Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)

by A. D. Green

  The start of his duty had been interesting at least. At first light, the army at Oust Bridge had decamped. By the time the town bell tolled eight, they were on the road and marching. They hadn’t crossed the bridge and gone south as expected though, but instead had headed north, following the curve of the town wall.

  It had been something to witness as ranks were formed in neat columns, man and horse two abreast, with the company wagons following along behind and a small escort of cavalry bringing up the rear. He’d watched the column snake north, until eventually it disappeared behind the curved expanse of the wall. Now all that remained were the trampled grounds, empty training fields and the detritus of two thousand men and women.

  The rest of Lebraun’s morning was spent watching holdsteaders and traders cross the Oust Bridge and climb the road to Riversgate, as they did every day. It was a regular monotony.

  Lebraun wondered again how long his partner would be; he really was starting to take the piss. Geert Vanknell had sloped off a while ago, a calculated gamble on his part and one that would land them extra duty if the sergeant caught him out. But complacency had set in a long time ago for the pair and besides, it was well known the sergeant liked dice and was likely playing in the guard room of the adjoining tower.

  Lebraun consoled himself that his shift would end soon. Midday had passed and it would not be long now. He smiled at the thought of his wife and young son. So it was that he didn’t immediately see the boat to the north.

  The door to the tower roof clattered and banged as it was thrown open and Lebraun watched as the curly-haired head of Geert Vanknell emerged from the trap. Geert’s helmet was stacked against the tower crenels along with his shield and sword, next to Lebraun's own. Instead, Geert was armed with two steaming mugs balanced with practised ease in one hand, whilst he climbed up and through the trap with the aid of his other.

  Grumbling at his friend, Lebraun took one of the mugs. It was only then, when he turned back to his duty, that he saw the boat. It was a good distance to the river and it looked small from where he stood. Even so, Lebraun knew from experience it was a large vessel, flat bottomed and wide. He peered at it, staring hard, drink forgotten.

  “Geert, your eyes are better than mine. What do you make of that?” He pointed to the distant boat. “Some’at is off.”

  Geert was five years younger than Lebraun, his eyes that bit sharper. Moving over he looked to where his mate pointed. His hand gripped the stone wall as he craned his head forward.

  “Whore’s tits!” Geert exclaimed dropping his mug. He ran to the signal bell and banged it loudly, three long low rings booming out.

  The place became a sudden bustle of activity as guards stumbled out of billets and guard stations and onto the walls. Sergeants hollered, directing some, berating others.

  Lebraun was still at the wall eyes squinting at the boat. From here the river looked to move slowly but the current was deceptive. The barge drifted around a bend and into view of the docks. Boatmen pointed, their cries too distant to reach him on the walls.

  Lebraun saw now that the boat was a mess. The sail, tattered and rent in places, flapped raggedly in the breeze. Arrow shafts stuck out of the starboard side like quills on a porcupine and an old mottled canvas had been laid across the centre deck. At the bow a figure waved an arm, his other appeared strapped to his chest. There were two more at the tiller, one leaning on it, steering the boat towards the dock, the other unmoving propped against the stern railing. Lebraun wondered what had happened and where the rest of the crew were.

  Geert jogged his arm breaking his focus. “Er better get these on afore the sarge gets here and tears us a new one.”

  Lebraun took his sword and helmet from Geert just as they heard boots on the stairs. The head that appeared though wasn’t the sergeants but the Captain. Captain Greigon had a fearsome reputation that was well deserved. The two guards straightened their shoulders and stood taller.

  “Report!” Greigon’s command was like a whiplash.

  Lebraun looked briefly at Geert standing to attention and saw he had no intention of speaking.

  “Sir, barge on the river, north of the bridge, been attacked. Looks pretty beat up Captain. Only three crew I can see.”

  The captain moved past Lebraun to an embrasure and looked out. Their sergeant’s head appeared through the trap just as the captain finished his assessment. To Lebraun he ordered.

  “You with me, we’re going down to the river. You,” he gestured at Geert, “raise the signal flag, red standard.” Then again, as the sergeant stepped onto the battlements. “Mortimer, when Lord Richard arrives, tell him I’m down at the docks.” The Captain didn’t wait for a response, walking briskly past Mortimer to start his climb down the trap.

  The sergeant stared at his men one after the other. “Well step to it boys, you heard the captain. What are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

  Lebraun headed off after the Captain. As he got to the trap he heard the sarge snapping at Geert.

  “What the fuck’s going on Vanknell. Captain's got his smalls in a twist alright.”

  “Boat sarge,” Geert pointed by way of explanation even as he broke out the red flag and tied it to the tower's signal mast.

  “Don’t spose I’ll be finishing me shift any time soon then,” Lebraun muttered to himself.

  “Keep up Lebraun.” The captain’s shout echoed up the stairwell.

  “Aye Sir!” he yelled as he hurried after him.

  Chapter 21

  : Dead Boat

  Lord Richard Bouchemeax stepped onto the boat’s decking. Captain Greigon had cordoned off the dock allowing no one to approach the vessel. Only he and one of his men had boarded and they were at the stern deck.

  Greigon’s guards may have kept the docks clear but a crowd had gathered on the bridge overlooking the boat. Annoyed, Richard signalled his guard Captain.

  “Matteus, move those people along.” He indicated the bridge.

  “Yes my Lord.” Captain Matteus Lofthaus was a grizzled veteran that had been with the Black Crow from his earliest campaigns. Spinning on his heel he calmly started issuing orders.

  Richard walked towards the stern, grimacing as he passed the heaped canvas on the deck. The smell emanating from within was putrid and sickly sweet, the mild breeze doing nothing to diminish its stench. It was immediately familiar to him, an old foe from the battlefield and a smell that stayed with a man if he was lucky enough to survive. The cloying aroma of blood and guts mixed with the rancid smell of piss and voided bowels. No, he thought, not a smell one forgets.

  Richard mounted the few steps to the aft of the vessel. Captain Greigon crouched, unaware of his presence, talking to a woman slumped against the stern rail. She looked exhausted and in shock, her haunted eyes watching his approach. Her right arm was bloodied but Richard saw no immediate wound. The guard stood next to his Captain, looking pale but there was anger in him. Good.

  A dead man sat slumped on his side behind the guard. The haft of a snapped arrow protruded from his left shoulder. Not a killing blow ordinarily, but the blood on his shirt and pooled beneath him, gave lie to this. He watched a fly wander idly over the dead man’s eyeball.

  Face grim, Richard nodded at the guard who nodded back, “My Lord.”

  Captain Greigon turned and stood at seeing the Black Crow, “My Lord.” He echoed.

  “Report Captain.”

  “Lord, Lebraun spotted this vessel an hour back.” He indicated the guard to his left then glanced down at the woman. “Madeline here says Redford was attacked two days ago, early, as the sun was rising. Says they only just managed to cast off and escape and the only ones to do so.” Greigon indicated the boat. “As you can see they’ve been peppered with arrows. Arrows I don’t recognise.”

  Richard listened silently waiting for the Captain to finish his report.

  “One survivor in addition to Madeline, with a minor wound to his arm and bad with thirst but otherwise unharmed. He was so
bbing and raving. I had him taken to the infirmary in a covered wagon.” Greigon turned to the woman. “It’s best Madeline tells you the detail but if what she says is true, and how can it not be,” he paused looking about the broken vessel, “then Redford was attacked by a large force. A horde of savages she says.”

  Richard looked at the woman, who stared vacantly at nothing. Kneeling he waited for her to meet his eyes before speaking. “Madeline, you're safe now.”

  “No! no! no! no!” Madeline shook her head. “Not safe. They were so many.” She was hysterical, sobbing, rocking backwards and forwards. “Killed ‘em all, I’m all that’s left. Me and Johns, that useless cockfuck!” she spat, sudden venom breaking through her fear.

  “Madeline!” Richard gripped her shoulders but her glazed eyes stared past him lost. “Madeline!” he shouted.

  Slowly her breathing calmed. Her eyes cleared, a tear tracking down her smudged face.

  “What of Redford?” Richard asked. A hollow ball of fear had taken hold in his gut, Marron’s warning the night before heavy on his mind.

  “They caught us boarding. Lord William had us mustered. They should all be here.” Her shoulders started to shake. “They were on us so fast. We’d stowed our armour on the boats for the trip down. It was a slaughter.”

  “What of my brother, Lord William?” Richard cried.

  Madeline looked at him then as if seeing him for the first time. “Lord Richard?”

  “Yes,” Richard said.

  “He’s gone, gone in the first wave. We was the first and only boat to get away and then only cause Johns cut the bow rope. Fought them on deck till they was gone, most of us dead by then. Water saved us. Saved me… they’re all gone now ‘sept me and that fucker Johns.”

  “What of the town, the walls,” Richard urged.

  “Gates was open, horse and wagons blocked em. For the loading,” she said, by way of explanation. “Fires were burning last I seen.”

  Richard stood then. He was shaken. His brother gone! Redford in flame! It was incomprehensible. William was bringing a thousand spears to join him. What of Redford’s people, its walls? He looked down at the woman. Blood, still fresh, stained her arm.

  “Captain, take Madeline to the keep. Have Sir Antiss put her in a guest room and let the physikers take a look at her. Stay with her; don’t let anyone talk to her. You too,” he indicated Lebraun.

  “Lord Richard!” It was Madeline. She climbed shakily to her feet, Greigon with a steadying hand on her good arm. She met Richard's eye. “They weren’t like no men I ever seen.”

  Richard said nothing but nodded his head acknowledging her words, knowing already who they were.

  “Got some under the canvas,” she declared.

  Richard looked at the lump of canvas covering the main deck as Captain Greigon led Madeline away, Lebraun a few paces back. He watched them disembark to the dock and caught sight of Lutico waiting for him.

  He sighed; Lutico was looking as dishevelled as ever, like he’d slept in the same clothes for the past two days. He probably had. He better be sober, Richard thought. Catching Lutico’s eye he signalled him aboard.

  His old master shuffled forward, his apprentice Junip helping him onto the boat. Lutico was old, although no one quite knew how old. He was counsellor and mage to the Bouchemeaxs, although he did little of either these days. He’d been with his father and grandfather, passed down from one generation to the next.

  Lutico’s staff thumped rhythmically on the wooden boards as he made his way aft. His apprentice suddenly gagged and rushed to the side where she promptly threw up. The guards on the docks laughed calling out to her.

  Where Lutico was ruffled and untidy Junip was the polar opposite, immaculate in her apprentice robes, cinched at the waist; hair bound and tied back. Her face was plain and she was short and stocky. Richard liked her; she was confident and friendly as opposed to Lutico who tended to the bellicose and grumpy. His son Jacob suddenly appeared at the dockside.

  “Lutico you old rascal.” Jumping onto the boat he strode towards the old man. “By the trinity, that stench,” he said, patting Junip on the back as he passed her. He embraced Lutico.

  “By the devils get off me boy,” Lutico shrugged pushing Jacob away.

  Catching sight of his father’s face, Jacob’s mirth instantly evaporated.

  “Now’s not the time for your high spirits boy,” Richard admonished. A black dread had settled on him since speaking with Madeline.

  “Sorry father,” Jacob looked about. His father’s face, pale and grim as it was should have been warning enough. “How bad is it?”

  Richard sat on the raised edge of the stern deck. “Worse than you can imagine. Sit I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Richard relayed Madeline’s tale and they listened. Lutico impassive, leaning upon his staff and Jacob shocked, slumping to his knees.

  “Gone? They can’t all be gone. There are ten thousand people in Redford!” Jacob cried.

  “We don’t know anything for sure. Maybe they stand still but I fear the worst,” Richard said softly.

  “Let’s have a look at these bodies,” Lutico said. His demeanour had changed as Richard had spoken. He didn’t look the dodderer that had climbed the boat mere minutes ago.

  “Yes.” Richard stood, resting a hand briefly on his son's shoulder as he passed him.

  “Junip, stop your theatrics and get over here girl,” Lutico bellowed.

  Standing Junip wiped her mouth on her sleeve. The guards banter had dried up when they saw the grimness on their Lord’s face. Junip glared at them anyway before stumbling to her Master’s side.

  “Grab a corner girl,” Lutico ordered clutching at the canvas.

  Junip gagged again as she reached for the covering and clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes watering.

  “Go wait on the dock if you can’t control yourself,” Lutico snapped, watching as his apprentice screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. Lutico snorted and raised the canvas. The smell intensified; he had to admit it was pretty bad. He muttered under his breath and the air thickened about his nostrils and the smell receded.

  Richard was there then, pulling the canvas back further to reveal the dead bodies lying beneath. There were around fifty stacked like cord wood one atop another. Hard and stiff, most were covered in dried blood. Maggots crawled from orifice and open wound, flies swarming at the disturbance.

  Pale and fighting the rising bile in his throat, Jacob pointed out several larger bodies at the back. “What in seven hells are they?”

  The bodies were man like, only much bigger more solid. Their faces were flat and brutish with a ridged brow. They had piercing’s through nose and ear and blood red war paint covered the top half of their heads giving them a feral look even in death. In life they would have been fearsome. All wore studded, leather-banded strapping around their torsos and metal bracers on their forearms. Leather skirts, also studded, covered their lower bodies. Their skin was ashen but whether that was through death or natural he didn’t know.

  “Not well armoured but they look formidable. What the fuck are they?” Jacob swore, looking to his father, knowing already but unwilling to believe it.

  Lutico had tapped his way around the pile of dead and was examining them. “These, my boy, are urakakule. Hmm, first I’ve seen,” he muttered.

  “Urak? I didn’t believe her. Thought them creatures from legend,” Jacob said.

  “Should get out more Lord Jacob if all you know is what you see in front of you,” Lutico rasped.

  “You give me wisdom now, old man? It rings hollow,” Jacob snapped back.

  “Don’t take it personally; it’s a problem most folk have,” Lutico said.

  “Stop the bickering both of you,” Richard interrupted. “Jacob, you should know better.”

  Lutico raised a bushy eyebrow at that but made no retort.

  Bending Richard hefted a large notched sword lying next to an urak. Heavy and crude, it was nevertheless well made an
d would take some strength to wield. Its pommel was sticky with blood. He dropped it with a clatter, spitting on his hands before wiping them on his cloak.

  “Captain Lofthaus!” Richard shouted. Booted feet hit the deck and thumped down the wooden boards.

  “My lord?” The Captain took in the grisly scene in front of him, nostrils flaring at the smell. His eyes widened as he caught site of the urak but he held his tongue.

  “Captain, I need these urak covered and taken discretely to the keep. Put them in one of the cells and post a guard on the door.”

  “Aye, Lord.”

  “Then get a detail to take these men and women to the priests of the White Lady. Ask them to prepare them for their crossing. Tell them I’ll make a donation to cover the cost.” The White Priests wouldn’t ask for payment, he knew, but it would stretch their resources, of which they had few, being the poorest of the three churches.

  “Yes Lord Richard,” Lofthaus said.

  “Send word to my captains and councillors. I hold council tonight at ten in my audience room.” Richard looked pointedly at his old friend. “Matt, I can’t stop the rumours but I need calm and discretion. Use men you trust and who can keep their mouths shut. The captains will hound you to know what’s going on. Tell them as little as you must and impress on them that their silence and steadfastness is needed.”

  Captain Mathew Lofthaus bowed his head. “Aye Richard, I’ll make it so.” And with that he turned and marched back to the docks, his shouted commands already ringing out.

  Richard looked to his son. “Jacob, have the men in Northfields decamp and moved into town. Billet as many as you can into the barracks, double bunk if you have to. Whatever’s left will have to camp in the town centre. Have the market stalls taken down to make room if needs be.”

  “That will cause problems. Is it really necessary?” Jacob knew he’d misspoken as his father’s pale blue eyes harden. He’d seen that look unsettle many a man or woman. Now he felt it on him and shifted uncomfortably.

  “We’re blind Jacob. We’ve no idea what’s going on. Why are they here? How many are there? What are their intentions?” Richard’s voice grew in pitch as he posed each question. “All I know is two days ago my brother was murdered, his army routed and Redford put to the torch. How far and how fast can an urak horde move Jacob?”