Written in Blood

by Span, Ryan A.

  “Birth always matters, Karl.” His words were compassionate and sad. He probably imagined he was giving me tough love, hurting me for my own good. “The only way you'll lead a regiment is if you happen to be among the front rank.”

  Jasen squeezed my shoulder to try to soothe my mood, but I was wallowing in a sharp cocktail of anger, fear, ambition and frustration. Nothing would get through. And when Jasen started to talk again, I cut him off. My mind was already made up.

  “I love you and I love Mum, but you can't keep doing this to me.” Though I hadn't intended it, I sounded so angry. “It's got to be now, Jase. I can't live without a dream.”

  I stood up abruptly and walked into town where the King's Army recruiting party waited at the local pub to greet any man or boy who wanted to take the King's Shilling. They swore me in that night, and I went to sleep feeling like my horizons had expanded by a million miles...

  In the nowhere-place where I'd been remade into this awful chimera, I found myself confronted by those smoke-brimmed hollows again, the face that wasn't me, wasn't human. I reeled from the memory. Jasen's disappointment. The mere mention of our mother. The Other's lips peeled back into a savage, sadistic grin.

  “You left them to fend for themselves,” he said. Accusing, mocking, scorning. “Have you ever gone back to see them? Do you even know if they're still alive?”

  He already knew the shameful truth, and I couldn't deny it. “No.”

  “You are a selfish, single-minded man, Karl Byren, and you've left nothing but death and dishonour behind you. The weight of that knowledge presses down on you even now. Crushing you under every regret, every injustice you've committed, every hard nugget of guilt dragging on your heart. You've kept afloat only when you had a job to do, and now that your task is over, you're drowning. But there is no need.”

  “You want me to forget. What I did. Who I am.”

  “Of course. It's a kindness, really. You won't feel pain, or anger, or worry. You'll be tranquil, maybe even happy.”

  “But my friends‒”

  “Are no longer your concern,” he said sharply, and assaulted my mind again...

  ...The night was old, practically on the doorstep of dawn. The overcast sky outside began to lighten to a faint shade of green. Yellow followed it. The light stung my eyes and brought me awake again despite my protests.

  I lay half-conscious on a Newmond tavern counter. One hand clung to the handle of my tankard, the other dangled loose between my stool and the counter. My unkempt beard marinated in a puddle of old beer. The innkeep had long gone to bed, but he had a soft spot for me, so he let me stay in the common room at nights rather than let his bouncers throw me out into the gutter.

  I took another sip of wine. The doors behind me opened, and two men came in out of the rain. Soldiers. I could tell by the sound, the weight of their footsteps, the way they filled the air.

  “Sergeant Byren?”

  The voice sounded surprised. I raised my face off the counter and took a glance. The two were fresh off the road, dressed in black jackets and sky-blue cloaks fastened with pins in the shape of a royal Gryphon. Regimental badges gleamed proudly on the front of their crested halfhelms. Both men were Angian Guard.

  I turned around and stayed up off my bar stool, which made the recruiters flinch. The sight of them dressed up like my old comrades stirred something deep inside. Dredged up memories I'd tried to drown, both happy and horrific. I hit myself in the face trying to salute.

  “You are Karl Byren of the King's Own?”

  “Might be,” I slurred.

  “The... We were sent here...” He stopped to collect his thoughts. “The King needs fighting men. Those as can stand firm against the Duke when called. We have... We've been empowered to forgive any previous offence, including ejection on any grounds.”

  I couldn't quite understand what he said. My thoughts were slow and thick as treacle.

  “You can come back to the Army,” he added by way of explanation.

  Once the words sank in, once I was sure I hadn't imagined it, I didn't believe them. The Guard couldn't want me back. This had to be some kind of trick, said drunken paranoia. However, the men carried themselves right. They had the ironclad confidence of the King's Own. There was no faking that.

  “The Kingdom needs veterans! Fighters, like yourself!” the assistant urged. “How does Sergeant-Major Byren sound? The promotion's yours, including one-tenth back pay for the past ten years, if you take the Shilling again right now.”

  They looked at me with fire in their eyes. They believed hard in the virtue of their cause, and my place in it. They obviously knew my Army reputation before my dishonour. In this kind of market, a man like me was a desired commodity.

  And what a carrot they dangled in front of my nose! A return to honour. My rank back, my troops back, everything back except myself.

  “Got the wrong man,” I told them.

  I turned away and buried my face back in the tankard. There was no place in the Army for this Karl Byren. The one who served ten years ago was a different man, and had already drowned...

  The Other chortled as he laid me bare. “A man who loathes himself. Sire to a fatherless son. A shiftless drunk whenever you can afford to be. A failure even as a mercenary, with half your party dead and the other half broken beyond repair. You've buried so much, so deep, but you can't hide from me.”

  Rattled to my core, I tried to arrange enough of my jumbled thoughts to answer him. And failed.

  “What you don't realise, Karl, is that the wrongs you've done exist only in your memory. They are ephemeral, they have no substance without someone to keep them alive, and in time no one else will remember them. That is the kindness I offer you. There will be nothing left but peace, and gratitude.”

  It sounded so easy. To erase the endless parade of mistakes I'd made, all I would need to do is erase me. It was a compelling case for suicide.

  Then another flash of epiphany broke through the fog in my head. “You're trying so hard to convince me. Why? Because I'm a nuisance?” I shook my head. “No, I don't think so. I think I'm a threat to you.”

  I reached out and gave a light push against the walls keeping me contained, like flexing my muscles. There was no give in them. But now, without the fog of panic and anger, my mind was stronger, more focussed than before. Could I affect the Other if I really applied myself?

  It burst out laughing. A loud, rolling, contemptuous belly laugh that rattled any confidence I might've felt in my theory. His voice was deeper, richer, and boomed over me with the force of a thunderstorm. “What kind of threat do you think you could pose to an immortal, Karl Byren? You're a man without even a body. You are nothing. You have always been nothing. Let's dig a little deeper and remind you!”

  ...I first noticed her riding along the camp's main thoroughfare, resplendent in long sea-green skirts with frills the colour of heavy cream. She sat sidesaddle on a horse so fine and so pale it could've passed for a unicorn if you glued a horn to its forehead. She was still young and pretty, a fine trophy for the man who rode beside her. He was a pompous arse at least thirty years her senior who surveyed the camp like assessing the pieces on his private chessboard. To him, command was a skill you were born into, innate to any aristocrat, no matter how cretinous. He believed he had it in spades.

  I was haltingly working on the supply list for my section, frustrated by the complex sums. I welcomed the chance to look at something else for a minute. I had to hide my glances, of course, since a common soldier wasn't supposed look at the highborn unless spoken to. Especially a noble's wife. Every surreptitious glimpse resolved another detail in the larger picture. Not a speck of dust on her thin, elegant riding boots. The top lace of her black suede bodice hung loose to give her more room to breathe, though it would've been a minor scandal in a more civilised setting. Long dark hair, not quite brown, not quite black, knotted into a delicate plait and held in place by leather thongs.

  These things made her a pl
easant distraction, but not an object of real interest. No, it was her eyes that sealed it. Not their colour or prettiness, but the suggestion of sadness behind those half-closed lids. Maybe the long ride left her too tired to pretend. She remained downcast and silent even while her husband continued to talk. Her polite responses encouraged him, and he never noticed she wasn't really listening.

  They passed out of view, off to the commander's tent, and I was left wondering. What could leave a woman like that so forlorn? What was her heart longing for so deeply?

  She enchanted me. Already I was starting to think of ways in which a man like me could get close to a noble-born lady. It wouldn't be the first time, though I wasn't after another notch on my bedpost. This was more than lust. I wanted to know her.

  I wanted her to know me.

  I finally got my chance at the new camp near Westhaven, in the not-quite-arid country on the edge of the Harari steppes. We stayed in that area for weeks, waiting on our marching orders. None came despite the advent of spring, which meant the Six Rivers would stop flooding any day now. We couldn't figure out whether Lauric was frozen in indecision or if he'd just forgotten about us.

  A pleasant little creek ran near the camp. One of the luxuries of being a sergeant was getting to write my own tickets to fall out after the day's duties, and since Westhaven town was a day's march from here, I spent more than a few of my sunlight hours at the waterside. Sometimes washing myself, sometimes fishing with a makeshift pole I kept there, and sometimes just sitting there soaking my feet for pleasure. I could've swum if only the water were a little deeper.

  She found me there lulled into a daydream by the gentle babbling of the stream. I paddled my legs like a schoolboy, and since I'd just finished having a good scrub, my uniform and smallclothes still hung over the low branches of a nearby cherry tree, in amongst bunches of bright red fruit. By the time I noticed the clop of hooves, she'd already advanced on the tree and started picking what I hadn't been able to eat in the past two weeks, though not for lack of trying.

  I sat frozen in horror. Her eyes drifted to the waterside, then widened, and a furious blush heated her cheeks. Only then did I think of covering myself.

  “Oh, God,” I stammered, “Milady, I'm sorry‒”

  At the same time she was saying, “Forgive me, I didn't know anyone was there‒”

  We both stopped. An awkward silence stretched out between us, until I worked up the courage to speak. “Would you mind looking away while I dress?”

  She kept her eyes averted, and I hurried back into my clothes. Part of me feared that she'd ride off in the meantime, maybe even tell her husband. That wouldn't end well for me. To my surprise, she stayed, nibbling on more of those cherries while she got her embarrassment under control.

  I was pulling on my boots when she decided to break the ice. Some of the well-bred haughtiness returned when she remembered she addressed one of the common folk. “Do you have a name, soldier?”

  “Byren, Milady. Sergeant Karl Byren.” Boots on, I jumped to attention, halfhelm clamped under my armpit. “At your service.”

  “Master Byren, what in Saint Ilin's name are you doing out here at this time of day?”

  “I have a ticket,” I blurted in my defence and, like a fool, held it up to her. Then I put it away, flustered. “That's not what you asked. Just... Enjoying myself, Milady.”

  She smiled at me, and some of that sadness dulled her eyes again. “That's a good reason. You could say I'm trying to do the same.”

  An airy wave of her hand told me to stand at ease. I put my helmet down, and although I didn't quite allow myself to relax, I gambled on being bold. Boldness had rarely steered me wrong with women.

  “Trying, Milady? Not succeeding?”

  She gave me a curious look. The question surprised her, I could read it in her eyes. It turned me from a simple chance encounter into something more intriguing.

  “Not so far,” she said. The admission made her fidget, running her thumbs along the horse's leather reins. “Have you ever done something, Byren, that kept you wondering whether it was a mistake for years afterward?”

  I spoke without thinking. “I joined the Army, Milady.” Again my frankness took her aback, but this time I dismayed even myself. It was beyond bold by a few too many steps. I hastened to add, “Begging your pardon! I didn't mean‒”

  She laughed before I could finish apologising. A soft, genuine sound, like a gentle breeze through sunny fields, no mockery in it at all. “It's quite alright. I can't remember the last time someone dared to be so straightforward with me. I'd forgotten what it was like.”

  Relaxing, I dared a bit more. “Then whenever you need someone straightforward, don't hesitate to call on me, Milady.”

  “I just might.” She smiled, her sadness forgotten for now. “Though next time I hope to meet you with your breeches on.”

  I snapped her a sharp salute. “By your command, it shall be so.”

  Another giggle, another blush tinting her cheeks. “Oh, I haven't introduced myself, have I? Nerell. Nerell of Arbordown.”

  Nerell. I hadn't known that part, and it was the only part I cared about. The name ran off her tongue like honey. I bowed as etiquette demanded. “You do honour to your husband, Your Ladyship.”

  “May I make a request of you, Byren?” she asked suddenly, all but cutting off the end of my sentence.

  “Um. Anything, Milady.”

  “Don't mention my husband when we're alone. Ever.” There was a vehemence in her that shook me, and gave me a ray of hope at the same time. “And call me Nerell. It's been a while since I've heard anyone say it fondly.”

  I couldn't help but smile as butterflies fluttered in my stomach and my heart beat a little faster. I fought to keep my voice smooth and confident. “It would be my absolute pleasure, Nerell.”

  She inclined her head gratefully. “Then I'll see you tomorrow, Sergeant Byren. Same place, same time.”

  Tapping her mare's rump with a riding crop, she nudged the docile creature into a walk and disappeared into the trees. I watched her for as long as I could. Then, with the sunset starting to fade, I picked up my helmet and whistled a cheerful rig on my way back to camp.

  We kept meeting under the cherry tree, and as it blossomed with the onset of summer, so did our rapport. It was more than friendship, not quite romance ‒ not one that either of us was willing to admit. It would break a whole host of taboos. I knew what I wanted, but fear held me back. Boldness was all well and good when rejection meant nothing more than a broken heart.

  No. I'd wait for her to make the first move, or the perfect time to make mine.

  She would set up her easel and paint while we talked and laughed. She taught me about art and poetry, though I had no talent for it myself. I learned to play the flute to entertain her. She even danced to my tunes, which made every halting, off-key minute of practice worthwhile. We'd lie on a blanket and watch the sunsets together, and pretend it was an accident every time we touched.

  I learned how much she truly hated her husband. She never said it outright, but whenever she spoke of any occasion where he was present, she left a large, Lord Arbordown-shaped hole in the story. The way her whole body tensed up when she thought of him was worrying. Sometimes she'd fall silent and tremble for a while until she could shake it off and pick up a happier thread. No mention was made of him and no mention was tolerated. I never learned his first name.

  I did manage to piece together a general picture of her life with him, though, from what she said and from what she conspicuously left out.

  For all his years, he was as much a womaniser as ever, and spent more time in the beds of whores and servants than he did in hers. Which was just as well, because when he did make use of her, he was drunk, boorish, and unkind. I discovered that he blamed her for not giving him an heir in nigh-on a decade of marriage. Every year, he despised and neglected her more.

  It wasn't uncommon for a nobleman of fifty to wed a girl of fifteen, but not
many men of fifty were as repellent, or impotent, as Lord Arbordown.

  How many months had it been by that time we sat together by the creek, making an honest yet futile attempt at teaching her to fish? I couldn't remember. The weeks merged together into a happy blur.

  She giggled as she lost another piece of bait to a too-quick and too-clever trout, and handed the rod back to me. “Thank you, Karl, but I think the manly art of fishing might be too much for this delicate princess.”

  I sighed theatrically. “I only pray that you never have to fend for yourself in the wilderness, my sweet Nerell. Elseways you'd be buggered.”

  “Not at all, I'd just find myself some big strong hunter to bat my eyelashes at!”

  “I admit they are fine eyelashes...”

  I wasn't sure what else I was going to say, because the subject matter gave me a perfect excuse to gaze into her eyes and forget everything else in the world. Reddish brown, like polished bronze. Big, bright, and hauntingly intelligent. I became aware of how near she was, our hands virtually touching where we leaned on a handy river rock.

  “Master Byren,” she said, almost a whisper, “I do believe you're flirting with me.”

  My breath caught in my throat. She mesmerised me and I couldn't look away. “I‒ I couldn't be. It would be terribly improper if I were.”

  “Yes. Yes, it would be.” A tiny, worried smile played about the corners of her lips. “Byren... We're good friends, aren't we?”

  My breath didn't catch in my throat this time. It left my body altogether, wondering what she was getting at, knowing I wouldn't like it. Dry, choked croak, “Yes.”

  “Then you understand why we need to stay friends.” She saw my attempt to backpedal coming and stopped me before I started. “Don't pretend. I'm not a fool, I can see the way you look at me. You're becoming, um, infatuated.”

  No way to lie or save face. I dropped my eyes and said nothing.