by Emma Miles
‘A waste of good blood.’ Osun shook his head. And the Dunham’s ensure no rivals with power are born.
‘Well, I am glad that my bloodlines are plain.’ Farkle drank down his geranna. ‘And even had I made my fortune I don’t think I would purchase a woman with magical bloodlines; it’s just not worth it. Live in a little comfort, that’s all I want.’
‘Aye.’ Gunthe nodded and jumped up to take their empty plates. ‘And being left alone to live without fear, that would be something to be prized.’
***
Osun and Farkle walked in silence through the city back toward the Sunset Inn, both deep in thought. Osun glanced at the people he passed; no one really knew him, but he wondered if anyone noted who he was walking with and if it would draw unwanted attention. He shouldn’t have taken such a stupid risk. When they reached the inn, he showed his key to the slave manning the gate.
‘I will take a look at my wagon and see that it’s securely kept,’ he said.
The slave bowed and gesturing another slave over – a young boy – he instructed him to show Osun to where his wagon and team of bulls were being kept. Osun was more than a little impressed with the inn’s security. The wagon was locked into a large room and a guard checked the number of Osun’s key before unlocking it and allowing him in. The guard kept the door open but waited outside; it would be hard to have a private conversation.
‘The chest is here, just inside,’ Osun said loudly. Farkle looked startled; then realised what he was doing. ‘It is heavier than traditional chests, but like I said I find it preserves perishable goods better than pine.’
‘It’s a good size,’ Farkle replied as he climbed up into the wagon behind him.
‘Take a look at the lining.’ Osun took out a key and went to a small strongbox hidden behind some bolts of cloth toward the back of the wagon. He unlocked it and taking out a roll of velvet unfolded it to reveal several ivory pendants on gold chains.
‘It’s very fine,’ Farkle said, running his finger over the links and lifting a pendant to check its quality and craftmanship. Under his breath he said, ‘I can only offer twenty gold.’
‘It cost me thirty,’ Osun replied.
‘Thirty!’ Farkle said a little loudly. ‘That is a lot of money for a chest!’
‘But worth it to preserve rare spices and herbs.’
‘Twenty-three,’ Farkle whispered.
Osun thought about it. Twenty-three was actually a reasonable offer, especially if he wasn’t going to pay a trading tax on it. ‘Twenty-seven.’
‘Still, I don’t usually trade in such goods, so I don’t think I’ll be hurrying south to buy one any time soon. It’s a fine piece of craftmanship though, for a chest. Twenty-four.’
‘Twenty-five.’
Farkle winced. Osun felt guilty for pushing to take advantage of someone so down on his luck. ‘Go on, then, twenty-four.’ He sighed, knowing it was still a good deal.
Farkle’s face broke into a smile and he reached out his hand for Osun to shake. Osun put the pendants back in the strongbox.
‘There is a man on Copper Street who deals with fine wooden items,’ Farkle said as he jumped awkwardly down from the wagon. ‘He might be interested if you’re willing to haul chests up here.’
‘Maybe I’ll pay him a visit.’ Osun followed him out of the room, past the guard, and in to the courtyard. ‘Anyway, I will be at market early tomorrow so no doubt I will see you there. Maybe we could even find something to trade!’
‘Ha ha, maybe we could! I will see you tomorrow, brother.’
‘Blessings to you, brother.’ Osun didn’t stay to watch Farkle leave but instead headed into the inn and found a quiet-ish corner to have a drink and watch the room. For the first time he noticed how many people wore symbols of the blood God, Hacren, on their person. Broaches, pendants, a small earing, or subtle button. He resolved to buy himself something in the market the next morning, silently apologising to Domarra.
As darkness fell, he ordered himself a meal but had to admit that despite its price and fancy arrangement, it was not as good as the flavoursome cooking of Gunthe. When he’d finished, he went back out to the courtyard and cringed when he saw it was the same guard as before still looking after the guest’s transportation. Then an idea came to him.
‘I am embarrassed to admit I dropped my key somewhere in my wagon earlier. I need to retrieve it.’
The guard narrowed his eyes, then seemed to recognise him. ‘Of course, master, would you like me to help look?’
‘No, no, I’m sure it will only take a moment.’ Osun climbed up into the wagon and quickly drew out his scrying bowl and filled it with water, listening hard for any sign of the guard. He took out a small vial of blood and let three drops fall before pulling out the long pendant from beneath his shirt. Relief washed through him when his master answered at once.
‘It is not safe for me to talk for long,’ he whispered hastily. ‘I can confirm the Borrows are taken. Adelphy parades captives with Fulmer blood for all to see. Hacren is in strong ascendancy and people openly wear regalia of necromancy. Even weak blood rivals are being executed.’
‘Thank you, Osun. I still need to know of their plans for the Fulmers and Elden. We will have to think about how to get that information. You may have to go to Arkoom.’
Osun’s heart skipped a beat. ‘I’ll see what more I can find here, first, Master; I will be in touch soon.’
He jumped and nearly upset the bowl as the guard called out, ‘Are you all right, master?’
‘I should have brought a light,’ he called back. ‘Ah! Wait a minute.’ He quickly tipped the water back into the jug to dispose of later. ‘I have it!’ He put the scrying bowl away and taking the key from his purse, clutched it in his hand. He jumped down from the wagon and gave the guard a rueful smile.
‘Do you need a slave to help you to your room?’ The guard looked him up and down, clearly thinking that he was drunk, stupid, or both.
Osun waved his fingers in dismissal. ‘No, I know the way.’
He walked steadily back in to the inn and up to his expensive room; though his nerves were far from steady. Arkoom; his master wanted him to go to Arkoom.
Chapter Five
Dia: Fulmer Isle
Dia peered through the darkness to the flames beyond the breakwater. Smoke stung her throat and made her eyes water. She tried to silence and steady her breathing, stretching out a leg slowly to get more comfortable among the wet undergrowth. Water dripped down from the leaves above, landing with heavy splats on her clothes and skin.
‘What in the Hells was that?’ Worvig hissed beside her.
Dia held up her hand to quiet him and shook her head. Her side throbbed with its own fire from the slash the dead Borrowman had given her. There was a cry from deeper within the forest – the unmistakable sound of a man dying. There was still at least one of their undead enemies on the island. She could feel Worvig’s frustration but as a Silene he was family, chieftain and protector to the Icante of the Fulmers. The fact that he was more injured than she didn’t come into it; the warrior wanted to be fighting, not cowering. Pressing her right hand to the wound, she pushed herself up with her left; knife still clutched within her fingers.
She crept forward, bowing beneath the trailing branches and feeling Worvig’s anger and fear pulsing behind her. Usually her knowing would have been invaluable in tracking down a hidden enemy but from the undead Borrowmen there were no tendrils of emotion. She was about to shut her magic off when she felt the metallic tang of panic away to her right. She signalled to Worvig and the big man nodded, moving ahead of her with his sword gripped at his side. They were heading back toward the sea and the burning ship. Worvig raised a hand but plunged on himself, erupting from the undergrowth to swing his sword at a grey-skinned Borrowman. He grunted with the effort of the blow and it took the creature’s head off its shoulders; no blood sprayed out, only rotten flesh. Its arms flailed and Worvig barley ducked in time to miss the swe
ep of its mace. Dia darted forward to thrust her knife into its spine but it didn’t so much as flinch.
‘You have to burn them!’ A young warrior with his already dark skin blackened with soot splashed back from the shallows onto the narrow beach. Dia saw at once what he was heading for and ran for the dropped torch while Worvig fended off the flailing creature. She snatched up the torch and the young warrior shadowed her protectively, despite having no weapon, while she pushed it against the creature’s tattered clothing. The flame caught and all three of them retreated back toward the water and watched as the dead Borrowman burnt. It made no attempt to save itself, continuing to fight and flail until its body lost the muscle and sinew to stand.
‘Dorthai, where are the others?’ Worvig demanded of the young warrior.
He shifted his feet and didn’t look up at them. ‘I think most went back to the stronghold when the demon came.’
Dia turned to look at the ship, it was drifting now, moving out on the tide. ‘That fire demon seemed to be on our side; or against the Borrowmen at least. It saved me and Worvig.’ A wave of dizziness swept through her and she clutched tighter to the wound at her side. ‘Whatever it was we have no choice but to retreat to the stronghold ourselves. We’ll have to sweep the island at first light and make sure none of our enemy have survived.’
‘What of the Chemman necromancer?’ Dorthai asked in concern.
Worvig’s teeth flashed in a grin. ‘I took him out when he swam ashore to escape the fire.’
Dia didn’t add that she’d disabled the pale man by transferring fear and pain into his soul when he’d grabbed her thinking her an easy hostage. Let the warrior have his moment.
‘That thing’s head is still looking at me!’ Dorthai’s eyes were wide in the torchlight.
Dia looked to the beach and spotted the severed head. It did indeed appear still animated; if not alive. It made her skin crawl.
‘We’ll burn it tomorrow. We’ll burn everything tomorrow. Come on.’ She gritted her teeth against pain and exhaustion and cut into the forest toward the stronghold at a fast trot.
***
They heard raised voices long before they came to the clearing. Braziers were lit along the narrow cliff path to the hold, the walls themselves were dark. The braziers had been Dia’s idea; they allowed clear sighting for their own archers of any approaching enemy while spoiling their enemy’s night vision and leaving the defenders on the wall almost invisible. They heard the gates open and several men came running out.
‘Icante! Worvig!’ The first man to reach them was Venon, a veteran warrior in his fifties.
Worvig swung his fist at the man and lay him flat on the ground. ‘I didn’t command a retreat!’ he roared.
Dia pulled herself up and glared at the others. ‘I don’t want to hear excuses. We think we dispatched all the Borrowmen but we will sweep the whole island as soon as the sun rises. Has anyone arrived from the other strongholds?’
‘Not yet, Icante,’ one of the men muttered.
‘Let me know when they do. In the meantime, send the healer to me and see that Dorthai and Worvig get a good meal and as much ale as they can hold.’
She wanted to crawl, but she held herself upright as she made her way across the outer ward to the longhouse. A very young woman was waiting for her and walked with her to the private chambers at the rear of the longhouse. Pirelle was not a strong Walker, but she was as sharp minded as a crow so Dia had taken her on as an apprentice, anyway.
‘Did you see much?’ Dia asked, collapsing onto the bed.
Pirelle lifted Dia’s hand from the wound and pulling away the fabric of her shirt gave a hiss of concern. Like Dia, Pirelle’s eyes were brown and blue but her hair was dark-brown rather than black. ‘Not much,’ she replied with a shake of her head as she set water to boil. ‘I could see no other ships, just the one aflame. I … I lost sight of you, Dia, and when the men came bac—’
Dia waved a hand in irritable dismissal. ‘The fact that they will feel themselves cowards will be punishment enough; though it took more than courage to face those dead men and that fiery demon. I’ve never seen anything like it; nor heard tell of one. I would think it a creature of Chem except that it helped me and defeated our enemy.’
‘It helped us?’
Dia nodded, staring up at the roof beams. With a wave of almost-grief she missed her feisty eldest daughter intensely in that moment. Kesta was always learning and loved the old tales and might have heard something of fire demons; but Kesta was many miles away with Arrus.
As though reading her mind Pirelle said, ‘Arrus will go mad if he hears the warriors retreated and left you out there with Worvig.’
‘Worvig will handle it in his own way.’ Dia sighed. ‘It was … not an ordinary battle. But the young man, Dorthai from Dolphin Isle, discovered the dead creatures are vulnerable to fire. That will be very useful.’
Someone knocked on the door a bare instant before it opened, and an elderly woman stepped in. Her hair was the silver-grey of a rabbit’s fur but without its softness.
‘You needed me?’ The healer went straight to Dia and ‘tsked’ over the wound. ‘That will poison.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ll put you into as deep a sleep as I can and clean it up. It will be hard to stitch.’ She glared at Dia as though it were her fault she’d received such a jagged wound instead of a neat, clean one.
‘I know you will do your best,’ Dia replied tiredly. ‘Worvig will need you when you finish here.’
‘That lump can wait.’ The healer pulled a small bottle out of one of her many pockets and handed it to Dia. ‘Two swigs.’
Dia gritted her teeth and forced herself to swallow two mouthfuls of the foul-tasting concoction. Its sweetness was almost rotten. She settled back against her pillow and gratefully drifted into sleep.
***
Dia awoke slowly; the sound of deep voices, not quite raised, leaking into her dreams. Pirelle was standing in the doorway softly directing the men outside to wait a little longer. She recognised one of the voices as Worvig’s and the other as the chieftain of Eagle Stronghold.
‘Pirelle! Tell them to get on with searching the isle for any remaining enemies. Send for Dorthai; I want him to come with me to search the beach. I want to see any remains before they are burnt.’
Pirelle nodded; but Worvig shoved the door open and called in, ‘I’d like to give you more warriors than just Dorthai.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ Dia replied, swinging her legs out of the bed to stand. ‘This is a job for Walkers, you warriors have your own work. Dorthai proved himself last night, and he is the man I need to assist me.’
Worvig grunted his disapproval but nodded; there was no point arguing with the Icante. ‘I’ll send him – and leave ten men here at the stronghold.’
Dia smiled. ‘Very well.’
Dia changed her shirt for one that was not torn and bloodied, pausing briefly to wash with the warm water Pirelle had left out for her. She strapped on her boots and tied her hair back with a leather thong. Pirelle held her cloak out and handed her a crust of bread as they hastened out into the great hall. Two women stood waiting for her; they were not Walkers but Dia gestured for them to follow. Both women carried bows and had knives at their hips, they were about the same age as Dia and looked so alike it was hard to tell them apart. Their hair was dark but with the bluish sheen of a magpie’s feathers; their eyes hazel.
‘The others are collecting wood for pyres,’ one of them said as she thrust open the doors and stepped out into the daylight. Clouds still bunched together tightly in the morning sky but silver light seeped through and the rain had ceased. A warrior stood at either side of the door and they stood up straighter as the women passed.
‘Heara, you go ahead and read the path for me.’ Dia instructed the woman who had spoken. Her lifelong friend was the best there was at reading a trail, better even than her twin Shaherra. ‘Shaherra, grab us a couple of torches.’
She turned to regard
Pirelle. The young woman’s eyes were wide and her breathing rapid; Dia couldn’t blame her for being nervous. Pirelle had not left the stronghold during the raid but observing while walking was just as real as being there and the emotions you read from others just as brutal.
‘Use your knowing,’ she instructed softly. ‘I don’t think we can feel anything from the dead men but there may have been more than one Chemman on that ship. Also, there is a chance that some of our missing warriors are yet alive.’
‘How many are we missing?’ Shaherra asked.
‘Eleven we know are dead,’ Pirelle replied. ‘Eight more are unaccounted for. There are no reports from the other strongholds of raids elsewhere; it seems they struck straight at us.’
‘This wasn’t a typical Borrowman raid,’ Dia said. ‘Not by a long way. Last night’s raid was meant to take the Stronghold of the Icante.’
‘They sought to conquer us?’ Pirelle asked in alarm.
‘And might have succeeded if it were not for that fire demon,’ Dia admitted reluctantly. ‘Despite Kesta spying out the ship being loaded with “strange, grey, Borrowmen,” I, for one, was not prepared for the horror and intensity of their attack.’ She shuddered. ‘And I foolishly anticipated them attacking elsewhere.’
‘We have never had a direct attack on this stronghold!’ Pirelle leapt to her defence.
Dia felt a wave of warmth toward the young woman and Pirelle blushed as she picked up the emotion with her knowing.
‘Not for many years but it has happened,’ Shaherra mused. ‘Now and again an ambitious Lord emerges in the Borrows and tries his luck.’
‘But when was the last time we were attacked by Chem?’ Pirelle asked.
‘Never.’ Both Dia and Shaherra answered at once.
