“No,” she replied, smiling ever so slightly, “but you were the only one to be seduced by her. Or were you hoping it was the other way around?”
I felt my face flush as I stammered, “There wasn’t any . . . she didn’t seduce me. It was . . . it was only a kiss. One. Singular. How did you—”
“Your boyish infatuation wasn’t lost on anyone with half a brain. Which means I was the only one who likely noticed. So I hazarded a guess.”
“You . . . you didn’t know?”
“Not until now. How interesting. Though hardly shocking. Skeelana won many people over with her plucky charm. Why should an overtrusting boy prove any different? But you are right about that—it turns out she was far more devious than anyone suspected.” She snapped her wrist and made a stone skip across the waveless water, just as her brother had. “So, young scribe, back to our original point, I have to confess I am surprised you sought me out here. Clearly, not driven by romance this time. Why are you not abed, as you obviously should be?”
“I was about to ask you the same. I came out to, well, it doesn’t matter. But not seeking anyone out, that’s for certain. I saw you down here, and was curious. Are you riding out now?”
She dragged the butt spike of her polearm through the gravelly sand, flicking some out into the water, resulting in more of a plonking sound than any kind of splash. The water was heavy indeed. “Soon. I wanted to look at this very unusual lake once before I did though. I’d heard rumors of it before but never had cause to visit.” She turned and faced me, grounding the ranseur in the loose soil. “But you did not come down here to ask after my sleeping habits or to discuss peculiar lakes, did you? If you have more to say, do so now. Otherwise, leave me in peace.”
Yes, they were family.
I considered that coming down here might not have been the wisest course for any number of reasons and nearly excused myself to rush back to the wagon, but here I was, and the opportunity was there as well. “Captain Killcoin told me about your father. How he was murdered. And how he, your brother that is, how he fled when your priest called on you to attend him in the deadroom.”
While she had been flitting around amusement before, a mask seemed to slide into place as she said, flatly, “Did he?”
I pressed on. “He did. Though the thing that struck me was, it sounded as if you two were close. Closer, anyway. Which surprised me, given your . . . relationship now.”
“Oh? And how would you quantify our relationship now, scribe?”
After thinking about it for a moment, I replied, “Severed. Or severe. I’m still trying to figure it out. But unpleasant for sure.”
That actually earned a laugh, but it was short and clipped and harsh around the edges. “I do so appreciate your forthrightness. Remarkable. And as to my brother’s flight from the deadroom, well, it must be so very painful to admit that your sister is stronger. I am surprised that he chose to reveal even that much. How very loquacious and generous of him. And what else did my brother say?”
“Not much,” I admitted. “He stopped there.”
“As well he would. It is one thing to admit some failure of courage. Permissible in one so young. Expected, even. But the subsequent failures? Revenge unfulfilled, that’s one thing. Again, feckless youth can be blamed. But an entire people betrayed? No. That admission doesn’t flow out of the mouth so easily, does it?”
I thought of a way to dip the question in honey but then simply replied, “How were your people betrayed? What is it you think he did?”
She pulled the ranseur out of the stones and sand as if yanking it from the body of a fallen foe and then laid the haft on her shoulder. “Not think. Know for a certainty. And you will need to ask him that, scribe. I do wonder what he will tell you. Now I have miles to ride and trails to clean.”
She started up the incline, towards the camp. I was tired, and fought off a yawn, but I knew if I held off recording the latest entry and tried to sleep any more, the details would be lost come dawn. So I sighed and headed back to the wagon, resigned to lighting the lamp and uncorking some ink again.
I fell asleep sitting up, quill still in hand, my head leaning against the wooden rib that held up the canvas frame, and was jostled awake the next morning as I felt the wagon shift into motion and heard the familiar sounds that told me our company was on the move again—the creak of the axle, chains rattling overhead, pots jostling each other, the clomp of the horses’ hooves all around us, men shouting orders up and down the line.
And of course, Braylar calling me out, “Attend me, Arki.” I made my way to the front of the wagon, hunchwalking as ever, dodging the swinging pots and tools, and climbed over the bench awkwardly as the wagon rolled over a rut and nearly sent me tumbling.
He said, “I would have thought you’d have mastered that by now, archivist. You’ve spent more time in a wagon than most drovers.”
I took the dried goat he offered and stifled a yawn as the captain added, “And little better at getting rest when the opportunity affords itself. I assume you were up working. Any progress last night?”
I confessed that the forays into journals and scrolls and ledgers hadn’t proved revealing, beyond some oblique references to things I’d already uncovered.
The captain nodded, clearly expecting that, but no less irritated to hear it. “Very well. Sup on our fine road fare, wash it down with some watery ale or equally watery wine—the choice is yours—and get back to your pens then.”
I continued chewing, working the meat from one side of my mouth to the other like sinewy cud. “At least it makes the ale taste good. Or the wine. That’s something.”
Braylar allowed himself a tiny smile that wasn’t burdened by a twitch but lasted so short a time it was easy to imagine it was merely a trick of the morning shadows. “I find your cheery disposition endlessly entertaining, Arki. I do wonder, though, if you will be able to maintain it, in the face of what you witness and partake of. I hope you can, but it would be disingenuous of me to say I expect it. And I do know how you loathe falsehood. I almost feel some semblance of guilt for having lured you away from your quiet and tempest-free life.”
I lifted the flask, drinking old wine that had a nasty vinegar bite to it, and swallowing the meat cud, trying not to choke. I considered Vendurro wrestling with his grief, and the difficult task of relaying the news of Glesswik’s death to the widow and children, and how his walk, his stature, had changed. Was it irrevocable? Would he ever recover the spring in his step, or the carefree demeanor, having lost his best friend and being increasingly more burdened with more responsibilities, and witness to more loss? Why should I prove any different?
Lloi dying in my arms, killing not only one man, but now more, being betrayed by Skeelana . . . I said, “You told me not so very long ago that having tasted a touch of grief, I was that much closer to living a complete life. Perhaps I am just further along the road now.”
He gave me a long evaluating look, then shook his head once. “I do say quite a lot of things.”
“And many decidedly untrue or manipulative. But not that one. You spoke true. Didn’t you?”
Braylar flexed a gloved hand, the leather stretching and creaking, and leaned back against the bench. “You are young still, but not daft. There are many cruel truths in life. I spoke but one. When you know what you can endure, then and only then do you know what you are capable of.” He reached into a bag and handed me a wedge of cheese. “Now, fill your belly and get back to work. We—”
He stopped as he spotted a horseman riding hard down the road towards us, hooves kicking up dust. I assumed it was a scout returning, but the haste didn’t bode well at all. Braylar stopped the team and called out behind us orders to halt, which were relayed down the line.
When the Syldoon reined up and saluted, red-faced, sweaty, and staring straight ahead, suspicions were confirmed—he was loath to deliver his news.
“Report,” Braylar ordered.
The scout remained rigid in the sa
ddle. “Screeners sighted a big company closing in on us, Cap. Two, in fact. North, and a little further northwest.”
“Well, that is not welcome news, is it? How many in each?”
“Screeners didn’t give an exact count, Cap, but—”
“An estimate then.”
The scout looked as uncomfortable as you could just relaying information, but his posture didn’t melt in the slightest. “More than us, for certain. Twice as many. In each company, Cap. Urglovians. The one directly ahead looks to be Governor Pinchurk’s. And the one northwest—”
“Yes, yes, Governor Wezlik’s. Thank you for the geography lesson. And how far away?”
“Half a day. Little more maybe.”
Braylar scowled. “Dismissed. Rest yourself and your horse, Syldoon. Send another back down the road to fetch the screening party.”
The soldier nodded and saluted again. “Aye, Cap,” He rode down past our wagon quickly, clearly relieved to be relieved.
I asked, “How did they prepare such forces so quickly?”
Braylar turned and snapped at me, “Memoridons can send messages in an instant. Not all of them shred people’s minds like my sweet sister. Our supreme advantage in intelligence is but one reason the Syldoon have been a superior army on nearly every battlefield we have tromped across. Only now they are no longer working in our interests, are they?”
Vendurro and the massive Azmorgon rode up alongside side us, with Mulldoos pitched at an odd angle in his saddle behind and Hewspear next to him.
Mulldoos said, “Telling you, you shouldn’t be in the plaguing saddle, you old goat. Holy hells, you just got husked—you ought to be resting.”
Hewspear’s eyes were a little sunken, and there was a waxy sheen to his skin, but he sat the saddle better than Mulldoos, back straight, and had an uneven smile. “While your concern is amusing, I’ve napped long enough.”
“Plague me, I want you in a wagon so I don’t have to hear your smacking gums, you wrinkled ass.”
Braylar gave Hewspear a long appraising look. “I am very glad to see you among us again, Lieutenant. Glad indeed.” Then he looked at the other officers. “I do hate to ruin a good reunion, but you all saw the scout, no doubt?”
“That we did,” Mulldoos slurred, and immediately looked furious that his mouth was still betraying him. “Bad?”
“Certainly not good. The Urglovians are out in force ahead of us.”
Vendurro asked, “Too many to take on, expecting?”
“You expect right,” the captain said. “We will not engage unless we have to. I didn’t break free of Sunwrack only to let the men die in the wild.”
Azmorgon boomed, “Sure would like to take on somebody somewhere. Yeah, maybe they weren’t the ones that laid into us and killed our brothers on the bridge, but they’re aligned with those whoresons. Leopards, Anjurians, Urglovians, no matter. Like to make somebody bleed a lot of blood. Lot of blood.”
“Yeah, ours,” Mulldoos replied, again siding with the captain so long as someone else seemed to be opposing him. “Cap says we change course, we change course.”
Azmorgon dwarfed Mulldoos, no easy task, and even his huge stallion looked like a pony underneath him. “You telling me you don’t want to cut up some witches, Mushrooms?”
Mulldoos urged his horse closer and laid his hand on the hilt of his falchion. “Keep calling me that. Go on. One good arm is all I need, you ogre fuck.”
Braylar slapped the side of the bench. “We do not bloody ourselves and we don’t throw our lives away simply in the name of misbegotten revenge. When the time and place is right, we will cut them deep, but that will be ground of our choosing and when the odds are in our favor. For now, we veer west and work around the Urglovians.”
Hewspear waved at some gnats, doing no good at all. “I imagine they have some Memoridons in their company, Captain?” He said this nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t had his brains nearly melted the last time we all saw him in the saddle.
Braylar nodded slowly. “They likely do, so they will report our movements for certain to the Imperials. But we have mobility as the advantage for now.”
I wondered what he meant by that, since we had so many supply wagons that slowed our convoy down considerably, but it didn’t seem prudent to ask just then as he announced, “We head back south, then west, slip past them.”
I heard Soffjian’s voice coming up behind us. “That would likely prove a very bad idea, brother.”
Everyone turned and looked and saw the Memoridon with three soldiers, one of them Benk, looking none too happy to be accompanying Soffjian again. Braylar said, irritation smoldering, “And why is that, sister?”
She smiled at Hewspear. “So. Not dead then? That at least is some good news.”
“How many, how far?” Braylar asked.
Soffjian pointed a long finger at Benk. “I saw the young Syldoon here on their way to you, in a hurry from the looks of it. I accompanied and asked this one very nicely to explain the urgency.”
Braylar said, irritation flaming higher, “So forthright, my men.”
Benk colored up. “The wi—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and tried again. “The Mem here, your sister, I mean. Real persuasive. I hurried though.”
“Why, of course you did. And what is the news then?”
Benk looked at the other two soldiers and then replied, “There’s a large company of Urglovians coming in from the west. Big one. Three or four hundred.”
Braylar drummed his gloved fingers on the bench. “How many miles apart they are they from the other forces, and how distant from us? Is it possible for us to slip between them?”
Benk looked at the other scout and shrugged. “What do you think? A dozen miles, maybe?”
Hewspear said, “If they have Memoridons, as seems likely, then slipping between or past doesn’t seem viable.”
The captain looked at his sister. “And to the south?”
Soffjian replied, “Near on a thousand, half a day. And there was no time to clean all your tracks. Go west or south and you go to your death and destruction.”
Braylar slapped his thigh. “Well, as appealing as destruction sounds, it appears we have no choice. I have heard enough. East it is.”
Mulldoos looked around at everyone, waiting for someone else to object, and when no one did, took it upon himself. “East, Cap? Nothing that way except for the Godveil. And that ain’t any kind of way at all.”
Before Braylar could reply, though, Soffjian did. “Astute, as ever. But my brother is right. Our only chance is to slip around the Urglovians and then continue north again.”
Mulldoos glared at her, and with one eyelid sagging, it was hard to tell if that enhanced or diminished the effect. “We’ll be penned in. And I wasn’t speaking to you anyway, witch.”
Braylar wrapped Bloodsounder’s haft on the wagon bench to reclaim their attention. “We are penned in now! It is a broad enclosure at the moment, but they are clearly coordinating and that pen closes in tighter every moment we delay. Alert the troops. We go east—not to the Godveil, but east until we are clear.”
Azmorgon, Mulldoos, and the scouts rode off one way and Soffjian another.
The captain sighed and then looked at Hewspear closely. “I have seen men felled by Memoridons who never recovered, so it is something of a miracle that you are in the saddle at all. I must say, you do look much better than expected, Hew. Is that deceptive?”
Hewspear smiled. “I do not profess to be fully healed, Captain. There is some dizziness, some nausea. But no, I am in much better condition than Mulldoos.”
“I need you alert, competent, and capable, yes? Can you do this, Hew? Tell me true. If not, the best thing you can do for all of us is to heed the advice of your crass nursemother and get some rest.”
Hewspear nodded, the coins in his beard clacking. “I will not do my duties unless I am confident I can ably perform them, Captain. I am well.”
Braylar smiled. “Very good. See to i
t then.”
Hewspear saluted smartly in that twisting, odd way the Syldoon had. “Aye, Captain. I will ascertain what we need from the scouts.”
He held himself erect as he turned his horse about, but I suspected he had to be keenly and acutely feeling the aftereffects of Rusejenna’s attack.
Vendurro must have been thinking the same thing. “Got to say, glad to see him up and moving and all, but . . .”
The captain glowered as only he was capable of. “He is as forthright as they come, and not half so mulish as Mulldoos. Hewspear will do nothing to endanger the men—if he says he is fit, he is fit, and there’s an end to it.”
“Aye, Cap.” Vendurro rode back towards the rest of the soldiers as well.
I looked at Braylar and couldn’t help gulping as I asked, “Captain, if we get trapped against the—”
“The Godveil is my concern. Translating is yours. Back to it, Arki.”
I climbed back in and tried to focus on my job.
Our convoy changed direction and we rolled over the uneven terrain. While it wasn’t as hilly as it had been in the first stretch of Urglovia, it was a far cry from the flat plains of Anjuria. The captain wasn’t interested in any company at all, even silent company, and ordered me back into the wagon to continue translating. He didn’t add “while there was still time,” but then again, he didn’t have to. Escape wasn’t looking promising, and he had made it clear that we were not going to surrender. I tried very hard to focus on the worn pages in front of me, hoping to distract myself from envisioning mad charges to our doom, but I found myself rereading the same passages over and over again. Hours passed by and I made only halting progress.
It didn’t help that most of the recent documents were exceedingly dull and mundane—more lay subsidies, catalogues of public works by some priest of Truth or another, and endless inventories of larders documenting depleted this or that at one temple or another. Even worse were manorial or baronial records and other texts written by secular parties, as there was almost no likelihood of encountering anything related to Memoridons, frames, cursed weapons, or anything else of interest. Still, I pressed on, but it was so odd to be reading the most boring tomes ever drafted while every mile likely brought us closer to obliteration.
Chains of the Heretic Page 4
