Map’s Edge

by David Hair

  The stricken gunman made a shuddering attempt to claim one last breath before sagging and going still. The ringlight showed her Osvard Rhamp with a dagger buried in his heart.

  The night came alive in bursts of frightened noises, interspersed with the rattle of flintlocks and the hiss of arrows and shrieks and cries of attackers and injured. But she had a more immediate concern. She crawled to the prostrate man who’d slain Osvard, and rolled him over.

  It was Moss Trimble, the imperial navy man, breathing painfully. But his back was soaked in blood and as she gripped his arm, he slipped into unconsciousness.

  *

  ‘Shhh,’ Banno hissed. ‘Don’t move.’ His hand was over Zarelda’s mouth, his body pressing her down, smothering her instinctive attempt to roll free. She twisted her neck, tried to read his face, but he was gazing towards a ring-lit glade where a cluster of men where advancing, weapons drawn. They came from the direction of Elgus Rhamp’s tents.

  Then he rolled off her, and murmured, ‘Follow me – crawl.’ He nudged her left, towards the lake, and they slithered through the dew-soaked tussock until he whispered, ‘Down—’

  They flattened themselves.

  The Rhamp men reached her tent, where she’d been a few seconds before and for a moment they prodded at her blanket, puzzled to find it empty.

  Then a sharp male voice rang out. ‘Hold right there!’

  They should have – they were caught cold – but the mercenaries thought themselves invincible; two men fired blindly into the dark, while the rest brandished weapons.

  A trio of flintlocks blasted and arrows sleeted into the clearing, slamming into the small knot of men. Half went down at once, and the rest, crying out in frightened fury, reeled together, staring about them with stunned faces.

  ‘Drop the weapons!’ that voice called again and now Zar recognised Cal Foaley, the hunter.

  Two fools still tried to charge, but arrows cut them down and this time the remaining half-dozen dropped to their knees and tossed their weapons away.

  Zarelda thrust her fist into her own mouth to stifle her fear as torches flared. Banno clung to her, stunned, and unable to hide it. Though he’d come to protect her, he clearly hadn’t expected such violence.

  The torches lit the night in lurid smears of orange, painting the rough, grizzled features of some of the older hunters, taciturn men who seldom spoke. Foaley, tall and gaunt, a grey wolf of a man, was directing them. They stalked forward warily, disarming both living and dead, tossing their weapons into a pile.

  Distant voices called from Rhamp’s camp, asking what was happening, but no one answered. Zar saw villagers as well as hunters among the victors, and those with flintlocks or bows readied their weapons again. And among the victors she saw one woman: Tami. When Banno saw her, his eyes just about popped from his skull.

  Then Tami pointed right at her. ‘Banno Rhamp’s over there, with the girl. Don’t harm them.’

  Two dozen heads turned their way and someone called, ‘Stand up – real slow.’

  Zarelda glanced at Banno, who was frozen in horror. She rose, but his eyes were fixed on the tangle of bodies and when she followed his gaze, she saw his younger brother Poel was among them, staring sightlessly at the rings of Shamaya overhead.

  Then rough men stinking of wet fur and gunpowder hauled them apart, heavy hands clamping on her shoulders. One man drove a fist into Banno’s belly and he jack-knifed and went down, dry-retching and choking.

  ‘Hold,’ Tami snapped. ‘I said to leave them alone.’

  ‘He’s a Rhamp,’ the hunter growled. ‘He had it coming.’

  ‘Not this one,’ Tami said. ‘He’s the only decent one in the clan.’ She hauled on Banno’s shoulder, and he rose, gasping for air and eyeing the hunter who’d hit him vengefully.

  ‘Banno,’ Zarelda began, but he wasn’t listening.

  ‘What have you done?’ he hissed in Tami’s face.

  ‘I’ve saved a lot of lives, including your father’s,’ the Pelarian woman murmured, waving the hunters back and leaning in to whisper, ‘It’s called deniability, lad. This was Osvard’s initiative, and a few renegades he turned. Got it?’

  Banno’s eyes bulged. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Osvard’s a fool and your father’s an even greater fool to listen to him. We need Vyre and we need unity.’

  ‘But you spoke in favour of it!’ Banno replied, his face bewildered.

  ‘Did I?’ the Pelarian woman asked. ‘Elgus had already made up his mind. Arguing would only have set him against me and left me outside his tent when the plans were laid. It was time to let Osvard put his neck in a noose.’ Tami shrugged callously. ‘Come on. We’ve still got to get your father through this.’ She strode away, calling out, ‘Bring them. Let’s go and settle things with Rhamp.’

  A low growl ran through the hunters as they shouldered arms and stalked away, while the man who’d punched Banno snarled, ‘Come on, boy, or I’ll smack you again.’

  Banno shoved him away and staggered to Poel’s body, fell to his knees and began to cry. When Zar joined him, he drew her into an embrace and soaked her shoulder in tears.

  *

  After the initial flurry of shots and shouts of alarm, the camp fell quiet, feeding Sir Elgus Rhamp’s fears. A third of his lads were out there, most of them Osvard’s cronies. When he’d tried to assign Crowfoot to them, Osvard had stood up to him.

  ‘Old Crow didn’t argue for this,’ Osvard had retorted. ‘It ain’t work for doubters.’

  ‘Let him go,’ Tami had said, then she’d murmured, ‘I’ll follow him.’ As she did, she brushed his hand in a familiar way that got him thinking about her body. Disarmed and distracted, he’d nodded and they’d all disappeared into the darkness, shadows beneath the planetary rings.

  In old myths, the ring was the wedding band of Kiiyan, the Aldar Goddess of Mercy. She’d been married to Saetus, the Tyrant of Heaven; when their adopted son rose to slay the old dragon, she’d married the son. The story came to mind now, because Tami was much closer to Osvard’s age than his . . .

  She’s a good lay, true enough, but how does she feel about Osvard?

  Though she’d saved him from betrayal more than once, Elgus had never fully trusted her. She gave sound advice and good head, but the bonds they shared were flimsy.

  I should marry the bitch, tie her to me properly.

  As minutes passed, his lads became edgier and he waved Crowfoot and Bloody Thom over. ‘Osvard should be back with the girl by now. It’s too damned quiet, too. Where’s the uproar?’

  ‘He’s probably taking his time with the healer,’ Thom smirked.

  ‘He’s unfocused,’ Crowfoot opined. ‘He needs discipline.’

  That was true, though having it pointed out wasn’t welcome. ‘He needs to get back here so that we can move to the next phase,’ Elgus growled, looking round and missing a face. ‘Where’s Banno?’

  No one knew.

  The boy’s supposed to be here . . .

  ‘I’ll go and find out what’s happening,’ Thom offered.

  ‘Don’t go alone,’ Crowfoot advised. They were opposites in many ways, but they’d always looked out for each other.

  But even as Bloody Thom was selecting his men, people emerged from the gloom: ranks of hunters, and villagers too, mostly men, and all of them were armed. They formed a cordon at the edge of the firelight. Cal Foaley led them, with the robed Mater Varahana, who called Elgus’ name in a clear, austere voice.

  What in the Pit?

  A new explanation for the unnatural quiet after those shots became apparent – especially when a pair of hunters dumped a body unceremoniously at the edge of the firelight. When Elgus saw the lifeless face, it was a punch to the throat.

  Ossi . . .

  Then another man strode forward and dropped Poel beside his dead brother and it felt like the marrow had been sucked from his bones.

  My sons . . .

  Another dozen men were hauled forth, all roped u
p, and Foaley’s men shoved them to their knees. Elgus could guess the rest: they’d been ambushed, and these were the survivors. He pictured those he couldn’t see: a dozen or so of the youngest hotheads. Half his next generation of fighting men, wiped out in a few minutes. But right now, that was as nothing to the sudden, crippling blast of loss that almost flattened him.

  My sons, two of my sons . . .

  It was all he could do just to remain standing, looking up at the treacherous band of silver in the skies.

  ‘Who did this?’ Bloody Thom roared, striding forward, heedless of the flintlocks and arrows that instantly aligned on his chest and face.

  ‘They did it to themselves,’ Mater Varahana replied, unflinching in the face of the big warrior. ‘If a man transgresses, let Deo’s wrath fall upon him. Osvard attacked Kemara Solus – again. She was protected by one of her patients and Osvard died in the struggle.’

  The bitch led him on, Elgus wanted to rail, even though he knew that wasn’t true. Osvard had fixed his eye on her and he’d never taken the word ‘no’ on any matter.

  But Poel was a good lad, my shining light . . .

  He was aware that those behind him – forty men, experienced in butchery – were waiting on his word, even though they were staring down flintlocks and arrows. One word, and half the men here would die.

  Hot, bloody vengeance, or a quick death . . .

  It was so very tempting to rise up with a bloodthirsty roar and show these stinking pelters and peasants how a real man fought. He’d lose a few, but they’d prevail and then he’d make that damned priestess beg, and as for the men who killed his sons—

  Krag, let’s do it—

  ‘Hold!’ a sharp female voice rapped out.

  Tami. He stared at her as suspicions crystallised. What are you doing out there, woman? Why didn’t you warn my lads what was happening?

  ‘Elgus,’ Tami called, interposing herself between Bloody Thom and Varahana. Her manner was cocky and commanding. ‘I’m sorry for your losses – and I am sure that if you’d known of this foolish attack by your rebellious son, you would have prevented it.’

  Only then did it dawn on him that she was offering him a lifeline, a way of backing out of this lethal situation without losing all respect – and giving him a chance to strike properly later, instead of throwing his lads onto the guns and shafts of a prepared adversary.

  But the lads know this came from me.

  He’d be challenged. Bloody Thom might think he’d lost his balls over this. But Crowfoot would still be loyal. He wavered, then decided: Take the loss, get to the bottom of this, then strike again when I’m ready.

  ‘Osvard was always a wild one,’ he conceded. ‘Never knew how to take refusal. And Poel followed him round like a pup since they were kids. Didn’t know any better.’

  Dear Gerda, I’ve lost two sons in one bloody night. He looked around. ‘Where’s Banno?’

  There was an intake of breath, then his middle son – his only remaining son – stepped from the shadows. Vyre’s girl was lurking near. ‘I’m here, Pa.’

  By the Pit, did the boy betray us over that girl?

  His gaze crawled from Tami to Banno and back again. Had either of them broken the faith – or was it neither? Was there another traitor, or had Foaley just been too wary and Osvard walked into a trap?

  ‘C’mere, boy,’ he called brusquely. ‘Banno, here!’

  He watched Banno exchange looks with the girl, then tentatively walk across the clearing, past Bloody Thom, whose gaze followed him evilly. ‘Father?’

  ‘Where were you?’ Elgus murmured, seething at the possibilities. ‘Did you warn them?’

  Banno’s face was aghast. ‘No!’

  He never did learn how to lie, Elgus mused, while his lads watched and waited, still wondering if they were going to be pitched into a bloodbath. But Banno hadn’t been in camp, so at the very least, he’d gone to warn Vyre’s wretched daughter. Thom would kill him for that, and so would most of his lads.

  But he was now his only son: his sole legacy. I have to protect him.

  He leaned in and muttered, ‘You were shitting in the woods, hear me? You were taking a dump when this went down. Hear me?’

  Banno nodded. ‘Uh, I was out in the trees,’ he said, loud enough to be heard. ‘Had the shits.’

  Someone guffawed but the rest listened stonily, making up their own minds.

  Elgus pointedly embraced Banno, calling out, ‘Only son I got now. Boy loved his brothers, wouldn’t have ever wanted ’em harmed.’

  His lads hesitated, then murmured agreement. They all had questions, but Elgus ran a military force, not a bloody debating society: they knew to shut up and follow the leader.

  ‘Tami,’ he called. ‘Come on over. Tell me what happened to my boys.’

  Everyone turned to face her and she squirmed. If she stays out there, she’s guilty. If she comes in here, she still might be – and I’m going to find out, the hard way.

  Her expression told him that she knew that too, but she wasn’t short of guts, that one. She strutted past Thom and came right up to him. ‘I’ll tell you what I saw.’

  ‘Aye,’ he growled, and picked the nearest capable man. ‘Morro, take a detail and fetch the bodies of those foolish enough to get caught up in this. Anyone harmed by my lads can claim compensation. Crow, Thom, Banno – get yourselves to my tent. We need to talk.’

  ‘Sir Elgus,’ Mater Varahana called out, ‘would you like me to prepare the bodies for burial?’

  The nerve of the bald bitch. I’ve half a mind to—

  But he exhaled and let the thought go for now. Adding Varahana’s name to his death list, he called, ‘Mater, I would indeed be grateful.’

  With that, he went back to his pavilion. As they entered, Crowfoot and Thom wordlessly grabbed Tami’s arms and Crowfoot wrapped his hand round her mouth to silence her. Banno’s eyes went wide.

  Too squeamish, my lad. But he’s got to step up now.

  ‘Secure the perimeter and keep everyone close,’ he told his lieutenants. ‘No one rushes off to try and get even – they’ll be expecting that. When we take them down, we do it on my say-so, in my time.’ He gestured to the central pole. ‘Tie my bitch to the pole.’

  She struggled until a fist to the belly made her fold, then they tied her and gagged her so she couldn’t rouse the camp and bring Varahana’s folk running. Elgus waited until she was secure, then grabbed her by the hair and jerked her face up. ‘Did you warn them?’ he snarled.

  She shook her head, eyes pleading.

  ‘Did you warn them?’ he repeated, balling his fist. ‘Someone did.’

  Again, she jerked her head side to side.

  Liar.

  He broke her nose with one brutal blow, sending blood spraying, then running down her face as she sagged, her head rolling groggily. ‘You murdered my sons,’ he accused. He took a step back, then smashed his steel-capped boot into her ribs, hearing bone shatter. She reeled, choking into the gag, eyes bulging, tears streaming, wheezing for breath through the bloody gag.

  ‘Father,’ Banno blurted, his face white.

  He whirled on the boy. ‘What did you see, boy?’

  Banno’s eyes shot to Crowfoot and Thom as he remembered the pretence of knowing nothing.

  ‘I-I-I must’ve gone the wrong way in the woods,’ he stammered. ‘I got to the edge of a clearing . . . Poel and the others were in the open when a bunch of hunters – dear Gerda, they surrounded them, challenged them – but our lads thought they could take them. They attacked—’

  The arrogance of Osvard and his cronies . . . Elgus squeezed his temples to fight the blazing headache rising behind his eyes. Crowfoot was staring at Banno with hawk eyes, and Bloody Thom was fulminating towards bearskin rage.

  Elgus spoke before either lost control.

  ‘Was Tami with them?’ he demanded.

  Banno’s eyes went to the battered woman kneeling in the mud with blood streaming down her face and Elgus thought: H
e loved his brothers. I can trust this. She lives or dies on his word.

  ‘No,’ Banno said, shaking his head, his voice breaking, ‘I didn’t see her there.’

  Elgus exhaled and exchanged a taut, pregnant look with Crowfoot and Bloody Thom.

  ‘It doesn’t mean it wasn’t her who tipped them off,’ Crowfoot noted. ‘She’s supposed to be our insider – she said she could twist Vyre round her fingers. She should have known – she should’ve warned us.’

  ‘We should kill the kragging bitch,’ Thom agreed.

  ‘I don’t think anyone tipped them off,’ Banno replied, his voice finding firmness. ‘Foaley and Varahana aren’t stupid – and Vyre probably saw it all coming with his praxis-magic.’

  That’s plausible, Elgus supposed, watching pitilessly as Tami wheezed in bloody gusts.

  ‘What about Osvard, then?’ Crowfoot asked Banno. ‘You said you saw Poel, but not Ossi?’

  ‘I didn’t see him,’ Banno said, ‘but Varahana spoke truly: he went at Kemara, and got himself killed.’

  ‘Who did him?’ Thom growled.

  ‘The navy man, Trimble,’ Banno replied. ‘That’s what I heard.’

  Trimble. Elgus added that name to his death-list. Drawing on all his hard-won experience, he forced his rage down. Some captains were flashes in the pan, but he’d always loaded his weapons carefully so that when they discharged, they struck home.

  ‘Crow, Thom,’ he said finally, ‘do the rounds, make sure all’s in order and the bodies are being treated with dignity. Banno, you stay here with me.’

  The two veterans frowned, but they did as asked, leaving him alone with his son and the battered prisoner. Elgus went to Tami and removed her bloody gag, so she could breathe a little easier. Her eyes were big and frightened, but she didn’t plead, just panted, wet and rasping.

  What use is she now? Elgus wondered. I’ll never trust her again.

  ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘What shall I do with you?’

  She went to speak, but he shut her mouth with his hand.

  ‘I don’t want to hear your lies,’ he told her, reaching for his leather-wrapped cosh, which he handed to Banno. ‘Kill her, boy. Beat her to death.’