by Luke Scull
He sat for a time, remembering. The wind had picked up, whistling through the boughs above them like the shrieks of a thousand lost souls. Sasha and Isaac looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat.
‘I met Mhaira when I was maybe half the age I am now. We had our joining within a year. She was a daughter of the Green Reaching, born to a couple of herders from Beregund. A modest family, but it didn’t matter a damn to me. Not when I saw the laughter in her eyes. Thinking back, I probably thought wedding a shepherd’s daughter added to my own legend in the making.’
‘That sounds like someone I know,’ Sasha said quietly.
He thought about that for a time. ‘Aye, I reckon I can see shades of myself in the lad. I was arrogant. Proud. Conceited. Wedding Mhaira was the one thing I got right. Ain’t a day goes by that I don’t count my blessings for that one moment of good sense.’
‘What happened?’ asked Sasha, poking at the remnants of their campfire with a stick. Isaac looked on with his usual bland expression.
He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘The Shaman ordered Beregund put to the sword. Mhaira’s family. The friends I had there. All of them.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s how the Shaman does things. Aye, reasons were given: the town wasn’t honouring the Treaty; they were withholding tributes due to Heartstone – that kind of thing. But what it came down to was the Shaman exercising his dominance. He was always pitting folk against each other. Culling the weak, as he called it.’
‘You refused to do as he asked.’
The old Highlander nodded. ‘The Shaman gave me a day to make my decision. I figure he thought to test me. Knowing he wouldn’t like my answer, I fled east with Mhaira. The Brethren caught me a few days later but I bought her some time to escape. Or so I thought.’
Tears threatened his eyes. He blinked them away. ‘I spent the best part of a year inside a wicker cage. The Brethren found Mhaira huddling in a cave in the Devil’s Spine and had both of us brought before the Shaman. He burned her alive. Would have been me next but for Jerek. Whatever else a man might say about him, the Wolf ain’t one to forget a debt.’
Sasha pursed her lips and stared down at the ground. ‘That’s a horrible story. Do you have any children?’
He flinched at the question. ‘I had a son. Pride of his mother and me, he was. Had his mother’s wits and his father’s skill with a sword. He… died, the day Mhaira burned.’
Silence followed his words. Isaac’s plain face was sympathetic, and even Sasha’s eyes had softened. The fire had burned down to embers. Kayne stared at the glowing ash, avoiding the gazes of those opposite him. Eventually he cleared his throat.
‘I reckon that’s enough about me. What about you, lass? What’s the story with you and boy?’
Sasha frowned back at him. ‘You mean Cole? There is no story.’
‘I saw the way he looks at you.’
‘He can look at me any way he likes. We’ve known each other for years. Garrett is my mentor too. Cole is… well, you’ve seen how he is. He’s the only person I know who can scrape through the most dangerous situations by the sheer power of his own bullshit.’
‘Aye, there’s some gap between the man he is and the man he sees in the mirror. Still, I get the feeling his heart’s in the right place.’
Sasha sighed. ‘Somewhere deep down inside him, it is. But he’s been raised to believe he’s some great hero. Garrett spoiled him.’ She shook her head. ‘Cole lives in a bubble. One day it’s going to burst and his whole world will come crashing down.’ There was a hint of concern in the girl’s voice. Concern and perhaps something more.
The old barbarian was wise enough to say nothing.
Footsteps squelched on soggy turf and Jerek reappeared, soaked through to the bone. His face was thunder.
‘Fucking things don’t work,’ he said, pointing down at the faintly glowing leather boots on his feet.
Sasha rolled her eyes. ‘That’s because they’re bondmagic. The enchantment only functions for the person linked to them. Salazar isn’t stupid enough to allow powerful artefacts such as those to be turned against him.’
Jerek looked down at the boots in disgust and spat. ‘Could have told me that before I prised them from the stinking feet of that bastard. Waste of fucking time, this whole journey. And roll those pretty eyes at me again and you’ll regret it.’
Kayne flexed his neck, loosening muscles that had grown stiff during his convalescence. ‘We’ve got a two-day march until we reach Dorminia. I reckon it’ll go smoother if we all make the effort to be civil.’ No one answered. Sasha and Jerek stared daggers at one another. Isaac busied himself tidying the camp. Kayne sighed. ‘Fine. Silence suits me just as well.’
‘I spotted a small town a few miles west of here,’ Jerek said abruptly. ‘We can buy supplies. Maybe rest until this shitty weather passes.’ He rubbed at his scarred face as if he could do with a break, but Brodar Kayne knew the truth of the matter. In spite of everything, the realization pricked at him.
Wounded pride? Stupid old fool. You never learn. He climbed to his feet, niggling pains assailing him from every direction, so many he didn’t even bother to try and count them all. He forced his stubbly face into a rictus of a smile.
‘A few miles, eh? We can make that before nightfall. Let’s get some shelter over our heads. You lot could use a break from the rain.’
A Precious Gift
Barandas rubbed at his tired eyes, yawned and glanced back down at the ledger he had been studying. The numbers had started to blur together. He sighed and closed the book, leaning back in his chair.
Moist lips brushed the back of his neck and he turned to see Lena watching him with a concerned expression.
‘You’ve been up all night. Again.’
He glanced out of the window. Night had given way to a grim dawn, iron-grey clouds plastering the sky from horizon to horizon. Droplets of rain crawled down the glass panels and pattered onto the stones below. The last couple of days had been nothing but incessant drizzle. After the public announcement that Dorminia was now at war with Thelassa, the depressing weather was oddly appropriate. The news had been received by the populace with all the enthusiasm one might expect. That was to say, none at all.
He got to his feet, stretching out the tightness in his back. Lena was still looking at him with worry on her face. He leaned forwards and kissed her quickly.
‘I’ll manage,’ he said. ‘The Marshal still isn’t fit to return to his post. While he is indisposed, I have a war to plan and the commissioning of new Augmentors to oversee.’
Lena shook her head in annoyance. ‘What exactly is wrong with Halendorf? You’d think he would be itching for revenge against Thelassa. After all, their assassins did try to poison him.’
Barandas yawned again. ‘He was deeply unsettled by his near-death experience. His acid is so bad he can barely rise from his bed, or so he claims.’
‘And Ardling? Is our Chancellor also indisposed by the recent attempt on your lives?’
‘I imagine the cost of a war with our neighbours has had greater implications for his well-being than all the excitement in the Grand Council Chamber.’
Lena’s expression became grave. She was in no mood for jokes, it seemed. Not that it was much of a joke. With the expense of the war with Shadowport and now this latest conflict, I’m surprised our Chancellor hasn’t committed suicide.
‘I have a busy day ahead training the new servants, and visiting textile merchants and seamsters,’ said his wife. ‘I will not have our new staff pay for their own uniforms, despite what Kyla and the others might say. What time will you be home tonight?’
Barandas shifted uncomfortably. ‘I will be at the Obelisk this evening. Lord Salazar has requested my presence. Don’t look at me like that, Lena! Many of the city’s magistrates are dead. It is only right that the rest of us do our duty. Especially in times of war.’
She sighed and eventually nodded. That was precisely why
he loved her so much. Compassion, concern and then acceptance. You are my rock, Lena, tethering me to my humanity when this world would make of me a monster.
‘What of Legwynd? Have you found his killers?’
Barandas shook his head. ‘Not yet. They could have fled anywhere, perhaps even north to the Badlands. The mine, Lena… every man working the Rift was buried alive.’
‘Whoever did this must be brought to justice.’
‘They will be, when the Watch can spare the men to conduct a widespread search. In the meantime, we await our first shipment from the Swell. All this effort spent training new recruits will be in vain if we don’t have the raw magic to create more Augmentors.’
Lena looked up at him. The green crystal on the platinum chain around her neck matched her eyes. Even after five years of marriage, her beauty still took his breath away. ‘It suits you,’ he said, cupping the quartz in his palm.
‘You never did tell me where you found it.’
Her tone made him grin. She always told him he had a boy’s smile. ‘Where I found it? What makes you think I didn’t go to the finest jeweller in the city and have it commissioned for you?’
She raised an eyebrow in response. ‘As if you could tear yourself away from your responsibilities long enough to waste time buying pretty baubles for your spoiled wife. Really, Ran, where did you find it?’
His smile faded away. He remembered the gruesome result of Thurbal’s butchery flopping around in pools of blood, and the lurid glow of flames licking around the pile of corpses to reduce them to blackened skeletons.
‘Better you don’t ask,’ he said. ‘I appropriated it while doing my duty to Lord Salazar and the city. If you don’t wish to have it, I know someone else who might…’
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘What, the goodwife or whatever it is she calls herself?’
‘The goodlady,’ he corrected her. ‘Truth be told I’m rather certain Cyreena will never make anyone a good wife. Though I suppose a man can but try…’
She tutted and he grinned again, pulling her towards him for a kiss. ‘I have to leave now,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how long I will be at the Obelisk this evening. Don’t wait up.’
‘You know me,’ she said, giving him a frown.
‘Yes, I do. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.’ He gave her one last kiss, and then went to wash his face and find something to eat before heading out into the relentless drizzle. He had a busy day ahead.
‘Keep your weapon up,’ Barandas instructed, launching a backhand swing at his opponent’s neck. He brought his longsword to a halt at the last possible instant, leaving the blade poised a hair’s breadth from the man’s throat.
‘Point taken, sir,’ said Gorm in a strained voice. He remained perfectly still. ‘I don’t suppose you could take your sword away now?’
Barandas lowered his weapon and stared across at the other man. Tall and thin, Gorm had the look of a clerk or accountant rather than a warrior. For all that, he was competent enough with a spear and had served in the Watch for the best part of a decade. He had been high on the list of men Halendorf had recommended for consideration. So far he hadn’t set the world alight, but neither was he the worst candidate Barandas had tested in recent days.
‘Tell me, Gorm. Why do you wish to become an Augmentor?’
The lanky Watchman scratched at his bulbous nose with a thin hand and cleared his throat nervously. ‘I want to serve his lordship and the city. Why else?’
Barandas blinked rainwater from his eyes. All around the small courtyard, men watched the spectacle with expressions of eagerness, curiosity or apprehension. A handful of Augmentors were among them. Thurbal stroked the pommel of his enchanted scimitar and smiled cruelly at the hopefuls. Garmond loomed near the courtyard gates, motionless, like a statue carved from obsidian in his light-devouring armour.
‘You say you want to serve our lord and Dorminia, yet is this not already your mandate as a man of the Crimson Watch? To become an Augmentor is to go beyond mere servitude. The magic that is bestowed upon an Augmentor links them to Lord Salazar in mind, body and soul. Are you prepared for that?’
The tall man appeared to think about this for a moment before nodding. ‘I guess I am,’ he said. ‘Do I get to choose what kind of magic I get? I always wanted a belt that made me as strong as a giant, like the one Kronin of Gharzia wore to repel the horse lords of the steppes in the time before the Godswar. My old grandpa used to tell me stories about it.’
Barandas sighed. So this one’s a dreamer, full of excitement at the prospect of carrying magic around. He glanced across to Thurbal. They aren’t as reliable as the sociopaths once the novelty wears off. Still, better a dreamer than an idealist. Those rarely last long.
‘The answer to your question is no,’ he said. ‘You will be assigned bondmagic that best complements your natural aptitudes.’
Gorm looked momentarily disappointed.
‘If I judge you worthy, I believe that a polearm of some kind would be fitting. There are several enhancements that could be made,’ said Barandas. ‘A lightning-emitting head, perhaps, or a shaft able to shape the winds to its wielder’s will…’
The Watchman immediately perked up. Yes. Definitely a dreamer.
There was a sudden commotion near the gates. ‘Get out of my damned way, Garmond,’ growled an irate voice. The huge Augmentor was blocking his view of the newcomer, but Barandas recognized the speaker immediately.
‘Let him pass,’ he ordered. He took a deep breath. This was going to be unpleasant.
Garmond moved aside. Rorshan marched towards him.
‘Commandant!’ he barked. ‘My magic’ – he gestured to the whip on the left side of his belt, then the dagger on the other – ‘has gone, and I feel like… like a part of me has died inside. Commission new bondmagic for me. Please.’
Barandas looked his erstwhile comrade in the eye. ‘Rorshan, you served Dorminia well for many years. Your bravery ensured the safety of our vassal towns and villages countless times. I mourned when I learned that our lord’s ritual consumed your magic. Of all the men I lost that night, your dispossession was the greatest tragedy.’
‘But I can still serve,’ said Rorshan. ‘I was on my way to Farrowgate to confront an abomination when I was summoned to the Obelisk. Replace these weapons and I will return there and do my best to protect the village – as I have always done!’ Desperation coloured his voice.
Barandas shook his head. ‘You ask the impossible,’ he said softly. ‘The binding spell can only be performed once. A second attempt will kill a man. It has been tried in the past, many times, and the result has always been fatal. I am sorry, Rorshan, but you need to put this part of your life behind you. I have recommended you for an officer’s position in the Watch—’
‘Fuck the Watch!’ Rorshan exclaimed. His grip on his weapons had tightened so that his hands had turned white. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I start to shake and it won’t stop. There’s a part of me that’s been ripped out, and if something doesn’t fill the emptiness soon I swear I’m going to make the bastard responsible pay.’
‘Easy, Rorshan,’ Barandas said. ‘You’re suffering. That’s normal when an Augmentor loses his bondmagic. I can help you—’
‘I don’t need your help,’ Rorshan spat. He tugged his weapons from his belt. ‘Fifteen years. I’ve been an Augmentor since you were barely more than a boy. Now you’re going to tell me that’s it? I’m finished? I don’t think so.’ He took a step forwards.
As Rorshan approached, Barandas felt despair threatening to engulf him. His sword weighed like a mountain in his hand.
He gritted his teeth. A man has to do what is necessary.
Suddenly Garmond was between them. He shoved Rorshan so hard that the man flew a dozen feet backwards. With a yell of rage, the ex-Augmentor leaped to his feet and charged at the giant. He easily dodged a massive right swing and flicked his wrist so that his whip snaked out
and wrapped around Garmond’s other hand. He pulled.
Had the magic still been present in Rorshan’s weapon, not even Garmond’s prodigious strength would have been able to withstand its tug. The colossus would have been dragged forwards to meet the point of the dagger in Rorshan’s other hand – sharp enough to pierce even the huge man’s enchanted armour.
Instead, Rorshan stared with a helpless fury as his efforts failed to budge Garmond an inch. The giant Augmentor grabbed the slack part of the whip and pulled, heaving Rorshan towards him. Rorshan was too slow to react to the crushing hands reaching around his throat. They closed, and then they began to squeeze.
Barandas looked away. Rain hammered down, almost but not quite drowning out the sounds of a man being choked to death. Eventually the noises ceased. Around the courtyard men were silent, staring at the ground or the sky with troubled faces.
He looked at Gorm. The lanky fellow wore a shocked expression. ‘So,’ Barandas said. ‘Just to be certain, do you still wish to pledge your life as an Augmentor?’
Gorm opened his mouth, but no words emerged.
‘And how is your recruitment of potential new Augmentors progressing?’
‘Steadily, my lord. Sadly, a promising candidate declined us earlier this day.’
Lord Salazar waved a bony hand, dismissing the unfortunate news. ‘There will be others, I am certain. Keep looking.’
Barandas nodded. The events of that morning had shaken him. Rorshan had no family, but the Supreme Augmentor had nonetheless arranged an honourable burial for his old comrade. That was the least he could do, in spite of the manner of Rorshan’s passing.
‘My lord, we have roughly a thousand Crimson Watchmen,’ he said, finally daring to broach a subject that had been troubling him for days. ‘I believe we can muster another five thousand men of fighting age, untrained or poorly trained for the most part. That is a sizeable force, yet if reports are correct, Thelassa has contracted no less than three companies of mercenaries from Sumnia.’
