He side-stepped and cross-stepped, flicking blows away, not bothering with a counter. The fight went on for wicks, the Hidreng’s blows weakening, until his shield fell from his hand and he collapsed to a knee. Thick blood flowed from beneath his helm as he coughed, painting his chest’s mail.
Solineus circled him until facing Iro. “You said our people would die slow and in agony.” He sheathed the Twins and spun, splashing to the river’s other side. He looked back once ashore in time to see the Hidreng warrior fall to his side.
“The winds of fortune will change, Mikjehemlut!”
The horses on the hill wheeled and broke into a gallop up and over the hill and into the throngs of Teks watching from above.
Ivin said, “If nothing else, I’d wager he hates you more than me about now.”
“Good.”
Meliu said, “I never much liked being a voice of reason, but the Tek have a plan, and I doubt the dead man was much a part of it.”
They stood and stared at one another.
Ivin said, “We should get to Winter Home, see what folks might know.”
Both of them were right. Killing the man might prove pointless, except for his own satisfaction, except it proved insults and anger would push Iro into a fight. His stomach growled. “To Winter Home, I’m hungry.”
Meliu’s brow arched as Ivin lifted her onto her saddle. “Food after killing a man?”
Solineus shrugged and Ivin said, “I could eat.”
“Men.”
No matter the tragedy behind and ahead, when Meliu had stumbled into the camp outside Inster it’d been a relief. The same on reaching New Fost. Both were places filled with sorrow and desperation, hells and fire with New Fost under attack. Winter Home stood peaceful but alone, an island in a sea of grass, a people without connections or sense of home. A sad place because there was no victory in her arrival. Maybe that’s why Solineus wanted to kill Iro and his man.
Men and women scythed the Blooded Plains, stacking the grass and edible seeds into massive piles, as the party’s horses followed the river into Winter Home. This is what they’d become, herd animals, grazing. The Tek, our shepherds to the slaughter.
Ivin halted the party and asked a passing woman, “Who leads in Winter Home?”
The woman’s gaze crinkled with confusion. “What passes for clanblood is in them tents on yonder hill.”
Meliu followed her pointing finger, and in a handful of wicks the party dismounted in front of a tent with a single guard. He bore a spear and his helm fit awkward on his head.
Ivin strolled straight to the guard, towering over him. “Whose tent is this?”
Even dwarfed, the man took a haughty attitude. “Lord Yulik Oinsin.”
“Never heard of—”
Polus tromped to the sentry, snorted, and grabbed the man’s head, shoving him into a stumble which ended with him face first in the dirt, his ill-fitting helmet clattering across the ground. The Broldun threw open the tent’s flap and ducked to enter, and all of them followed.
When her eyes adjusted Meliu saw a man and woman in bed, she suspected without clothes. The rest of the tent was piled high with… stuff. Boxes, crates, barrels, weapons. The man sat up. “Who the hells…”
“Lord Oinsin is it?” Polus stalked to the bed and kicked the frame. “You, girl, streak your ass to some man’s bed who deserves ya!” Instead, the girl cowered under covers.
“Unholy forges! Broldun!”
Polus stooped and heaved the bed, flipping the couple and their blankets to the ground, and the woman ran naked past them, straight outside. “You worm-gutted little son of a bitch.”
Meliu walked around the party as Polus stomped over the bed, giving chase to the man who did his best crab scramble. Until she put a hand to the Broldun’s chest. “If you’re going to kill the man, just get it done. My body aches, I’m tired, and all your shoutin’ is going to give me a headache.”
“I ain’t gonna kill him, I’m gonna string him up by his nuts and see how far they stretch. Then I’m gonna kill him.”
“Ain’t no call… I got yer whiskey!”
Meliu turned on the scrawny, naked man. “You took the Broldun’s whiskey? I’ve heard of folks wantin’ to die, but I never have heard of folks wanting tortured.”
Polus said, “I knew a girl once, but it weren’t the same as I’m gonna do to this bastard.”
“I said I have your whiskey!”
“All of it?”
“I, I, I, I… All but a couple kegs, I swear.”
Polus kicked him in the ribs, and Meliu cringed at the crack. “All them kegs, here. In a candle. This tent is mine and everything in it!”
The man scrambled to his feet and Polus shoved him out the flap with a boot to his bare ass.
Everyone stared. “What? That bastard skedaddled with three wagons of whiskey!”
Meliu laughed. “Tap one of those kegs and every man here’ll forgive you your temper. By the gods, I need a seat that ain’t a saddle.”
Ivin lifted her atop a crate and hopped up to sit by her side. “Winter Home has a lot of work to do, the Tek struck we’d all be dead before the Edan knew it.”
Tudwan said, “From what I saw, this camp is full of common folk, the axes here are for wood.”
Polus grunted. “Anythin’ splits wood will split a head.”
Ivin said, “Logs don’t duck and take out your legs.”
Limereu’s glow surged and Ivin’s eyes landed on her. She stalked the crates as if on a hunt. “I doubt the Tek general will strike in an open attack. Make no mistake, this is a siege without walls, not a battle on the field.”
Danwek Bulubar pulled a barrel from a stack and sat. “They gonna lob stones at us a with a catapult is they?”
“Starvation and disease bring victory to more sieges than boulders. I expect you will see mounted archers first. A breech of the treaty, but not so much as will bring war. They’ll harass and push Edan patience.”
Budothe Tuvrikt snorted and spit on the floor. “You Edan got no teeth in your treaty, eh? What the hells good is it?”
Limereu lifted the lid of a crate, peering inside. “If their arrows find a Silone, I will return the arrow, and I will not miss.” She lifted a hatchet from the pine box. “Your fake lord was a rat, but a pack rat preparing for war. This crate is full of ax and spear heads. Blankets, it appears.”
Meliu said, “Will the Trelelunin bring us wood to finish them?”
Limereu glanced to one of the Trelelunin, a man called Susilum, and something passed between the two. A note to remember, Susilum was more than a guard. “For a reasonable price, the wood is yours.”
Meliu said, “If the Trelelunin like silver and gold, I doubt we’ve much use for the stuff these days?” She glanced to the clanblood, ending on Ivin.
Ivin said, “Aye, we can pay. I’m concerned about trading our lives for theirs is an ugly but winning proposition for them, pure numbers. Attrition favors the Tek. What would you expect next from the bastards?”
Limereu sighed. “Anything which doesn’t break the treaty too far. Trust only running waters… They will poison any watering holes unless they’re guarded. Assassins will sneak into camp, look to burn supply tents... Anything to bring discord and death.”
“So, pray for nothing and expect anything. We need to set a perimeter, there wasn’t a single godsdamned guard out there when we rode in. Limereu, might I borrow your Trelelunin eyes?”
“You may.”
“Good, I trust they will find vantage. Polus and Budothe, Stugin, Danwek, scour Winter Home for anyone who’s held an ax, spear, or bow. Hells, if they’ve got a knife recruit them and we’ll see what they’re worth. Stugin! Seasoned fighters will roll in every day, but for now, I want you and Danwek setting any archer you find on the edges of the camp. I leave it to you, schedule the rounds, but keep them on their toes.”
Stugin said, “It’ll be done.” Meliu leaned on Ivin’s shoulder, impressed he took over, and impressed the
y listened. The northern clans weren’t famous for taking direction from southern folk.
“Polus, Budothe, Tudwan, I want you men to put folks through their paces, see if they know how to use the weapon they carry. And if they don’t, teach ‘em. If they can’t learn, suggest they hand their weapon to someone who can.”
Tudwan bowed, which earned a glare from Budothe Tuvrikt. “Southern boys and their bowing. All good and well, right, but what the hells will you two be doing?”
“We’ll take rolls of who and what people we got… a muster list of weapons, food, herbs.”
“Don’t be touchin’ my whiskey!”
Every human in the tent laughed, and Ivin turned to Meliu. “Anything else?”
“Ask about local watering holes, I know we passed a couple on the way here. We must guard ‘em or let everyone know to avoid them. If they poison one…” Her next words were risky. “We purify them. Ask around for any priests hiding, there’re some who can cleanse water of such things.”
Three hard stares and two grumbles; even Ivin’s face twisted.
Stugin said, “That ain’t gonna go over so well with certain folks… me included. I mean, I know yer holy and all… and I fergive it. But a holy in hiding—”
“Is a priest trying to stay alive like the rest of us. It’s my suggestion, take it or leave it.”
Ivin said, “She’s right. I’ve heard of priests able to make Broldun whiskey into water so they don't get drunk, if they can do that they can sure as shits knock the poison out of some ground water.”
Uneasy chuckles throughout, but Stugin nodded. “Who’s ta say they’ll even come out of hiding?”
Polus said, “Mmm, no one says they will, not at first. But the girl is right. I think. But best we ease into them words with folks so no one gets hanged.”
The clanblood looked one to the other, nods even if unhappy.
“The suns burning into the west!” Meliu clapped her hands. “Get to it, boys! I bet the Broldun’ll crack a keg for us tonight if we work hard.”
Polus glared with a smirk, but didn’t argue.
Solineus’ eyes fluttered open to a flowing blue world, soothing ripples of cool energy easing the strain of his muscles. He breathed easy for what felt the first time in a month. Longer. Unable to move wasn’t a stress, it was a relief. No need to try what one knows can’t be done. Relax and breathe.
“Hello, my love.” The Lady materialized standing at his feet, her beauty startling as it was the first time he saw her.
“What the hells do you need this time? The boy’s already fallin’ for another.”
A wistful sigh. “Yes, but he has not forgotten the first. Now, he needs to forget two loves. It may be a thing never done.”
“You’re not much the romantic type, are you?”
She laughed, a trill as beautiful as a flute’s song. “On the contrary. I see love all around and find hope in it all. You will rediscover love, one day.”
Lelishen? No. “I’ve no time for love. Too busy staying alive. Keeping others alive. Killing others dead. Have you met the Touched? The way he talks can rub off on a man.” He chuckled at his joke.
“The Touched, as you call him, is an interesting soul with a sad story.”
She had his attention now. “Sad, how?”
She appeared beside his ear, breath hot. “He lost everything to gain everything. Died to gain immortality. Gave up power for a glimpse of omnipotence.” The Lady by his feet dissipated.
“A synopsis, not a story.”
Again she laughed, and though her lips were but fingers from his ear, the sound came from afar, echoing down a distant valley. Then her voice was near. “And what rejoinder would the Touched offer?”
Solineus chuckled at how obvious the answer was. “A story unearned. Like your name. Like his name. Like my name.” A strange coincidence? “Are we three so similar that our names remain hidden? The Craven Raven?”
“You might say so, my love. But not in a way you can yet conceive.”
“So, why the hells am I here? What do you need?”
Her lips kissed his cheek, but he didn’t fade from this world. “No, my love, tonight we are here for you.”
“For me? Going to tell me your name, are you?”
She giggled. “No.”
“If you won’t answer my questions, what do you have to offer?”
Her breath was a soft moan in his ear. “Rest. Healing, not of your body but of your soul. Peace. You will know so little of it. So I offer peace.”
Her arm drifted over his chest and his heart beat slow. Easy. His eyes floated closed and the visions of blood which greeted his every night stayed away. Muscles eased into a painless slumber and the corners of his mouth rose to a perfect, innocent, hint of a smile. A babe in the womb who’d never known the trouble of living.
Peace.
51
Silent Heads
Servant, slave,
merchant, master,
killer, king,
I, molten, have been cast in these molds.
I was born to die, but somewhere
between growth and decay, I lost my way.
— Tomes of the Touched
Two days after Meliu arrived at Winter Home, a score of Tek archers swept from the north lobbing arrows into their midst. The Trelelunin on the edge of camp saw them coming and lofted squealing arrows to warn the camp. The attack didn’t wound a single Silone, but flickers later four supply tents and a dozen piles of dry grass on the opposite side of camp burst into flames. The riders distracted from the real target, and the Silone bit the bait.
Frustrated as all the hells, Meliu sought distraction. She wandered Winter Home looking for faces from Istinjoln without a stitch of luck. She’d stumbled on one old priest, a fellow with a northern accent so thick he was difficult to understand. She wagered his prayers were weak as his eyes.
The sun was high in the sky by the time she wandered to the eastern edge of Winter Home and back to its center, and she stood on a hill gazing down the foot and hoof beaten road to New Fost. People arrived every day in trickles and spurts, and a long line of carts, walkers, and wagons crowned the next hill as she watched. She squinted before mumbling a prayer for sight: A face from Istinjoln, and even if he wasn’t an adherent, his full cheeks brought a smile. “Ilpen.” Her smile fell. And the Codex of Sol.
Meliu jogged to the Choerkin tent and the corral beside it, borrowing a Choerkin horse kept saddled for emergencies. She cinched it tight and swung into its seat with a salute to Hirek, the stable-master. “Let Ivin know I stole one of his horses, he can hang me later.”
The old man laughed and waved her on.
The wind in her hair freed the tension in her shoulders, that and having a clear goal, a destination in front of her. It’s what the Silone lacked, a tangible end instead of nebulous dreams of safety and a new home, or retaking an old home. Finding priests to purify water when they don’t want found. Or worse, discover Tomarok… a person, place, or thing, or more abstract, a concept? Twelve Hells and back.
Ilpen was real, and so was the Codex of Sol.
She galloped past a line of a dozen carts before circling her mount to ride beside Ilpen’s wheel.
“Greetings, little girl!”
More gray hairs sprouted from his head than she remembered, and he wore his belt tightened to prove he’d dropped a few bricks from his waste. “I ain’t the only little one around her these days.”
He and his wife, Dederu, guffawed, but she answered. “What happens when he has to work for a livin’ instead of riding his wagon every day.”
“Confounded woman thinks all I did on the road was eat. I assume that’s Winter Home yonder?”
“It is. There’s a smithy camp not far from the clanblood, I can lead you to them.”
“Appreciate it, girl.”
Meliu licked her lips. “You still got that trinket I gave you?”
His brow scrunched before a grin. “Oh! Yer coin? Right here in my
pocket.” He dug it out for her to see. “Still got your bag, if yer wantin’ that damned thing back.”
“I would.”
“Seonu, lass, there’s a pack buried in the wagon there, dig it out for me.” Ilpen’s daughter flipped a small door open and crawled inside. “What news?”
“Oh hells. Troubles every direction you take a gander, but nothin’ much to say. Tek archers have been swinging in a couple times a day on horseback, but stay from the edge of the tents and you’ll be safe. And keep an eye on things, arsons have snuck their way into camp more’n once to burn supplies.”
Seonu popped from the door with pack in hand, leaned from the wagon to hand it to here. “Here you go, priestess.”
Meliu took the thing with a nervous smile, not just because of the book back in her hands, but for being called priestess in front of common folks. A rarity these days.
She tightened the bag over her shoulder and they jabbered about every gossipy going on from here to New Fost, while avoiding her sleeping with the Choerkin. It was only when Ilpen and his family reached the circle of smiths banging on their wares that she opened the bag to gaze upon the familiar bindings of the Codex of Sol. So much for needing to find a distraction, several years’ worth of distraction found her. She smiled, at least I won’t be bored. She chastised herself: Hells, what wouldn’t she give to be bored?
On the fifth day in Winter Home, Joslin awoke Ivin to alert him to a Hidreng messenger’s arrival. The sun sat half-risen on the horizon and Ivin feared it a declaration of war. Every day since the Teks set Silone ships ablaze, was a day closer to their defying the Edan on the Blooded Plain. It didn’t matter what retribution the Edan inflicted upon the Tek if the Silone were already feeding vultures. The Hidreng soldier was a pair of brown eyes, the rest of his face hidden by beard and his helm’s cheek and nasal guards. The lips didn’t convey a sentiment in any direction.
Meliu stepped from the tent and Ivin handed her the scroll. She snapped its seal and read in silence. “Iro demands your presence at his tent at once. This writ is your declaration of safe passage, if you come alone.”
Trail of Pyres Page 48
