by Emma Miles
‘Hello, yes.’ Osun straightened up in his seat.
‘What brings you to this hole?’
Osun lifted his geranna horn. ‘Want one?’
‘Nah, reckon it must be my round.’ The guard pulled up a stool and waved at the barman. He was younger than Osun had assumed, most of his face hidden within a dark-blonde beard. ‘You don’t normally stay in Margith this long.’
Panic rushed through Osun, but he tried to keep a calm smile on his face. He hadn’t realised that the gate guards had paid him and his comings and goings such close attention.
‘Contemplating where to go next.’ Osun sighed. ‘Trade taxes are up here; trade taxes are up everywhere. I could head to the far north but it’s too early and most of the roads will still be under snow. I normally head east to Rangun after Margith but I’m thinking it might be worth trying something new for a change.’
The guard swallowed his geranna and his eyes grew distant as he thought over Osun’s dilemma. ‘Well.’ He scratched at his head. ‘Did you already try the coastal cities?’
‘I spend the worst months of winter on the coast but have been inland about a month.’
‘My cousin just came up from Navere, he was part of the raid on the Borrows. He says there’s a strange mix of shortage and treasure to be found in the city at the moment. Most of the spoils of the Borrows came through there; most of it’s been claimed by the lords of course and sent onto their palaces or to Arkoom. Many warriors picked up trinkets though and sold them first chance they got in Navere. On the other hand, though, there’s a shortage of foods and good drink due to the huge influx of warriors and slaves.’
‘Do you mean the captives from the Borrows? I saw some outside the palace a few days ago.’
‘Oh no.’ The guard leant forward, looking scared. He lowered his voice. ‘My cousin said that the only captives taken were women with potential blood. All the warriors were slaughtered and …’
‘And?’
The guard’s voice dropped lower. ‘My cousin doesn’t sleep nights anymore. Not without waking up sweating and shouting. He said the necromancers awakened the Borrow’s dead and commanded them to fight for them. He wouldn’t talk much about them, but he turned pale as the moon just at the thought of them. No, the ones at the city are the warriors and slaves set to tend and guard the necromancers’ dead army. There are opportunities for trade in Navere all right, but I’m not sure I’d dare go.’
‘Sounds like it would take a brave man to take up such an opportunity.’ Osun held out a coin toward the barman and gestured to his and the guard’s horns. ‘Seems strange though that they’re keeping all these dead men when the Borrows are conquered. It would be surely easier just to … dispose of them somehow.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ The guard nodded in thanks as the barman refilled his horn. ‘Maybe they can’t die now they have been … woken.’
Osun gave a shudder. ‘That’s not a cheerful thought.’
‘No.’ The guard winced. ‘Part of me is morbidly curious to see such creatures for myself.’
‘We might start seeing such things all over Chem now that blood magic is prevalent and no longer something hidden away,’ Osun confided.
‘Gods forbid!’ The younger man shuddered. ‘If I were you, master, having thought about it, I’d head the other way and follow the spoils and treasure to Arkoom.’
‘But the prices will be high and the taxes higher there.’ Osun swirled his geranna around in the horn. ‘You have given me a lot to think about, brother, thank you.’
The guard grinned at being acknowledged as an equal and clicked his horn against Osun’s.
***
Osun’s head was swirling for more reasons than one as he left the geranna house later than planned and staggered toward the empty market. There was obviously a lot happening in Navere and it might prove a bounteous source of information. But there were two reasons – well, at least two reasons – not to go; Navere was in the opposite direction to Arkoom and it was also the seat of his father, Dryn Dunham.
Now he knew for a fact that Dryn wasn’t in Navere, his father was busy ruling the covens from the comfort of forbidding Arkoom, but it was the city in which he’d spent his childhood. It was the place from where he and his master had escaped. It was where his master’s beautiful and worshipful mother had died to save them. He had only been twelve, but twelve had been old enough for him to have his heart broken. His Dunham features would be as recognisable there as in Arkoom, even if no one remembered him for the bloodless slave that he was. But it was safer than Arkoom; anywhere was safer than that city of temptation, tantalising distortion, and moral corruption. It was both the heaven of the Gods and the hell of the Godless.
He headed back to the Sunset Inn and to his wagon. The inn’s guard knew him now and unlocked the door without asking to see his key. Trying his best to be discreet despite the amount of geranna he’d drunk, he poured the old water from the jug into his scrying bowl and added three drops of blood.
He’d nearly nodded off when his master finally responded. His normally startling blue eyes looked red and bloodshot.
‘Osun, have you found me anything?’
‘Yes, master, I have.’ Osun quickly related what he’d learnt.
‘I’ve been warned of the undead at Navere, the fleet have set sail already and I think you will find the city now empty. Argen, though, that’s very useful, any division in the Seats we can use against them.’
‘Master …’ Osun hesitated, not sure of what to say and afraid of getting it wrong. ‘Perhaps I could travel to Navere instead of Arkoom. There could be knowledge and news there of what the fleet have planned that I can discover more easily than in Arkoom?’ He held his breath; as always, his master showed no emotion.
‘My brother, trust me when I say that I do not want you to go anywhere where you might be harmed. Our king has commanded it though.’
Osun’s chest muscles tightened. His master’s hands rose in the still water to cover his face and draw down across his skin as though he were trying to pull away exhaustion.
‘Osun, I will try myself to get information from Arkoom. For our mothers’ sake, even for our king, I will not force you there. Go to Navere, see if you can uncover any of the plans of what the undead fleet intend or where they head. See if there’s talk of Mantu, the Fulmers, or Elden. Hurry, brother; if Chem strikes before I have news for Bractius, then my life here may be forfeit.’
‘I won’t fail you, master,’ he replied, and meant it with all his soul. ‘For our mothers I will do my best to find you what you need.’
‘I know it, brother. Watch your back and I will watch also as best I can. Safe travels.’
The water went dark and became just water. For a moment Osun remained as he was, his head bowed over the scrying bowl. Then he poured the water back into the jug and locked the bowl away. He made his way back up to his room, feeling suddenly much too sober. Milaiya was sitting in a chair at the table and clearly started from sleep when he opened the door. A single lamp was lit, and he blew it out and felt his way to the bed. A moment later he felt the bed give as Milaiya quietly slipped under the blanket. A huge part of him longed to put his arms around her and feel her warm arms wrap around him. But she was just a slave; he was a spy, and she probably hated him. He lay alone in the expensive bed and the blankets were as cold as snow.
***
As soon as he awoke he gave Milaiya a shove.
‘We’re leaving today. Get everything packed.’
She roused slowly and sleepily; then gathering herself soon fell into her efficient bustle.
‘We’re going to go south,’ he said, finding the silence uncomfortable. ‘Back to the coast. I’ve had information that there are spoils to be had and possibly interesting items from the Borrows. We’ll stop at Cheff on the way and pick up some spices; apparently there is a shortage of quality food stuffs in Navere.’
‘Is it worth diverting a little to Poyin, master, fo
r their good cheese?’ she tied closed his travel bag and glanced up.
It was a great idea, except that it would take them more than a day out of their way. He silently cursed and thanked her intelligence. He could think of no valid excuse on the spur of the moment for them to be hurrying to Navere with all speed. He would have to hope the extra day wouldn’t cost his master too dearly.
‘Thank you, Milaiya, that’s a good suggestion. I’ll let you pick a cheese to keep for yourself; let’s get going.’
He blanched when he was handed the bill for the inn and scrutinised every item before handing over his gold. The bulls had obviously enjoyed their stay in the stables of the inn as they were awkward and belligerent when Milaiya tried to get them into harness. Osun watched impatiently but couldn’t help but be impressed by his slave’s ability to persuade the animals into position. Osun looked to see who was manning the gate as he passed through, but it wasn’t his chatty friend. He had never even asked the man’s name.
***
The slush and snow had already thawed as they made their way back south, but the ground was boggy and heavy going. It took eight days to reach Navere and the closer they got the more warriors they passed heading back inland. Most ignored him, but a few attempted to trade their loot for gold or basic food supplies. He’d gained an interesting silver torc and several small iron daggers with carved bone handles before he even saw the coast. Despite the harsh laws of the coven he’d felt nervous of the large groups of heavily armed men. The punishment for theft was to be blinded, have both hands removed, both legs broken, and then be tossed out of a wagon onto the roads. Only a very few people with a devoted family ever survived such punishment. Even so, had these men chosen to take his wagon and slave by force there would have been little Osun could do. Had he been an ordinary trader he could have hired guards; but it was risky enough that Milaiya might catch him one day speaking into his scrying bowl. The more people he associated with, the higher the chance of him being found out. Also travelling with a single wagon and slave made him appear a poor target and belied the fortune he carried in his wagon.
His spirits lifted as soon as he scented the sea, even Milaiya smiled as he began to hum and then sing to himself.
‘You have a good voice, master,’ she said unexpectedly.
He was so taken aback he stopped abruptly. ‘Thank you, Milaiya. Do you sing?’
He heard the rustle of her veil as she shook her head vigorously. ‘No, master.’
A flock of gulls wheeled over, several diving low to investigate them and see if they had anything to steal. Feeling a little self-conscious, he lifted his voice again, this time in a humorous ballad; Milaiya didn’t laugh.
***
Navere was very different to Margith; the walls were made of granite covered in yellow lichen and the white of guano. The gates were thrown open wide with a stream of wagons, riders, and walkers pouring in and out. The smell of fish was strong, and smoke rose in dark plumes from the fragrant smokehouses. Most of the buildings were made from small blocks of stone with slate rooves; but here and there a wooden building with thatch huddled between the larger houses. The temple and palace here were built into the narrow cliffside and accessed by steps chiselled into the rock. A maze of wharves stretched out into the sea with a multitude of boats tied up in dock. It was loud. Seabirds squabbled and shrieked above the sounds of sawing and hammering, rigging clanging, men shouting, laughing, and arguing. However, as they approached the market quarter, the atmosphere changed abruptly. Voices became subdued, fewer people walked the narrow, cobbled streets, and even the birds didn’t seem to want to come here.
‘I wouldn’t head down there, brother,’ one well-dressed man muttered as he hurried past.
Osun had a strong urge to pull up the bulls. He could try to turn them about and head to one of the more affluent inns; but he’d already spent too much in Margith and besides, he was here to investigate. Milaiya tightened her veil, shifting in her seat and glancing around.
‘Get inside the wagon,’ he told her.
She turned in the seat and opening up the canvas crawled through the small space into the wagon. The bulls came to a halt, snorting and rolling their eyes. One of them tried to back up into the wagon. Osun flicked his whip, but the bulls refused to move.
‘Master?’ Milaiya called anxiously from inside the wagon.
‘Stay there!’ he commanded, getting angry and embarrassed as the few people around glanced in his direction.
He jumped down and after threading a rope through the nose rings of the bulls, pulled hard and forced them to follow him. One of them gave a miserable and forlorn low.
As he rounded the corner of the street into the market he halted abruptly, the bulls almost knocking him off his feet.
The smell was unbearable.
It was the smell of death, of decomposing flesh.
The market was empty of stalls; but was not empty. It was crowded with the shapes of men. They were mostly men of the Borrows, dressed in ragged sealskin and flax linen, with their curly brown hair as wild as their islands. Here and there a warrior of Chem stood among them in tarnished unkempt armour. None moved their limbs, but they slowly swayed, their staring eyes showed despair, anger, intense hatred, or glazed over with emptiness.
The ground swam away beneath him and he clutched at the bull’s curly fur to stay on his feet. He forced himself to breathe in through his mouth; but gagged as he tasted the contaminated air. He saw movement and turned to see that a slave, outside what should have been a busy market inn, had seen him and called his master. Hope lit the tall, smartly attired, man’s face and when Osun didn’t turn tail and run, he hurried over himself.
‘Master, from your face I assume you’ve just arrived in the City? Let me get you a good brandy, master. Come and sit inside out of the way.’ He gestured for his slave to come over and he did so cautiously, staying as far from the slave pens as he could. Osun realised that there were several live guards circling the marketplace, all eyeing him with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. He wondered how many merchants they’d seen turn tail and run.
‘Yes, yes, a brandy would be good.’ He managed to find his voice. ‘I was looking for somewhere to stay and do some trading.’ His eyes followed the dead men as the innkeeper ushered him past. Behind them the slave struggled to get the bulls to follow. ‘Bu—’
‘I have lots of lovely rooms, master.’ The innkeeper tried desperately. ‘I can see you’re a brave man and won’t be scared away by these … people. I’ll give you a big discount, yes?’
‘What’s going on here?’ Osun allowed himself to be dragged along.
‘Let me get you that brandy and something nice and hot to eat.’ The innkeeper sensed that he might be winning. ‘I’ll tell you everything once you’re safely settled indoors.’
Osun found it hard not to smile. A big discount and a ready source of information. But his skin crawled and his stomach churned at the thought of what would be waiting outside the inn doors.
The inn was called The Narwhale and although clean and richly decorated didn’t have anywhere near the size and grandeur of the Sun Inn in Margith. The stabling was behind a high, secure, wooden gate off the street but there was nowhere to lock away the wagon.
‘I promise, nothing will be touched.’ The innkeeper bustled about, ordering servants and slaves. ‘Your wagon is safe.’ He visibly jumped when Milaiya peeped out from between the canvas.
‘Come out, Milaiya.’ Osun beckoned. ‘My slave will go to my room; make sure she is fed well.’
‘You will stay, master?’ the innkeeper asked in delighted surprise.
‘Is your best room available for that discount you promised?’
‘Well, of course you must have the best room!’ he enthused, although his smile slipped a little.
When everything had been settled Osun found himself seated alone in a small dining room that was obviously used for the more discerning guests. The main dining room had been eerily
empty. The innkeeper poured Osun a glass of brandy and placed the crystal carafe on the table. A large, steaming, swordfish steak was placed before him with some fried potato slices and carrots.
‘Sit with me.’ Osun invited the innkeeper, his mouth watering. ‘What’s your name and what news do you have?’ Without waiting further, he cut off a slice of fish.
The innkeeper sat politely at the next table but turned his chair toward Osun. ‘I’m Gulden, master, and you’re the first person who has taken a room here since those … creatures arrived. A few of my guests tried to tough it out, but …’ He shrugged. ‘They were unsettling even before they started to smell so bad. There must have been near two thousand to start with. The city guards were ordered to clear out the traders to make room. Some stalls have been squeezed in along the wharves and some set up outside the city, but most travelling merchants have just chosen to take their trade elsewhere.’
‘Where have the other creatures gone? How come some are left here?’ Osun took a sip of the brandy; it was good, and warmth spread out from his belly and throat.
‘Well most of them have been taken off to fight in the war. I watched some of them being placed in boxes of salt and loaded on myself.’ He gave a shudder. ‘They just climbed in the boxes on demand and lay there unmoving as the salt was poured over them.’
Osun’s appetite left him, and he put down his fork. ‘Got another glass? You look like you need one yourself.’
‘It wouldn’t be very professional,’ Gulden said, eyeing the carafe and looking a little green.
‘Who is going to complain?’ Osun indicated the empty room.
‘Good point,’ he beckoned one of the slaves over to get him a glass.
‘You said they were off to fight in the war,’ Osun said carefully. ‘When I was up in Margith, we were celebrating that the Borrows had been conquered.’
‘The Borrows, yes.’ He poured himself a generous measure of brandy and topped up Osun’s glass. ‘But the Dunhams have set their sights on a bigger prize. Apparently the Borrows was a raid to gather the resources to mount an attack on the heathens of Elden.’
