Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)

by A. D. Green

  “I see, so Vic you’re not sure what to believe?” Marron ventured.

  “Oh no, I believe what you say. It’s just…” he hesitated then blurted, “she wants to send Mort away with you. Says town could be in trouble. I just can’t believe it and I don’t like it. Could be we’re sending him into harm’s way. Surely we’re safest here behind our walls?”

  Marron was taken aback. They wanted to send Morten with her. What with Mercy, Lucky and Stama tagging along she was starting to feel like things were getting out of control.

  Sitting on the edge of Nihm’s bed to think she could see their worried faces in her periphery and felt the tension between them. They had clearly argued over this.

  “Have you discussed this with Morten?” Marron asked.

  “Aye that she did,” Vic muttered angrily. “Told him to take you to Rivercross to help with Nihm,” he said.

  “And you don’t agree.” Marron nodded in understanding.

  “It’s for his own good Vic,” his wife said.

  “Agh, you play on the boy's feelings for the girl.” He glanced at Marron. “Sorry Marron, but you must know the lad is a bit sweet on your Nihm,” he apologised.

  “I know they’re friends,” Marron agreed. “Whether anything comes of it is not for me to say.”

  “Oh Vic, what harm could it do for Mort to take a trip to Rivercross?” Viv rounded on him. “It’ll take him out of harm’s way if there's trouble and if not then no ‘arm is done. He can collect some supplies at Rivercross and head back up once Lord Richard has sorted things out with these urak people.”

  “Look,” Marron said, “I’ll take Morten if he wants to come. But you must tell him the truth. He's a man and should make his own choices.”

  Viv coloured at Marron’s words. Vic grunted his agreement but had the wisdom to say nothing.

  “I’ll tell him,” Viv said. “Thank you Marron.” She turned and left the room.

  Vic went to follow but held back when he got to the door. “Rumour is rife on the street about these urak and what with more people coming into town every hour from all over the north…” he grimaced then asked, “is it really that bad?”

  “I don’t know Vic.” Marron sighed, weary with it all. “It could be. It could be worse than we imagine. Maybe Lord Richard sends them packing and it comes to nothing,” she said. “A wise man plans for the worst. You strike me as a wise man Vic.”

  He nodded his head at that but left looking as troubled as when he came in.

  Mercy showed up a short while later carrying a tray with food and drink. They shared it together, discussing the journey ahead.

  “I have loaded the wagon and set the horses in their traces,” Mercy told her. “I got a fair price for your cart and ponies in exchange.”

  “I’ll miss them, had them since they were foals.” Marron struggled to keep the melancholy from her voice.

  “I’ve made a bed for Nihm. It’s as comfortable as I can make it,” Mercy carried on. Marron couldn't help thinking that it wasn't the same thing as being comfortable. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

  “Even got your stuff out of the stable and packed.” Mercy chuckled, the scar on her face suddenly crooked. “Those dogs of yours were having none of me. Thought Stama was going to be eaten. Turns out that lad Morten has a way with them. I hear tell he’s coming with us?”

  “That’s up to him,” Marron replied. “I said he’d be welcome if he so chose.”

  “Aye well, maybe he'll be useful,” Mercy said, but she looked unconvinced. Seeing Marron had finished with her food she continued, “We should head off now my lady.”

  Marron rolled her eyes, “Please Mercy, the men are bad enough, don’t you start with all that my lady stuff. Far as I know I have no noble blood in me. I am a simple woman; Marron will do just fine,” she said.

  Mercy laughed. “Right, but just so you know Marron, there’s nothing simple about you.”

  Marron grinned, she knew a man who'd agree with that sentiment. Her mind drifted to Darion then and it was a few moments before she realised Mercy still talked.

  “Sorry my dear, you were saying.”

  “Just that Nihm looks better. She’s got her colour back,” Mercy said. She felt guilty still about the casting she'd done earlier and shocked. The sundering of her casting had left no residual magic. It was like it had never happened.

  “Shall I have Lucky carry Nihm to the wagon? If we’re to leave I’d like to put as many leagues in as we can.”

  “Yes,” Marron agreed. Standing she went to Nihm’s side, feeling her brow one last time. Nihm’s breathing was even and regular and the funny tick of her eyelids had gone. She looked so peaceful; if only she'd wake up.

  Marron turned as she heard the door open and the heavy tread of Lucky.

  “My lady,” he said.

  Marron stepped aside to allow him access to Nihm. She caught the grin on Mercy’s face and realised it was for Lucky’s honorific and smiled back.

  Lucky lifted Nihm from the bed. He was a big man and she looked a child in his arms. Turning with his charge he looked at the two women suspiciously. “What are you two grinning at?” he said.

  “Just a private matter, don’t you worry yourself about it,” Mercy laughed.

  Lucky grunted, convinced he was the butt of a joke somehow. He carried Nihm down to the courtyard, only banging her head once on the staircase wall for which he was soundly berated. Once outside he handed her to Stama, who was waiting in the flatbed of the wagon, before hurrying back into the inn.

  With a grunt of effort Stama hefted Nihm managing to lay her gently enough on the bed they'd prepared.

  Marron inspected the wagon. It was large, enough to fit Nihm’s pallet and all their supplies in. She checked Nihm making sure her daughter was as comfortable as could be. The sun was newly risen and the first light of day was still muted, the air heavy.

  “Rain’s coming,” Marron said to no one in particular. She stowed her travel pack, then with Stama raised the cover up over the wagon's ribbed frame so that Nihm would stay dry.

  There was a sudden barking from the stables. The dogs had heard her. Morten, who'd been floating about nearby feeling awkward and unsure what to do perked up at the noise.

  “I’ll fetch the dogs,” he said, and rushed off.

  Shortly thereafter the dogs came bounding around the side of the wagon and leapt for Marron. She bent and ruffled their necks.

  “Yes, I know, I’m sorry I’ve not been to see you.”

  They jumped and pranced around Marron. Ash and Snow must have gotten Nihm’s scent, for they did a circuit of the wagon looking for her then jumped up onto the tailboard. They sniffed Nihm’s prone body as if unsure who she was. Ash whined but Nihm did not respond. With another sniff for assurance they turned circles on the straw bedding before finally curling up next to her.

  Marron walked over to Vic and Viv who stood watching from the back door of the inn.

  “Thank you both. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and Nihm,” she said, hugging a tearful Viv, “I’ll keep an eye on Morten for you.”

  Viv nodded her thanks not trusting herself to speak. Vic replied for them both.

  “I know you will Marron. The lad is useful too, you’ll see. Just keep him safe for us eh!” He embraced Marron awkwardly, before standing back.

  Lucky bustled up to them then, carrying Marron’s travel chest. “Excuse me folks, coming through,” he said easing himself sideways past them.

  Stama and Mercy had mounted their horses and sat waiting whilst Lucky settled the travel chest in the back of the wagon, Ash and Snow watching him all the while.

  Marron, never one for long goodbyes, bade the innkeeper’s farewell. Hopping up onto the wagon seat she spared a glance for Nihm then let out a whistle. Maise and Thunder responded immediately, jumping up onto the wagon and startling Lucky, who swore. He grumped to himself as he latched the back board up before climbing into the saddle of his own giant de
strier.

  Morten hugged his parent’s goodbye. Both Vic and Viv bombarded him with last minute instructions and it was all he could do to extricate himself. Finally, with a last embrace, he waved them goodbye. Climbing aboard the wagon he took the reins and looked expectantly at Marron, excited.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Marron said.

  Morten released the wheel brake and gave the reins a flick. They were off.

  Chapter 43

  : The Redford Road

  Amos watched the carnage in silence. One of the houses burned fiercely; smoke billowing into the air in thick black plumes. Under its dirty blanket people lay dead. None moved, none cried out, blood was everywhere. Some had run, some fought but all had died, hacked to pieces. Not just men either, but women and children too, the slaughter indiscriminate.

  They’d arrived too late to see it happen, too late to see the survivors rounded up and herded away to the north east. The rain that had passed through earlier had delayed them; fierce and torrential, they’d been forced to take shelter in a wooded grove to wait it out. Otherwise, chances were they’d have found the village before the urak. Probably would be lying there among the dead.

  The three men had seen much in their lives but nothing prepared them for what they witnessed below. From their vantage point on a wooded hilltop above the village, urak moved. The dead were gathered, dragged unceremoniously to the village centre. There, a group of smaller urak set about with hooks and knives butchering the bodies. They were efficient as they gutted the dead before harvesting them, removing heart, kidney and liver. The carcasses were then dragged away and stacked in a pile. It was nauseating to watch.

  Amos took a slug of water, his mouth dry. He assessed their number to be close on five hundred. Over the past hour many had moved off in smaller parties, out into the countryside. The smudge of smoke in the distance evidence that this was not the only village that suffered.

  Something was happening below, had been since they’d arrived, but Amos sensed it was nearing an end. A group of around twenty urak had laboured, smashing one of the stone and daub houses to pieces until it was nothing but a pile of stone, timber and thatch. A long shallow trough had been gouged out of the soft ground and at first he thought they meant to bury the dead. They hadn’t. Instead they dragged the stone onto the bared soil and covered it with the thatch. This they set on fire, the smoke adding to the cloud already above. Onto the fire they threw wood; timbers and branches the villagers had gathered for their own hearths. The urak left it blazing away, laughing and jostling each other.

  An urak turned up shortly afterwards, larger than any they’d yet seen; shoulders broad, chest and arms rippling with muscle. He wore his hair in a topknot with braids falling down his back, his face marked red with war paint. He was flanked by two equally fierce looking urak and it was clear he was angry. He gesticulated wildly and they could hear his deep guttural barking from where they lay.

  “He don’t look none too happy,” Jobe whispered.

  “Ain’t none of us happy,” Jerkze muttered.

  Amos agreed but said nothing. The harvesting of the villagers had been harrowing to watch and he felt sickened by what he saw. Jobe tended to talk when he was stressed; hell he liked to talk whatever. Amos glared and Jobe nodded getting the message and lapsing into silence.

  The urak below moved off, spreading out and checking the homes in the village. They ransacked them carry out anything of use. They heard the mewling cry of a child until abruptly it ceased cut-off mid cry. They watched in growing anger as an urak appeared from one of the smaller homes, a dead child thrown over its shoulder. It walked to the butchers and dropped the child at their feet, grunting and laughing with them.

  Amos felt his blood stir; his hand gripped his bow as he seethed in helpless rage. Jerkze glanced across and quietly reached over to grip his arm. Only then did Amos realise he held an arrow to his bowstring. Sighing to himself, forcing his arm to relax he returned the arrow to his quiver.

  The trench fire had guttered down to ash and small flames. The urak started to haul the pile of dead to the trench, half throwing, half laying the bodies in it. Next they laid thatch over the top, igniting and flaming in places, before piling earth and dirt from the trench over the top. It was morbidly fascinating to watch even as the nauseous waft of burnt hair and flesh made its way to them on the wind.

  “What are they doing?” Jobe whispered to Amos.

  Amos wasn’t sure. It was Jerkze that answered.

  “It’s an oven of sorts I think.” He glared at the urak as the earth was piled into a mound, tendrils of smoke escaping through cracks and gaps. “I heard tell of tribes over the western seas that cook their food in the ground. Maybe this is the same?” he thought out loud.

  “We need to move,” Amos hissed. The day was old and the sun only an hour or so from the horizon. “Been here too long,”

  Backing away from their vantage point they moved deeper into the treeline. Amos was worried. They were just a day from Thorsten having followed the road to Redford on the west bank of the Oust. They couldn’t follow the road back; likely the urak raiders that moved out earlier followed it themselves. No, they’d have to track to the west and then south back to Thorsten and hope they could make it back before the urak arrived in any sort of numbers; they were much closer than he’d expected.

  The three men gathered their horses from where they’d tied them and headed west. They followed below the ridge line of the hill they were on, staying under the cover the trees provided.

  To the west the ground rolled gently away, a mix of marsh and grassland in the dells and wood on the hillsides. Wilderness, not much good for farming Amos thought. He saw no sign of habitation, reinforcing his assessment.

  Spurred on by the grizzly scene’s they had witnessed they moved swiftly westward with nothing but hard ground and a rough ride ahead of them.

  Chapter 44

  : Quarry

  Sand’s eyes were black. If anyone looked closely enough they would see the black, swirling and eddying like smoke in a glass.

  A sense of dread and darkness filled him as it always did now. The essence of the Morhudrim was within, malign and sinister; controlling him, tainting his mind and actions, feeding off his anger, hate and fear like a parasite. A small part of him existed still, buried deep in the recesses of his mind. Looking out from its prison, watching him, judging him, screaming at him to wake and end the nightmare. But it was powerless; a breath of wind against a storm.

  Sand detested himself, what little there was left anyway. His weakness and loathing sat in his mind like poisoned thorns.

  His sense of the Morhudrim was strong and overriding despite only holding a fraction of its essence. He could feel Krol through the dark one, just as Krol could feel him. But it was the Morhudrim that controlled them both, as it did now. He felt sudden anger and fear from it.

  Pain erupted in his head like shards of glass and he slumped forward over his horse, his knees reflexively gripping hard to prevent himself from rolling out of the saddle and on to the ground. His eyes shut tight; everything blinding white and agony. Then abruptly it was gone, replaced by a single thought. I fear nothing mortal.

  A picture formed in his head, like a memory. It was of a covered wagon pulled by two horses. A woman and man sat on the bench seat rain lashing down around them, the same rain that had drenched him earlier. Sand sensed the taint of the other in him and felt new purpose course through him.

  As the inky blackness cleared from his eyes Sand righted himself in the saddle, back straight. He could feel his quarry to the south east dragging on him, drawing him on.

  He sat at a crossroad. To the west, out across the river and on the rising ground was the distant outline of Thorsten. Its walls looked tall and formidable the remnants of the earlier storm receding above them heading away south and west.

  Silently Sand turned his horse away from the town taking instead the road to Rivercross and kicked his mount into a
canter.

  Chapter 45

  : New Companions

  Morten liked dogs, got on with most animals really. Even so there was something disquieting about seeing the two large wolfdogs curled up in the back of the wagon. They looked more wolf than dog, one black the other a dirty white. Snow lay at Nihm’s feet, Ash by her side.

  At least she’s warm Morten thought, pulling his cloak tight around his chilled body. Looking at her lying there he felt immediate guilt. Nihm looked so helpless and vulnerable; at least she would do if not for the dogs.

  They’d eyed Morten warily when he had gone in the back for their rain covers earlier and he’d felt an itching between his shoulder blades at their stare. Morten had wanted to check on Nihm but the quiet rumbling growl they’d given when he strayed too close was warning enough. It would be like trying to take a bone from them, he thought. He’d seen it before and was wise enough to leave things be.

  Nihm had not moved since they’d left Thorsten. She lay in the same position they had set her in. Marron checked on her often. Shooing the dogs away like misbehaving pups she would gently lift Nihm’s head and feed her water. The first few times Morten had asked how Nihm was doing, but seeing the distress in Marron’s eyes when he did so made him hold his peace after that.

  The rain stopped by mid-morning, the storm clouds moving away to the south and west. The cool breeze the storm brought remained however and the sun was still clouded over.

  Mercy rode up ahead with the big man, Lucky. It was an odd party they made but Morten was thankful they were with them. The Grim lay not far off. Lawless and rough the Grimmers often raided the Great North Road that skirted the marshlands and wolds they called home.

  His three new companions wore hardened leather and were all armed. They looked competent and martial and moved with the casual assurance of craftsmen that knew their trade.