Sons of Plague: Tales of Kartha Book One

by Kade Derricks

  Even when we fought the Fleure in the swamps there was fire and smoke afterward. They’d been wet the entire time with the endless rain pouring and dripping down for days without end. Their clothes, armor—everything soaked through. Nothing should have burned there. Nothing should burn here, either.

  “Take the wall down, Zethul,” Cagle said. “End-to-end. Take it all down. I don’t want them rebuilding it behind us.”

  The dwarf nodded, and then he and his fellows stalked off to do their work.

  The first few buzzards circled down, their dinner served.

  “Let’s get our fallen buried,” Cagle said softly.

  “What about the Iridin?” Meagera asked.

  Cagle thought about his father. He thought about his orders. Spill as little blood as necessary. On both sides. Those men had killed his own. If somehow they had held their wall, their actions would have doomed thousands of his people. Men, women, and innocent children would die a slow, painful death if he didn’t get the food they needed this winter.

  “Bury them separate from ours.”

  One of the soldiers ran back from the front, heading for Cagle and the others. He paused to pant then spoke between breaths. “General, we’ve taken prisoners.”

  They held the prisoners beyond the wall in a wooden pen built for livestock. A ring of spearmen surrounded them.

  “These aren’t like the others,” Vlan rumbled. “They don’t wear the insignia. I think they are merchants.” The giant pointed to a line of loaded pack horses and donkeys.”

  “Bring one out,” Cagle said. “Whoever seems like they’re in charge.”

  He waited as the guards shuffled out a heavy man in thick furs. He wore a gold chain around his neck and a large earring with a deep green emerald in its center. Two guards seized him under the arms, one on either side. The man’s face fell and his legs sagged as the guards brought him forward. Without speaking, they sat him on a fat round of wood. The man’s eyes fell on his improvised chair. There was a bloodstain on it. His eyes grew wide and white, and then he squeezed them shut. He started mumbling some sort of prayer.

  “What is your name?” Cagle asked. He hoped they hadn’t overdone it with the blood. If this captive passed out they’d have to grab another one.

  The prisoner kept his eyes closed tight. He locked his hands on his quivering knees, muttering to himself.

  This is already going nowhere, Cagle thought as he drew his sword. He extended the long steel blade out until the tip rested on top of the man’s boot. The trader saw the blade and then made a low, animal whine.

  “I said what is your name? I have many questions, and this will go easier if I know your name.”

  “Wait, stop. Please stop,” another of the prisoners said. “I will tell you what you want to know.”

  Cagle gestured with his sword and the guards parted. A tall woman with hair a shade of red almost deep enough to be black and a dark complexion stood a bit apart from the other prisoners. She held her chin high, bold, like a woman who knew how to command others. Her clothing, long pants and a loose-fitting coat, were a dark blue, and there was a heavy iron chain around her ankle. The black links of it trailed off into the other prisoners where they clustered together like so many bleating sheep.

  “Who put her in chains?” Cagle asked.

  “Not us, General,” one of the spearmen said. “The men found her like this.”

  “Break her free,” Cagle ordered. “We will not treat people like this. Even our enemies.”

  Vlan leaned down and scooped up the chain. The woman watched the giant without moving. The other prisoners crowded closer to their jail’s edge, squeezing against the bars, obviously frightened by the Yoghen. Vlan flexed and the chain popped and stretched open. Vlan offered the broken link to the woman. She hesitated, and then lifted it from his outstretched fingers.

  The guards carried the jeweled man past her back into the pen, and for a moment she gave him a look of pure disgust. He joined the other Iridin, disappearing into the frightened group’s huddled mass.

  She held the chain’s broken end in one hand and carried it toward the round of wood. She paused before reaching it and stared down at the bloodstains. “I don’t think this is necessary, do you?”

  “It appears not,” Cagle said. He approached the log and then flipped it over to put the unblemished end up. He swept the dirt and ice from it with his hand. Closer now, he could see a thick scar around her ankle where the chain ended in a manacle. She caught him staring at it and her hazel eyes flashed, but otherwise she gave no reaction.

  The woman eyed him up and down and then sat.

  There were bruises around her eyes—faded, but still a sickly yellow. There was a cut on her lower lip, the scab fresh and red.

  Cagle retrieved his own round of wood from a nearby stack. The woman eyed his sword, and he slipped it into the scabbard.

  “Better?” he asked, arching a brow. “I think you were about to answer a few questions.”

  “Of course,” she said. She gave him a thin smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “My name is Sansaba. What would you like to know?”

  “Who built this wall and why?”

  “I don’t know. It has been here long before my time.”

  “And you don’t know who built it?”

  “Sorry,” she shrugged.

  “If I decide you’re lying—”

  “What reason would I have to lie? These men who defended this wall are not mine. They are zealots. I have no loyalty to them.” The smile was gone now. She studied him, eyes intent, waiting for the next question.

  “What do you mean they aren’t yours? They are Iridin, as are you.”

  “Where do you come from?” she asked.

  “Over the mountains.”

  “The old stories say we used to trade beyond the mountains, but then the ice came down from the peaks and swallowed up the lands beyond. Trade was forbidden. Now there is nothing over the mountains. The ice goes on without end.”

  “And yet here we are, come down from the mountain as you see.” Cagle shifted his eyes to the broken wall. Zethul’s dwarves and several of the Yoghens and soldiers were widening the breach. “Odd place to build a wall if there’s nothing beyond it but ice and mountains.”

  Sansaba shrugged. “As I said, these are not my people. You call us Iridin, but the word means nothing. It’s like calling this wood.” She rapped her fist on the stump. “There are many types of trees in the forest. All are wood, but not all are pine or oak or maple.”

  “What do you call yourself, then?”

  “I am...” She paused to look over her shoulder at the other prisoners. Her fingers traced along her chain’s links; when her fingers reached the last link she circled her thumb over the broken steel. “We are from Miren Falls. We are merchants. We heard there was a camp of men here who paid in silver for wine, good food, song, and dancing, so we came to trade.”

  “We? I thought you were their prisoner.” Cagle pointed to the broken chain.

  “This is my punishment for running away. Anyway, I’ve told you my name. It is impolite not to tell me yours.” She studied him again, her frank hazel eyes locked on his.

  “I am Cagle Niall, from over the mountains.”

  “Cagle. The name is unique.” She smiled again, fully now and dazzling. Her teeth were white and even.

  “Why did you run away?” The question would tell him nothing concerning his mission, but he was curious. So far, the Iridin weren’t what he had been expecting.

  Sansaba bit her lip. He didn’t think she would answer and was about to ask a more relevant question when she finally spoke. “My father gave me to a man from Bremerton, another trader. In return, my father was given access to Bremerton’s markets.”

  “Gave? Your own fat
her made you a slave?”

  “No, nothing so barbaric,” she said with a shake of her head. “He gave me to another trader as a wife.”

  “And your husband chained you up?”

  “No. The first man you had here, Bothar, that fat coward, is my brother. I escaped my husband and ran back to my family. Father chained me to return me to my husband. After we’d finished our business here I was to be taken back to Bremerton and my husband.”

  “How large is Miren Falls? Are there many cities there?”

  “Many cities?” Sansaba repeated. “Miren Falls is but a single city. It is smaller than some but larger than most.”

  “Who rules your city? We are here to trade with your king. Whoever rules your cities,” Cagle continued when Sansaba gave him a confused look.

  “Rules our cities? The council rules Miren Falls. No one man or woman rules us. We have no king.”

  “Does your council have other cities, as well? Do they answer to a higher power?”

  “Of course not. You speak of times long past. No one has ruled more than a single city since the old Empire fell.”

  “How long ago was that?” Cagle asked.

  “Almost seventy years.”

  “Every city stands on its own now?”

  Sansaba nodded. “Is it not so in your lands?”

  Cagle ignored the question. If every city in Iridia stood on its own, there wouldn’t be a ruler or even a single council with whom to establish trade. “Do the cities fight with one another?”

  “Of course,” she nodded. “They squabble over trade and who controls which lands. It is the way of things.”

  Their plans would have to change. Cagle’s mind raced. At this point, given their reception, it seemed trade was already a lost cause. If Sansaba told the truth, his task had just grown harder. On one hand, they would have an easier time taking a city if they could expect no outside support, but on the other, no one city might have enough food to make up for Kartha’s shortfall.

  Likely we’ll have to conquer more than one. So much for keeping bloodshed to a minimum.

  “Tell me about Crow’s Bay. Have you been there?”

  She nodded. “I have.”

  It occurred to Cagle then that he’d been given a gift. One he intended to make full use of.

  “Tell me true and I will set you free and pay you in gold. I will need an advisor in these lands. Someone who knows their ways. Someone who can help me. But lie to me and...”

  At the mention of freedom and gold, Sansaba’s smile returned. “There is no need for threats. I’m sure you and I can come to some sort of agreement. Something that serves both our purposes. What would you like to know?”

  CHAPTER 5

  The City on the Bay

  Crow’s Bay clung to the rocky seashore like a crusty gray barnacle.

  A week after leaving the pass and marching through empty farms and abandoned villages, Cagle began wondering if the whole country had been abandoned. Just seeing signs of habitation, confirming the old map was still useful, proved a relief. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if the city hadn’t been here. Without access to a deepwater port, food would never reach home in time.

  Still, he thought the first Iridin city would be more...impressive. As cities go, Crow’s Bay wasn’t anything like he’d expected. Though bigger than a fishing village, he doubted it held half the people Monport did, and many times less than LaBrogue. Calling it a city was a stretch of the imagination.

  The town was nestled tight among the rocks and the ocean’s foamy white spray. But if the city itself didn’t seem like much, its defenses were formidable. Walls rose up around Crow’s Bay in a crescent-moon shell. They were tall, fifty feet at least, crenellated with thick stone blocks and capped with an unending row of rust-colored steel spikes. For two hundred yards they continued out into the salty water. There were guards spaced out all along the top, each carrying a long pike and wearing thick, leather-studded armor along with a black leather helmet. The sea too was guarded. A pair of boats patrolled the open bay, each carrying a dozen bowmen on their decks and sailors with long spears watching along their sides.

  “They’ve prepared a reception for us,” Zethul said, eying the fortifications.

  “Seems so,” Cagle said. “Must have had scouts out.”

  “That’s getting to be a pattern,” the dwarf grumbled.

  Sansaba and her family of traders stood well off to one side with their loaded carts and wagons. She shaded her eyes with her hand, watching him. Cagle wasn’t sure about her arrangement with her kin. Her brother Bothar seemed to think she’d saved all of their lives, and that granted her a great deal of leverage over her family.

  Their own arrangement had been simple enough. She would assist Creighten supplying the army and provide guidance as they traveled across Iridia. In return, she could trade as she saw fit in any town they passed through. For her the deal was a good one, she stood to make a fortune from the troops, and Cagle would get her help with logistics and local knowledge. Both would be priceless over the coming campaign.

  “Should we try talking to them?” Meagera asked. She was looking at the wall as well.

  Cagle thought for a moment. So far, the only Iridin who hadn’t tried to kill them were the traders. Granted, they hadn’t met many, only the Voice of Iridia, but trade seemed to be the furthest thing from their minds.

  Still, he’d promised his father to try and trade for what they needed first, if given the chance. He had a duty to try. How many lives might he save by simply trying?

  “Yes, but not all of us,” Cagle said. “Zethul and I will go.”

  “As your second-in-command, I think I should—” Felnasen started, but Cagle stopped him with an open hand.

  “I want to see these people firsthand.” After a moment, Felnasen nodded.

  He rode out ahead with Zethul joining him. The dwarf didn’t look pleased with the arrangement. His scowl was deeper than normal. Even his eyes seemed to frown.

  “You should have let Felnasen come.”

  “Instead of me?”

  “No, instead of me,” Zethul said. “From the way that Sansaba talks, these people have never seen dwarves before. Likely they’ll think I’m a demon or some such nonsense.”

  “Or perhaps a pet?” Cagle said with a quirk of his mouth.

  “Or a—oh, damn your jokes,” Zethul fumed.

  “Relax, my friend,” Cagle laughed. “Given Vlan and the Yoghens, they’ll likely think I’m the pet.”

  They rode closer to the center of the wall, near a stout wood and steel-banded gate. Cagle tried to ignore the sound of the defenders’ bowstrings drawing taut above.

  They reined in at the wall’s base. A group of somber men stood in a group on the wall, staring down at them. These looked like they might be in charge; they didn’t have bows or pikes or even armor. None were armed in any way. Each wore a thick chain of silver around their necks, a pendant in the shape of a flying crow dangling from them, and their cloaks were clean and dyed in rich greens, blues, and purples. Cagle moved his horse directly in front of them.

  “My name,” he called out, “is Cagle Niall.”

  One of the men on the wall cupped his hands and yelled down. “Are you the Man of Iron?”

  Man of Iron? He risked a quick glance back at Sansaba. Had the question carried that far?

  “What?” He answered.

  “Are you the Man of Iron?” The man’s expression was guarded, but a little hopeful.

  Cagle paused for a moment to consider his response. Who is this Man of Iron, and why would they ask me about him?

  “I am not,” Cagle said.

  “Then you’ve no business here. Be gone,” the man said.

  “I’ve come for trade. I wish to buy grai
n and rice and food for my people. I’ve journeyed far. Through the mountains, over the ice and cold, to save my people. Will you trade with us?”

  “You bring an army to our door. You threaten us,” another of the group said. “You are nothing. Your ragtag army is nothing. Take them and leave.”

  “Was it your soldiers who guarded the wall?”

  “Wall? We know nothing of any wall other than this. We guard only our own city. Now be gone.”

  With that, the group stood and vanished over the ramparts. More bowmen moved up to take their places. The rest of the soldiers remained, eyes locked on Cagle.

  Well, that’s that, Cagle thought, his heart sinking. He and Zethul swung their horses around and headed back to the waiting army.

  “What did they say?” Meagera asked.

  “They asked if I was the Man of Iron. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No.” She looked over at Sansaba, brows knit. This time she had surely heard, but the trader only shook her head.

  “Make camp. Arrange the men in a loose formation,” Cagle said to Felnasen. “We’ve work to do here.”

  Felnasen rode off in easy silence, taking the orders to the Fists. After the battle at the end of the pass the man had seemed to relax, almost as if relieved not to be in command. Cagle had made the extra effort to forge if not exactly a friendship, then at least an openness between them. The older man often gave good advice, and Cagle found himself handing off more and more of the army’s administrative duties to him, which Felnasen didn’t seem to mind.

  “What’s the plan?” Zethul asked, all but twitching with suppressed energy. “The last good stand of timber we passed was fifteen miles back, closer to the last empty village. We can send back a party to start harvesting and bringing materials forward.”