by Scott Kaelen
“Ah, lass,” he said. “It’s good to see you, too.”
She released him and looked up to meet his gaze, shaking her head in bewilderment. “What on Verragos are you doing here?”
“Came to find you.”
She looked past him and grinned at Henwyn, who gave her a wink. Glancing at Wymar, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Is that… Is that the fellow who runs the mill?”
“How refreshing,” Wymar drawled. “I’m as famous in the Deadlands as in Caerheath. Nice to see you too, miss.”
“This has to be a dream. I’m really back in Caer Valekha and dozing next to Demelza.”
Maros frowned. “Who?”
“We’re definitely here,” Henwyn said. “Let me prove it.” With his bow and extra pack cradled in one arm, he flung his other arm around her in a tight embrace. “I’m glad we’ve found you safe and well, Jalis.”
“You think maybe we could get out of this rain?” Maros said. “The gammy leg’s giving me serious gyp right now.”
Jalis led them down the pass. As they walked, she glanced up at Maros. “I still can’t believe you’re here. What’s going on, old friend?”
“I’ll tell you when I’m sat down.” Wincing with each step, he peered into the stronghold, spotting a small figure curled in repose at the rear of the shaded room. “What do we have here? Is that Dagra? He looks different somehow. Has he shaved his beard?” The expression on Jalis’s face gave him pause. “What is it, lass?”
She drew a shaky breath and looked away. “Like you said, let’s get inside first. Orik’s deeper inside gathering fuel for a fire. Maros, that’s not Dagra you can see, it’s a girl – well, a young woman, but… Demelza has never seen a halfblood before.”
He growled under his breath. “If I get called a monster one more time, I swear—”
“She’s been through a lot,” Jalis said. “Especially recently. Please go easy on her.”
“Aye, well, I’ve a way with the young’uns… when they behave. Ain’t I, Hen?”
“That you do. Not so much when they’re screaming at you, though.”
Jalis stepped into the fortress. Maros dipped in behind her, thankful that the ceiling within was at least high enough for him to stand upright. His gaze fell on the bench of stone blocks by the sleeping girl, and he began to make his way across.
“Maros, wait.”
Hearing Jalis’s warning tone, he stopped, and she walked over to kneel before the girl. A full minute passed as she spoke to her in hushed tones, then she shuffled aside as the girl rose to a sitting position, and Maros locked eyes with the usual wide-eyed, horror-stricken stare he’d become accustomed to.
“Stay calm, Dee,” Jalis said, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “No one here will hurt you. And please try to not hurt them either. Okay?”
The girl gave a small nod as she gazed mutely at Maros, and her expression began to soften.
Hurt us? Maros suppressed a sigh. This little slip of a thing? He released his crutch and raised a hand in greeting. “Hello.”
“Oh, for a world-class nursemaid,” Henwyn muttered.
“I heard that!” The girl’s eyes grew wider, and he stifled a sigh. “Er, I’m Maros. I, ah… It’s nice to meet you.” Can we stop rutting around and get me sat the fuck down?
The girl glanced at Jalis, then opened her mouth. For a moment nothing came out, then she blurted, “I’m the Melz— Uh, I’m the… Dee.” She grinned nervously. “I’m Dee.”
He forced himself to return the grin. “Well then, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, little Dee.” He gestured to the two men. “These fellers are Henwyn and Wymar.”
Henwyn raised a hand and flashed her a smile, while Wymar grunted and gave a brief nod.
“Ma… ros,” Dee said. “Hennin—”
“Henwyn,” Henwyn corrected, hiding an amused smile behind his hand.
“Henwyn,” Dee said, then turned her attention to the mill owner. “Why, Ma?”
“That’ll do,” Wymar sighed.
Maros looked across to Dee. “You mind if I sit by you over there?” he asked. The girl gave an ambiguous nod. Ah, sod it, he thought. A nod’s as good as a shake to a half-blind halfblood.
As he swung his way across the room, Dee shifted closer to Jalis and watched his every step. He reached the bench and lowered himself to the stone with a long sigh.
“I ain’t as young as I once was,” he muttered.
Dee cast him a sidelong glance. “How old are you?”
“Ha! I’m 42, lass.”
“That ain’t so old. Ma Ina were 80 when she passed.”
Maros glanced at Jalis. “That so?”
“Yep.” Demelza gave an abrupt nod.
A bounding of footfalls resounded from deeper within the fortress, drowned for a moment by what sounded like pieces of wood clattering to the floor and the ring of steel as a sword was unsheathed. Moments later, Oriken burst into the room brandishing Dagra’s old gladius. “I heard voi— What in the— Henwyn? Maros? Wymar?”
“That’ll be us, then,” Henwyn said, easing himself from the wall and striding over to clap a hand to Oriken’s shoulder.
“Gah. Mind the wound.” Oriken sheathed his sword and gave Henwyn a brief embrace, then looked to Maros. “What in the tenth level of the Pit are you all doing here?”
“More to the point,” Maros growled, “as pleased as I am to see you, lad, why are you carrying Dagra’s blade?” Oriken and Jalis exchanged grim glances. Maros eyed them, his fist tightening around a crutch. “What’s going on? Where’s Dagra?” When neither of them spoke, he climbed to his feet. “Where is he? Damn it, answer me!”
“He’s gone,” Jalis said from her spot on the floor. She clutched the girl closer to her. “He’s dead, Maros.” A tear spilled from her cheek. “Now, sit down before I sit you down.”
“Excuse me,” Oriken said tightly. “I’ve got some chairs to smash into pieces.” He strode through the archway, and Henwyn hurried through after him.
Maros lowered himself to the bench and stared across the room. When Wymar cleared his throat, he swung his head to glare at the mill owner. “Say one shitty thing – just one – and I’ll come over there and tear you in two.” Wymar returned the glare, then stormed off into the fortress. Maros lowered his head. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t reach you in time thanks to this fucking leg, and now one of my boys is dead.”
“It was no one’s fault,” Jalis said. She sniffed, and rubbed her hand over her eyes. “It just happened. You can’t be angry at yourself or at anyone else.”
“What was it? A lyakyn? A cravant? We saw the one you killed back at the burned-down house.”
Jalis shook her head. “It was no creature, and no man nor woman. What took him was as unavoidable as bloatworm.”
“I shouldn’t have sent you down there. If I’d known it’d happened before…”
“This’un’s smart,” the girl said, nodding at Maros. “I told yous no good would come of it. Nowt goes in, an’ nowt comes out. Mostly. An’ we was the mostly, ‘cause yous did come out. Me, too.”
“Shush, Dee,” Jalis whispered.
Maros scowled at the pair of them. “What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing,” Jalis gripped the girl’s arm and looked squarely at Maros. “She was wandering near the Blighted City when we found her. She doesn’t know how she got into Scapa Fell, but she’s been there a long time. Remember what I told you outside. Please don’t press her.”
“Fine,” he snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry, lass. You don’t deserve my ire – not you, not even Wymar. All right, I’ll calm down. So what killed the lad? How did he go?”
“Spores are what killed him. Just spores. And he went quietly, with dignity, as befitting a man of his…”
“Stature?” Oriken strolled through the arch and dropped an armful of rotten wood beside the wall.
Maros tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. “He was a short’un,
wasn’t he?”
“Yeah.” Oriken’s lip twitched. “He was. But his heart was as big as yours.”
Maros ate in silence, as did everyone but Henwyn and Jalis who chatted quietly by the entrance. Demelza sat cross-legged on a blanket on the stone floor, flicking the occasional glance at one person or another and managing to look both bored and interested at the same time. Wymar sat a short distance from her, nibbling the last strips of flesh from a nargut bone. In the centre of the room, the embers of a fire filled the place with a wan glow and a haze of musty smoke, while beyond the open doors the rainclouds had cleared and the evening sun behind the fortress cast a long shadow down the pass. Stuffing the last chunk of meat into his mouth, Maros sucked the grease from his fingers and chewed slowly, an image of Dagra etched into the corner of his mind.
I was right, he thought. They were in danger, but Dagra was dead no matter what, and Jalis and Oriken were on their way home with or without me. I made no difference. He sniffed disdainfully. Some leader I am.
Beside him on the bench, Oriken had finished his scant meal and was sat with a stoic expression, his usual stubble grown to a short beard as if in memory of his lost friend. Gone was the carefree nonchalance, replaced with a hard edge borne of a hard life-lesson, but Maros knew how these things panned out – the old cliché was tried and true that time closed most wounds, and that the typical Oriken would surface once more. As for Jalis, he’d been close to her for more than a decade and could tell when a deeper trouble was on her mind beyond what was known; now was one of those times. She and Oriken were holding something back. He’s seen the glances between them, and at the girl Demelza.
So be it, he thought. We all have our secrets. Maros looked across to Oriken, at the two swords on his belt. “So,” he said, trying to sound casual. “It’s good to see he bequeathed you his blade.”
“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” Oriken glanced down at Dagra’s gladius in its battered scabbard, ignoring the sword at his other hip, gleaming where it showed between the freshly-wrapped hide.
“Sturdy weapon, that,” Maros said. “Not enough reach for my liking, but I reckon there’s something to be said for how they used to make ‘em. Sabres don’t always cut it, do they?”
“No, I suppose they don’t.”
“What happened to yours, by the way?”
Oriken grunted. After a moment, he said, “Damned thing broke. Guess it wasn’t tough enough.”
Maros nodded slowly. “Must’a been cheap steel. Want to tell me about your second blade?”
Oriken stared into the fire’s embers and shrugged. “Just a lucky find. Small bonus on top of fulfilling the contract.”
“A lucky find indeed. Freshly wrapped bindings, a gleaming crossguard, and, if I’m not mistaken, a chunk of thunderglass in the pommel. Was it wielded by the stone golem you fought?”
“Huh?” Oriken turned to him sharply.
“I’m just sayin’. Quite the bruises you got on your face there. Can’t imagine any creature of the heath putting those on you. Unless it was Jalis. Did you give her one too many lewd remarks, eh? Ah, never mind me. You don’t wanna talk, that’s fine.”
Oriken blinked. “A lot has changed. Too much. And right now it don’t look like we gained more than we lost. It feels like a lifelong story’s reaching its end before the teller’s left town.”
“Ain’t nothin’ over till you say it is, lad.”
“Yeah? But who decides what comes next? It’s not like it’s all up to me.”
“Well then. Best you make it up to you. Best you become the teller, and weave the rest of the tale for yourself.”
Maros watched as Wymar cast the cleaned bone into the fire, and Demelza frowned as it crackled within the ashes. The mill owner muttered to himself as he looked across at the entranceway, then, with a gasp, his eyes widened. “Arrows!” he yelled, then threw himself onto Demelza.
Agony flared up Maros’s bad leg. He stared down to see a wooden shaft jutting from his shin. Fury welled inside him as the room burst into action – Oriken dashing from the bench to assist Jalis in heaving the doors closed; Henwyn staggering to the side with an arrow lodged through his forearm; Demelza, pale with shock as Wymar lay sprawled atop her – then the fury escaped and Maros launched to his feet with a roar that echoed through the fortress.
Snatching hold of a crutch and taking up his greatsword, he limped straight through the hot ashes to the entrance as Oriken slammed an iron bar over the doors’ brackets.
“Let me pass!” Maros growled, but Jalis stood firmly before the doors as Oriken hurried away to assist Henwyn.
“There are three wounded,” Jalis said, “an unknown number of attackers outside, and Demelza is under my protection. You think I’ll let you run out to your death? For what?”
“Damn it, Jalis!” He stabbed his sword onto the floor, gritting his teeth as pain surged anew up his leg. “Who’s out there? I thought this region was deserted.”
“Not entirely. I’m stepping away from the doors now. Don’t you dare open them, Maros. This isn’t about you.”
He glared at her, but nodded, and she ran across to where Demelza now stood shaking beside the prone Wymar. Another volley of arrows thudded into the doors as Maros glanced to Henwyn.
The veteran freeblade’s features were drawn as he held his arm before him. “Bodkins,” he gasped, nodding to the cylindrical, pointed arrowhead. “Just as fucking well.” He looked Oriken in the eye. “Do it.” Oriken gripped the shaft and slid it forwards out of Henwyn’s arm. As the feathered flights passed through the exit wound, Henwyn released his breath and pressed his forearm to his belly. “Your turn, boss.”
Maros scowled at his leg and leaned his sword against the door, his eye on Jalis as she crouched beside Wymar. The mill owner lay on his back, an arrow protruding from between his ribs.
That’s a killing wound, Maros thought. He snatched at the shaft in his leg and ripped it out with a rising growl. “I’m gonna destroy whoever’s out there!” he roared, turning and slamming his palms on the doors. “I’m gonna tear your fucking heads off, one by one!”
“That’s unlikely,” someone called from outside. “You’re outnumbered! There are twenty six men out here, and only three of you!”
“And your giant,” a second voice added. “Seen him through the doors. Couldn’t miss a brute like that.”
“There’s nowhere to run, outlanders!” the first voice called. “We’ll make sure you pay for what you did to ours!”
Maros glowered and glanced sharply back at Jalis.
“You’re welcome to take us on,” Jalis called from beside Wymar, “but you should know that we’ll cut down at least half of you before we fall.”
“Ha! I’d like to see you succeed where a chapel full of ghouls failed! Your heads will mark the Founding Oak alongside the others!”
“What in the blistering Pit is happening here?” Maros demanded.
“Onwin,” Demelza said. “The fat hunter.”
“Him?” Oriken spat. “These fuckers are beginning to get on my fruits. Hey, peasant! I knocked you senseless once already. I should’ve put an end to you there and then!” Grabbing the mini crossbow from atop their gear, he stepped up beside a murder hole a few yards along from the door and glanced through the narrow gap, flinching away as an arrow ricocheted from the stones outside. With a curse, he poked the crossbow through the gap and squeezed the trigger. The string twanged and a cry rang out. “You like that? There’s plenty more where that one came from!” He looked to Jalis and shrugged as fists pounded upon the doors and a commotion rose among the attackers.
“They don’t know about Henwyn and Wymar,” Jalis said quietly, rising from Wymar’s side. “Nor Dee. But they have the advantage of bows. We have one between us, and the crossbow is down to three bolts. Ranged combat is out of the question against so many opponents in close proximity. We need to remove their advantage.” She glanced at each of the freeblades. “How?”
Oriken gestured to Demelza,
but the girl shook her head.
“I can’t,” she said. “They’re my people. They didn’t all hate me. There might be some nice ones out there.”
“My men have returned from checking the perimeter!” Onwin called. “There are no other doors, outlanders! You’re trapped, like birds in a coop!”
“They’ll kill us all,” Oriken told Demelza. “In here, we’re useless. Out there, time is on their side.”
“Wait,” Jalis said. “Birds. That’s it. Dee, can you focus on the fletchings of their arrows? With their ranged attack taken away, we’d be a step towards levelling the field.”
“Maybe.” Demelza drew a breath. “Or I could try for the bowstrings.”
“Even better,” Jalis said. “It doesn’t give us much, but it’s better than nothing.”
Ellidar stepped wearily from the walkway of sunken trees and bent to study the many tracks in the wet grass. This far from the Mother his senses were diminished, and the isolation from the collective consciousness felt at once both liberating and soul-destroying.
I’m close to mortal here, and thereby close to death, he thought with more than a touch of trepidation.
He scanned ahead to where the tracks veered to the west, and nodded grimly to himself; keeping his eyes on the black hills, he crept forwards until the crenellated edge of the fortress came into view, silhouetted against the deep evening sky.
Caer Valekha, he thought. His lips curled in a mirthless smile. Once a mighty stronghold of the Lachylan Kingdom, he thought, now a forgotten shell. And perhaps deservingly so. How fitting that this is where it should end.
A little further on and the front of the fortress was cast in a lambent light by the flames of a dozen torches, revealing twice as many figures standing before the doors. Hope surged within him that the lady Jalis and her companion Oriken had secured themselves inside.
A siege, then. So be it. Let the endgame commence.
Backing out of sight, he ran for the hill at the south side of the pass, keeping to the grasses and away from the slick mud to reduce the sound of his footfalls. Though his ringmail jingled softly, he was confident it could not be heard by the large group over the crackle of their torches and the babble of the night’s hidden creatures. Within minutes the ground began to rise steeply, and he slowed to stride onto the hillside and meander through the trees and shrubs until he neared the crest of the hill.
