by A. D. Green
Lord Richard stood at the wall looking out over his town. The old wizard Lutico stood to one side peering through his hands reminding him of Junip on the wall. Richard caught sight of him, but other than a slight incline of his head carried on his surveillance. The man looked haggard.
Amos moved to the wall and oriented himself. To the north thick black smoke billowed into the morning sky. Sound travelled to him, bells ringing warning, a distant rumbling and the faint sounds from below of the injured and dying.
He made out the tiny figures of Jerkze and the long haired Wynter wading through the mass of humanity making for the castle gates.
Turning to the south Amos looked for his own wall and tower. It was too distant to make out any figures but the signal mast looked to have been hacked down. The tower at least had fallen then. Meaning the town was lost and all those below would be lost. There was nowhere for them to go. The castle and keep was large but not enough that it could accommodate an entire town.
Amos looked again at the Black Crow. His eyes were haunted, his face gaunt and pale. They were his people down there, what must he be feeling knowing they were dead and he could do nothing to prevent it, having to choose who lived and who died.
It wouldn’t matter in the end. They were all dead. The keep was big, its ancient walls tall and thick but its solidity was an illusion Amos knew. It was little more than a prison. One they would die in and the urak didn’t have to do a thing. They wouldn’t survive the winter.
Despondent Amos left the tower. He felt too detached, too far removed from it all atop the keep. Staring down at those below, like some ambivalent god. The people were too many and indistinct to make out clearly; it all felt surreal, like watching someone else’s nightmare unfolding. Already racked with guilt for those abandoned on the wall he needed to be closer, to see and feel, to bear witness.
Amos made his way to the castle walls which stood as thick and formidable as the keep's tower. From there he watched and listened as the sounds of battle grew ever closer. Fires burned all over town, springing up even as rain started to drizzle from the sky.
There was a rumble as the portcullis crashed down and the gates swung shut. People in the square panicked and rushed the gates banging in fear against it to no avail, it remained firmly barred.
It was a little after midday when the first urak entered the square. Arrows flew from the battlements but struck those running in terror as much as the urak they were aimed at.
Jerkze joined him and Jobe on the wall, Wynter at his side. Together they watched, helpless as people crowded the town square from among the adjoining houses and streets. Thousands gathered impotently, crying and wailing in fear. Driven to desperation, many rushed the gate and walls.
Amos forced himself to watch it all. The memory would be forever etched in his mind. He saw an older couple with a young girl stumble out of the crowd. There was something familiar about them tugging at him drawing his eye and he watched in guilty despondence as they pushed up against the wall. They could go no further. The girl, a skinny little thing, couldn’t have been more than ten. The man had a shock of red hair pulled back in a ponytail; it looked to be receding from the front. Maybe it was that which drew Amos’s eyes as realisation suddenly dawned.
“Rope,” He looked desperately at Jobe and Jerkze, “Anyone?” Gods damn it he raged.
“Packs back on the tower,” Jobe said in apology.
“Got mine below, if’n it’s still there. I’ll go fetch it,” Jerkze offered.
“Ain’t no good if’n you ain’t got it with you,” Wynter muttered slinging his pack from his shoulder. Fumbling inside he pulled out a rope, neatly looped in a coil and held it out. Amos snatched it, quickly unravelling it to measure its length.
“Should be long enough,” Wynter said, reading Amos’s intent.
Amos nodded his thanks and began tying a hitch in the rope. “Any remember the name of that landlord in the Broken Axe? Stenman I think,” Amos said.
Jerkze and Jobe leant out over the battlements and stared down. “Fuck you're right. That’s the landlord and his missus. Vic he was called, yeah Vic Stenman.”
“Stenhause, he’s called Vic Stenhause,” Wynter said.
Amos leant out over the wall. “Stenhause,” he yelled, his throat throbbed in pain but he saw Vic look up. Amos signalled him and watched as they made their way along the base of the wall.
Most people were gathered near the gates and Amos instinctively moved further away from them. He looked around furtively to see if any watched but those guards on the wall were focused out at the unfolding drama in the square.
Amos lowered the rope over the wall whilst Jobe and Jerkze stood either side shielding his activity from prying eyes.
He felt a tug on the rope and moments later a sudden weight pulling against his grip. Amos took the strain and pulled. His shield arm ached from the bashing it had taken earlier but he gritted his teeth, it was manageable. He pulled hand over hand, steady. The rope trembled through his fingers and swayed against his grip. Wynter reached over to help and in short time a dirty face with big wide eyes appeared over the embrasure. It was the little girl as Amos knew it would be.
There was a cry and clamour from below. The girl’s rescue had not gone unnoticed. “Lota desperate folk down there,” Jobe muttered.
“Company,” Jerkze said, the warning none too soon as guards appeared. They pushed past Wynter who lent indolently against the wall.
“I’ll need that rope and the girl. You better come too sir.” He looked apologetic but his face was set.
Amos stood tall pushing the girl behind him. He held his token up. “I’m Lord Amos and I’m keeping the girl. If you don’t like it take it up with Lord Richard,” he challenged, glaring at the man. The sergeant coloured and Amos sensed the sudden uncertainty he’d caused. There was a lengthy pause, then finally.
“I will Lord Amos, mark my words.” The man hesitated, his men watching silently at his back. “I’ll be taking the rope at least. We got orders.” His shoulders went back his stance firm.
Amos saw the resolve harden in him and judged in that instant whether he could push further, whether he could save the Stenhauses at least. No, he didn’t believe so. Even if he kept the rope there was no way he would be allowed to use it to affect another rescue. Grudgingly he handed the rope to the sergeant who took it before ordering his men back to their posts.
“You owe me a rope,” Wynter said as the guards marched off.
“You owe me a bow,” Amos retorted. He turned to the little girl trembling behind him and knelt beside her. Tear tracks smudged her dirty face and her eyes were red from crying. Had he saved her from a quick death or just delayed it. Would she suffer the torment and terror of starvation and a slow agonising one instead.
“What’s your name girl?”
She sniffed wiping her sleeve under her nose. “Annabelle.”
Epilogue
They found the body lying half hidden in some reeds. It was a man for sure, black and burnt as it was. Grasping him under the arms they dragged him out of the water and up onto dry land. The prospect of finding anything looked slim. The clothes were charred and burnt onto the flesh in places; still any coin should hopefully have survived the hellfire that must have struck him down.
“Ankor protect us. Musta been struck by the Saint hisself,” Hissings said touching thumb and forefinger to his forehead acknowledging the god of life.
“Fuck Ankor. Now roll him over. You Trickle,” Black Jack said pointing to the youngest of their band.
Aware that seven pairs of eyes watched, weighed and judged him, Trickle stepped forward boldly, feeling anything but. He knelt over the body and gagged. The skin was cracked and charred and stank of burnt fabric and meat. Muttering under his breath the air thickened around his nose. The smell gone, he breathed more easily. Grabbing hold of a shoulder and knee he pulled levering the burnt man over on to his back, cloth crumpling beneath his fingers as it flaked turning to
ash. The burnt man lay unmoving.
“Wonder what did this to him,” Trickle said.
Black Jack slapped the back of Trickle’s head with his hand. “Wonder what be in 'is pockets instead, shithead. Be quick, he fucking stinks.” He wrinkled his nose.
Trickle searched him but knew he would find nothing. Whatever had burned him had been hot enough to melt his belt buckle but over quick enough that his body was still whole beneath the blackened skin. Patting the body down, the clothing crackled and fell away as he knew it must. He saw something and leaned in.
“What ya got?” Black Jack looked interested. Hissings and several others gathered round eager.
“Think his eye moved,” Trickle said.
“Bah, fuckin idiot.” But they all looked at the face, the skin black and cracked, a clear fluid leaking out in places. Suddenly the eyes flicked open wide, piercingly blue, the whites standing out in stark contrast to the burnt flesh surrounding it. And then the burnt man screamed.
Principal Characters
Nihm Pronounced Nim. Daughter of Darion and Marron Castell
RencoPronounced Ren-co. Apprentice to Hiro
MaohongPronounced – Mow-hong. Hiro’s companion.
The Order
Darion CastellHomesteader and agent of the Order.
Marron CastellHomesteader and agent of the Order.
KeeperTitular head of the Order.
HiroKnight of the Order (Sometimes)
Lords of the Rivers Province
Twyford Pronounced Ty-Ford. Ducal Lord of the Rivers province
Richard BouchemeaxPronounced Bow-She-mow. Known as the Black Crow. Lord of Thorsten.
Jacob BouchemeaxOldest son of Richard
William BouchemeaxLord of Redford – brother of Richard
Robert BouchemeaxWilliam’s 1st son
Bruce BouchemeaxWilliam’s 2nd son
Sandford BouchemeaxWilliam’s 3rd son
Men and Women of the Rivers
Sir Anders ForstandtCaptain in the Black Crows guard.
KronkeSergeant in Forstandt’s company
Pieterzon/Deadeyeguard in Forstandt’s company
MableSandford’s man at arms
Sir John StensonCaptain of Jacob Bouchemeax personal guard.
GreigonCaptain on the Riversgate, Thorsten
MortimerSergeant on the Riversgate, Thorsten
Mathew LebraunGuard on Riversgate, Thorsten.
Geert VanknellGuard on Riversgate, Thorsten.
Matteus LofthausCaptain of the Black Crow’s guard.
Lorcus SamuelsKnight Captain south wall command Thorsten
Byron MuellerMilitia commander, Thorsten
Lutico Ben NarisMage of the third order, master of the arts magical, emissary for the council of mages and councillor to Lord Richard Bouchemeax
JunipMage apprentice to Lutico.
Luke GoodwillBard travelling the Rivers
Leticia Goodwill (Lett)Luke’s daughter and apprentice.
Red Priest’s – Church of Kildare
Henrik ZollerPriest, former protégé to Cardinal Tortuga.
Maxim TortugaCardinal and head of the Red Priest’s in the Rivers Province.
MortimPriest in charge of Thorsten chapter
Ilfanum
Da’MariPronounced Da- Ma-re. A Nu'Rakauma – a world tree bordering the Rivers to the west.[1]
EladrohimPronounced El-Ad-Ro-Him. A Nu'Rakauma – a world tree to the west of the kingdom.
Elora Pronounced El-Ora. Visok and K’raal1
M'rikaPronounced Ma-Rik-ah. Visok and K’raal
RuithPronounced Roo-ith. Healer
R’ellPronounced Ray-ell
BezalPronounced Bez-al. R’ells bonded Crow
Urak
BartukPronounced Bar-Tuck. Clan White Hand – Scout
GrommaPronounced Grow-ma. Called the Gutsplitter. Kin to Mar-Dur – warrior of the White Hand.
No-noseClan White Hand – Scout
Mar-DurPronounced Mar-duur. Clan Chief of the White Hand
RimtaugPronounced Rim-Taag. Raid chief for the White Hand
KrolClan Chief of the Red Skull
Tar-TukhPronounced Tar-Tuck. Hurak-Hin (body guard) to Krol Clan chief.
NartakPronounced Nar-Tack. Hurak-Hin (body guard) to Krol Clan chief.
GrimpokWar Chief in the White Hand.
Muw-TukhPronounced Mow-Tuck. Hurak-Hin (body guard) to Mar-Dur Clan Chief.
Baq-DurBortaug tribe chief. White Hand Clan.
Ilf dictionary
Ilf Means child/children
IlfanumMeans child of
Nu'RakaumaPronounced Nu-racka-uma means in literal terms giant tree mother
K’raalA type of Lord/Lady
Visokthe term for a High Ilf
AnumMeans several things of/from
UmphathiMeans warden
RohelineEast/eastern
Ka’harthiMeans, gatherer’s, gardeners.
FassarunewadaickThe name for the Fossa River near the Torns mountains.
Fassa Means fast/quick
Rune Means running/flowing/moving
Wada Means water
Ick Means ice/cold/frozen
RohelinewaaldMeans guardian of the eastern forest
Waaldmeans forest
Look out for
Kingdoms Fall
Book Two of the Morhudrim Cycle
Due for release - Fall 2020
Congratulations you’ve made it this far. If you enjoyed Rivers Run Red please leave a review. It would mean a lot.
If you want updates on book two and beyond, or to give me honest feedback and suggestions or want adding to my mailing list then please email me at [email protected].
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Thanks for reading
A D Green
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[1] See Ilf Dictionary that follows for pronunciation guide and meaning.
