Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  Copyright © 2016 by D.M. Murray. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  MAILING LIST

  REVIEWS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  FURTHER THANKS

  CHAPTER ONE

  He drew a breath through his nostrils, and smelled the storm on the chill, earthy air. Kalfinar opened his eyes and peered beyond the torch-lit rampart of the battlements, and into the twilight-draped shadow of the woods.

  “Think we’re getting some wild weather tonight. What do you think, Captain?” a young soldier asked.

  Kalfinar didn’t need to look at the man to know he felt cold more keenly than those seasoned to the Hardalen peaks. “First of the North Storms will hit tonight. We’ll miss it. Night Command will relieve us shortly.” Kalfinar’s gaze remained fixed at the dark fringe of the forest that slid down the side of the mountain towards the garrison. “Something watches from the tree line.”

  “Sir?”

  “I can feel eyes on me.” Kalfinar turned and looked at the soldier.

  The man tried to hide the shiver that convulsed up his body, despite wearing a coat of oiled leather and fleece on top of his chainmail.

  “Can’t you feel it?” A humourless grin stretched crookedly between the stubble of Kalfinar’s beard. He grunted and turned back to the woods. “Don’t fret it, boy. You’ll get the sense of it like the rest of us sorry old bastards.”

  Eighteen years and a day since I took my commission. Longer than this lad’s been off the tit.

  Kalfinar could smell the pungent oil from Sergeant Subath’s chainmail before he heard the veteran’s footsteps. He turned to greet his former mentor and his platoon of Night Command troops as they began the nightly ritual of relieving the watch.

  “Major Kalfinar, sir. In welcoming the moon, let me relieve you of your duty. Anything to report?”

  “It’s captain, Sergeant. Must we do this every night?”

  “But, Major, these words have been our tradition for centuries.”

  “Not the words, Sergeant. My rank.”

  “Still a major to me, sir.” Subath winked in distracting fashion. His battle-damaged eyelid twitched lazily.

  “Thought I was still a cadet to you.”

  “Aye, you’re still that, too. You can be both.”

  “I’m gratified, Sergeant.” Kalfinar leaned in closer to Subath and lowered his voice. “But in front of the lads, let’s just stick to captain. You know as well as anyone it was deserved.”

  “Perhaps so, sir.”

  Kalfinar sighed. “There is the correct order of things, Sergeant. Let’s not corrupt the judgement of our young officers too much, too soon.”

  “As you say, Captain,” said Subath, wearing an ill-suited mask of reverential innocence.

  “Better.” Kalfinar turned to face the woods as the first of the snowflakes began to float downwards. The small snowflakes sizzled as they drifted into the oil torches. “Quiet so far. Nothing to report. The first storm will hit tonight.”

  “Aye. Could feel that in my knees these last few days,” Subath grumbled.

  “One other thing. Probably nothing. I think there’s something in the tree line. A wolf, perhaps. I could feel eyes on me.”

  “We’ll keep a watch. If we see it, we’ll drop it. The lads could do with some target practice.”

  “Good.” Kalfinar fidgeted with the pommel of his sword.

  “I’ve got it from here,” Subath said in hushed tones. “Get back in there and get yourself some sleep. You look like shit.”

  Kalfinar smiled and clasped hands with Subath. “Thanks for your kind words. Good watch to you, Sergeant.” He strode off along the battlement and towards the stairs that led to the courtyard. Kalfinar ignored the huddled troops. He knew they watched and whispered as he made his way across and the mud-clogged courtyard towards the large stone keep. He had learned to stop caring what words were issued in dark corners.

  *

  He made his way towards the accommodation wing and lit an oil lamp before he entered his chamber. He shivered as he entered.

  Window’s open again.

  He strode to the window and shut it as best he could, in spite of the faulty latch. The room was the standard accommodation for officers. It comprised a square with unadorned stone walls, and a floor of age-smoothed wooden boards. A thin bed lined the wall nearest the door. Across from the bed were a writing desk and chair. Beside this stood a wardrobe and a large wooden chest, upon which sat a single worn book. He unbuckled his sword belt and hung it beside the bedside table. Kalfinar kicked off his boots and rubbed his hands to get the blood moving, not that it did any good. He walked the short distance across the room and hunkered down by the stone fireplace. He built a small pyre of birch bark and kindling, then picked up the alloy spark-rod and scraped his knife down its length. The shower of sparks caused a timid flame to grow upon the curling edges of bark. Kalfinar carefully placed a trio of logs atop the flame, and gradually brought the fire to life.

  Bloody winter again, and so soon.

  He heaved a sigh and removed his belt and chainmail shirt. He hung the mail and the rust-splotched under-jacket over the back of the chair, and pulled on a simple shirt. Kalfinar walked to the chest and picked up the book. His nightly ritual.

  “The word of Dajda,” he read aloud from the cover, and then opened to where a page had been earmarked.

  The printed ink had been stained and distorted by liquid at some point in the past, but that didn’t matter. Kalfinar knew every word within. He smiled bitterly at the marks of his tears. “For Dajda will welcome her children to her bosom, when their souls do rejoin. Rejoice, and let thy sorrow fly, for all are reborn in the mighty hall of Dajda.” Kalfinar hawked phlegm and spat into the tear-streaked text. “Fucking shit on you. No more.” He tossed the book into the fire.

  *

  The little girl running towards Kalfinar could not have been more than three years old. Her hair, curly and brown, was like her mother’s, but her eyes were deep green like those of h
er father. Kalfinar knelt and embraced his small, smiling daughter. As he held her, she laughed, and what a rich little sound it was. It was so familiar to him, as though he had heard it a thousand times before. But he knew he had never heard his daughter’s laugh, nor felt the warmth of her embrace. The image began to run and wash away like ink in the rain. She was gone again, as always.

  *

  Kalfinar woke slowly. The craving gnawed at him, as it always did when he awoke. He shivered and hot tears welled in his eyes. His hands fumbled as they searched the small bedside table for his jalsinum pipe, or anything that could relieve the hurt. There was nothing but the pommel of his sword. There hadn’t been any relief for over two years now. He offered a curse to the night and pulled his wool blanket tight about him. It was hopeless. The blanket provided little comfort against the gale that howled through the tall trees outside, or the chill within. It was a cruel night, and the weak fire that smouldered in the small fireplace put up little fight. He rested his head once more upon his bed and closed his eyes.

  When sleep came, it was fitful and nervous. It was the sleep of one afraid to dream.

  But Kalfinar did dream.

  An oily blackness welled around him. A pervasive sense of malice stalked him as though he were quarry. Out of the uneasy darkness burst flame, broken by guttural and alien whispers. As the flames grew more violent and hot, the dread in his mind swelled, and flooded with panic.

  Wake up!

  *

  He opened his eyes and saw a figure in the corner of his room. A blacker form in the shadows. It moved quickly in the murky dark. The gusts outside rose to a scream and lightning crashed as the being shot towards him. Kalfinar lurched from his bed and grabbed his attacker’s wrists. He held firm, struggling against his assailant’s strength, before directing a short punch to its throat. The attacker gurgled, strength wavering for just an instant.

  It was all the time Kalfinar needed.

  He pushed out and sent a kick into the figure’s midriff. It grunted and crumpled into the fireplace, raising a cloud of sparks and embers. Kalfinar turned and pulled his sword from its scabbard. As he spun back to face his risen foe, he brought the blade down with an overhead blow. With a wet thump, the sword cleaved into the body between neck and shoulder. Kalfinar tried to free his weapon, but it had become fixed in bone. From his assailant, there was no cry of pain. It took no notice of the wound, and slid the point of its knife into Kalfinar’s body beneath the shoulder.

  Unable to free his sword, Kalfinar cried out and released his grip. He pushed at the attacker with one hand and grabbed at the knife in his shoulder. The blade made a faint sucking noise as he pulled it free. He then thrust the knife into the black figure’s chest. As Kalfinar released his grip, the would-be killer fell to the floor. Kalfinar’s head swam.

  He fell into darkness.

  *

  Broden burst into the room, a bloodstained knife in hand. He moved cautiously towards where Kalfinar lay motionless upon the bed. He knelt beside him. “Kal! Come on, wake up!” He turned towards the door and roared for the physician. “Olmat!”

  “What’s happening?” a young soldier asked upon entering the room. The young man brought a lantern with him, revealing the bloodshed within. “In Dajda’s name! Is he alright?”

  “Get me the physician!” Broden stayed focused on Kalfinar as he searched for further wounds.

  “Who’s that?” the young soldier nodded towards the lifeless form on the floor.

  Broden turned and locked eyes with the young soldier. “Boy,” he said, his voice low and steady, “get me the physician. And tell Sergeant Subath to alert the Night Command. We’re under attack.”

  *

  The sound of trees moaning stalked around the mountain garrison like a restless spirit, haunting the Night Command’s every step as they searched halls and manned battlements. Broden knocked on the door and entered Commander Lucius’s private study. The commander stood by his roaring log fire with his chest pushed out. He turned with a sneer.

  “You sent for me, sir?” Broden asked.

  “Captain, would you be so kind as to tell me why in Dajda’s name my troops are manning the battlements and thundering around my garrison? I know I didn’t issue any such orders.”

  “Sir, I beg your pardon but I felt there was no time to seek permission. I was only acting in the interests of the garrison’s security.” He gritted his teeth on his words. Self-important prick.

  “Oh, you were only acting in the interests of my safety. I do beg your pardon. The next time you decide to leap to—”

  “I had reason to believe we were under attack.” He left just enough time to show his contempt before adding, “Sir.”

  “Under attack! What, here?” The commander’s expression oozed disbelief. “Captain, have you lost your mind entirely? Need I remind you where we are? What are you suggesting? That we are being assaulted by a handful of hungry brigands and some bears? Please, spare me your fantasies.”

  Broden drew his knife from his belt and unwrapped the leather cloth from around the blade. He lifted it to the face of the commander, and revealed the sticky blood along its length. “I thought it would be easier to bring a bloodied blade than a bloodied corpse.”

  Lucius’s expression loosened, the outrage being replaced with uncertainty.

  “I killed a man in my chambers. An assassin, I’ll wager. Kalfinar killed one too, though he’s been hurt.” His teeth again clenched, his thick red beard flexing as jaw muscles tightened.

  “How badly?” Lucius looked away as he spoke, inspecting his fingernails. His lack of respect for Kalfinar was no secret.

  When the strong fall, it’s always the weak that maul them first and most viciously. Curse you, Lucius. “I don’t know, sir. Your aide demanded I present myself here before I could find out.” Broden felt his face begin to flush with anger. He took a slow and calming breath. “Sir, we’ve two dead assassins that we know of. The Night Command is manning the battlements and making ready our auxiliary archers.”

  “I can hear that, Captain,” The commander snapped. “The whole bloody garrison can hear that! What did this assassin look like?”

  “I couldn’t tell. It was dark and he was masked. I was just about to check on Kal when the attacker slipped in my window. I pretended to be asleep until he was above me, and then I introduced him to my knife. I imagine he wasn’t expecting that.”

  The commander cast an edgy glance towards the blade in Broden’s heavy-knuckled fist, and moved to place his armchair between himself and the captain.

  That’s it, gulp down your fear, you little crow. “I went straight to Kalfinar’s room afterwards. In the midst of the excitement, I heard him cry out. That’s where I was when your man ordered me to present myself.” He displayed little further outward emotion as he recounted the goings on.

  “Very well, Captain, I’ve always preached readiness. You at least appear to have been listening.” The commander’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Let’s go look at these corpses, and see if they can tell us anything.” Commander Lucius slipped on his sword belt and pulled his light rapier from its scabbard, swinging it in a transparent act of bravado.

  “Sir, with all due respect, there could be any number of assassins out there. We can’t afford to have your life at risk. This is the safest part of the keep. You should wait until we’ve secured the entire garrison grounds. After all, a ship without a captain will only be dashed upon rocks.” Broden feigned flattery and concern, his blue eyes acting out every persuasive emotion with aplomb. The less Lucius was around, the better, he thought.

  “That much is true, Captain,” the commander made a show of his thought on the matter. “In the interests of all of our wellbeing, I suppose it would indeed be best if I remained here.” The commander relaxed and turned his back to Broden.

  The big man’s fists balled. You’re a fool. If it wasn’t for your blue blood you’d be just another wretch on the streets, but with half their heart.
“A most wise decision, sir.” He felt a surge of relief and loosened his primed fists. “Sir,” Broden added, “perhaps it is best if you keep your door locked.”

  “I shall. You can take the key and lock it on your way out. I have a spare. You are dismissed, Captain.” The commander settled into his leather armchair in front of his roaring fire. He called over his shoulder, “And, Captain, do inform me the instant this racket is over with.”

  As he left the commander’s study, Broden rolled his eyes and, with feigned reverence, replied, “The very moment, Commander Lucius, sir.” As he left the room, Broden withdrew the key and closed the large oak door behind him. He locked the door and turned to the two young soldiers on guard. “No one is to approach unless they present a direct order from me or Sergeant Subath. And men, make sure and swear oaths every now and then. Maybe run up and down the stairs a bit. If we make him think there’s a bit of action, he’ll stay cowered down in that wormhole of his.”

  Together, the two young soldiers grinned at their captain and agreed, “Yes, sir!”

  “That’s my boys.” With that, Broden dashed down the stairs towards the physician’s room.

  *

  Thaskil watched as Captain Broden rushed into the chambers of Olmat, the garrison’s physician.

  “Where in the outer hells is he?” Broden shouted in frustration as he entered the hallway. Seeing Thaskil, he called out, “You! Where’s Captain Kalfinar and Olmat?” Broden’s voice was thick with worry. “Does he live? Does my cousin live?” His eyes pleaded with the young man.

  “Sir, as I know it, they’re both still in the captain’s chambers. The captain was too weak to move. I’ve not been back since you sent me to Sergeant Subath, sir.” The young soldier felt his palms sweating, despite the chill in the hallway.

  “Right, come with me.” He turned and marched towards Kalfinar’s room.