Bad Little Girls Die Horrible Deaths: And Other Tales Of Dark Fantasy

by Harry Connolly

"I told you there were rules," Alleg said. "Just to the west of that hill is the largest garrison for two hundred leagues. Traders of all nations and all races come through here, piled high with silks, copper, satinwood, glass, and every delightful thing you can imagine, heading toward Three Rivers. We touch none of them. But the Unorkans, who once littered these fields with the corpses of their enemies... Well, old enmities guarantee that we have free reign."

  By the time Alleg finished his explanation, even Feathers and Binj had caught up to the main group. "Feathers, my boy," he called. "Come forward."

  Feathers collapsed onto the dirt beside his leader. He wheezed like a dying man and gulped wine from a skin. "Yes, Alleg. I am here."

  Kurlisk wanted to snap at him that the whole valley knew he was there with all the noise he was making, but he kept silent. Several of the men were making as much noise as a pen full of pigs, and Alleg didn't seem to care.

  "My boy, tell me if I see correctly." He leaned his arm over the crest of the hill and pointed down into the valley. At the bottom of the slope was a low wooden fence. Beyond was a field, then a cluster of five cottages around a tiny commons. To the south were more fields and another cluster of cottages.

  At this distance in the dark, it was impossible to tell what was growing in the fields, but Kurlisk could see they were barely sprouts. Alleg's reavers wouldn't have any cover at all when they approached the cottages.

  "Right there," Alleg said, pointing toward the nearest cluster of houses, "I see a man standing guard. By the post, yes?"

  Feathers strained to stare into the darkness. "Yes," he said. "He's wearing a black hood to hide his hair, but he's there."

  "No," Kurlisk said. "That's a scarecrow."

  "Don't be a fool," Feathers snapped. "I just saw him move."

  "It didn't move; it was turned slightly. It's a scarecrow. They're expecting us."

  "Of course they are," Alleg said. "It's tradition! Now listen, boys, no fire tonight. I don't want them wasting time re-building hovels when they should be sowing my grain. And I especially don't want anyone to damage the mill wheel. Remember the bread we had to eat that year? Feh. Tonight we want women, coin, and the usual haul."

  With that, he bounded over the lip of the hill and started down the slope. The band straggled after him--twenty-nine men--and Alleg did not seem to care how they were deployed.

  Kurlisk grabbed Feathers and held tight to his sleeve. "Get three or four of your friends and follow me."

  Something in his tone would not be denied, so Feathers hissed to his nearest friend, one of his dicing circle, probably, and several of them followed Kurlisk down the hill as he broke away from the main group and went to the right of the cluster of houses.

  "What are we doing?" the tallest of Feathers's friends said. He had to gasp between words as he ran. "I want to kill bucks."

  "That's what we're going to do," Kurlisk snapped at him. "What's your name?"

  "Qoyl," he answered.

  "Everyone calls him Spitter," a man with a long nose said.

  Spitter was about to snap at him, but Kurlisk interrupted. "Your bucks have set a trap, and we're going to break it. Hurry."

  Kurlisk led them across the field, loping over the well-tilled ground. His long legs covered ground easily, almost without effort. The others did their best to keep up, and Kurlisk took care not to get too far ahead.

  The main part of the group was headed directly toward the cottages and the scarecrow. Someone in the main group was laughing, high and loud, and his voice carried through the night air. It was probably an attempt to intimidate the farmers, but Kurlisk would have preferred to approach with as much stealth as possible.

  He picked up his pace, knowing Feathers, Spitter and the others were falling behind. He scanned the land ahead for a piece of uneven ground or...

  There. Kurlisk had swung too far to the right. He ran toward a shadowed drainage ditch near the cottage fence; watching the darkness within for movement. Off to the left, the main body of reavers had just about reached the scarecrow. Kurlisk ignored them, peering at the uneven ground.

  A moment later, five figures stood out of the darkness and stepped back onto the shallow slope of the ditch. They raised bows, drew, then the strings thrummed.

  Reavers in Alleg's main group shrieked in pain and terror. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurlisk saw their charge falter. He held his shield close and laid his hand on his sword, sprinting toward the archers.

  Someone in his group whooped, and three of the archers turned toward them. The archers held their ground, loosing another volley. Kurlisk ducked low and raised his shield; one arrow passed over his shoulder and another struck solidly into the wood.

  Then the distance was too close and the archers threw their bows aside and pulled their heavy Unorkan swords out of the loose soil. Kurlisk approached them at half-speed, then lunged forward inside the reach of their weapons. He slashed lightly at the upper arm of the nearest, cutting only half-way to the bone. Then, with his shield, deflected a blow from a second man while cutting him across the thigh.

  He knew by their cries of pain that they were boys. Nothing but overgrown boys. Two more moved in, but an arrow struck the left-most square in the chest. As he fell, Kurlisk easily dodged the other's swing, then disarmed him with two quick slashes.

  Spitter charged at the fifth boy, screaming, and they began taking clumsy, wary cuts at each other, their steel clashing in the darkness. Kurlisk sprinted away from the ditch, vaulted the low fence beside the cottage, then ran into the commons.

  The reavers had been split into disorganized groups, some fighting together, some singly. Binj faced off with two of the tallest swordsmen, his axe held high. A group of reavers fled in terror from a much-smaller group of Unorkans.

  Feathers came up beside Kurlisk. "What next?"

  Kurlisk pointed across the green to a little garden between the houses, where Alleg was encircled by three men. "Help him."

  "Oh no," Feathers said, laughing. "Alleg fines anyone who helps him in a fight." Then he moved to the side to loose an arrow into the pursuing group of Unorkans.

  Kurlisk ran around the nearest cottage, where he found Colbi in a bad spot. Four women with spears had backed him against a mud wall, and he could barely fend off their points with his long, slender sword.

  With a swift cut to the back of a calf, Kurlisk dropped the first woman, then laid a light slash on the shoulder of the second. The third swung her spear toward him, but he batted the point away and stepped in close, laying a cut across both her arms. Colbi pressed hard against the fourth and cut her face badly.

  Kurlisk turned to survey the scene again. Alleg was gone, but the Unorkans who had encircled him lay dead on the ground.

  The remaining Unorkans broke and fled. A ragged cheer went up from the reavers, and they gathered in little groups in the commons, clapping each other on the back and comparing minor injuries. Ignoring them, Kurlisk went to the nearest house and kicked the door open. There was a loud creaking sound, and he threw himself to the side as a spear point shot through the open doorway.

  "The cottages are booby trapped," Colbi said as he sauntered over. "In case you hadn't noticed."

  Kurlisk rolled smoothly to his feet. "The men celebrate too quickly. The Unorkans could be preparing a counter-attack."

  "They could be," Colbi said, "but they aren't. Besides, Binj has gone out to the field to watch for them. Our Binj is very careful."

  Kurlisk yanked the spear out of the doorway, tearing it from the weight and lever it had been tied to. The inside of the cottage was dark, but the faint light made something glitter. "What is this?"

  "Our tribute," Colbi said.

  "My boys!" Alleg called as he wandered onto the common, his curved sword resting on his shoulder. "They haven't put up a fight like that in years! What fun, eh? How many did we lose?"

  Binj came in behind him. "Six."

  "Six, eh? I thought it was only four. I don't like six, boys. That's too dam
n many. Takes some of the fun out of it. Binj, let's take a little inventory."

  Binj began smashing down doors with his long axe, which kept him well back from the spring-loaded spears and other traps on the rooms. Alleg waved an impatient hand at Spitter, and he laid a long torch on the ground and knelt over it with flint and steel.

  Once lit, Alleg took the torch himself and went from cottage to cottage. Each had a long table in the center but no other furniture. Each table was laid with goods: Bread, silver and copper coin, woolen cloaks, cotton tunics, rolls of leather, dried meats, needles with thread, bolts of cloth, and many more things besides. Kurlisk quickly realized that these cottages weren't to live in; they were solely to offer tribute.

  "Did you see a speck of yellow, boys?" Alleg said. He didn't seem to be having any fun now.

  "Not a bit of it," Colbi answered.

  Alleg wandered restless through the common. When he came to the three boys he'd killed in the garden, he kicked one of the corpses. Otter and Crowhair had found a cart in the field beyond the cottages and they pulled it into the green. No one moved to start loading it. "Six of mine,"Alleg said, "but not a speck of gold in return. That won't do." He turned to the reavers. "This tribute is not dear enough. What do you say, boys? The night is young!"

  A cheer went up. Kurlisk didn't think the men sounded as enthusiastic as they had earlier in the evening, but they set out together into the dark.

  They struck three more clusters of cottages, and Kurlisk could see these were meant to be lived in--they had beds and cookstoves, with a few faded, ancient quilts hung on the wall. Alleg ordered the quilts taken, along with anything else he thought would be useful. The Unorkans had all fled into the southern end of the valley; the only people they found were two eight-year-old boys who'd hidden in an irrigation ditch to spy on them. Colbi wanted to carry them back to the camp in chains to work with the women, but Binj suggested that would strain The Rules. Alleg cut their faces to give them scars to remember him by and let them go.

  It was almost dawn when they returned to the tribute houses. Kurlisk went to help load the cart, but Alleg pulled him aside. "You must have excellent eyes to have seen that ambush."

  "I didn't see it," Kurlisk said. "I assumed it was there. They knew you were coming and set up a scarecrow--"

  "The boys found the ropes they used to turn it."

  "Yes, to lure you in, and they set up a line of archers on the right, since your men carry their shields on their left. That's what I would have done, anyway."

  "A clever assumption on your part," Alleg said. "The boys would have broken and run if you hadn't hit those archers when you did. But why so gentle? You don't seem the gentle sort to me."

  "Why didn't I kill them? I thought it was one of your Rules. 'Young bucks to work the land,' you said."

  "So I did. I'm also told you got Colbi out of a tough spot. Eh? He's a valuable man. I should reward you somehow."

  "Give me his share of the tribute. He'd have gotten nothing anyway if I hadn't save his life."

  Alleg laughed. "I was thinking of giving you his turn with the women we're bringing back. He is second only to me."

  "No."

  "No? You'd prefer a handsome young man, then?"

  "No."

  Binj came close enough to intrude on the conversation. "I recognize his sword. He won't touch a woman or a man." He slack mouth seemed to have a hard time forming words and his eyes were dull and unfocused. "His sword is a monk's weapon: Ley Fin Kail Ton, they're called--the swords and the monks. Their fighting skills are supposed to be supernatural, if you believe the stories. Which I don't. They're from far to the east, in the Stormtouch Islands, and their little swords are supposed to represent the broken weapon of some god of war. I don't know the god's name."

  "He doesn't have one," Kurlisk said. "He's called 'War.'"

  Binj nodded. "They take vows of chastity and believe that bedding a woman drains their fighting magic."

  "Well!" Alleg exclaimed. "A monk, eh? A priest? I'm sure there's a difference, but I don't much care." He laughed, loud and long. "A holy reaver! A slayer priest with a pouch full of stolen coin."

  Kurlisk didn't smile in return. "Which makes us the most honest holy men in the world."

  Alleg thought that was funny, too. "All well and good, my boy. All well and good. You will not have Colbi's place with the women; perhaps he will want to reward you in some way. But I will give you this warning because you have done so well tonight: if you ever give orders to my boys again, I will cut your head off and fuck the stump."

  By then the cart was loaded. The woman Kurlisk had cut across the calf had been bound and loaded onto it like treasure, but the other three had to walk behind, their hands tied to the hitch. Kurlisk took up a position at the back, pushing the cart over the rutted field with Otter, Crowhair, and Spitter.

  They also collected their dead on the way back. Alleg didn't want the Unorkans to know how successful their ambush had been. Binj had been right, there were six dead--one was the man who'd told Kurlisk about Spitter's nickname. The arrow had gone straight into his heart despite the shield on his arm. Who had trained these men?

  Kurlisk's share of the tribute was fifty square copper coins and three silver ones. The injured women were delivered to the matron, who cleaned and stitched their wounds. Late in the day, every reaver in camp watched them being led into Alleg's long tent at the back of the glen.

  "Alleg the Terrible," Feathers said at Kurlisk's shoulder. "He didn't get that name on the battlefield. Come on, my friend. Have you ever played Slings and Spears?"

  "Is that a wagering game?" Kurlisk asked.

  A hungry smile crept across Feathers's face. "Why yes, my friend. It's a dice and stick game, quite simple, really. Spitter and I would like to teach you to play."

  By the following evening, the woman Colbi had cut on the face was carried dead out of Alleg's tent. The reavers speculated endlessly about how it had happened, but Otter and Crowhair, who had been ordered to bury her, would not talk about it. While they argued and gamed, they could hear matron beating the other women to keep them at their chores.

  Three days after that, Alleg emerged from his tent and announced the whole band had permission to leave the glen and travel to Fort Achlesdan where they could spend their coin. Feathers, Spitter, and six others sulkily declared they would stay behind, having had their purses emptied by dicing with Kurlisk, but he promised to get them drunk if they came along, and they did. Only Otter and Crowhair remained behind, to watch over the prisoners when matron slept.

  They left before dawn and did not go by way of the road. The men followed an old deer path out of the glen. It led to a staircase carved from the steep hillside. The stairs were too small for human feet to fit comfortably; Spitter insisted they predated the Pinzu Empire and maybe the arrival of humans entirely.

  It was midafternoon before they arrived at the Forest Gate of Achlesdan. The walls, gates and guard towers were made of smooth gray stone, and were taller than three men standing on each others' shoulders. Beautiful red streamers flew from the tops of the towers.

  "Impressive," Kurlisk said.

  "They started off as a little trading post where river merchants could sell wares safely," Spitter said. "These river waters were thick with pirates then. Once they established themselves, the money started flowing in. In my grandfather's time, the city guard here repulsed three Elhimite legions trying to expand their empire up the river."

  Kurlisk couldn't see the river for the hills and city walls. "And now?"

  Spitter shrugged. "There are always a few pirates, I guess. And drunk men knife each other in alleys, I'm sure. It's a city."

  Up in the gate towers, the guardsmen stared into the distance. They looked bored.

  Alleg and the men waited by the door until the guards wrote their names down and collected their weapons. Kurlisk at first refused to give up his sword--it was his calling, after all, his connection to the divine--until Feathers reminded
him he'd promised to buy them drinks. When the gate was opened to allow them into the city, Alleg and his lieutenants bowed in greeting to a short man with a tall helmet and an officious manner: captain of the guard. Just before the others pulled Kurlisk into the city, he saw the captain hold out his hand, palm up.

  Kurlisk and the men wandered weaponless through the stony streets, letting Spitter lead them to a bar he knew. "Where are the guards?" Kurlisk said, looking around at the marble fountains and tall shops. The other reavers assured him they were probably throwing dice in the guard houses.

  The bar was called The Broken Rudder, and there were no tables in it at all, just a bar along one wall and benches in the rest of the room. Spitter assured the others that the wine was good for the price, and without a place to set down their drinks, they'd be drunk all the faster.

  "That suits me fine," Feathers said.

  They sat together in circles and told stories of men they'd killed, houses they'd burned, and goods they'd stolen. Feathers had been an archer in the King's Company in High Laloor, but he'd shot his wife's lover through a window from a rooftop across the street while he had been fucking her. After that, Feathers had thrown away his sash and fled the city. Spitter had been a pirate's son too queasy to take to water but too lazy to apprentice with his mother's family. Other men had similar stories: betrayal, murder, and poaching. One man, called Groaner by the others, had tried to cheat his way into the Achlesdan School of Shadows, the local wizarding school, and had been cursed with an aching belly as a result.

  They also told stories of their own cowardice, laughing and shrugging as they mocked each other over fights they'd fled from.

  Kurlisk, in his turn, told them stories of his own travels, how he'd been hired to steal an egg from a Swimmer nest and was surprised to find it guarded. How he'd traveled all the way to Faal Elhim to challenge a Hokloshi to single combat. At this, the men jeered--they didn't believe any man could defeat a Hokloshi alone, but Kurlisk only laughed at them. He told them he'd taken a tusk as a trophy, but had to trade it for safe passage out of the city when every hog and grey cap in the city came after him.