Devil's Night Dawning: The First Book of the Broken Stone Series

by Damien Black

  The horse trader recommended by Vagan was a stout fellow of medium height in early middle age. Drawing level with him Horskram proffered his hand, asking: ‘Are you Radko?’

  ‘Aye, who wants to know?’ replied the other, without taking the monk’s hand.

  ‘I’m a friend of Vagan’s. My companion and I need good strong horses – he said you’d be the man to help.’

  ‘Aye, that I am,’ said Radko, now taking Horskram’s hand and shaking it. ‘Always pleased to help a friend of Vagan’s. And where be you from? Down south judging by your accent.’

  ‘I hail from the King’s Dominions originally, but my calling takes me hither and yon. If you’ll forgive the impertinence, we are in something of a hurry – so let’s get down to business.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sirrah, I meant no offence – just making conversation is all. Yes, let’s see now... what are you looking to spend? Got two of the finest coursers in Efrilund right over here...’

  The process of selection and haggling was long and painful, for Horskram’s slender stock of money also had to cover saddling and fresh provisions for their journey. Eventually they settled on two mangy-looking rouncies. They were far inferior to their old steeds, but they had to hope they would last the long and arduous journey to Rima. Despite their poor quality and Horskram’s fierce bargaining, his purse was virtually emptied by the transaction.

  ‘There now, master monk,’ said Radko, seeing the grudging look on his face. ‘These horses ain’t so bad as they look! Fine Northlending stock they are, they’ll last a lot longer than some o’ them fancy southern breeds. They just ‘aven’t been kept as well as they should by their last owner, that’s all. Feed ‘em up nicely with plenty of oats and they’ll make out fine in time.’

  ‘If only time were in abundance,’ replied Horskram. ‘But that’s something we’re as short of as money! Speaking of which... Adelko! We need to buy two good saddles, and some bags to go with them, then we need oats for the horses and food for ourselves, so let’s look lively!’

  By the time they returned to Radko’s stall they had everything they needed including food for a week, and an empty money pouch.

  ‘I know people we can stay with on the road, so we shan’t need money for an inn,’ said Horskram as they hurriedly saddled their new horses. ‘And if we really need coin we can always take a detour to visit one of the chapters – I should be able to raise some funds if we get really desperate.’

  Adelko nodded wordlessly, only half listening. Right then he was just glad that their days of walking cross country were behind them; his knee still stung and his thighs still ached.

  They were just about to mount their new steeds when they heard a commotion at the other side of the square. Looking over they could make out a crowd of angry townsfolk clustered around one of the stalls.

  Suddenly the flash of cold steel caught the morning light. The townsfolk stepped back to reveal the red-haired warrior from the inn, clutching a sword and flanked by his one-eyed comrade and the two others Adelko had seen. Half a dozen town watchmen were pushing their way through the throng towards the scene. The red-haired brigand barked something at his companions in Norric before all four leapt onto sturdy-looking chargers nearby. Striking up a gallop, they sent the panicked townsfolk scattering as they made for the south road leading out of town.

  ‘Adelko, get your head down!’ hissed Horskram as the four riders tore past them. Adelko rapidly did as he was told, and when they looked up the men had gone, leaving dust clouds in their wake.

  ‘Outlanders, causing trouble again,’ said Radko, shaking his head. ‘Good thing they brought their own horses at least – I shouldn’t like to ‘ave ‘ad any dealings with such rogues!’

  Horskram nodded and muttered his assent before turning to address Adelko. ‘Stay here. I’m going over to talk to yonder merchants.’

  Adelko stared at him, gobsmacked. ‘But, I thought you didn’t like – ’

  But Horskram was already jostling his way through the townsfolk, towards the merchants who were busy were doing business with some local traders. Adelko lost sight of him, but presently he returned, declaring flatly: ‘That settles that. The merchants and their freeswords are due to leave in an hour. We’re travelling with them – there’s safety in numbers, and we can’t be too careful with such brigands on the road!’

  Radko nodded wisely. ‘Aye, master monk, quite right – the lawless lands hereabouts are no place for men of the cloth to travel through unguarded. Though I daresay those louts that you plan on joining would cause just as much mischief if they weren’t already hired.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied Horskram. ‘But at least we’ll have one warrior of some integrity with us – Sir Branas of Veerholt and his squire were staying at our inn and will be travelling in our party. I spoke to them just now and advised them of the danger on the road. He’s a vassal of the Jarl of Hroghar – he’ll keep an eye on our unruly travelling companions, and he should be handy in a fight if any highwaymen make trouble.’

  An hour later the travelling party assembled in the square and prepared to leave Kaupstad. Many of the pilgrims and travelling artisans had decided to join for their own safety, along with the troubadour who had accompanied the soldiers at the inn.

  ‘Well, Adelko, it seems as though fortuity is on our side today,’ said Horskram in a low voice as they nudged their new steeds into a canter alongside the merchants and freeswords. ‘Our reckless pursuers seem unable to avoid drawing attention to themselves, and now we may seek security against them without appearing suspicious. If anyone asks where we are bound, tell them we are headed to the Blessed Realm, like yonder pilgrims.’

  Adelko blinked in surprise. ‘I thought our Order didn’t endorse the Pilgrim Wars?’

  ‘It doesn’t. But the Sassanians have a long tradition of fine scholarship, and our adepts and journeymen often visit the Pilgrim Kingdoms to hold learned discourse with their sages. It’s one of many reasons why the mainstream Temple disapproves of the Argolians. Most temple perfects believe that exchanging knowledge with the followers of the First Prophet is ungodly, although they don’t seem to apply that line of thinking to exchanging goods with them. Just after I spoke to the merchants I overheard someone saying our foreign friends had been turned away from the Journeyman too – so they must have had to spend the night out of town. Hopefully that means they didn’t get a chance to ask around about us, which means that no one in our party, I hope, will know that they are looking for us. We should therefore be able to travel incognito with added security for at least some of our journey.’

  ‘Yes, but what about... the other thing?’ Even whispering in broad daylight, Adelko was reluctant to name the horror pursuing them.

  Horskram’s face was characteristically grim as he replied: ‘We must pray to the Almighty that it doesn’t come upon us out in the open – I doubt even a host of armed men will avail us much if it does. But no more talk of such things now! Remember what I’ve told you!’

  The south road took them out of town into tilled fields and meadows, through which they travelled for an hour or so before being embraced again by the wilderness. During this time Adelko saw peasants hard at work, but if their labours seemed onerous, at least they appeared less oppressed and malnourished than the Wolding peasantry.

  Breathing in the fresh spring air he felt the excitement of new adventures and experiences beckoning, though a lingering awareness of the dangers ahead gnawed insidiously at his youthful high spirits.

  The merchants rode on well-fed palfreys as befitted their pretensions to high birth; but this illusion was betrayed by their each leading a sumpter laden with goods. Their bodyguards, clad in shabby brigandines and wearing light helms, rode ahead and behind their paymasters in two groups, belted swords within easy reach and shields slung insouciantly across their broad shoulders. The other wayfarers straggled behind on foot along the muddy potholed road. Occasionally some of the pilgrims would break out into holy song, while the
craftsmen contented themselves with the occasional muttered exchange.

  As befitted his high status, Sir Branas, whom Adelko recognised immediately as the old knight from the inn, rode in front of the party. His squire rode behind him, leading a sumpter laden with weapons and other supplies. At Horskram’s indication, he and Adelko joined themselves to these two, the adept riding beside the knight. The two youths found themselves riding next to each other. It wasn’t long before the squire struck up a conversation.

  ‘So you’re an Argolian friar then?’ The way he asked this suggested he wasn’t all that impressed.

  Undeterred, Adelko replied: ‘Yes, although I’m not a journeyman – I’m only a novice. I’ve been seconded to my master, the most learned Brother Horskram, so I can learn more of the ways of our Order.’

  The other youth, who looked to be at least a couple of summers older than him, pursed his lips and nodded perfunctorily. ‘Respectable... well, in a manner of speaking. I hear many good things about the Order of St Argo, and other things too.’

  ‘What other things?’ Adelko was instantly alert to the squire’s implied meaning, recalling his master’s words the previous night.

  ‘You’re supposed to travel the land, fighting evil spirits and suchlike, aren’t you?’ said the squire, not really answering Adelko’s question. ‘That’s all well and good, but I’m only interested in fighting things of flesh and blood.’

  Adelko wasn’t sure he liked the way the squire said this. ‘I suppose you’re training to be a knight then?’ he asked, persevering.

  The squires eyes suddenly lit up. ‘That’s right – someday I’ll be a great knight too! Bards and troubadours will sing songs of my deeds, and I’ll have a host of men at my beck and call! Can you say the same?’

  ‘Er, not really...’ replied Adelko, somewhat confused. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that. You see – ’

  ‘Anyway, what’s your name?’ asked the squire, cutting him off. ‘Mine’s Vaskrian of Hroghar – mind you remember it, it’ll be known throughout the land someday.’

  ‘I’m Adelko... Adelko of Narvik.’ Even now using his birthplace as an honorific struck the novice as a strange custom. In the Highlands noble clansmen used patronymics, taking their fathers’ names; commoners like him simply used the family trade as a surname, if they bothered with surnames at all.

  ‘We’re going to Harrang,’ Vaskrian continued. ‘There’s a big tournament there, every year. There’s jousting and feasting, and then they have a melee.’

  ‘A melee? What’s that – you mean, like a big fight?’

  The squire laughed. ‘Yes, if you want to put it that way – like a battle. Only, it’s not a real battle, I mean people do get hurt but you’re not supposed to kill anyone. Although that does happen, of course.’

  ‘That sounds horrible,’ said Adelko. Of late the idea of being a fighting man, even a titled one, had begun to appeal to him much less than it had in his childhood dreams.

  Vaskrian looked at him with contempt before replying: ‘No, it’s not – it’s wonderful! It gives squires of – squires like me a chance to hone their fighting skills. And if you knock anyone off their horse or best them in combat, you get paid. I won five silver marks for each man I bested last year.’

  ‘Oh... is that a lot?’

  Vaskrian frowned. ‘Not really – not compared to what you get if you vanquish a knight. But I can’t fight them yet – I’m not allowed to until I’ve been dubbed myself.’

  Something in the downcast way the squire said this made Adelko feel a little more kindly disposed towards him – perhaps there was more to his bombastic bearing than met the eye.

  ‘How long does it take to become a knight?’ he asked, following the thread. ‘Is there a test you have to pass? We have to pass lots of tests to become journeymen of the Order – in fact that’s why I’m travelling with Master Horskram. A good Argolian has to confront the entities of the Other Side first hand to be fully initiated – it’s not all books and learning if that’s what you’re thinking, although there’s plenty of that too!’

  Vaskrian’s face grew longer. ‘To become a knight takes courage on the field of battle, and skill at arms – and you have to be a good horseman too. I’ve got all of those things.’

  ‘So... why do you look so sad?’ Adelko was genuinely puzzled. The squire’s demeanour seemed to have swung from exultant arrogance to sullen bitterness in the blinking of an eye.

  ‘Never you mind,’ he replied sulkily. Changing the subject he asked: ‘Have you been in Efrilund before?’

  Adelko shook his head. ‘No, this is the furthest south I’ve ever been.’

  Vaskrian gestured expansively. ‘These lands are ruled by Lord Fenrig, Jarl of Hroghar, whom I serve.’

  At this Sir Branas turned in the saddle and said testily: ‘No, young Vaskrian, I serve Lord Fenrig. You serve me, and don’t you forget it! You should know better than to try and foist your delusions of grandeur on a learned member of the Order.’

  The old knight harrumphed loudly and turned back to continue his conversation with Horskram, leaving his chastened squire flushing a deep red.

  Taking pity on him, Adelko did his best to keep the conversation going. ‘So does Lord Fenrig rule all of Efrilund then?’

  ‘No,’ said Vaskrian, shaking his head. ‘Just the northern part we’re in now. In a couple of days we should reach Lake Sördegil. All the lands west of that as far as the mountains are ruled by Vymar, Jarl of Harrang. All the lands east of the lake as far as the sea are the domains of Lord Aesgir. I don’t know much about that part of the country, because to get there from Hroghar you’d have to cross the Ferren Marshes, and no one goes there because they’re haunted. Job for you and your guvnor, right there!’

  Now it was Adelko’s turn to frown. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that,’ he explained. ‘We can’t rid whole areas of ghosts or evil spirits just like that! If we could we’d have done it long since!’

  Vaskrian shrugged. ‘Suppose you’ve got a point. Can’t win all the battles in a day, eh?’

  The way was slow, the road being almost as full of potholes as the one they had taken into Kaupstad, and they did not reach Lake Sördegil until the sun was lowering in the sky on their second day out of town.

  The road ascended a bank of ridges affording them spectacular first views of its glassy green surface. From there they could see the Ferren River pouring its waters from the east into the lake’s long shallow basin. On the west bank the Laegawood stretched as far as the eye could see, closely hugging the still waters. The road dipped down and curved towards its verdant depths, slowly losing their lustre in the dying rays of sunlight.

  The wayfarers had not travelled long beneath its gloomy eaves before they came upon a clearing lying off the road to their left. The grassy sward stretched level for a distance of some twenty yards before dipping down at a shallow gradient to meet the western edge of the lake’s northernmost tip. All agreed to camp there for the night as the deepening dusk robbed the lands about them of shape and colour.

  Distributing themselves about the clearing the assembled company found their several spots and unfurled sleeping pallets. Vaskrian and Branas pitched their tent next to the monks’ pallets, the old knight’s pennant flapping listlessly in the gentle evening breeze. A group of craftsmen had already gone off to forage for firewood. Presently they returned and soon had a merry blaze going to augment the light of lanterns lit by Horskram and Vaskrian.

  Frowning and shaking his head the adept went over to remonstrate, warning them against drawing too much attention to themselves and exhorting them to make do with lantern light instead, but he was shouted down by one and all, for the night was cold and the overconfident bodyguards scornfully dared any roving brigands to try their luck.

  Muttering to himself the old monk stomped back over to his pallet. Glancing over at the merchants awkwardly sitting down on their own pallets to sup, Adelko was surprised to see that they hadn’t brought tents l
ike the old knight – until he realised that these would have further burdened their horses, depriving them of the opportunity to carry more wares.

  He had to smile at the ironic thought of their innate greed compelling them to endure the very hardships they strived so hard to elevate themselves above.

  Gazing across the lake, which had begun dully to reflect the emerging stars, he felt a familiar sense of unease return to him. The marshes lay on the other side, and though he could not see them he fancied he sensed the troubled shades of that haunted fenland stirring in the dark beyond its deceptively calm waters.

  Vaskrian went off to fetch water. Taking up a tin pot they had bought at the market, Adelko accompanied him. The air was chillier down by the edge of the lake. Overhead the full moon glared at them with ominous portent. Adelko muttered a prayer as they gathered up water. Vaskrian hummed a tune with a carefree cheer that he envied.

  The pair of them were just about to turn around and head back up the rock-strewn slope when they heard it: the sound of breaking wood, followed by a muffled noise that could have been a low voice or an animal call.

  ‘What was that?!’ hissed Adelko in a loud whisper.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied Vaskrian. The two listened together in silence. What sounded like something retreating back through the woods could be briefly discerned for a few moments. Then it was gone.

  Adelko turned to look the squire. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Vaskrian nodded. ‘Could have been anything though – there are plenty of deer in these woods. Let’s get back to the camp.’

  They found most of the travellers gathered around the fire. The wandering minstrel had brought out his lute again; he and some of the freeswords began to strike up a song while the rest took their evening meal. The four companions, sat together a little apart from the others, set about their own supper, Vaskrian first preparing his master’s meal while the two monks sat down beneath their lantern, which Horskram had slung over the pommel of his horse’s saddle.