing, and pulled out of the moving column of Shim’s men to face the man.

  All the way back from Fishing Argoth had thought about the Bone Face Kragow and the wraiths. All the way back he’d seen clearly that the chances of Shim’s army succeeding grew less and less.

  The lord of Nilliam turned his horse and disappeared down the other side of the hill. Argoth loped his horse up to the crest of the hill. Below him, the lord of Nilliam waited at the wood’s edge. When Argoth spotted him, he turned into the woods and disappeared in the trees.

  Argoth knew there could be men waiting there in ambush. But if this lord had wanted to abduct him, he could have done it the first time. So Argoth urged his horse forward. He rode down the hill and entered the wood where the lord had.

  He found the lord, with his tassels, tidy hair, and easy smile, sitting atop his horse a discrete distance from the wood’s edge. “My friend,” the lord said. “I came to see if you’d considered our offer. Your time is growing short.”

  “You’re not merely a lord of Nilliam, are you?” asked Argoth.

  “I am a lord, a messenger, a ditch digger—I am whatever I’m needed to be.”

  “Was the skir that spirited you away yours or another’s?”

  “The Divines of Nilliam sometimes share resources.”

  Argoth considered the man. “Show me your honors.”

  The man smiled and raised the sleeve of his left arm. His honors were elaborate and ran all the way to the elbow. What clearly stood out were the loops and whorls marking him as one of those consecrated as Divine.

  The Divine of Nilliam pulled his sleeve back down and said, “You can see I am not making idle promises.”

  “What is your name?”

  “When the Mother raised me, she named me Loyal.”

  Loyal of Nilliam. Argoth had heard that name, although he did not know much about the man.

  “So what is your decision?” Loyal of Nilliam asked.

  “How can I trust you when everything the Devourers speak is lies?”

  “I am not lying when I tell you that you will be destroyed. You’ve done well to raise your terrors of dreadmen. But as impressive as your little army is, it will be no match for the combined might of the Western Glorydoms.”

  Argoth noticed he did not include the Bone Faces. “Combined might? Who, Nilliam and Mokad?”

  “And Cath and Urz and Toth and Mungo.”

  “So this is what you came to do? Try to frighten me into compliance?”

  “I came to demonstrate our good will,” said Loyal. “I came because I’m a father, and I would want to help my own son were I in your situation.” He withdrew a leather pouch and tossed it to Argoth.

  Argoth caught the pouch.

  “Open it,” Loyal said.

  Argoth loosened the draw string and pulled out a pendant the size of his thumb. It was black and silver and shaped in the form of bird that looked to be a nightingale. Argoth turned it over in his hand. It was alive, a weave.

  “Let your son wear it on a string around his neck.”

  “What is its purpose?”

  “It will slow your son’s deterioration. The longer you wait, the harder it is to join soul to soul. Wait too long, and it will be impossible.”

  Argoth slipped the weave back into its pouch and tossed it back at Loyal. “Do you take me for a fool?” Argoth had no idea what this weave did, but he was sure it wasn’t something to protect his son.

  “Whatever you are, you are not a fool,” said Loyal. “We would not choose a fool to elevate to our ranks. The weave is a gift. You’re running out of time to save your son. It will help.”

  “You do not offer salvation,” said Argoth.

  “You still do not understand,” Loyal said and shook his head. “When Mokad finishes, there will be nothing left. But it doesn’t have to be. Not all masters are the same. Our master is fair. Only a portion of our people are harvested. Many of us go into the world of souls not only unmolested, but with escort. You can be one of those.”

  “I have a better proposal,” said Argoth. “Why don’t you join us? Why don’t you throw off your shackles? Become a free man.”

  “Now who is taking whom for the fool? Men have never been free.”

  “In the beginning men submitted to none but the Creators. Then entered envying and strife and covetous desires. And that is how men fell.”

  “Come,” said Loyal, “let us be men of truth. It’s a good story. A noble dream. But that’s all it is. That’s all it will ever be.”

  “The Devourers are not invincible.”

  “Zu,” Loyal said. “You face an army of three thousand dreadmen. You face multiple Divines, including a number of Skir Masters.”

  “We’ll take our chances.”

  “I appreciate the fact that you must be strong in the face of your enemy. But there are no chances to be taken, except the one I’m giving you.”

  “No, that’s not true. The Bone Faces have made us an offer.”

  Loyal of Nilliam cocked his head in surprise. “The Bone Faces? You truly think those backward savages can stand against the Western Glorydoms?”

  Argoth shrugged.

  “The Bone Faces are gnats, nothing more. They will be crushed and you along with them.”

  He was either bluffing or knew something about the mists that Argoth didn’t. Or maybe he didn’t know about the mists at all. One thing was clear: the Bone Faces were not allied with Mokad, and that was good news. Argoth decided to play this hand a bit farther. “They offer us defense,” he lied.

  “And you think they won’t sacrifice you up to their gods? Right now you are outside the protection of a Sublime. You are alone. But if you become the property of a Sublime, then all sorts of agreements come into play. And because you are no longer a common threat but a responsibility of Nilliam instead, Mokad’s coalition will dissolve.”

  “Responsibility? I find that an odd word. What you mean is we will become the property, the meat of the Devourer that holds your Glory’s chain. I don’t see any difference between you and the Bone Faces.”

  “You have not heard me. The Sublimes are not all the same. Our master is not void of all feeling for her subjects. She is beautiful, strong, and kind.”

  “Do you hear your own words?” asked Argoth. “You feed your people to these creatures. You do not preserve life. You destroy it.”

  “I am serving those I love. I am serving my wife and children. I am preserving my seed. That’s where a man’s duty lies. That’s where your duty lies. You have a son. You have daughters. Your job is to preserve them. And not just here, in the world of flesh, but also in the world of souls. Once you’ve done that, you extend your protection to as many others as you can. You don’t begin by betraying your own seed. And if that doesn’t move you, then think on this: I will help more souls find that glorious brightness, my friend, than any man in any Hismayan Grove ever has or ever will.”

  They’d been smart to send this Loyal. He was persuasive, even though Argoth knew he lied.

  “I’m giving you a ch
ance to make a difference in this world,” said Loyal. “I’m giving you an opportunity to seize real power. Save your daughters. Save your wife, your son. Save as many as you can. And do not delude yourself—if your son dies now, his soul torn, he will only become prey to the hungers that roam that other world.”

  Loyal’s offer was tempting. Argoth had to face that fact. Furthermore, it seemed the more Argoth learned, the more he saw he didn’t know. A small doubt crept into his mind. How did he know the Devourers were not the intended masters of the earth? Argoth had never seen an ancestor, never talked to one who had returned from the brightness. No Creator had spoken to him. So how did he know that humans received any salvation? He’d read scrolls and codices written by men, been taught stories handed down from other men. But who was to say the things he’d learned were only part-truths or maybe outright falsehoods? What if it was Loyal of Nilliam, and not Argoth, who was the one that possessed the fuller measure of the truth?

  Loyal watched him, not with the look of a predator, but a caring friend. Oh, but he was good.

  Argoth said, “I need more assurance than your promises.”

  Loyal nodded. “Of course, you do. So let me give you this. Mokad will be landing her many ships tomorrow at Blue Towers. The Mokaddian Kains that supply the Fire for the weaves of this army will arrive together.”

  “Where’s the Skir Master?”

  “We don’t know, but we can give you the Kains.”

  Knowing the location of the Skir Master would be better. But you took the opportunities you were given, not the ones you wished for. Besides, if they could take out Mokad’s Kains, it would be a tremendous blow. It was true many Divines knew the lore of drawing and storing Fire, but the Kains knew secrets the others did not. A handful could keep an army’s weaves black with Fire. Furthermore, it was they who conducted the Fire sacrifices. Without the Kains, those caught in raids wouldn’t be sacrificed. The weaves for 3,000 dreadmen required prodigious amounts of fire. Remove the Kains and the weaves would soon run dry.

  Loyal said, “They come in the death ship with the red eye upon its sails.”