by A. J. Smith
‘Our thanks, great mother,’ said the captain.
Above them, sails were unfurled and the ship inched away from the stricken warship. Behind, the other vessel was now almost stationary, clearly not intending to pursue. Randall imagined they were confused about how a humble Kirin galley could best a company of Hounds so quickly. But Jez Ran was right – their confusion would not last forever.
‘I need to rest,’ whispered Ruth, as she lay in Randall’s arms. ‘That was most... stimulating.’
‘Fuck the Twisted Tree,’ stated Vekerian with a grateful smile. ‘We would follow you a thousand times before we knelt before that dark altar.’
CHAPTER 10
INGRID TEARDROP IN THE REALM OF SUMMER WOLF
SHE SMILED AS the worm wiggled in her fingertips. Corvus snapped at it, playfully clicking his beak at her hand and flaring his glossy black wings. He liked worms and Ingrid enjoyed finding them in the muddy ground. The snow was melting and small streams turned the earth mushy. She got her hands dirty and her cloak muddy. She preferred it to being clean. And Beirand hated it, so she liked it even more. The fat old troll-belly was floundering around the base of some rocks, looking for her. He’d been there, with a stupid expression on his face, for a few minutes, while she giggled from a rocky ledge above.
Corvus clicked his beak in an imitation of a chuckle, snapping up the worm and contentedly shrugging his wings. He was the perfect partner in crime, whimsical, stealthy and cunning. Ingrid didn’t like admitting it, but the raven was her only friend.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be free soon.’ She tickled under his beak. ‘You’ll like Tiergarten – it’s taller than Fredericksand. My uncle said it was built by Giants as a gift for the first Ranen.’
‘Get down here, bitch!’ Apparently Beirand had spotted her.
‘Are you talking to me?’ she asked.
He pulled a small axe from his belt and backed away, getting a good foothold on the rocks and waving the blade above his head. ‘I could hit you from here, ya know? Not kill you, just make you bleed and cry like the little bitch you are.’
Ingrid smiled and picked up a small rock. She took good aim and launched it at the fat man’s head. He winced and tumbled backwards as the sharp stone struck his crown, causing blood and cursing. As he stumbled to regain his footing, he hurled his axe, but it went harmlessly upward, lodging in the rocks.
‘Sorry, did my rock hit you?’
She skipped away from the ledge and crawled back towards the Crystal Fork River. She could hear him shouting and fumbling to follow, but she was too fast. She’d slow down in a while and let him catch her. It was the only way they wouldn’t put a chain on her leg. Since she’d released the dogs, she’d sneaked out every night, under the mask provided by Corvus. She’d stolen screws and wooden pegs from sleds, making them break as they moved. She’d kicked over barrels of ale and tipped ten full sacks of grain into a crevice. No-one in the army knew why they were plagued by accidents; to all outward appearances, Ingrid spent most of her time sitting quietly in her tent. The previous night, she’d even managed to unbalance a cart of glaives and send it hurtling down the Crystal Fork River.
***
On the other side of the rocks, sheltered from the sea winds, Rulag’s men were fighting. They’d assembled a ring from shields and were betting on duels. The main army was a mass of sweat and fur, camped in the low ground, with only the captains allowed to frolic in such a fashion.
She’d never seen so many men. The Fjorlan Sea was black, the realm of Summer Wolf was white, but the army was muddy brown, plonked like a pile of excrement in the snow. It had taken them a week and a half to get enough replacement sled dogs and move the swarm from Fredericksand. Many men of Ursa had found an excuse to leave the army, preferring the warmth of Fredericksand to the freezing tents of a stationary force. Some had returned with the sled dogs; some had not. Some had been executed trying to leave; others had sneaked away in the night. Many more had died through the nightly ritual of fighting and punishments that formed an integral part of Rulag’s army. Ingrid didn’t know how many men had left or died as a result of her delaying tactics, but it was a lot. She fouled their supplies whenever she could, realizing that a hungry army doesn’t stay loyal for long. The remainder had now settled in, ready to move at last, north of the plains of Tiergarten, on the banks of the Crystal Fork River.
‘Come on, wolf girl,’ snapped Beirand, shoving her forwards. ‘No more running away, or I’ll leave you to the trolls next time.’
She smiled sweetly at him. ‘Do they smell better than you?’
He moved to backhand her, but the blow was sluggish and she ducked underneath it easily.
‘Come on, fat boy,’ she said, jumping over rocks and away from the angry man.
She squeezed her way through the ranks of gawking spectators and moved round the edge of the fighting circle. A man was being beaten up in the middle, his head providing an unwilling anvil to another man’s war-hammer.
Suddenly, she was swept up in a pair of strong arms. Her feet left the ground and her face was enveloped in flowing black robes. The Karesian man, Kal Varaz, held her firmly around the waist, cradling her head gently.
‘Going for a walk, little wolf?’ he asked.
‘Just helping Beirand stay fit.’
The puffing fat man emerged through the sweaty spectators, growling at Ingrid as Kal Varaz lowered her back to her feet.
‘Perhaps you need additional guardians,’ said the Karesian. ‘Or chains.’
Beirand snatched at Ingrid’s arm, pulling her away from the foreigner.
‘Don’t need your help, man of the sun. Fuck off and tend to your risen men.’
‘My cages are well-tended. I have ample time to enjoy the hospitality of Fjorlan. If your dogs had not escaped, my Dark Young would have already taken the city.’
Ingrid shrugged off Beirand’s grip and stepped to the side. Corvus was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t like these men and she feared a random idiot would shoot an arrow at him.
‘Can’t we just be friends?’ she asked, smiling at the two men.
Beirand slapped her. He’d learned his lesson and the blow came quickly, striking her sharply on the cheek. It really hurt. He went to hit her again, but Kal Varaz grabbed his forearm.
‘Are you a man I can kill?’ asked the Karesian.
‘What? Let go of my fuckin’ arm.’
‘Can I kill you, or does Rulag need you?’
Beirand shoved Varaz backwards. The other man stumbled, but didn’t fall. He was graceful, moving quickly and taking the power out of Beirand’s shove. The men around them parted. The fight in the middle had ended when the man’s head could no longer be used as an anvil, and everyone now looked at Beirand and Kal Varaz.
‘Should we be betting on this?’ joked a battle brother of Ursa.
Ingrid rubbed her cheek and stood up, backing into the press of laughing men. They threw insults and jokes at the Karesian, mocking his slight build and wavy-bladed knives. The general consensus seemed to be that he needed a battleaxe in the head.
‘Okay,’ said Varaz. ‘Make your peace, for you are about to die.’
The laughter rose in volume.
‘Step into the circle and draw the knives,’ challenged Beirand.
The Karesian barely paused. Ingrid was unsure who she hated more: the cold foreigner or the idiot fat man. Hopefully they’d kill each other.
The circle of shields was opened for them and the previous combatants – the dead man and his killer – cleared the ground, leaving only a smear of blood on the churned snow. Beirand hefted an axe and a circular shield, adopting a strong stance. Varaz drew his wavy-bladed knives and twirled them gracefully, stepping tentatively round the larger man. He was jeered and snowballs were thrown at his feet, but his dark eyes focused only on Beirand. Ingrid began to move away, but was stopped by several of Rulag’s captains, insisting that she wasn’t going to be permitted to sneak off. For now, she had to watch
the men fight.
To his credit, Beirand was not afraid of the strange Karesian and levelled a series of ferocious attacks at the man’s head. He swung the axe in arcs, keeping his shield across his chest. Varaz danced backwards, keeping the knives low. He didn’t fight properly. His movements showed no strength, just fluidity and balance. The black robes whirled as he moved, making it difficult to see where the man ended and the fabric began.
‘Smash his fuckin’ head in,’ bellowed a nearby warrior.
Despite Beirand’s wobbling belly, he was a surprisingly effective fighter. Alahan would easily beat him, but she’d seen worse axe-men. He still hadn’t connected with Varaz in any meaningful way, but his form was good. His skill wasn’t going to kill him; his fitness was. The Karesian was much faster and made no effort to attack. Their blades had not yet clashed and Beirand was starting to tire.
Then Varaz attacked, slicing Beirand across the cheek. A line of seeping blood ran from his nose to his hairline, but it wasn’t deep, just insulting.
‘Fuck you, man of the sun,’ spat Beirand.
Varaz lunged, staying low and attacking under the fat man’s axe. Both his blades struck home and he stepped forward, skewering the larger man in the sides.
‘Enough!’ shouted a voice from the crowd.
The jeering stopped and everyone turned to watch Rulag Ursa and Harrod approach the circle of shields. Beirand had dropped his axe and was gargling blood.
‘Step back, Karesian,’ said Rulag.
Kal Varaz withdrew his blades and let Beirand die in the snow. He then bowed. ‘Of course, my lord Bear Tamer.’
Ingrid was grabbed by a couple of sweaty men and marched to stand before Rulag. She shrugged their hands off, but didn’t try to run. A little piece of her was glad she’d caused Beirand’s death.
‘Causing problems again, little wolf?’ asked Harrod, waving away the crowds.
‘Go find some axes to sharpen, you gormless bastards,’ ordered Rulag, dispersing his men and clearing the shield circle. ‘We’re moving at first light, before any more troll cunts run off.’
The dead body was pulled away and Kal Varaz sheathed his knives. The Karesian gave Beirand’s corpse a hateful sneer and approached Rulag. His breathing was steady and he looked like a predatory cat.
‘I don’t think I told you to kill him,’ said Rulag.
‘He made me angry,’ replied Kal Varaz. ‘I do not like men who strike women.’
‘I’ve lost enough men to cold, hunger and boredom,’ grunted Rulag. ‘I don’t want to add impoliteness to that list.’ The lord of Jarvik glared down at Ingrid. ‘If we’re to be married, young lady, I think you should start to learn your place.’ He slapped her hard across the cheek and she fell to the floor. ‘Does that anger you, man of the sun?’
‘Yes,’ replied Kal Varaz, ‘but you are not someone I can kill. The Mistress of Pain considers you important. Especially as you are finally beginning your attack. Tell me, will you be fighting yourself? Now that your army has shrunk?’
Harrod spoke before Rulag could exert his dominance over the Karesian. ‘Someone take the little wolf back to her tent and put a chain on her leg.’
Rulag’s annoyance faded and he scowled at Kal Varaz. ‘It’s time to unleash your Dark Young. If they are not as promised, I’ll shove my axe down your throat.’
‘They will be ready at first light,’ replied the Karesian.
***
Ingrid was bored sitting in the tent. Her wrist was chained to a huge iron ball that was far too heavy for her to move. She had about three feet of slack and a dirty black tent to explore. All those nightly excursions, and now here she was chained up because two men had fought over her. The army was moving in the morning. They were going to hold position on the Plains of Tiergarten and wait for something. Something to do with the risen men and the Karesian’s cages.
Caw
Corvus nudged his way under the tent flap and hopped over to her. He flapped his wings at the chain, shaking the metal links.
‘I don’t have any worms for you, but I’m bored of this tent,’ she said with a smile, pointing at the chain. The raven pecked at the links, shaking the steel. The chain clanked and began to distort, as if Corvus had unnatural strength in his beak. Gradually, with more shakes, the steel twisted out of shape and snapped. For some reason Ingrid wasn’t surprised.
‘We make a great team. Let’s go and be nosey.’
She pulled on a heavy brown cloak and poked her head furtively out of the tent. It was freezing cold outside and the snow was drifting in huge, rolling clouds. Dotted across the dark riverbank, in globes of firelight, sat thousands of men of Ursa. They were fewer than a week ago, but still a huge army. Her tent was near the middle of the encampment, set back near Rulag’s command tent and the smithy. All around her in the snow were blobs of brown and black. Men, axes, wagons and supplies. The army, stationary in the freezing cold for over a week, had turned into a makeshift town.
‘Where are they keeping the risen men?’
Corvus flapped to her shoulder and pointed his beak to the south, over the rise, past a bend in the river. The realm of Summer Wolf was craggy and rough in the north, green and cultivated in the south. It was the most fertile land in Fjorlan, but from where she crouched, in the shadow of her tent, it was an undulating world of black and white.
With the cloak over her head she darted away, trusting that Corvus would obscure her. There were guards, but they were slumped round a fire. They glanced occasionally at her tent, paying lip service to their duty, but were otherwise unconcerned. She’d been chained in the tent for four or five hours; they had no reason to be alert.
Keeping to the shadows, she skipped from one tent to the next, passing drunken men, sleeping men, fighting men, swearing men. Rulag’s tent was the largest and crested with multiple muddy banners. The red bear claw of Ursa annoyed her. It now stood for denial of Rowanoco and it didn’t belong here. She moved along the rear of the command tent, a tiny speck in a sea of brown and black.
It took a while to reach the edge of the army, but it was fun to ghost along behind the smelly axe-men with Corvus on her shoulder. They spent every night drinking and fighting and it never bored them. Each new evening was a new opportunity to drink and fight. If they waited for a few months, Rulag wouldn’t have an army.
She left the low ground and moved into the dark rocks, away from the river. The area was off-limits to the men of Ursa, judging by the guards and remote location. These men, who weren’t drunk, protected an enclosed depression north of the Plains of Tiergarten. She had thought the area would be well-defended, as it lay between the army and its prize, but all she could see was a handful of guards and a few open cages; no stockade or defences.
Corvus flew from her shoulder, gliding upwards over the rocks. He circled the depression before landing near the guards. A loud caw from him and they all looked in his direction, allowing Ingrid to slip over the rocks and hop down into the guarded section.
Once she had reached a shallow ravine cloaked in darkness, she crouched as low as she could. There were shapes in the darkness, irregularly dotted across the snowy ground. Somewhere to the south, quite close, across rocky plateaus and the icy river, lay Tiergarten.
One of the shapes moved and she froze. She’d thought them trees or maybe twisted brambles, but they moved like creatures. Each one swayed and then, as she watched, its extremities shivered in the air. She saw no risen men, dead or otherwise, just these undulating shapes groping at the hard ground.
Corvus returned, but stayed well away from the shapes. They were strange in some way. Not natural maybe. She wasn’t sure. They made her feel funny, but she wanted a closer look.
No-one was watching the isolated circle of snow, and she could freely skulk from the ravine towards the shapes. She gulped as the lines and texture of the nearest shape became visible. She saw the pieces of a broken body, formed upwards into the shape of a tree. The arms and legs had twisted together into a
wrinkled trunk of black flesh, and the face... the face howled in silence from within the trunk. It was a risen man, or at least it had been once. Now, a contorted column of black flesh, it burrowed into the ground.
She vomited. She’d barely eaten for a long time and her throat had to reach deep into her stomach to produce anything. It burned and made her lips tingle. Retch followed retch and she turned away and sank down, curling into a ball on the snow.
Corvus flapped above her, warning her of danger, but she couldn’t stop vomiting. What were these things?
***
Her stomach was too twisted and her head was too sore. She couldn’t fight, run or even think. She didn’t resist as the guards picked her up and carried her back to the camp. Corvus had made her visible, so they would come to help her.
‘Little bitch, how long you been there?’
‘She’s puked on my boots.’
‘It’s the trees, they’ve fucked her up. It happened to Ulf yesterday. We’re not supposed to look at them.’
Ingrid held her head. Behind her eyes the risen men screamed. The image wouldn’t leave her. It scratched and gnawed into her head. Unimaginable pain and sorrow, reaching further into eternity than she could comprehend. She cried. She vomited again. And then she cried more.
‘Throw her on the bedroll,’ said a distant voice. ‘She’ll be okay. Stupid bitch.’
‘Beirand’s dead. Who was watching her?’ It sounded like Harrod.
‘Marron and Ulf. They’re pretty drunk.’
‘Take a finger from each of them. And set them guarding the trees.’
The voices were distorted and weirdly pitched. She half-recognized some of them, but couldn’t see any faces to match with the sounds.
‘Are they as bad as they say? I mean, look at her. She’s lost her fucking mind.’
‘Three of the things have already scuttled off to the south. Scouting or some such. What if they come back? I’ll go to the ice halls before I look at them.’
