The Jalakh Bow

by Jamie Edmundson

  ‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’ she made herself ask him.

  ‘What are you saying—’ he began.

  ‘You know what I’m asking,’ she told him.

  He moved in close. ‘Belwynn,’ he murmured, his voice sounding husky. ‘You know I have my vows.’

  ‘I don’t care about them,’ she said.

  He put his arms around her, pulled her into him. She looked up at him, parting her lips, putting one hand around his neck, and then his lips were on hers, his hands on her body, and she knew that his vows were broken.

  Nineteen of them had made it through the winter. Nineteen had come down from their camp in the Dardelles mountains, and the irony was, that was when they had come closest to death. Hordes of Drobax were crossing the mountain range into Haskany, and they had nearly got trapped. They had hidden in a cave and had to wait out an entire day before it was safe to move.

  The original plan to cross into Persala was dead. Each time they made an attempt they had encountered armies, or scouting parties: if not Drobax, then Haskans or Isharites. So they had hugged the mountains, gradually heading south-west, getting hungrier and weaker every day.

  Nineteen emerged onto the Plains of Kalinth. Eight Barbarians; six Persaleians; two men of Rotelegen; two Dog-men; and a Magnian.

  Clarin, worn down by the burdens of leadership, prayed to Toric, Madria, and every other god he had ever heard of. If the Drobax hadn’t crossed into Kalinth, they had a chance.

  They had left the mountains behind them but Kalinth remained a rugged landscape, and their progress was painfully slow. They walked at the pace of the slowest, which was the pace of Jurgen, the Rotelegen. He had a permanent limp, the result of a spear wound he sustained in the fighting at Samir Durg. He used a stick to help him balance. The Dog-men carried his possessions. His cousin, Rudy, was always by his side, usually by the end of the day with Jurgen’s arm around his shoulder, taking his weight, encouraging him. But still, Jurgen was the slowest.

  At the worst times, when he was tired and fed up, Clarin had thought about killing him. Just thoughts, crossing his mind, when there was nothing else to think about except putting one foot in front of the other. He’d sometimes see the same thoughts in other people’s faces, but no-one had talked of it, Clarin hadn’t seriously considered doing it. If they killed Jurgen, would they then turn on the second slowest? What if Clarin himself got injured? Would they finish him off? No, they had survived this far by sticking together. As unlikely a group as you would find in the whole of Dalriya, but they all shared the experience of slavery in the mines, had fought their way out of Samir Durg together, and they weren’t going to turn on each other now.

  Kalinth was a sparsely populated land. There were few villages like they had in Magnia. Mainly isolated farms and hamlets, with more sheep than humans. They avoided contact. Clarin was certain that the local population, tough border people, would see them as a threat, and he didn’t fancy getting stuck with an arrow by an anxious farmer. They didn’t—couldn’t—avoid the sheep, however. On an evening they got a fire going and ate roasted lamb; Clarin genuinely believed he had never tasted anything so good.

  It was only a matter of time before they were challenged. When the Kalinthians arrived, there were only ten of them. They looked good, though. Fine horses, fine clothes, tall lances, armour polished and shining in the mid-morning sun. Clarin had heard all about the Knights of Kalinth, supposedly the best heavy cavalry in Dalriya. He was sure he was looking at them now.

  ‘They’re keeping their distance,’ observed Cyprian, the Persaleian, as the riders drew up a hundred yards away.

  ‘They’re outnumbered two-to-one,’ said Clarin. ‘And we must look like mean sons of bitches by now. And not just them,’ he added, indicating the Dog-men, which got some laughs, easing the tension a little. ‘I’ll go and talk to them.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Zared. Zared was a young man, only in his early twenties, yet he was clearly the leader of the Persaleians.

  The two approached while the Knights sat astride their horses, waiting for them. They were an intimidating sight, and Clarin couldn’t help feeling nervous as he approached.

  ‘Well met,’ he began. ‘I should explain our presence in your lands. We are men from all over Dalriya—from Persala, the Empire and elsewhere.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked one of the knights, interrupting. He was a young man, perhaps Zared’s age. But he presented himself as the leader and so that was who Clarin addressed.

  ‘We have escaped from the prisons at Samir Durg. We have been on the run since last summer. We tried to head through Persala, but it’s impossible.’

  ‘Samir Durg?’ repeated one of the other knights. ‘Leontios,’ he continued, talking to the leader, ‘isn’t that where Lady Belwynn went to rescue her brother?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Clarin, looking from one knight to the other, not quite believing what he had just heard. ‘You know Belwynn?’

  Leontios, to his credit, loaded them up with precious supplies before sending them on their way to Heractus. Perhaps that was his way of ensuring they weren’t tempted to butcher any more sheep. He couldn’t spare horses though. Indeed, it turned out that those ten knights were all that remained of the garrison of a town called Korkis. Furthermore, from what Clarin could tell, that garrison was the only one anywhere near the Persaleian border. If—more like when—the Isharites turned their attention here, Kalinth would be in terrible trouble.

  The reason, Leontios had explained to him, was a civil war brewing in the country. Even the Knights themselves were divided in their allegiances. It was a strange and confusing situation for Clarin’s group to find themselves in. The idea of fighting a civil war, when the Isharites and Drobax were on the march, seemed to Clarin the height of lunacy.

  Be that as it may, his group found themselves walking again, albeit with the permanent, exhausting fear of the previous weeks now gone, and enough food in their packs to get them to their destination. It wasn’t such a long way in the end, and two and a half days after leaving Korkis, the city of Heractus appeared before them. It was a sizeable settlement, with grey stone walls surrounding the main city and a camp to the south. Once they got closer, Clarin could see that it was an army camp, well-made tents set out in organised rows. More evidence of the threat of war, though the camp looked new and the soldiers cared for.

  Another good sign was that they were challenged promptly upon approaching. Clarin handed the wary looking soldiers a letter written by Leontios, which Zared had assured him vouched for who they were and asked that they be taken to one of two men, either a Theron or a Sebastian. Once the soldiers had found someone to read it, they agreed to let them enter the city, on condition that they handed in their weapons.

  Clarin’s group balked at this demand. These were men who had sworn never to let themselves be taken captive again, and so persuading them to disarm was nigh on impossible. In the end, it was agreed that the group would be found spare tents in the camp and Clarin would go into the city alone.

  Heractus had a solid, if unspectacular looking castle, made with the same grey blocks of stone as the city walls and many of the houses. It was to the castle he was taken, and at the gates the letter did the trick once more, a castle guard leading him into the main hall where he was offered a place at the fire and told to wait until someone fetched him.

  He took a seat on the floor by the fire, and let the flames warm his tired body. In the mountains, during what seemed to be an unending northern winter, he had thought he would never feel warm again. Now he sat so close that the fire burned him. His face felt red, a trickle of sweat ran down his side, and yet he was loathe to move farther away. He felt like he could sleep for a week, and had to stop himself from lying down there and then. The trouble was, with all the military activity going on, these two knights whom Leontios had mentioned in his letter probably had a dozen better things to do than meet with him.

  ‘Clarin!’ came a voic
e from the other end of the hall, and he turned to see someone he had thought he would never see again.

  Belwynn, smiling, came running over, closely followed by Elana. He got to his feet and opened his arms to grab her. She pushed away too soon, and then he was hugging Elana, though in truth he only had eyes for Belwynn. He had promised himself many things since his capture in Edeleny, and one of them was that if he ever found this girl again, he would never leave her. She looked more beautiful than ever and she looked happy; happier than he remembered her.

  ‘You’re a lot thinner,’ said Belwynn.

  ‘Yes well, being starved for eight months will do that. I swear, I never understood what hunger meant.’ He looked around. He had hoped there would have been more. ‘Soren? Gyrmund? Did they not make it?’

  ‘You’ve just missed them, by two days,’ Belwynn replied. ‘They’re heading north, to the Jalakh Steppe. I’ll explain why later. Moneva is with them, too.’ She looked at him. ‘I forget, there’s so much you don’t know. I am so sorry we left you. Herin?’

  We left you? Had Belwynn been in Samir Durg? It sounded like there was much he didn’t know.

  ‘Herin,’ he began, answering her question. ‘We held out in one of the towers of Samir Durg. He went missing. I looked for him as best I could, vowed to myself that I would never leave without him. The others helped me, but there was not a single sign. If he was dead, I am sure we would have found a body. But nothing. And there was little time. If we didn’t leave when we had the chance, we wouldn’t have left at all.’

  ‘Who’s we?’ Belwynn asked. ‘The other prisoners? Gyrmund told us about them. What did he say?’ she asked, turning to Elana.

  ‘There were humans,’ said the priestess. ‘Dog-men. A Bear-man?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Clarin, smiling, and told them about his new companions, those who had survived. Then they in turn told him of what had happened in Kalinth, of Dirk’s death, of their invasion of Haskany, and finally of Belwynn’s time in Samir Durg, teleported in by Pentas the wizard. How Gyrmund and Moneva had somehow rescued Soren, how they had all ended up in the throne room, and how Moneva had used Toric’s Dagger to kill Erkindrix.

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Clarin. ‘The Isharites had all but defeated us, we were ready to make our last stand on the roof of the tower. And then they all left. That must have been when Erkindrix was slain.’

  ‘I am sorry we left you,’ said Belwynn. ‘I don’t know whether it was the right thing to do. I was unconscious—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Clarin. ‘You saved us, when you all helped to kill Erkindrix. They had to take you to safety at that point. Anyway, what now?’

  ‘Oh, I completely forgot,’ said Belwynn. ‘Theron told me to take you to see him.’

  Belwynn and Elana led Clarin to a room where the knight, Theron, was sat at a desk, bits of parchment spread about it. He stood up and welcomed them in. He was young, confident, but looked careworn. Clarin understood. Many were counting on him to win this war the Kalinthians were involved in.

  ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Clarin,’ said Theron once they were all seated. ‘Belwynn and the others have told me so much about you. To have a warrior of your prowess here is a boon, I can tell you. The letter Leontios wrote,’ he said, trying to find it amongst the various bits of parchment on the table before giving up, ‘mentioned a number of other escaped prisoners?’

  ‘That’s right, there are nineteen of us in all. Two of them are Dog-men. I know that may sound strange, but they have been loyal to me and we wouldn’t have survived without them.’

  ‘I understand. I’m in no position to discriminate against them, even if I was so inclined. Look Clarin, I will be frank with you. You will have picked up that we are in a dangerous situation right now. I can offer you and all your friends accommodation, food, and even wages. On one condition. You all join the Kalinthian army.’ Theron looked at Clarin’s expression. ‘I’m sorry to have to do it, but I have no choice. We’re desperate.’

  Clarin looked from Theron to Belwynn and Elana, then back to the knight, but none of them cracked a smile.

  They all looked at him, with deadly serious expressions. But they had to be joking. They had to be fucking joking.

  Red Serpent

  VII

  THEY USED THE GREAT ROAD to travel south, before leaving it to travel south-east through Gotbeck. This part of Godfrey’s duchy was well-organised and flourishing farming country, and he admitted he rarely needed to visit.

  ‘My early years were taken up with the crusade against the Lizard-men,’ he expounded, as Farred and he rode just behind the head of the column, his soldiers positioned at the front and rear, Hajna and her two companions behind them. ‘Vicious creatures, who raid our people and don’t think twice about killing women and children. I was often frustrated by a witch who dwelt in the marshland. She protected them, altering the paths through the swamps so that my soldiers got lost, or trapped. I had my suspicions,’ he added quietly, glancing behind and then leaning over to whisper to Farred, ‘that the Sea Caladri were also involved. No firm proof, but—’, he nodded sagely at Farred, as if they both understood that a lack of proof was suspicious in itself. ‘Then the bitch died and we got the swamps under control. As soon as that was accomplished, these damn missionaries from the Confederacy began arriving, spreading their dangerous ideas.’

  And so to Godfrey’s religious persecution. Farred knew it wasn’t wise, that he should focus on his mission, but he couldn’t help examining the issue.

  ‘What’s so dangerous about these priests?’ Farred asked. ‘If you’ll forgive my ignorance on the subject.’

  ‘No need for forgiveness, my son. I am equally ignorant of the issues facing Magnia, I am sure. Or perhaps,’ added Godfrey, smiling with satisfaction, ‘we should both ask for forgiveness.’

  That was the kind of glib comment Farred had got used to hearing from the Archbishop.

  ‘The Empire is a mix of different peoples, and these peoples have many religions: different gods, and different beliefs. Our ability to live together in harmony rests on many pillars, but one of the most important is the Brasingian Church. Here all gods may be worshipped, and all are treated equally. This institution was created by Emperor Ludvig, and is often overlooked or under-appreciated by foreigners, if I may say so. Anyway, to the Confederacy. The religion they are promulgating has it that there is one god only, and all others are false. What does this mean? That those who worship these false gods must be ‘stopped’ from doing so. Now, I ask you. Do you see how this idea, if allowed to infect the Empire, could cause untold harm? It undermines entirely the principle of our Church, and creates fanatics whose energies are turned to fighting the beliefs of others, instead of respecting them. That is what I am up against here in Gotbeck.’

  Farred had been expecting some bigoted defence of Godfrey’s persecutions. But he did understand. He saw how the Empire was a different polity to Magnia, and needed more work to keep it united. He saw how protecting religious freedom was crucial to that. He had, he was forced to admit, somewhat misjudged the Archbishop.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I thank you for the lesson.’

  Godfrey nodded solemnly, and they continued their journey.

  Godfrey explained that the best place to cross the border into the lands of the Sea Caladri was near. The north-west tip of the Caladri lands, next to Cordence, was some distance from the Cousel and the marshland that surrounded it on its final journey into the sea. Here, the land was dry and mostly wooded. Trails took them through the woods, and they were able to proceed on horseback. As they approached the border they came across a small fort, now a ruin. The woodland had mostly reclaimed it: trees grew from its roof and moss and ivy covered most of the walls.

  ‘There were others built in a line here,’ Godfrey explained, pointing to the east, ‘maybe a dozen in all. I think they were abandoned soon after they were built. Your cousins are not a warlike people,’ he said to Queen Hajna.

 
; ‘They chose this place to escape war,’ she said. ‘They have had hundreds of years of peace. In that time, they have become rather good sailors. And that is why we are here.’

  She sounded almost jealous to Farred. If her people had been fighting the Shadow Caladri all this time, without help, maybe jealousy was natural.

  ‘I could have some of my men escort you farther,’ said Godfrey. ‘But in truth, your passage may be more straightforward without us.’

  ‘I believe you are correct,’ said Hajna. ‘I am most grateful for your help, and I will tell my cousins of the aid you have given me.’

  ‘You are quite welcome, of course,’ said Godfrey. He took Hajna’s hand and placed a kiss there. He turned to Farred, and they shook hands.

  ‘It may be that the gods decide that our paths will not soon cross again,’ said the Archbishop. ‘In which case I wish you good luck in your endeavours.’

  Farred nodded, then turned to look in the direction they would travel. Apart from the abandoned fort, there was no other sign that the land ahead was claimed by the Caladri. Gentle woodland stretched ahead into the distance and he could see that their trail continued. He wondered whether it was used by Gotbeckers or the Caladri themselves. Some contact, for reasons such as trade, could surely exist here, where it was so easy to cross from one country to another.

  He began to follow the trail, nudging his mount carefully ahead, and Hajna followed, with her companions, Marika and Vida, at the rear. They were quiet, almost subservient to Hajna, who always spoke on their behalf. Vida had a sword strapped to his waist, but whether he was a bodyguard, it was hard to tell. Gyrmund had advised Farred that Hajna was a powerful witch, in which case she hardly needed protection.

  The four of them followed the trail through the woods. Hajna was content for Farred to take the lead and choose the route. She seemed unconcerned about the direction they took, but while the Queen seemed relaxed about their journey, Farred felt more anxious the farther they went. He didn’t know what kind of reaction the Caladri would have to their unannounced arrival.