by Tom Lloyd
The minstrel had been quiet since first revealing himself, speaking to Venn only a handful of times, and refusing to answer the hows or whys of what had happened since his body had been consumed by a firestorm in Scree. Venn could guess, however: Rojak’s soul had been bound so tightly to Azaer that it had not been his own for many years before his death. No doubt the day the minstrel had lost his shadow he’d suspected that instead of receiving his Last Judgment, he would continue as some subordinate shadow-Aspect of Azaer.
But Azaer had taken mortal form, and when Jackdaw started playing with magic to hide himself in Venn’s own shadow, there had been a transference, whether intentional or not.
‘Well my pretty, won’t you come out to play?’
Venn blinked, and felt Jackdaw recoil in his mind. Nothing changed at first, then he noticed a pale wisp of light hanging in the air. He looked up and saw more, a spray of dozens in the late-afternoon air, some almost hidden by the pale sky behind, others clearly visible against the trees.
‘Created in the image of your Gods,’ came a whisper from nowhere, a woman’s voice, soft and ancient, ‘and like your Gods, you enslave those around you.’
From the mud-bank opposite him suddenly appeared a woman as terrible to behold as the ruined bodies all around him. Cold eyes shone out from a pale, emaciated face half-obscured by a curtain of tangled greying hair.
She wore a small crown of grey metal, as ragged and dull as her clothes. After the first moment of shock, Venn realised who she was, and a cold sweat broke out down his back. The Wither Queen was not known for her welcoming nature.
Venn pointed up. ‘They are your slaves?’
‘Bound as I am bound by another,’ she hissed, her dead blue tongue flicking like a snake’s, tasting the air, ‘but not for much longer. My power grows, and a dead man’s bargain is soon broken.’
‘Bargain? Is that why you killed them?’ Venn asked, indicating the dead Elves all around.
The Wither Queen reached up with long broken fingernails and caressed the nearest of the wisps of light. ‘Such is the nature of my bondage, to scour the forest of Elves and leave the humans unharmed.’ She stopped and peered at him with rapacious intent. ‘But what human has three souls?’
‘One who would honour your work, my queen,’ Rojak replied before Venn could speak.
The Reaper Aspect cocked her head in curiosity - not in a human way; it reminded Venn more of a cat’s unfeeling interest. There was no doubt she had heard the words, and she was surprised at the way Rojak had addressed her. Her eye narrowed. ‘To do that you must free me of my bargains.’
‘And if we did?’
Her expression went even colder. ‘Do not think I would substitute one set of chains for another.’
‘Never shall you be chained,’ Rojak crooned, ‘never caged like a God’s pet.’
She took a breath and her tongue tasted the air once more, flicking out towards Venn, as though lapping the sweat from his cheek.
‘Tear down the temple to me in Lomin, defile the ground and break my chains - then you may ask one thing of me, so long as it does not leave me bound to another.’
‘A Goddess asks for her own temple to be defiled?’ laughed Rojak, his delight unrestrained at the perversity of the request. ‘Such a thing would be a joy in itself.’
Venn bowed to her. ‘It will be done.’
CHAPTER 20
Major Jachen squinted up at the sun and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was mid-morning and they’d been travelling since dawn, making a final push to reach Llehden before the end of the day. The sun had been in their eyes all the way and Jachen’s head was hurting because of it - that, and the questions running nonstop through his head.
Lord Isak’s final orders for his Personal Guard had been to travel to Narkang and enter the service of King Emin. That in itself had been enough to provoke near-rebellion in the ranks. Count Vesna had limited the impact by returning the married men to their previous positions before giving the order, but still it rankled. Some of the men still refused to believe Jachen was as much in the dark as they, especially once they had found their new master at his castle outside Kamfer’s Ford.
‘You will go to Llehden,’ the king had said, his face inscrutable. ‘You will find the Witch of Llehden. She has a use for you.’
Jachen shook his head. He had been a mercenary for years, and had served many masters, but this was the first time he’d been passed around like a piece of currency.
‘Can you not tell me any more, your Majesty?’ he’d pleaded. ‘What do I say to my men? They’re the best of the Farlan Army, and they’re ready to die for their lord without hesitation - but to be handed off like mercenaries or slaves . . . they’re men of honour, your Majesty — ’
‘They are men of war,’ King Emin had replied, with enough snap in his voice that the black-clad bodyguard at his side put a hand on his sword hilt.
Jachen had been given an audience by himself, while the rest of Lord Isak’s Personal Guard were left in the courtyard below and told in no uncertain terms to stay put until Jachen returned.
The king’s reaction had left Jachen even more confused; the Farlan and the people of Narkang were allies, were they not? Yet everyone at Camatayl Castle had treated them with suspicion and hostility, as if they were enemies in their midst rather than proven friends and comrades.
‘What is more,’ King Emin had continued after a tense moment, ‘you will go to Llehden with only two of your men - am I right in thinking not all are Palace Guard?’
Jachen had been slow to work out what the king was talking about, and his silence prompted the bodyguard to take a warning step forwards. ‘The Ascetites? Yes, your Majesty, three aren’t Ghosts but agents of the Chief Steward.’
‘They will stay here then, I have need of such men. Their names?’
‘Ah, Tiniq, Leshi and Shinir - they are as thick as thieves and about as honest, but Tiniq at least can be trusted to follow order. He’s General Lahk’s twin brother.’
‘Ah yes, now I remember. I have some knife work to be done. You may tell those three - and any of the rest with the necessary skills - to report to Dashain.’
‘Your Majesty — ’ Jachen had begun, only to have his protests cut off once more.
‘Major! Is there any part of that instruction you do not understand? ’
Jachen hung his head, well-aware of his place and how far any objections could be taken. ‘No, your Majesty.’
‘Then carry out your orders, and without further question, if you please. Narkang shares your grief for Lord Isak, but it does not excuse forgetting your place - indeed, it shows just how serious events have become.’ King Emin’s face had hardened as he leaned forward over his desk. ‘You may not fully understand your orders; you may not have all of the information you think you need, but that should be nothing new. This is a war, and you must do your part. The more you do not understand the reasons for your mission, the more you should realise the deadly importance of the task. Do you understand me?’
Jachen, chastised, saluted, not trusting himself to speak. He had talked his way into trouble his entire career, but he knew enough about the Narkang king to realise talking back now wouldn’t just result in demotion.
‘You all right, sir?’ came a voice from behind him.
Jachen flinched, and Private Marad chuckled in a half-hearted way. The other member of their party, a grizzled sergeant called Ralen, just squinted at him, but as he looked back, the major couldn’t tell whether Ralen’s expression was one of concern or just discomfort at the sun.
‘I’m fine, Sergeant, just wondering what’s waiting for us.’
‘Bunch o’ jabbering monsters, sir,’ Ralen drawled, ‘if it’s anything like the last time we was ’ere.’
‘Nah,’ Marad said, ‘gentry only comes out a night.’ He pointed past Jachen to a long line of huge pine trees that dominated the view. ‘See them big stones at the base o’ them trees? They’re called twilight stones; ge
ntry stand on ’em and watch the sun set. That’s the first you’ll see of ’em all day, so we were told.’
Jachen followed the line of Marad’s finger. He thought he could make out shapes in the shadows under the trees, but with the sun so high it was hard to make out much more. ‘We’ll soon find out enough,’ he said, urging his horse into a trot again. ‘Let’s hope we get more answers here than we did from the king.’
‘From a witch?’ Marad scoffed. ‘Not bloody likely - ’bout as much chance as ’er lettin’ the sarge shag ’er.’
Ralen gave a wistful sigh and started on after Jachen. ‘Man’s gotta have goals in life,’ he said, prompting another laugh from Marad. ‘Considerin’ the closest thing she’s got to a friend has blue fur and fangs, I ain’t givin’ up yet.’
The three soldiers found themselves riding through the belt of ancient pine that denoted the Llehden border in silence. There was an occasional marker stone, but it was clear few travelled this way. The woods were strangely hushed for a spring afternoon, the birdsong sounding distant, coming in clipped bursts, as though even the birds were wary to break the silence.
The pines extended a mile past the twilight stones, dwindling in number as the land rose, then dipped away. Only when the last of the huge trees were behind them did they start to see signs of civilisation, and when they reached the first hamlet it was the soldiers who were more surprised. At a fork in the path they came across eight cottages huddled along the bank of a stream, penned in by a wicker fence and cultivated hawthorn thickets. To the right the oak and birch trees thinned out and they could make out the long grass of pastureland.
Jachen assumed the thorny fencing was to keep the animals from wandering at night, but as they drew closer he began to pick out rabbit-bone charms and polished metal discs hanging amongst the branches. It was unusual to see so many charms on display like that - they didn’t look religious, and it was the sort of thing priests objected to.
For a small settlement frightened enough to put so much effort into protective charms, they betrayed very little fear - or even interest - at the sight of strange horsemen. The few locals in sight - five women of varying ages and three scrawny children - watched them approach without abandoning their daily activities. A few long-legged dogs ran out and began to bark, but a word of command from one of the women was enough to bring them back to the open gate.
‘We’re looking for the witch,’ Jachen called, but he received only blank looks for his troubles. ‘No? Don’t speak Farlan eh?’
He reined in his horse and tried to recall what little of the language he’d learned. King Emin’s peace had limited the amount of work a mercenary could find within Narkang lands, but Jachen hadn’t always been exacting about the jobs he took and a man who could read and write rarely starved. He said, ‘The woman not like you?’ - the best he could manage in the Narkang tongue - but it did at least get a reaction.
One of the younger women pointed southwest, saying something he couldn’t understand and shaking her head as she spoke.
Before he could thank her, a man called out from the woods behind them, ‘She’s warning you, says you don’t want to go past the village.’
Jachen turned, his hand instinctively going to his sword, but he froze, his mouth dropping open in surprise. It took him a moment to get the name, then he had it: Morghien, the man of many spirits. His weatherbeaten face was dirtier than the last time they’d met, in Tirah Palace, but he was certainly looking at the ageing wanderer who, with Mihn, had brought Lady Xeliath to the Farlan capital.
‘You’ll catch flies if you keep that up, Major,’ Morghien added, bowing mockingly before starting towards them. ‘I see you’re still whole, Ralen; there really is no justice in this life.’
Ralen chuckled and gave the man a careless salute. ‘Morghien, you ole cheat, still sneakin’ up on folk then? I thought Marshal Carelfolden ’ad warned you about that.’
Morghien smiled, but his response was drowned out by an explosion of noise as the dogs caught sight of him and raced out again, barking with a far greater ferocity than they had at the riders. Morghien stopped dead while the woman Jachen had spoken to yelled at the animals. The three long-haired guard-dogs ignored the horses and stopped only when they were just past the Farlan, as though ready to protect them from the eccentric wanderer.
Jachen had met Morghien often enough for him to be wary at the wanderer’s unexpected appearance. What he hadn’t expected was Morghien’s reaction to the dogs - only the woman’s repeated shouts were holding them in check at all, and none were showing any sign of backing down, but Morghien had sunk to his knees, as if to make himself an easier target.
Without taking his eyes off the dogs Morghien untied a dead rabbit from his pack and tossed it to the dogs, closing his eyes and mouthing something, looking to Jachen for all the world as if he was praying.
To Jachen’s complete astonishment, the dogs shut up. The largest of the three picked up the rabbit and fixed Morghien with a baleful look before carrying his prize back inside the hamlet fence.
‘What in the name o’ Larat’s twisty cock did yer do there?’ Ralen asked, clearly mirroring Jachen’s own surprise.
‘Just said hello,’ Morghien replied, getting to his feet with the groan of a man far older than he looked. Morghien, a man who counted King Emin among his friends, had looked exactly the same when he met the king almost twenty years previously, and twenty years before that too.
‘The hamlet’s got a guardian spirit, one they’ve linked to the dogs somehow - that’d be your witch, I’d expect.’
‘And it took exception to you?’
Morghien laughed. ‘Took fright, just as likely, but it acts like a dog and they don’t need much excuse to bark.’
‘Were you waiting for us here?’ Jachen interrupted. ‘Did the king tell you to meet us?’
‘Pah, he’s got a war to think about now, and he don’t know any more than you do anyway.’
‘What do you mean?’
Morghien cocked his head at Jachen. ‘Curious, he didn’t tell you any more than he had to. You ain’t here at his order; you’re here at the witch’s.’
‘Lord Isak’s last orders said we were to follow King Emin’s orders, not those of some village witch,’ said Jachen, looking puzzled.
Morghien nodded. ‘Maybe so, but the witch sent Emin a message a few weeks back. She asked for you by name.’
‘Me?’ Jachen said in surprise. ‘I barely met the woman.’
‘But you have kind eyes, and women like that,’ Morghien laughed with a wink at Ralen. ‘Might be something else, of course, but we won’t know until we find her.’
He called his thanks to the woman by the cottages and disappeared into the trees, coming back almost immediately. ‘Come on, Major, let’s see if love awaits you,’ he said as he started off down the path she had indicated.
Morghien was silent as they continued on their journey, passing though a second charm-enclosed hamlet before the trees opened out and they found a village straddling what was now a small river. Compared to the rest of Llehden it looked bustling, and was apparently large enough to have no more of a protective fence than a boundary ring of charm-inscribed stones. They could see smoke from more than a dozen homes rising into the air, and hear the clash of a blacksmith at work, and there were figures visible working on half a dozen smallholdings in between the cottages.
‘No lord of the manor here,’ Morghien commented as they crossed the boundary stones, ‘and they eat all they grow; you Farlan wouldn’t approve.’
‘Ain’t they lucky,’ Marad drawled, ‘the king’s law rules all round their border, so’s they gets the best o’ both.’
‘Don’t fool yourself; it’s not so simple - or safe - in these parts. Start thinking that way, you might not last the night.’
‘Bloody peasants an’ their bloody superstitions,’ Marad replied, spitting on the ground, ‘if it can hurt you, you can hurt it. I’ll put my glaive against anythin’ Llehden�
�s got.’
‘I’d be interested to see that,’ Morghien said with grin, ‘from a safe distance.’ He broke off to speak to a man with greying whiskers and a hoe resting across his broad shoulders, who had come over from the nearest smallholding. They talked briefly, and Jachen noticed a look of relief crossing the man’s face when Morghien shook his head in answer to a question. After a while he pointed to a house on the far side of the village.
‘The witch is here in the village today; one of the women is in labour,’ Morghien reported back to them, and led them across the small bridge and into the centre of the village, scattering the hissing black-winged geese grazing on a patch of common ground.
As they headed to the house, Jachen asked, ‘What about the first bit?’
‘First?’
‘What the man said.’ Jachen said, jabbing a thumb behind them.
‘Ah, nothing. He asked if we were hunting the Ragged Man.’
‘Who?’
Morghien shrugged. ‘Some local spirit, by the sound of it; he said it’d eat our souls if we went after it.’
‘Let’s not, then,’ Jachen said with a shiver. War he could handle, but the supernatural terrified him. The sight of the Reapers slaughtering Scree’s population still haunted his dreams . . . he had none of Marad’s optimism.
At the house Morghien spoke to a stern-looking woman with greying hair and returned to the Farlan soldiers looking grave. ‘She sounds worried; it’s her sister givin’ birth. If you’re brave enough, go fetch the witch out - me, I’ll wait.’
Ralen and Marad shook their heads violently and followed Morghien over to what proved to be a tavern. Finding himself alone and the sole object of the woman’s scrutiny, Jachen beat a hasty retreat. The three soldiers busied themselves attending to their horses before they stretched out beside Morghien on the grass with pots of the potent local brew.
