The Grim Trilogy 01 - The Grim Company

by Scull, Luke

  ‘Hush,’ he said gently. He felt as though he was floating. ‘You can’t imagine what this means to me, Lena. I thought… It doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m going to be a father.’

  She smiled at him then, her eyes wet with tears. ‘Promise me. Promise me nothing will happen to you.’

  He held her close, stroked her hair. ‘I promise,’ he said.

  The iron beating inside his chest seemed to swell. For that one, precious moment, the burdens he carried seemed to weigh as lightly as a feather.

  He strolled through the waking city as the rising sun bathed the streets in scarlet. News of the approaching force had yet to circulate around the taverns and markets from which gossip spread like wildfire, but he knew that it would before long, and then Dorminia would be in chaos.

  The spring in his step faltered slightly as he made his way through the Hook and tried to ignore the men in the gibbets above him. They stared down at him with pleading expressions, tongueless mouths emitting animal moans. Other than the gurgling of the Redbelly River nearby, they were the only sounds disturbing the dawn streets.

  He turned off the Tyrant’s Road and onto the old Trade Way. The ancient road ran from the west of the city across the Hook to Dorminia’s eastern gates. From there it continued all the way to the borders of the Unclaimed Lands. To his left, the temple of the Mother reminded him of things he would rather forget. He wondered if Remy felt any guilt about betraying the rebel organization that had until recently operated from the old ruin. He very much doubted it.

  Our new Master of Information now has a large estate in the Noble Quarter and an allowance to shame all but the wealthiest merchants. That will doubtless assuage any lingering feelings of regret.

  Barandas was not particularly keen on what he had seen of the former physician, and it irked him to have such treachery rewarded with a place on the Council, but Timerus held sway in such matters.

  He approached the city’s eastern entrance. The Watchmen on duty saluted him and hurried to unlock the huge iron gates, dragging them open to reveal the temporary wooden palisade beyond. Dorminia had been under a strict lockdown for over a month, with only government-approved tradesmen and soldiers of the Watch allowed to pass freely into and out of the city. The militiamen in the sprawling camp before him were allowed back inside Dorminia for only an hour every other day, and only in groups of a few hundred at any one time. The threat of rebellion or desertion was a constant concern.

  Not that there were too many places for a coward to flee, he thought. Not unless a Dorminian was willing to risk the Unclaimed Lands where life was a daily struggle to survive. Beyond that lawless frontier lay the Confederation, a sprawling collection of nations loosely allied under the rule of a cabal of Magelords. Few ever made that particular journey, which was fraught with peril.

  Shadowport had received a fair number of immigrants from Dorminia before the conflict over the Celestial Isles, but the Grey City had also taken in many coming in the opposite direction. Life was hard throughout the Trine, no matter where a man or woman called home.

  And as ruthless as Salazar was, his rule ensured that Dorminia remained an anchor of civilization in a land that was slowly drifting to ruin.

  ‘My lord.’ A young officer saluted as Barandas entered the palisade and cast his gaze over the makeshift army stirring to life under a forest of bedrolls. The weather had blessed them: the recent heat had turned the rain-sodden grassland to hard turf, and conditions in the temporary barracks were far pleasanter than they would have been even a week ago.

  ‘I want every man gathered in the centre of the camp fifteen minutes from now,’ he commanded the young Watchman. The officer looked startled for a moment, then saluted and scuttled off to carry out his orders.

  ‘I am Barandas, Supreme Augmentor of Lord Salazar. I stand before you in Marshal Halendorf’s absence.’

  He gazed down at the thronging mass of men assembled around the platform. The tide of humanity stretched back halfway to the walls of the massive palisade, faces young and old staring up at him with a multitude of expressions. He had never seen so many people in one place. He raised his voice so that those further back might hear, though he doubted whether the men near the edges of the gigantic crowd would understand a word. ‘News has reached us that the Sumnian army is but a day’s march away.’

  There was a stirring below as the news was relayed by the men at the front to those behind them. ‘You will soon be called upon to defend your city,’ he continued. ‘To defend your homes. Your families. The Sumnians will show no mercy.’

  Even this early in the morning the smell of unwashed bodies was strong. Barandas ignored the pungent odours of sweat and piss and wiped his moistening brow with the back of his hand. Then, in one smooth motion, he drew his sword and raised it up in the air. ‘We fight for the Grey City. For freedom. If the Watch falters, I need every man here to do his duty.’

  There were a few ragged cheers, mainly from the older men. A great many faces stared back at him with stony expressions. A few turned and spat on the ground. ‘Freedom?’ exclaimed one voice from somewhere in the first half-dozen rows. ‘That’s a joke. The city won’t be free until Salazar is dead.’

  Barandas stared down at the makeshift army and tried to locate the speaker. He thought it might have been a young man with cropped hair, but he couldn’t be sure. ‘If the Lord of Dorminia falls, the city falls with him,’ he shouted back. ‘There are many who wish us harm.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ yelled another man. ‘The Watch killed my brother. Dragged him away from his house and slit his throat in the middle of the street. What kind of ruler murders his own people?’

  Barandas heard swords being drawn behind him. There were several hundred Watchmen assembled before the crowd, who were unarmed. If this continued things could turn ugly very quickly.

  ‘Mistakes have been made,’ he said. He knew that this was crossing into dangerous territory, but he needed these conscripts to believe in him. ‘You are aware of what occurred during the Festival of the Red Sun. Rebels tried to kill our lord. Perhaps the Watch has been… heavy-handed in the years since.’

  There were mutterings behind him now. He had evidently upset some of the officers. It couldn’t be helped. He addressed the crowd one last time. ‘You will help dismantle the camp. Then you will assemble at the nearest barracks and await further orders.’

  He turned to the soldiers behind him, nodded and then stepped from the platform. He searched around for Captain Bracka. He spotted the man talking heatedly with a group of his junior officers. He strolled over, noting how quickly they fell silent when they saw him approaching. Bracka scowled and threw a desultory salute. ‘Commandant,’ he said in a low growl.

  ‘How are we for weapons?’ Barandas asked, ignoring the man’s tone.

  Bracka scratched at his huge red bush of a beard. He looked like a bear, and was said to have a temperament to match. ‘Every smith in Dorminia has been working flat out,’ he said. ‘But there’s been a shortage of iron. We used most of our reserves in the war with Shadowport. There are enough pikes to go around, but most of the swords and axes have seen better days. Some of them are more rust than steel.’

  ‘What about bows?’

  Bracka snorted and flashed a black smile. Literally black – his teeth were rotten to the core. ‘Most of these bastards couldn’t hit a cow’s arse from five yards out.’

  ‘They don’t need to be accurate. They just need to be able to fire an arrow.’

  ‘We should have bows enough,’ the captain replied. ‘As for armour, any man who gets so much as a padded jerkin can count himself lucky. If those Sumnians get close, we’re fucked.’

  ‘I don’t intend that they get close,’ said Barandas.

  ‘Commandant,’ gasped a breathless voice behind him. It was the young officer he had spoken with earlier.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I bring news from the city. Marshal Halendorf passed away during the night.’r />
  ‘Passed away?’ Barandas repeated slowly, as if the words had been spoken in a language he did not understand.

  ‘Yes, Commandant. One of his servants found him dead in his bed, blood all over the sheets. It seems that he… coughed up his innards.’

  ‘I was led to understand he had a bad case of acid.’

  ‘What devilry is this?’ Bracka demanded. ‘The Marshal was fine last time I saw him. Just a bit under the weather.’

  Barandas turned to the captain. ‘Finish overseeing the disbanding of the camp. I must speak with our lord immediately.’ He spun around and marched back towards the eastern gate, wondering what other news this day would bring.

  ‘You will continue as before. The army is yours to lead now, Supreme Augmentor.’

  Barandas blinked and cleared his throat. ‘But, my lord… what about my other duties? I am sworn to protect you.’

  Salazar pursed his lips. Grand Magistrate Timerus watched on, the only other man in the room. They were in the Magelord’s private chamber on the Obelisk’s sixth floor. The chair to Salazar’s right was empty – the chair normally occupied by Halendorf’s fleshy arse when the Tyrant of Dorminia demanded an audience. Barandas recalled the Marshal’s look of satisfaction when he had been summoned following Shadowport’s destruction. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  ‘I am quite capable of protecting myself,’ the Magelord said. ‘You and your Augmentors will be needed to defend the gates. Dorminia’s walls might halt the Sumnian mercenaries for a time. They will pose little obstacle to the White Lady’s servants.’

  ‘As you command, my lord.’ Barandas hesitated. ‘I would have Thurbal posted here, just as a precaution. With your permission, of course.’

  Salazar narrowed his eyes. ‘You are persistent, Supreme Augmentor.’

  ‘I care only for your safety, my lord.’

  The Tyrant of Dorminia sat back in his throne and sighed. ‘Very well. Now, you must take your leave. The Sumnians will arrive before the moon is in the sky. You have much to do.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Barandas hesitated again. ‘Do we know what befell Marshal Halendorf? He is not the first man to meet such an end these last couple of months.’

  This time it was Timerus who answered. ‘I had the corpse delivered to one of the finest physicians in the city. It will be examined for signs of anything unusual. It is not a matter with which to concern yourself, Supreme Augmentor.’

  ‘As you say.’ With a final bow to Salazar, Barandas departed the chamber. There was something odd about Halendorf’s untimely death, but for now he had too many things demanding his attention. He wondered if he had time to pay Lena a brief visit before departing the Noble Quarter for the western gate.

  With a great sense of regret, he decided he did not.

  *

  The grey granite wall of Dorminia rose to three times the height of a man, surrounding the city on all sides save for the south, where the harbour formed a natural barrier. The wall was three feet thick at its weakest point and could withstand all but the heaviest assault from ballista or trebuchet.

  Barandas climbed the rough stone steps leading up to the gatehouse that overlooked the city’s western entrance. Battlements ran down the length of the wall on both sides, with a narrow walkway providing just enough room for an archer to snipe at enemies from behind the relative safety of the merlons. The militia’s training had mostly centred on the longbow. Barandas was confident he had enough men to drown their assailants in a storm of arrows if they were foolish enough to launch a head-on assault.

  They won’t be, he realized grimly. These Sumnians are expert soldiers, veterans at laying siege to towns and cities. They will have a great many tricks up their sleeves.

  Fortunately, he too had a secret weapon.

  The Halfmage was on the gatehouse’s parapet, staring out through the crenellated wall at the western horizon. The sun was already beginning to sink, and though the approaching army was not yet within sight it was only a matter of time before their aggressors arrived and the siege would begin in earnest.

  The man seated on the strange contraption looked up, a troubled expression on his face. ‘Supreme Augmentor,’ he said with a smile that appeared not the least bit genuine. ‘Or rather, should that be Marshal? I believe congratulations are in order.’

  ‘Supreme Augmentor will suffice,’ Barandas replied. ‘Do you have everything you require?’

  ‘I could use a bottle or two of his lordship’s best wine and a whore to keep me entertained while we wait. No? In that case I am as content as a pig in shit.’

  Barandas moved to stand beside the wizard. He was a somewhat bizarre sight, in truth: a scholarly-looking man of a similar age to him, dressed in outlandish green robes that seemed to accentuate his missing legs. Barandas had felt sorry for the wizard, at least at first, but the man’s sarcastic manner and constant barbs made him unpleasant to be around.

  ‘You do realize I am to magic as a eunuch is to an orgy, or dear Chancellor Ardling is to the art of witty banter. If you’re expecting me to eviscerate our enemies in clouds of spattering gore, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.’

  ‘I am aware of your limitations. You are to concentrate on destroying any siege weapon that gets close enough to launch an attack. In this weather they will spark like kindling.’

  ‘It might have escaped your attention, but there is only one of me…’ The mage paused for a moment. ‘That is to say, there is only half of me, and yet there are two gates to defend. And what if they attack from the north?’

  ‘They will not,’ Barandas replied. He had discussed this with the four captains. The Redbelly River flowed into the city on the northern side from where it wound down from the Demonfire Hills. The only way the invading force could enter Dorminia from that direction was by scaling the walls or sailing down the waterway. The Sumnians had no boats. Several of Dorminia’s surviving warships now patrolled the spot where the river entered the city, their artillery ready to blast apart anyone foolish enough to get close and attempt a breach.

  ‘Lord Salazar will support the eastern wall,’ Barandas added. ‘The Obelisk provides the ideal vantage point from which to observe an approach on that side of the city. Our master may be weakened, but he remains formidable.’

  ‘Yes. I am aware.’

  The two men said nothing for a time. Barandas could hear the Crimson Watch trying to maintain order on the streets below. The bellmen were already doing the rounds, informing the citizenry that a hostile force was approaching and advising those not involved in the fighting to remain indoors.

  He glanced down at the wizard. ‘My wife is pregnant,’ he said. He had no idea where the words came from or why he decided to break the news to this strange fellow of all people, but they tumbled out before he could stop them.

  The Halfmage looked at him with a blank expression. Then he laughed. It was a horrible sound, like a dying man gasping for breath. Finally he quietened, wiping tears from his eyes and snot from his chin. ‘First Supreme Augmentor. Then Marshal. Now soon to be a father? Do you want me to shake your hand? Give you a manly embrace? I would offer you a gift as is the custom, but I am certain there is nothing one so blessed as you does not already possess.’

  ‘I want nothing from you. It was foolish of me to expect any empathy from a hateful—’

  The Halfmage held up a hand, shocking him into silence. The wizard squinted into the distance, raising his other hand to shield his eyes from the dying sun. ‘Hold onto that anger, Supreme Augmentor. It will come in handy. The Sumnians are here.’

  Summer Time

  The sound of drums dragged her awake.

  Yllandris had been dreaming of a morning long ago, when she had been a girl not yet blossomed to womanhood and the arrival of summer had been one of the highlights of her year. Her mother had been tending the hearth, a broad smile on her kindly face. Her father was nearby. The promise of the new season appeared to have softened even his dark mood, and he ga
ve her an affectionate grunt as he passed her a warm bowl of last night’s stew and a hard heel of bread.

  She sat up, wiping sleep from her eyes. Had she imagined the sound?

  No. There it was again. Boom. Boom. Boom.

  She thrust the fur blanket away from her, jumped up from the pallet and pulled on some clothes: a pair of deerskin trousers, her purple shawl and some boots. The beating of the drum was growing louder. She quickly washed her face, not bothering to apply any paints, and then hurried outside.

  Has the King finally returned? A full three days had passed and still no word from Magnar or his huge entourage had reached Heartstone. Additional riders had been sent to investigate. They had not returned either. With the Shaman still absent, an undercurrent of panic was beginning to pervade the town.

  The sun was up already and the skies were clear. The snow had melted, revealing soggy green grass and mud underneath. As she joined the townsfolk making their way towards the northern gate, she could hear the trickle of the last of the snow melting on the roofs of the huts and longhouses that lined the thoroughfare. Soon Lake Dragur would thaw, if it had not already, and the boats would be out on the water bringing in trout and perch and anything else the fishermen could catch. All in all it was set to be a beautiful day.

  ‘Sister,’ called a slightly shrill voice somewhere to her right. It was Thurva. The young sorceress scurried through the crowd to intercept her.

  Yllandris suppressed a sigh. ‘Greetings, sister,’ she said with forced pleasantness. ‘It appears our king returns to us.’

  ‘With the head of the demon, I hope,’ replied Thurva. She made a face. ‘I don’t enjoy burying the dead. It’s a grisly business.’

  Yllandris stared at Thurva’s mismatched eyes, not bothering to hide her annoyance. You barely lifted a finger to help, she thought. I did most of the hard work.

  One of the circle’s duties in Heartstone was to perform last rites for the dead. Though the gods were gone, there were other, even more ancient forces in the world – the many spirits of land and sea and sky – that demanded supplication. In return for worship the spirits were said to bestow the gifts of foresight to the wise men and women and magic to the sorceresses. Males who possessed the spark underwent the Shaman’s ritual and transcended, becoming one with the animal that best represented their nature.