Red Season Rising

by D. M. Murray

  Kalfinar scanned the darkness before him.

  “Kal?” Broden asked.

  Kalfinar’s eyes narrowed as he peered into the night. “Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Broden asked.

  “There’s something—Weapons!” Kalfinar roared.

  The first runner from the tree line took Kalfinar’s spear in the neck. The legs buckled and the body reared forward into the snow.

  “The trees!” Broden yelled.

  Six more forms broke from the tree line. With a guttural cry, they advanced up the snowy hill.

  Broden heaved his spear into the chest of one. Arrlun’s spear met another in the gut. There was a squawk, and the runner tumbled.

  “Swords!” Kalfinar roared. He widened his stance, awaiting the remaining four runners.

  The runners laboured up the distance to the cave mouth, their fearsome battle cries quickly replaced with ragged breaths. Their features became visible. Pointed white teeth juxtaposed from the grey flesh that surrounded open mouths.

  Kalfinar watched with bemusement as the attackers laboured up the hill towards them. When they met, he batted away the weakly swung sword with ease, and skewered the attacker.

  Kalfinar looked at the dying runner by his feet. Blood seeped from the chest wound and steamed in the chill of the night air. He kicked the runner’s sword away and hunkered down. “What are you?”

  A pair of blazing eyes narrowed up at Kalfinar.

  “Speak!” Kalfinar grabbed the runner’s jaw and squeezed. The mouth opened to reveal the burnt stump of a tongue.

  “It’s no use.” Kalfinar stood and placed his sword point on the chest of the runner. Holding the creature’s stare, he punched his sword in, twisted one way, and then the next. The runner’s head jolted as a final ragged breath escaped. Kalfinar looked at the rest of the troop. “If any are alive, see if they can talk.”

  “Mine’s dead,” Thaskil said as he wiped his blade on the black smock of the fallen runner in front of him.

  “Aye, mine too, Captain Kalfinar, sir.” Arrlun sheathed his sword and hunkered down to the corpse by his feet.

  “Took the head off my one,” Broden said. “There was no fight in him.”

  “No,” Kalfinar said looking back at the body before him. The eyes blazed still, as did the eyes of the corpse in Hardalen. “There was no fight in any of them.”

  “Captain Kalfinar, sir,” Arrlun called out.

  “What is it, lad?”

  “The dead. Their clothes are soaked through. My one’s pouches are empty. We should check the others for food, Captain Kalfinar, sir.”

  Broden and Thaskil echoed Arrlun’s findings.

  Kalfinar stood up after inspecting the pouches of his runner. They were empty, save for a thin slurry of oat dust. “Might be they were desperate,” Kalfinar mused. “The wolf provided them with a chance.”

  A hacking cough sounded from down amongst the shadows of the hillside.

  “Broden,” Kalfinar hissed, inclining his head to the sound.

  They edged down the hill, following the cough. Their swords were drawn. The shape of a man appeared out of the gloom. He was crawling towards the tree line on his hands and knees.

  “Don’t move,” Broden said as he approached the man from the right with his sword pointing downwards.

  The man slumped onto his belly, and then, with the sound of great effort, heaved himself onto his back. His flesh was not grey, nor did his eyes blaze. The man was bald and had a long grey beard, stained red down the chin by the blood he had vomited. The darkened patch around his belly, and the protruding grey gut marked where Arrlun’s spear had penetrated.

  “Well, well, well,” Kalfinar said as he strode to the man. “Have you got a tongue?”

  “Fuck you, trench rat!” Greybeard hissed the Solansian insult to Kalfinar, before grimacing in pain. His teeth were slick with blood.

  “Oh, I’m not from Apula,” Kalfinar said as he crouched beside the mortally wounded man. “But one of my friends up there is, and I’m sure he’d love to meet you.” Greybeard’s eyes stared wildly at Kalfinar, and his chest rose and fell quickly. “But we don’t have time for him to hold you to account for all the skirmish seasons you inflicted on his people. No, we don’t have much time at all. From what I can see, you are dying, and quick at that.” Kalfinar looked at the arm the man had placed over his wound to keep his guts in. Two of the fingers of the left hand were storm-bitten and beginning to blacken. “Your party struggled in the blizzard, eh? Aye, well I suppose it was a bad one.” Kalfinar stretched out his hand and placed it on top of the man’s left arm. He pressed hard and Greybeard squealed. “Good. Now we know where we stand,” Kalfinar said in an even tone. “Who sent you, and what are those things?”

  Greybeard laughed between wheezing breaths. His heels weakly scrapped small furrows in the snowy ground. “You’re all fucked. Every one of you.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “It’s too late. He’s risen.” Greybeard’s bloody smile dropped from his face and he stared hard at Kalfinar. With his free hand, he grabbed at the hand Kalfinar had resting atop his wound, and squeezed. He rasped a sigh of pain before Kalfinar wrested his hand free.

  Greybeard’s eyes rolled into his head.

  Kalfinar swung a backhanded slap across the man’s cheek, wakening him. “You’ll not get away that easily. Who’s risen?”

  Greybeard coughed droplets of blood onto his beard. “It’s too late. There’s a red season rising for you trench rats.”

  “Who has risen?” Kalfinar shouted.

  Greybeard stared into the distance, and then smiled bloodily. “The true God has come to claim you all.” Greybeard jerked his head towards Broden, and then thrust himself upwards.

  Broden tried to jump out of the way, but it was too late. Greybeard’s neck met with Broden’s sword point. With a gurgle, he slid from the end of the sword and onto the ground. The remaining life stained the snow red.

  Kalfinar stood up and looked at Broden. “We need to move, and quick.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “We’re almost there,” Kalfinar said as he reined in.

  They had been riding for much of the day. The blanket of snow had thinned and then become sparse as they dropped closer to sea level. Kalfinar shielded his eyes from the glare of the winter sun and scanned his surroundings. The landscape around them was dominated by the dull mauve hues of heather, which swept over the many drumlins and spread upwards towards the pine-covered hillsides.

  Kalfinar looked back at the map. “A few more hours of riding and we’ll be out of the foothills. Should get to Terna before sunset.” He slid the map inside his coat and patted the neck of his horse.

  Broden edged his mount alongside. “These beasts aren’t going to take much more of this.”

  “Well, they’ll just have to. We can’t delay getting to Terna. You heard the man last night.”

  “I heard him, Kal, but we’ll be no help if we have to walk to Terna. We shouldn’t push the horses beyond a canter. We’ll still make it before nightfall.”

  “Fair enough,” Kalfinar said. He rolled his injured shoulder and winced.

  “How’s it feeling today?” Broden asked.

  “Pain’s not so bad. Tender in deep, you know?”

  “Aye.”

  “Itching and burning’s the worst now.”

  “Healing,” Broden grunted. “I’m sure the physician at the university will be able to do something for that.” Broden leant in close. “How do you think the lads are coping?”

  The two remaining soldiers had not spoken much since the violence of the previous night. They sat on their horses, staring at the hillsides. Their hands never strayed far from their swords.

  “Death comes to us all. They’ll learn to deal with it. If they can’t, they’re in the wrong trade.” His own words brought a flush to his face. Pretending like you’ve coped with death.

  “Move on!” Kalfinar shouted, changing the
subject as he rode off ahead of the others.

  *

  They reached Terna at sunset. The outline of the city’s buildings came into view as they rounded a hillside, the red light of dusk reflecting on the pale stonework and backdrop of ragged clouds. The city fringed a natural horseshoe-shaped harbour, resting at the foot of the Hardalen Mountains. Buildings spread out from the circular walls of the old city, cluttering the flat land between the foothills and the sea.

  “There she is, lads. The most beautiful city in the world,” Broden sighed as he gazed upon his hometown.

  Kalfinar looked across at his cousin. “How can you love this city? It’s all piss-soaked granite, and when it’s not raining, it looks like it’s going to bloody rain!”

  “It’s not raining now.”

  “It will, there’re clouds coming in, as usual.” Kalfinar raised his hands to the heavens before flinching as his shoulder protested.

  “That’ll teach you to insult the blessed city of Terna,” Broden laughed and nudged his horse onwards to his home. “Dajda judges you. You see?”

  Kalfinar watched as Broden shifted beyond him. I am well aware how Dajda has judged me.

  *

  True to form, it had started to rain. Kalfinar developed a headache as they approached Terna. He felt his palms sweating inside his gloves, in spite of the cold. He had long avoided returning to the cities since he had come to Hardalen, fearing the temptation could grow too great, and he would find how little strength he really had. But the safety of the mountains was gone, and now he had to face his ghosts. As Terna grew closer, the words of the dying man sounded in Kalfinar’s head. It’s too late. He’s risen. Kalfinar’s headache worsened.

  “Reckon there’s something strange going on,” Broden muttered as they rode through the deserted outer streets leading up to the city walls. “Not a soul to be seen. No one even watching from the windows.”

  “Aye, it’s strange alright.” Kalfinar glanced at the shuttered windows above shop fronts. “Very strange.”

  Broden looked to the walls of Terna through a pall of rain. “Can you see that?”

  “The gate,” Kalfinar replied, squinting. “Shut.” The gate’s never shut. He turned to his companions. “There’s trouble.”

  Broden reined in his horse at the side of the wide muddy road that lead to the eastern gate of Terna. “Don’t much fancy getting shot full of crossbow bolts tonight. Let’s think this over a moment.”

  Thaskil and Arrlun reined in beside them.

  “The gate, sirs, why do you suppose they’re closed?” Thaskil asked.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, lads,” Kalfinar said. “When it’s just us, call us by our names.” He glanced back towards the wet walls of Terna. Its gate stood fixed, like unyielding slabs of stone. “In my whole life, I’ve only ever seen the gates closed when there’s trouble.”

  “What do you think it is, sir? I mean…Kalfinar,” Thaskil corrected himself.

  You don’t look half as young now, lad. “I don’t know, and for that very reason we ought to be careful.” He felt a sharp strike of pain in his wounded shoulder, and grimaced.

  “You alright, sir?” Thaskil asked, falling back into formality.

  “I’m fine.” He gently rubbed the area around his shoulder. He noticed Arrlun’s face fixed in thoughtfulness.

  The husky young soldier spoke, his Gerloup accent sounding all the more broad after his relative silence throughout much of the day, “We’re only four men, and what’s more, we’re wearing the uniform of the Free Provinces Pathfinders. You both have your captain’s medals. Surely that allows us passage. Don’t you think we could just approach as normal?”

  “Ordinarily, yes, but this, it seems, is far from ordinary,” Kalfinar replied. “Broden’s right, we ought to be cautious. Our approach has no doubt been noted already.” He peered ahead through the mizzling rain to the gate. “Let’s not rush it. I don’t want any accidents.” Well, maybe just the one stray bolt. “Nervous men are prone to accidents.”

  Broden nodded in agreement. “Aye, nervous men are rash. We’re half a mile from the gate. Let’s move forward slowly. Once we’re within earshot, I’ll announce us. Hopefully then we’ll find out what’s going on.” He kicked his heels to the horse’s flanks and moved off.

  “Nice and steady. That’ll do just fine.” Kalfinar followed Broden back onto the muddy road.

  *

  There were no signs of movement along the battlements of the city walls. The flickering and hissing torches cast a frenetic and dancing sheen across the top of the rain slick walls. They pulled free their medals of rank and stopped well within crossbow range of the shut gate.

  Broden rode out several feet ahead and halted. The unrelenting rain fell straight upon his shoulders with great slaps. His hair hung lank, wet through and taking a darker shade.

  “Guardsmen of Terna!” Broden bellowed at the imposing walls. “Captain’s Broden and Kalfinar of The Free Provinces Command wish to approach the gate. We’ve travelled from Hardalen with urgent dispatches for the High Command. May we proceed?” He held up his silver chained captain’s amulet and stretched it out in front of him, ensuring it was visible.

  There was no reply. Nothing broke the silence save for the drumming of the rain and the nickering of their tired horses.

  As Broden wiped the gathered raindrops from his brow, he called out once more. “Guardsmen of Terna, may we proceed?” The question hung unanswered in the air. He turned his horse towards his companions and shook his head. “This isn’t right, Kal, there’s something—”

  The familiar thump of a crossbow loosing rung in the air between the walls and their position. Kalfinar’s horse reared up, throwing him from atop his horse. He landed in the sloppy filth of the road with a rush of air from his lungs and a stabbing pain in his shoulder.

  As he raised himself from the mud, Kalfinar glanced through his horse’s dancing legs to where a crossbow shaft had planted itself into the road between him and Broden. Kalfinar stared at it. There was a note wrapped tight around the shaft.

  “I’ll get it,” Broden said, dismounting and splashing through the mud before wrenching the arrow from the road. He unravelled the paper. Squinting in the poor light and frowning at the running ink, he read aloud, “We have your range.” He looked at Kalfinar with raised eyebrows. “Approach the gate. Slow. Hands on heads.”

  “They have our range,” Kalfinar said as he rubbed splattered mud from his face. “I guess we do as they say.”

  “After all,” Broden muttered, “they did ask nicely.”

  “Aye.”

  Remounting, they made their way across the remaining distance towards the gate. Kalfinar could not fully raise his hands with his wounded shoulder, and instead held his arm out to the side. At a careful pace, their horses plodded through the mud.

  “Stop!” The word rang clear amidst the rain. “Far enough.” A hoarse voice sounded from a shadowy form between the merlons of the battlement. “Name and business?”

  “I am Captain Kalfinar. With me is Captain Broden and two officer cadets, Thaskil Vinsel and Arrlun Brunsa. We’ve travelled the mountain pass from Hardalen garrison with the most urgent of dispatches for the High Command. We must hand these to the governor and chief marshal without delay, and be on our way to Carte.” Kalfinar’s shoulder throbbed, making his aching head sway. He let his wounded hand lower.

  “Keep yer hands up! That’s yer only warning,” the voice shouted once more from the battlement.

  Fuck you. Shoot me. With an eye watering pain, Kalfinar raised his arm far as it could extend.

  The voice called out again, “What you needing to tell the Command?”

  “We were attacked at the garrison some nights past, and last night. I’m under orders to only communicate the nature of this attack to the High Command in person.”

  Silence.

  *

  There was no reply for half an hour, nothing but the drumming rain and the hissing of torc
hes. Kalfinar gritted his teeth through the pain. The burning and itching seemed a pleasant memory now. Keep your hands up! Or maybe I should just let them drop. What’s the difference?

  Finally, the gate creaked and moaned as it drew open, pulling Kalfinar from his thoughts.

  The voice called out once more, “Slow. Move inside. There’re a lot of weapons pointed at you, so I’d suggest you don’t make any sudden moves.” As the voice spoke, the red glow from torches within flooded out towards the weary group. They moved through the gate into a small square surrounded by high walls on all sides. Wet guardsmen stood atop the walls, lit by fizzing torchlight, and crossbows pointing down. Their faces were set in a grim welcome, and their weapons smiled taut and ready. From behind the gate closed.

  The voice sounded again from atop the battlements, “Dismount, take five steps ahead of your horses, and then drop your weapons on the ground. Then take five more steps ahead. If you don’t, my laddies here’ll shoot you full of sharp things.”

  They dismounted, dropped their weapons onto the mud, and moved forward as instructed. Footsteps sounded from behind.

  “Captain’s Kalfinar and Broden.” The owner of the voice appeared. It belonged to a tall man. His oil clothes were entirely soaked through. There was a long and ragged scar running from his hairline and down the middle of his face, taking a deep part of his nose with it. He was a gaunt old soldier, with thin, stringy hair framing his pale and pockmarked head. “I’m Sergeant Thosfed. Don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure. Know you both by yer reputation, though. Or, in the case of Captain Kalfinar, yer reputations.” Sergeant Thosfed inspected the party of men who had just arrived before him. He stopped in front of Kalfinar and stared. “You Kalfinar?”

  “Aye.”

  “Huh,” Thosfed grunted. “Heard you kicked the shit out of the governor of Carte.”

  “Can’t say I recall that.” Kalfinar’s voice remained steady, in spite of the rage and shame that swelled inside him.