131 Days [Book 1]

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “You don’t have to make imaginary reasons for doing this. If you really want to train these men, I’ll not stop you. Just be honest with me. You’d be doing this because you miss it?”

  He filled his cup, nodded, and peered into the courtyard below, hearing something metal clatter on stones.

  “Koba will be happy,” Nala said.

  “I suppose he might.” He placed the bottle back on the table.

  “I’m sure he will. He’s eager to crack the whip now. It’s a good thing we don’t let him near the horses.”

  Clavellus chuckled gently. “So you don’t mind?”

  Nala shook her head. “Just be careful. I’d like to have a few more years with you, you know. If you can manage it.”

  And with that, she slipped away, through the curtains and beyond.

  I’d like to have a few more years with you—she’d said those words to him more times than he could count, and every time, he wondered how he’d ever won her heart in the first place. She knew it too; thus, the constant reminders. She didn’t have to say it, but Clavellus suspected she knew how much he loved it when she did.

  Just then, the tall, bulky form of Koba came into view, walking in almost a swagger across the courtyard and heading towards the smithy, his bald head glistening in the sun.

  “Koba,” Clavellus called out.

  The man stopped in his tracks and gazed up, the horrific scar on the left side of his face glistening with sweat.

  “Come up. We have something to talk about.”

  The big man blinked for a moment, his teeth shining in the brightness of the sun, and turned towards the front door of the main house.

  18

  Rolling away from the capital city of Sunja, the koch bounced over the pitted road, and the forest framed in the open windows jumped with it. The pleasant smell of country air, trees, and fresh water enticed the men to take deep breaths, comfortably filling their lungs and marvelling at how good it tasted. They stared out at the passing scenery, wistful at times, almost forgetting the rough road. Houses and barns, few and far between, drifted in and out of sight like dark islands in a swaying sea of yellow against a wall of jagged green. They passed the open fields known as Plagur’s Reach, which were used as farmland. The driver had assured his passengers they would be in Karashipa before nightfall. That suited Goll fine as long as his arse didn’t drop off from the rattling of the koch. They would find lodgings for the night in town, perhaps with a hot bath if he had his way. After such a lengthy run, he’d need a good hot soak.

  Halm took up one side of the koch, at one point smoothing a hand over the blue cloth covering the worn cushions, while Goll and Muluk shared the opposite seat.

  They were the only ones aboard the vehicle, which Goll had reminded them twice already, was fortunate. “As some of us are larger than others,” he’d said without a smile, keeping a hand on his crutches where he’d laid them across the floor, pinning them to the wall.

  “Was that a jab, friend Goll?” Halm asked. “Because if it was, I can sling it back, I’ll have you know.”

  “Wasn’t a jab,” Goll said. “You’re fat. I’ve no idea how you ever managed to survive a fight when you are carrying all that weight.”

  Halm placed a hand against his protruding gut. “This is nothing. It’s armour.”

  “Armour that bleeds.”

  “Only if I get hit,” Halm said. “See, men look at me and think what you’re thinking, and then I go and prove them wrong. I’d be too fast if I were thinner. Fights would be finished too quickly.”

  Goll stared at the Zhiberian in disbelief, his head resting in a hand propped up by his elbow sticking out the window. “It’s not amusing. We need to take some of that off you. If you were back in Kree—”

  “Nice country, I’ve heard.”

  Caught off guard, Goll stopped, frowned, and continued. “If you were back in Kree, my trainers would punish you for being such a size.”

  “Would your trainers allow me to fight with them?”

  “Not if you looked like that.”

  “Well then, I wouldn’t have that problem, would I?” Halm said through a straight line of a smile.

  His frown deepening, Goll averted his gaze out the window.

  “Big forest coming.” Muluk craned his head half out his window. Halm twisted around and did the same on his and Goll’s side, knowing full well he blocked the Kree’s view.

  “So there is.” Halm settled back. “These copses grow together. You know the name of this area?”

  “No,” Muluk said.

  Goll shook his head, clearly not in a mood to talk with the Zhiberian.

  “Damn being a foreigner, eh?” Halm smiled.

  “Plenty of farmland.” Muluk squinted in the breeze.

  “Sunja grew itself up out of these lands.”

  “I thought it was livestock.”

  “That as well. Furs. Cloth. Silk.” Halm became thoughtful. “Do you know what they make the silk from?”

  “No.”

  “Worm shite.”

  Muluk’s face crunched in disbelief. “What? That’s not true.”

  “It is. It is.” Halm grinned. “Worm shite.”

  Goll clenched his forehead in his hand, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Muluk. “Is it true?”

  “No, it’s not true.”

  “It is,” Halm insisted.

  “I’ll ask one of the guards there once we stop again.” Muluk bounced as the wheels rolled over a pothole.

  “We already stopped once for a piss,” Halm said. “Unless you mean when we reach the town itself.”

  “That’s what I meant,” Muluk replied with a chop of his hand.

  “We’ll have to stop for a piss again. Or just to get out for a bit. Stretch the legs,” Goll added.

  “Or the crutches,” Halm said.

  “Don’t start anything,” Muluk warned him. “I’m starting to fall asleep here.”

  “Too rough to fall asleep,” the Zhiberian said.

  “After general quarters, this suits me well enough.”

  Goll went back to watching the passing landscape, causing Halm to break into a grin. Daylight gradually darkened as the tall elm trees formed a natural canopy above. Wild grass rose up perhaps as high as a person’s knee but stopped and drooped at the edge of the travelled road. The ride started to smooth out in Halm’s mind, and by late evening, sleep tugged at him. He sniffed and wiped his face, feeling sweat there. As nice as it was to have a breeze blow through the koch, the temperatures were still high. Across from him, Goll had already gone under, his forehead pressed against one side of the interior. Next to him, his Kree countryman also struggled with staying awake. Muluk’s mouth hung open as his head tapped the back wood in a warped beat. His unshaven beard appeared even blacker in the shadowy light. Halm felt the hellion’s urge to scream right then and frighten the shite out of both men, but that would only cause him to sleep with one eye open later on. Krees could be right vengeful bastards.

  Muluk crossed his arms, and his head slumped forward, bouncing lightly with the koch. Only a moment later, a thin line of drool slinked from his lips to his lap. Halm made a face and closed his eyes.

  He hoped he didn’t have nightmares.

  The koch came to a stop with a gentle shake, rousing Halm from his sleep. It was night, and from where he sat, he couldn’t see any moon. He yawned and made a face, glancing out the window and seeing torchlight in a few homesteads’ open windows. Woodsy air carried a hint of smoke, cooking roasts, and something else that was certainly food but unidentifiable. The koch rocked as the drivers and guardsmen hopped to the ground, their groans piquing Halm’s interest all the more. He scratched his belly and kicked at his sleeping companions.

  Goll woke in an instant, gasping and whipping his head about as if he’d been underwater for some time.

  “We’re here?” Muluk straightened, wiping his mouth with an open palm.

  “We are.” Halm eyed the homesteads. “E
arlier than expected. But it doesn’t seem like much though.”

  The door opened, and one of the drivers—a portly man wearing a white shirt—bade them step out. “Karashipa,” he announced.

  “Is there an inn nearby?” Goll asked.

  “An inn? Not here. Too small.” Darkness veiled the driver’s face. “There’s a small alehouse down by the water, however. But no rooms if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. The night’s a good one, and there’s no rain on the air. A good time to sleep outside.”

  “Outside?” Goll did not sound impressed in the least.

  “We sleep under the koch all the time during fair weather. Over there are a few more trees. It’s quiet enough. And safe. We’ve pulled up into a little waiting area near the village. We’ll be heading back at noon, by the way.”

  “Should be plenty of time. We’ll be here.” Goll slipped out the open door. “You said village. I heard it was a town.”

  “A town?” The amusement in the driver’s voice was unmistakable. “Who told you that gurry? Not enough people to be a town. You’ll see.”

  “Not much to look at, is it?” Halm commented.

  “There’s a lake that way.” The driver pointed west as he walked towards the horses. “That’s where the alehouse is. You’ll find both. Easy enough.”

  The driver left the three companions to the darkness of the trees.

  “Well?” Muluk asked.

  Goll swung himself to a nearby tree trunk and settled down. “Not the first time I’ve slept outside.”

  “Sounded like the first time.”

  “Yes, well, you weren’t listening right.”

  “Hungry.” Halm touched his belly.

  “It’ll be easier to find things in the morning,” Goll said. “This isn’t Sunja. Barely a village by the looks of it.”

  He was right on that point. The road twisted off, but in the sparse light, Halm couldn’t see exactly where. He liked the smell of the place, however. After the city’s brick, stone, and sewage, the country air was almost as potent as mead. Sounds of distant conversation, ghostly in the night, perked his ears.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Muluk was already stretched out on the earth with his upper half leaning against a dark trunk.

  “Not that tired.”

  “Not a point of being tired,” Goll explained from where he settled down. “It’s waiting until the morning. Can’t seek out Thaimondus after dark. The man could be sleeping or anything. We’ll find him in the morning. At least then he’ll be able to see our faces.”

  “I’m going to find this alehouse,” Halm muttered and didn’t wait for a reply though he did heard Goll say something in Kree. He didn’t want to hear the translation. It would probably be a warning about not spending any coin.

  A small glade surrounded the parked koch, and he spotted the driver and one guard settling down for the night. Halm waved to them both. One of the shadows raised his hand in reply, and Halm walked off, following the road, which led deeper into the village of Karashipa. The houses, their hewn timbers fitted together with the seams filled with clay or some such material, lay on either side of the bare road. Huge plots of land divided each dwelling. Trees grew between the structures, and as Halm walked on in the night, listening to the soft sounds of voices coming from within, he found himself smiling at the sleepy quiet. He wondered if the villagers living here were famers or other tradespeople.

  Farther down the road he trotted, expecting to strike the edge of the lake at any moment. Though the night was moonless, he could make out the vast black surface of the water and a few indistinct lumps. Conversation and laughter drew him towards a small building on his right. A doorway briefly opened, and a figure trekked to the corner, heavy footsteps clapping on the bare planks. The shadow winked out of sight.

  Halm peered at the open windows glowing with firelight.

  Probably the only business in the whole village, he thought and proceeded, thinking about buying a drink and seeing what was what.

  He stepped up to the door, noting the wispy sheets of netting over the windows to keep the biting bugs out. The thick logs appeared old and fibrous, long since dried out and bereft of scent. The door itself was ill-fitting in the frame and looked more like an archery target as several splintery grooves and holes scarred the surface. The alehouse wasn’t anything fine, not like the ones in the city, but “serviceable” came to mind. All was fine in Halm’s opinion as long as it did what it was supposed to do. Patting his belly in fond anticipation, he took hold of the door’s latch and pulled it open.

  Some smoke drifted out, and seven faces turned in his direction. Five men sat divided amongst two of four tables in the place, while a pair of rough-looking characters swayed at the bar. They paused, bleary eyed, with their pipes. A rough-looking stone fireplace dominated one wall, with the remnants of a few wooden junks smouldering within, while above it, stretched out and nailed in place, was a rough canvas painting of rolling hills and a sun. A woman minded the place from behind the counter, like a fresh soldier standing guard behind battlements, and gave him the only nod as he crossed the threshold. Halm greeted them all with what he felt was a friendly wink and grin while very much aware that the conversation had died away into nothing.

  Still, he was inside now, and thirsty.

  “What do you have?” he asked the bar wench, putting on his pleasant best of a smile.

  “Just ale and Sunjan black.” The woman studied him and made no qualms about it, as did the rest.

  “Nothing to eat?”

  “You came in too late.”

  “Then a pitcher of ale.”

  “A pitcher?” She smiled in a dubious way. “Five silver.”

  “Five silver?” That impressed Halm. “Half price of anything in Sunja.”

  The woman, with her sable hair tied back and her narrow face, regarded him for a moment as she took a pitcher and went to one of five raised barrels behind the counter. She wore a plain green dress buttoned to the neck, with a white apron tied around her waist. Halm thought there was nothing special about her looks, certainly not like the dishes in the city, but his eyes ran over her form out of habit. There was, just perhaps, a figure well hidden beneath her unflattering clothing.

  He felt his smile widen when he realized that the two men standing at the bar had steadied themselves and watched him with stoic expressions. They were farmer types, smaller than the Zhiberian but solid looking. Halm knew it only took one wrong look to set off a protective husband, and a blade was always an equalizer. Clearing his throat, he nodded to the pair. They didn’t return it, and he knew then they’d seen him sizing up the bar wench. Behind him, someone laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, but Halm didn’t turn around.

  The woman plopped a wooden pitcher and cup down in front of Halm as he fiddled with his purse. He still had a few coins left, and he placed one of the gold ones on the counter. The expression on the woman’s face softened just a little as she took it.

  “Won’t be needing the cup.” Halm nudged it back towards her.

  She made it disappear without a word and then avoided his gaze by looking at the counter as she counted out his change. She left the few coins on the counter before moving away. Frowning at his failed attempt, Halm scooped up the silver and deposited it in his waist purse. He hoisted the pitcher in one fist and saluted the nearby men. Halm took a great draining sip from it, downing a third before placing it on the counter. Good, he thought and rubbed his face. The trip had been lengthy, and he was growing increasingly tired of travelling distances without anything to eat or drink.

  Scratching at his belly, Halm belched loudly enough to startle the pair of smokers and took a moment to study the cozy interior of the little alehouse. The men sitting at the table still stared at him—he could feel it—but he wouldn’t turn around. The long cut logs of the place put Halm in mind of the homesteads back in his native land and a longing for the co
olness of short summers.

  “He’s a fat one, isn’t he?” someone croaked from behind him.

  That made Halm cock an eyebrow.

  “Thick around the neck, too.”

  He took another swallow straight from the pitcher before turning. The speaker was a shrivelled-up thing—an ancient-looking topper, his jaw hanging low as if panting for breath, with one gleaming tooth jutting up from the lower lip like a forgotten fang. Grey hair was slicked back, keeping clear of a face that hadn’t aged gracefully. His clothing, perhaps once well made, were three sizes too large for him.

  “Aye, you see me now, don’t you?” The man wheezed, his glaring, rheumy eyes locking on the Zhiberian. “You fat bastard.”

  Halm looked from this unpleasant old punce to the younger one sitting beside him. Dark of complexion, hair, and eyes, he observed Halm with a lethal air, his chin unshaven. Well-built and broad of shoulder, his tunic displayed arms that were coated with a sheen of fat but powerful looking all the same.

  “My apologies.” Halm pleasantly saluted them both with the pitcher. “I’ll leave shortly.”

  “Not soon enough.” The old man puffed the words as if their very utterance pained him. He grinned, displaying yellow nubs that passed for teeth. His jaw rolled as though he chewed on something, but his sickly eyes remained on Halm, making him uneasy. “Not soon enough, fat bastard. You fat…” The attacker seethed the word to its fullest, making the sound snap. “Bastard. There was a time when, if a man had that much meat on his bones, it was considered hoarding food while others starved. Gluttony is a crime. A crime, you unfit ball licker.”

  Halm regarded the thick man sitting next to the old bastard. “I think he’s had enough.”

  The one with the dark complexion and eyes said nothing, but the corner of his mouth hitched ever so slightly in a sneer. “He hasn’t had a drop.”

  “You wish I did.” The old man cackled and broke into a cough that made his sloped shoulders jump. “You wish I did. No, I see you with these old, sick eyes of mine, and I can tell you, you filthy, wet dog blossom, you shite eater, that the pitcher of horse piss you’re quaffing down is worth more than twenty of the likes of you.”