by Luke Scull
‘I thought—’ he began, but she cut him off with a snarl.
‘You thought you would lure me over here, get me feeling sorry for you? Is that it? Did you plan all of this?’
‘What? No, Sash, of course not—’
‘You’ll never change, will you?’ She stared at him, fury seething within her. The darkness suddenly seemed to expand, filling her head, throbbing with the need to escape and consume everything in its path. ‘You’re an asshole, Cole,’ she spat. ‘Your father would be ashamed of you. And so would Garrett.’
She spun around and stormed off back to the others, leaving him standing alone, mouth agape.
As it turned out, they were the last words she would utter to him before he departed their grim company for the militia training camp near Dorminia.
One Last March
Brodar Kayne had seen some armies in his time, but the host that awaited them when The Caress docked a day’s march west of the Grey City was a sight to behold. The coast was lined with ships almost as far as he could see. Carracks and galleys anchored side by side as a constant stream of smaller rowing boats ferried the three Sumnian mercenary companies to the shore.
The largest of the ships hoisted a flag depicting a stunning woman against a white background. Beneath the illustration, proudly displayed in flowing silver thread, were the words The Lady’s Luck.
The old Highlander’s breath caught as he stared up at the deck of the flagship. He squinted, just to be sure of what he was seeing. The man standing on the forecastle, if he really was a man, could be none other than General Zahn. From this distance, Kayne reckoned he looked about the size of some of the giants that roamed the High Fangs. No less than eight feet tall, certainly. The colossus was naked from the waist up, and he leaned upon a huge golden spear longer than the average Highlander was tall.
‘That’s the general,’ muttered the Darkson beside him. The Shamaathan had his hood drawn up so that only his eyes were visible.
Kayne shook his head in amazement. ‘For once, the lad wasn’t exaggerating.’ Davarus Cole had left them the night before, disembarking a few miles east of the city to begin his own personal quest. He had seemed unusually glum, which was surprising considering how much of a show he liked to make of things. The girl, too, appeared to be in poor spirits. He reckoned something had happened between them, but there was no point sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. At the end of the day, he had a job to do.
It wasn’t as if he could have said no to Brianna. Not after she’d just saved their lives. Not with the promise of fifty gold spires between them if he and Jerek helped overthrow the Tyrant of Dorminia. Handing back Magebane only seemed right in the circumstances. And again, it wasn’t as if he really had a choice. You didn’t usually get the better of mages in an argument, not in his experience.
In any case, Brianna seemed like a pleasant and trustworthy sort. A fine figure of a woman, if he was being honest, and it was past time he should be feeling guilty about those kinds of thoughts. When it came right down to it, there were no certainties in life. The prospect of ousting a bastard of a Magelord was a job as worthwhile as any other he could think of.
The caravel he was on had a shallow enough draught to anchor close inshore, so Kayne eased himself into the water and waded towards land. He heard Jerek and the Darkson splash down and do the same behind him. The water reached up to his waist, but the late-afternoon sun was oppressively hot and the brief soaking was a welcome relief.
Curious faces turned to stare at them as they made their way up the crunchy shingle beach towards the vast camp being assembled ahead. The old barbarian returned the stares. These Sumnian warriors were a strange sight. They were dark of skin, a little paler than the assassin behind him. They wore leather vests and carried swords or spears together with circular wooden shields. With the notable exception of the monstrous general, they looked to be a fair bit shorter than the typical Highlander, though were still a shade taller than most of the Lowlanders he had met.
‘Maggot!’ shouted a cheerful voice somewhere ahead of him. ‘Over here.’ Kayne narrowed his eyes at the group of Sumnians grinning at them. The speaker was a striking man in his early thirties with amazingly thick, oiled hair that had been braided and fixed atop his head. He carried an oddly shaped sword in each hand, both blades curving near the end to form a hook. The leather he wore was bleached bone white.
‘You talking to me?’ Kayne asked. The man nodded in response, flashing a white smile.
‘You, yes. You maggots.’
‘Now that ain’t no way to speak to a man. We’re all friends here.’ Brodar Kayne was trying his best to keep his cool, but the gleaming smile on the other man’s face combined with the insults were beginning to grate on his nerves.
‘Friends, yes. What is your name? And this other maggot’s name? He looks angry.’
Jerek stepped towards the Sumnian, knuckles gripping the handles of the axes on his back. ‘Maggot? I ain’t taking that. Not from a fucking—’
‘Calm.’ The Darkson placed a hand on Jerek’s shoulder. ‘He means no disrespect. In the Sun Lands, “maggot” is a term of endearment for those with fair skin.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Sumnian. ‘You are white, like a maggot, no?’ Something seemed to occur to him all of a sudden. ‘I know that voice. The Darkson.’
The assassin threw back his hood. ‘Well met, General.’
Brodar Kayne’s head was beginning to ache. ‘Wait… This man is a general?’
The Sumnian opposite him flashed another smile. ‘General D’rak, at your service.’
The Darkson pointed at the Sumnians behind D’rak, and then at the men standing around watching them in small clusters all across the beach. There must have been scores of them, maybe hundreds. They looked ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
‘General D’rak commands these warriors. They would lay down their lives for him.’
‘And these are but a handful of my brothers,’ the general added. ‘The rest are still on the ships, or helping prepare the camp. One thousand swords and spears – the finest company in all of Sumnia!’ He brought his strange weapons together once, twice, three times. Those close enough to observe their general answered by clashing their own weapons against their shields or hammering them on the ground.
Kayne gave the man’s twin blades a doubtful look. ‘I’ve never seen swords like those. Can you fight with them?’
General D’rak laughed. It was an honest sound, sincere and heartfelt, and the old Highlander felt himself warming towards him. ‘I fight like no one you have ever seen. Walk with me, friend. I will introduce you – and perhaps later I will show you how one dances with the khopesh.’
Kayne glanced behind him at the scowling Jerek and the Darkson, who nodded at him. ‘I ain’t much of a dancer,’ he said uncertainly. ‘But I guess you’re never too old to try.’
By the time dusk had fallen the army was fully encamped. Fires sprang up all over the hill on which they were bivouacked. The mercenaries from the south apparently found the night air too chill for their liking, despite the heat of the day and the fact both Kayne and Jerek were still uncomfortably warm underneath their hide armour.
Kayne reckoned the Sumnians could be excused that little foible after everything else he had witnessed since coming ashore. The mercenaries functioned with a discipline he had never experienced up in the High Fangs. They moved with purpose, each man knowing his place despite all being equal under their respective generals.
These were men who lived for warfare. General D’rak had informed him that every mercenary in a company had to earn his place, and as a result there was no room for cowards or stragglers. It all seemed a far cry from the red-cloaked soldiers he had encountered back in Dorminia. If even half these Sumnians were anywhere near as skilled as D’rak, the Crimson Watch wouldn’t stand a chance in hell.
He shifted again, wincing at the pain in his left calf. The general had shown him how to figh
t with the curved swords, sparring with and then disarming two of his own men. He had then handed the weapons over to Kayne, who had given the khopeshes a fair go, though the blades had felt strange in his hands. Of course, when the time came to start spinning around as the general had demonstrated, he had almost tripped over his own feet and fallen flat on his arse. Jerek might have fared better, considering how he favoured a weapon in each hand, but the Wolf had responded to D’rak’s offer to participate with a grim shake of the head and that had been that.
‘Are you all right?’ Sasha asked, noticing how he kept rubbing at the muscles in his leg.
‘Just a bit of a cramp,’ he replied, though to be honest the pain had been so bad he’d tasted blood. As it turned out, jumping around like a lunatic without a proper warm-up was a young man’s game. Just like everything else, he reckoned.
Brianna and the Darkson were off at Zahn’s tent with the other two generals, no doubt discussing plans. They would begin their march on the morrow. He could hear Three-Finger’s laughter from somewhere behind him. The convict was an easy man to get along with, quick with a joke and a ready smile. Still, Kayne didn’t like the way he stared at the girl. He decided to stick close to her, just in case. She could look after herself, he knew, but a lone woman among so many warriors was always going to draw unwelcome attention.
‘Why does he always sit alone?’ Sasha asked, nodding at Jerek. He was sitting by himself at a nearby campfire, staring at nothing much.
‘The Wolf likes to keep his own company,’ Kayne replied. ‘It’s just the way he is.’
Sasha frowned. ‘How did he get those scars?’
He paused a moment before replying. ‘When he was a boy his family was attacked by outlaws. Men with no allegiance to any chieftain. They locked his family inside their home, set fire to the house. He was the only survivor. His mother, father, his brothers and sisters – they all perished in the blaze.’
‘Is that why he’s so angry?’
‘Could be. He don’t trust easily.’
‘He trusts you.’
‘I pulled him clear of the fire.’
Sasha looked at him. ‘You rescued Jerek?’
He nodded. ‘I killed the outlaws. Found a lad still breathing, terribly burned, and dragged him out of the wreck. Course, I was still young myself then.’
‘Is that why he follows you everywhere? Because you saved his life?’
‘The Wolf doesn’t forget a debt.’
‘But he saved you from the Shaman.’
He shrugged. ‘Aye, he did. Now we’re both outlaws. He don’t owe me anything – and yet here he is.’
Sasha was silent for a time. She looked troubled. ‘You worried about young Cole?’ he asked carefully.
She scowled. ‘Cole can look after himself. He’s obsessed with the idea of being some great hero. Well, now’s his chance.’
‘He cares for you.’
‘I know.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’
The girl sighed and ran a hand over her brow. Her pupils weren’t so wide now, which was as good an indication as any that she was clean of whatever it was she had been taking. He hadn’t spoken to her about it. Nothing good could come of it. ‘I said something I shouldn’t have,’ she admitted.
Ah. Now we’re getting to the root of it. ‘Cole’s tenacious,’ he said. ‘He’ll bounce back. Nothing seems to faze that lad for very long.’
There was a hint of a smile on her face. ‘You’re probably right.’
He grinned back at her. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’
Isaac ambled over to them. He had a leg of roast chicken in one hand and a notebook in the other. ‘These Sumnians have a most interesting culture,’ he said, wiping grease from his mouth with the back of one hand. ‘Did you know they are forbidden to marry until they have killed at least one warrior in battle? Once they have, they are able to take up to three wives. The generals can marry as many women as they like.’
‘I reckon one woman’s more than enough for any man,’ Kayne replied. He raised an eyebrow. The manservant never failed to surprise him. ‘We’re marching off to battle tomorrow and you’re making notes?’
Isaac shrugged. ‘Knowledge lives on even after we’re gone. That’s all we really are. The sum of what others have learned before us. If I die, I hope part of my learning will remain for others to find and make use of.’
The old barbarian frowned. What would he leave behind when he died? A mountain of corpses and regrets, he supposed.
‘Can a Magelord die?’ Sasha asked Isaac.
‘Not from natural causes. But we know at least thirty mages returned from the Godswar. There are far fewer than thirty Magelords in the world now. Maybe not much more than a dozen. Clearly many have perished over the years.’
‘If Cole fails…’ Sasha began. She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she shook her head and looked down at the ground.
Kayne shrugged. ‘We got a job to do. We take the city and let Cole worry about the Magelord. If it comes to it, and Salazar proves too much… Well, we run like hell.’
‘I’m not running,’ she replied. ‘I’ve waited for this opportunity for years. I’ll do whatever it takes to kill that bastard.’
Kayne noticed Isaac watching him curiously. Again, he felt there was something odd about the manservant, but trying to pin down exactly what was akin to biting his own elbow.
‘Why are you here anyway? Is it just the gold?’ asked Isaac.
‘Gold’s always welcome.’ Twenty-five gold spires. Enough to buy a small farm in the Unclaimed Lands, maybe. Then what? Raise a family? I’m too old for that. I had a family and I lost it. And the Shaman won’t ever stop hunting me, not unless I flee to the furthest reaches of the world. Maybe not even then.
‘Kayne?’ Sasha said. She was looking at him with concern.
‘I’m fine,’ he replied. He had to stop doing that, sitting there and getting lost in his memories. It didn’t do a man any good to wallow in the past. ‘I’m going for a stroll,’ he announced. ‘See if I can walk off this damned cramp.’
He got to his feet and half limped from the campfire. Curious faces turned to stare at him. He caught Three-Finger gazing at Sasha, a hungry look in his eyes. He reckoned he was going to need to have words with the ex-convict at some point.
Hard words.
The following morning was every bit as glorious as the one previous. The sky was a clear blanket of blue without a cloud to be seen, and the sun promised a hard march ahead of them. He washed the sleep from his eyes at a nearby stream, had a bite of dry bread and an old apple, and then sat down to oil his greatsword. All around him mercenaries were doing the same. There was no telling what awaited them when they arrived at Dorminia.
Jerek strolled over and gave him a nod. He nodded in response. Nothing else needed to be said. They’d both done this often enough in the past. They knew how it went. You put your head down, kept your legs moving and focused on anything but the bloody carnage to come.
It took a little under an hour until the army was ready to march. The mercenary army decamped as quickly and efficiently as it had bivouacked, separating into the three individual companies that comprised the force. The two Highlanders, Sasha and Isaac travelled in the foremost company under the banner of General Zahn. The giant strolled along at the very front of the army, his bald head visible above the mass of men behind him. Above him was a flag depicting a golden spear skewering what looked like a column of warriors. Brianna and the Darkson were somewhere up alongside him, Kayne knew.
He glanced behind him. He could just about see General D’rak at the head of his own company, his banner displaying what looked like a dancing skeleton. The third company was somewhere behind. He hadn’t yet seen their general, who was apparently a fellow named Zolta. Chances were he was every bit as fierce as his peers. Behind the last company came the siege engines, followed by a score of the White Lady’s pale servants. The women spoke to no one and kept th
eir own counsel.
They marched eastwards, following the coast. As he predicted, the sun was merciless and bathed them in an oppressive heat that, to his frustration, the Sumnians apparently seemed to enjoy. He couldn’t help but notice the glowing orb had a distinctly crimson hue this morning. He hoped that wasn’t an ill omen.
By the time the sun was again sinking beneath the western horizon they neared their destination. His legs ached like something unholy and he smelled worse than that, but all things considered he had endured much longer and more unpleasant marches. The army halted a mile or so from Dorminia’s walls, on a shallow hill overlooking the city.
‘This is it,’ Sasha said. ‘Do you think we will attack tonight?’
Brodar Kayne glanced up at the darkening sky and then at Dorminia. Lights twinkled from within the Grey City, but he couldn’t see much of anything else at this distance. ‘It seems like a good night for it,’ he answered. ‘I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Isaac?’
‘I don’t know. He was right next to me until a few moments ago.’
The Highlander sighed. ‘I expect he’s scarpered off to do some last-minute sketching or plant collecting.’
Jerek scowled and spat. ‘You ready for this, Kayne? They’re watching our every move.’ He jerked a thumb skywards to where a hawk of some kind had been circling overhead for the last few minutes. It screeched once and then flew off in the direction of the city.
‘Mindhawks,’ said Sasha darkly.
‘Can’t be helped now,’ said Kayne. ‘You set yourself against a Magelord, you don’t go in expecting a fair fight.’
He should know. He had learned that lesson the hard way.
Good News, Bad News
‘It is time.’
Barandas finished strapping on his sword and stared out of the window. The city was still silent at this early hour, but the first light of dawn had split the sky like a bloody wound and soon the streets would be heaving with activity.
