Polus was on his knees; surprising to find the man didn’t cry iron tears. “It’s all right, my love. Izelfer is here. It’ll be all right.”
But when the priestess tugged the shield from the crying woman’s grasp, blood covered her chest and abdomen.
Izilfer said, “Breathe. Breathe.” She prayed and touched the woman’s belly. “If we’re going to save you both, we have to deliver now.”
“But you can save them both?”
The healer glanced Solineus’ way. “Gods willing.”
Solineus crouched with his hand on Polus’ shoulder. “I’m sorry brother, I should’ve stayed with you.”
The Broldun cleared his throat. “Make sure the boy lives, then make sure to fell and burn all them sons of bitches.”
“I will.” Even if it took all night. “I will.”
Smoking fires burned into the sunrise as they found more dead in their tents, or who were dragged from camp and left in a ravine, but the smokeless flames flared when the clanblood met in the morning.
By the time Ivin awoke from Izilfer’s prayer dreams and got caught up on the night’s events, the Bickering Tent, as some took to calling it, was surpassing its name.
“I told you all to burn the dead!” Heshiu, voice of Clan Bulubar since her husband Gorum’s death, pierced ears with its shrill. From what Ivin heard, she had cause, losing a brother and sister to Wakened.
Remnar Broldun, heading the clan, sat in front of Polus. “Because of your northern traditions, not because of the Wakened Dead. Who’s ever heard of the dead rising in candles? Not a one here could see it coming.”
Ivin took his traditional seat with feet propped on the table; the leg remained stiff, but bent hurt more than straight.
Yosif Tuvrikt stomped to the tent’s center. “Necromancy! You all knows the word, godsdamned say it!”
Lelishen stepped from Solineus’ side. “The dead have risen before in under a day, it is not unknown.”
“A coincidence blessed by the Forges, say I. Necromancy.”
Solineus said, “The point is we don’t know. The dead are burned, nothing we can do about last night come this morning!”
Shouting erupted from all sides, and Ivin stood, hobbling to the middle of the tent with an exaggerated limp. “Enough! Any clanblood with a thought worth speaking will step to the center of the tent before talking. And one godsdamned person at a time.” He scratched a circle in the dirt with his toe.
Remnar said, “You weren’t even there, Choerkin.”
Tudwan stood, defying the Broldun elder with a cheek still red from healing. “What the hells you mean by that?”
Ivin held his hand up to stop the spat before it started. “Aye, I lay healing all night from a Tek arrow in my leg, true enough, but maybe that’s why I can see the truth. Last night robbed plenty of folks of their futures and pained more than a few of us, but it only changed one godsdamned thing: We burn our dead. All of them, no delays. It doesn’t matter how they Wakened, they did, and we can keep others from doing the same. Worry on them things you can change, not the things done already.”
Mumbles of dissent filtered through the gathered clanblood, and Polus stepped to Ivin’s circle. “Excuse me, Choerkin. I lost my unborn daughter last night and my wife fights still for her life this morn. Mmm. I don’t blame a soul in this here tent, nor even them who rose to take my child from me. It’s done, over, my girl has burned to save her fledgling soul. I’ll neva be the same man, but a man I remain!
“We Broldun know our duty is the safety of our clan. If we needs kill to make our people safe, we do it or die. If it means retreat, we do it, no matter what hit to our pride. Last night I fought, today I need to run further. I ain’t proud to say it, and it ain’t what I want, but it is what it is.”
Polus strode from the circle and straight out the tent’s flap. Ivin cleared his throat. “We cross the Kovo River, take our time, no hasty mistakes. Riders will follow the caravan from now on, collecting any who fall, and we burn them as we travel and in the morning should we lose folks over night.”
Zorun Mulharth, fourth son of the deceased Lord Borun, hesitated to enter the circle, but overcame whatever trepidation held him back. “My half-brother died twice yesterday, but I can’t say there’s a damned thing I can do about it. I volunteer to ride the rear, do what I can ta make sure no one else needs lose kin twice.” He stepped from the circle and into the hug of his mother.
Ivin said, “The only other option is to stand here cussing each other. Do we waste a day arguing, or do we move forward?”
Solineus shouted, “South!”
Tedeu and Tudwan Ravinrin echoed his call, then Remnar and others. Within wicks the Bickering Tent went silent, and the work to cross the Kovo began.
55
Fire Riders
Rattle and battle, leap into the saddle,
what will to rein the rain and end the reign?
Tears, queens, Fears, kings,
Fools, princes, Tools, princesses,
and Rules are only for the ruled.
–Tomes of the Touched
Day Thirty-Eight on the Trail of Pyres
The land south of the Kovo River was a blanket of black soot waiting for the first rain to settle and wash it away, and the winds whipped the ash into clouds or swirling devils which brought coughs to man and beast alike. Kinesee’s blonde hair went dark every day before Tedeu clucked in the evening and demanded it washed. On a positive note, if she was being optimistic, she got to wear something other than a dress, seeing as the Lady Ravinrin didn’t appreciate her finer clothes getting caked. Clad in a boys’ doublet and trousers lent an odd sense of being someone else… Which was odd seeing as she wasn’t who everyone thought she was anyhow.
Kinesee rode between Alu, Maro, and a bevy of Ravinrin clanblood and their loyalists. Kinesee imagined anyone watching from a distance wouldn’t know who was the Lady Ravinrin, her or Tedeu, by the count of guards. She had to give the Ravinrin credit, they were the tightest knit clan of the seven, and organized to the point of annoying her; it was hard as the lipper-lappers to sneak off and explore.
But trapped among the Ravinrin was one annoyance in a long line of irritations. The Nesfereum, whoever or whatever it might be, remained hidden without a peep since the attack at New Fost. Crossing the Kovo challenged her patience first, then her tolerance for watching people disappear and die, but in the end they crossed and rejoined boredom. Boredom broken by the agony of her sore butt and thighs; a testament to her love of horses that she didn’t cuss the animal while climbing into the saddle each morning. Since crossing the Kovo, saboteurs set fire to food stores or tents; one night three fires, nothing for four nights, then a tent or two would burn. Grumbles of Tek hiding amongst them grew. Silone eyeballed one another with suspicion as food grew more scarce and bland between rivers, but this tedium resulted from being spoiled by the Ravinrin and being used to fish most of her life.
She knew not to complain about food; people starved around her, the guards couldn’t protect her from them rumors no matter how hard they tried. Folks tried to tell her the pyres burning behind them every night were for the patrols, but she knew better. The dead needed burned, no one wanted a repeat of that night between the Ilmen and Kovo Rivers.
The cry of “Make camp!” echoed from the caravan’s fore, growing louder as folks repeated the command. Time for everyone to get busy so they could rest, or for many, to find food then flop on any soft spot they could find until morning.
Kinesee glanced to the sun dipping toward the western horizon, drawing her eye to Alu. “Five more rivers and gods know how many more horizons.” Twenty days from the Kovo, and if they made ten horizons per day, she figured they were doing good. Word today spread that the Yundile was still a few days out.
Alu’s hand rested on her horse’s mane, grandpa’s sword dangling from a scabbard not far away. She wore her hair pulled back, still pretty despite the streaks of black from sweat and ash across her face. “T
udwan has word the outriders are searching for a crossing already.”
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”
“Sorry, my mind is adrift today.”
But there was no time to complain, this was the point of day where Kinesee went from surrounded to underfoot. The main troop stopped and wagons rolled in with tents and gear. For a precious candle of every day her escort forgot about her, and today even Maro ignored her, as he yelled at a wagoner and his people. She sidestepped her horse out of the path of a cart, contented to sit and watch.
Wait.
Even Maro forgot about her.
She smiled as she slipped from her saddle and handed the reins to a young woman who helped tend the horses. Three long strides and a dash later, she stood dirty and ordinary among folks who didn’t know her from a hundred others. She breathed easier and meandered to the northern edge of the crowd and watched the train of wagons and people still rolling in. Gaunt cheeks and sallow eyes marked half the people treading into camp, and coughs echoed around her. Some folks barked orders or took commands with determination and a fervor, but most stared through one another, locked in the routine and buried in exhaustion and sadness.
She understood why the Ravinrin sheltered her, saving her from killers wasn’t the only motivation. She needed to protect herself, or suffer the guilt of a full belly. She turned.
A dark and burnt out view to the northeast, but some small trees and shrubs survived the fire near the creek they crossed wicks before. Ugly, but pleasant to look in a direction and not see sick people who might burn before morning. Except for one walking alone toward the creek carrying something bound in scraps of cloth. Suspicious, the way he cocked his head to make sure no one followed. A man not wanting followed was an invitation to follow for her curious mind.
She took a step, and a hand nabbed her shoulder. “What by gollies do you think you’re doin’?”
Kinesee jumped, then her shoulders slouched. “I’m gonna follow that man, see where he’s goin’.”
Alu said, “And what do you expect Maro’d have to say?”
“Ever since they strapped a sword to yer side, you became a boring old clod in the sand. Let’s go see what that lipper-lapper is doin’!”
“Lipper-lapper, what the heavens does that mean?”
Kinesee flapped her arms. “I dunno! That Ravinrin boy says it, and I like it. Now come on!” Her foot lifted, but her shoulder wasn’t about to follow with Alu’s grip.
“Let’s just say this fella is up to no good, what do you expect to do about it? He might just kill you.”
“Ain’t that why you have a sword?”
Alu’s lips twisted before crinkling into a grin. “You realize I’m the eldest and will get in the most trouble for this.”
“That’s what makes it so perfect. Come on!”
They strode after the man, aiming for nonchalant despite their hastened pace, until they figured they were close enough to not lose him. They angled toward him instead of taking a straight line, but in no time his destination grew clear; the copse of woods still standing by the creek.
Kinesee whispered, “A Tek assassin, you think? The fire starter?”
“You seriously think he could hear us? Probably nothin’, I’d wager.”
The sun settled behind the horizon and heavy clouds, the world darker than short wicks ago, and Kinesee questioned their decision for the first time. They stalked hunched over into the remnants of bushes on the bluffs of the creek, their leaves burnt and gone, and Alu drew her sword.
They wound deeper into the blackened copse, descending to a tier of washed-out creek, exposed roots grabbing at their feet. Kinesee heard a cry, a child?
An infant.
Muffled.
She tripped and stumbled, a branch snapping so loud beneath her feet it may as well’ve been a thunder strike. She bound forward and caught herself from a fall; the man hunched next to a dead tree, cloth held over a squirming bundle.
Kinesee shrieked, “Let go that baby!” And all their voices screamed over one another.
“Get out of here!”
Alu stormed to within paces of the man, sword leveled. “Put the child down or I swear by the gods, I’ll kill you!”
“This ain’t none of yer concern!”
“Kill him! Kill him!”
The baby screamed and flailed as the man’s hand shifted. “Forges take you! Out of here!”
“The baby! Down!”
Kinesee’s throat burned in a full-throated wail when hooves thundered over the edge of the creek, as if the riders dropped from the sky.
Ivin dunked his canteen upstream from where the Silone crossed the creek, where it still ran clear, and drank his fill from his cupped hand. Polus stretched nearby, scratching his ruddy beard. The sun still put a glow to the horizon but was sinking fast into night.
“So, where the hells are we on that map, mmm?”
“Somehow I don’t think this’s the Yundile River… so, hells if I know. This creek don’t bear no mark on the Edan map, far as I can tell.”
The horses dipped their heads and sucked water, and Polus’ attention drifted north. “You still think we’ve Tek among our people, settin’ them fires?”
“Our guards never saw no one sneaking in nor out, so it’s always possible. Why?”
“‘Cause there’s some bastard skulking toward the creek yonder.”
Ivin stood, squinting through eyes burning tired. Sure as hells, a cloaked figure trotted between scrub trees with a bundle wrapped in his arms. The tail of the carvan was a thousand strides ahead, so whoever they were, they weren’t sneaking off to take a piss. And damned if two people didn’t trot in a hunch after him, one with a sword in hand.
“He isn’t alone, either.” Ivin swung into the saddle, slipped his shield from his shoulder, and loosened his sword in its sheath. They were upwind from the man and his pursuit, and the breeze rustled leaves enough he didn’t fear being overheard. “Keep your eyes open for more.”
Polus gave a nod and saluted with his ax. “Don’t go killin’ no one ‘cause they got the shits.”
“Keep your own advice, Broldun.”
“Mmm, hells, I do knock some wrong brains out, it’s what folks expect.”
Ivin chuckled and reined up and over the bank, hooves thudding heavy in loose, wet turf.
A scream. A child?
More shouts, girls? But he couldn’t understand a word.
Ivin put heels to his mount and leaned low, breaking through brush, eyes plying the dark. His horse careened over the edge of an embankment and reined hard to stop before plowing into two girls screaming at a man. His horse spun; blonde hair and a sword, there weren’t many options. “Alu?”
The girls turned in unison, both still shouting as if he was their target. It was difficult to tell their voices apart, let alone understand a word. He dismounted as Polus’ horse walked more controlled down the bank. “Slow down, ladies. What the hells is going on?”
Kinesee blurted, “Smothering a baby!”
“Is that right, Alu?” But he didn’t look at either girl, he pinned his eye on the accused. The man cowered with a mewling child in his arms, two months old. Maybe.
“Heavens, yes. He didn’t deny it.”
“Who the hells are you?” He glanced to the writhing baby bundled in dirty rags. “With this child?”
“They didn’t give me a chance to deny it! She’s my own, and I’d thank you to leave us alone.”
“First you tell me what you’re doing sneaking this far outside camp at sundown.”
The man’s eyes skittered to and fro, and Polus’ boots crunched leaves as he dismounted and strode to the baby, lifting her into the crook of his arm. “You better have a better answer’n that or I’m gonna beat you deep into this here creek bank.”
“Settle down, Polus.”
“There ain’t no settlin’ down.” Polus rapped the man’s head with the butt of his ax.
“Broldun!”
; “It weren’t nothin’! A walk!”
Ivin put a hand to Polus’ shoulder, but figured without knocking the Broldun to the ground there wasn’t no stopping him.
“Horseshit, you little coward. I believe these girls, they know what they saw.” His mailed fist rattled against the man’s cheek, and he spit blood. “Say it!”
The man’s face was tears, dirt, ash, and blood, his voice blubbering. “Her mama died two days back! I ain’t got food nuf.”
Ivin let go of Polus’ shoulder; whatever the man got he deserved, if true. “Defend yourself, if this isn’t a lie.”
“It’s a kindness t’be done—”
Polus’ fist struck, and the man toppled. A boot followed, driving his head into the soft loam of the creek bed. A second and third time before Ivin stepped over the man and shoved Polus off.
“My baby girl didn’t make it outta her mother and here you are murdering your own blood?”
Ivin kept his tone cool, hoping to dull the edge of the big man’s fury. “Enough. I get it, by the heavens and hells I do, but it’s enough.” Every dead child they’d found and tossed into the pyres, every little face came back to haunt him, and he wondered how many met the fate they’d saved this babe from. For Polus, it was more personal yet, and Ivin forced himself to respect that.
“It ain’t enough. Son a bitch needs to suffer.”
“He has and will.” Hells, if the man survived til morning, he’d need a healer to eat solid food again. “Let it be.”
The man’s chest puffed. “It ain’t right.”
“It didn’t happen, the child is safe. These girls saved her. If the baby was dead, I’d let you tear the bastard apart.”
Polus cradled the little girl, an odd compassion for a man with a well-earned reputation for bloodshed. “Come for this child, and I’ll take your head.”
Trail of Pyres Page 54
