Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North

by Luke Scull

  Slowly the red mist receded. He stared down at hands crimson with gore. Then he rolled off Red Ear’s body and vomited up what little food he had in his stomach.

  A dark shadow fell over him. He turned his head to stare up into the Shaman’s pitiless gaze. ‘You’, the Magelord rumbled, ‘have proven yourself strong of spirit. I will fix your body so that you may serve your king at the Borderland.’ The hulking figure bent down, placed palms dancing with yellow fire over his injured knee. The arrowhead wedged there began to smoke, and then caught fire.

  Kayne screamed until darkness came for him.

  Savages

  Nine days after leaving Ashfall, the heavens opened.

  One minute they were following a ridge of naked hills, sweltering in the afternoon heat. The next the sun seemed to drop out of the sky and the horizon turned black. The first drops of rain fell hesitantly, throwing up lazy puffs of rust-coloured dust, but it soon became a raging deluge that soaked them all to the bone.

  Kayne hunched in his saddle and listened to the roar of the rain battering the hot stone and the sloshing of his horse’s hooves as the animal struggled against the torrent. Brick rode nearby, freckled face filled with misery. Five days had passed since they had last spotted his uncle watching them far in the distance. Brick’s expression suggested he thought Glaston might well have given up the pursuit.

  Kayne suspected otherwise. There was no shortage of hidden gullies and sharply rising ridges this far west. A skilled tracker could easily conceal himself from view, particularly if he knew the lay of the land.

  For his part, Brick seemed to be guiding them well. They had avoided running into any more trouble, though there was little reason for bandits to venture this close to the coast. The Unclaimed Lands to the east provided plenty of opportunity for daring raids on the smaller, poorly defended settlements.

  Kayne glanced at Brick again. The young bandit’s face was so glum that he couldn’t help but feel a trifle sorry for him. ‘All right?’ he grunted, just loud enough to be heard over the storm.

  Brick mouthed something in response, but it was lost between the thundering downpour and the water running into Kayne’s ears.

  ‘What’s that? I didn’t catch it,’ he yelled back.

  ‘I said I’m all right!’ Brick shouted. The boy’s unruly red hair was plastered to his forehead. Kayne was surprised to learn that Brick was barely into his thirteenth winter. He was tall for his age.

  ‘Oh.’ Kayne shook his head from side to side, attempting to drain his ears without much success.

  The two of them rode on in silence at a slow trot. The rain had made the ground slippery; the last thing they needed was for one of the horses to fall and break a leg.

  Further ahead, Jerek’s horse came to an abrupt halt. Without turning the Wolf raised a hand in warning. Kayne immediately reined in his mount, as did Brick. They had untied the boy’s wrists the day after his capture. He was a skilled rider and might have escaped the two Highlanders if he was of a mind, but Kayne had seen something in the lad he reckoned he could trust.

  ‘Saw something move up there,’ Jerek growled, nodding at the rain-shrouded hills behind them.

  Brick flicked hair out of his eyes and stared up at the rising ridge. ‘Hill-men,’ he whispered.

  Kayne squinted. He couldn’t see a damned thing. ‘Hill-men?’

  ‘Wild people. They live among the hills, sometimes under them.’

  Kayne’s brow furrowed. ‘Are they dangerous?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Kayne scratched at his stubble. ‘And you didn’t think to warn us, or have us keep a safe distance? Bit of an oversight, that.’

  ‘They shouldn’t be this far west,’ Brick explained. ‘Maybe they came here fleeing Asander. He killed many of their kind.’

  Kayne reached behind him, placed one hand on the hilt of his greatsword and the other on his horse’s rein. ‘Nothing we can do about it now,’ he said, blinking rainwater from his eyes. ‘We’d best get moving before—’

  A large rock suddenly tumbled down the hillside, missing Brick’s horse by a whisker. The beast snorted nervously. Before anyone could act, more rocks clattered down. One struck Brick’s mount on the flank and caused the beast to begin bucking wildly. The young bandit held on gamely but a mighty kick sent him flying from the saddle. His head bounced once on the ground and he didn’t move. Brick’s horse bolted off and disappeared behind the veil of rain.

  There was movement up ahead of Jerek. The Wolf spurred his horse forward and then the rain swallowed him up, leaving Kayne alone with the fallen boy. ‘Shit,’ he said.

  He leaped down from his horse, ignoring the sharp pain in his knees, and rushed over to Brick. Rocks were still ricocheting down the hill. A pebble struck him just above the eye and he found himself blinking away blood as well as water.

  ‘You all right?’ he grunted.

  Brick stirred and sat up. The young bandit winced, rubbed at the back of his head and then examined his hand. There was a dark smear on his palm. ‘I’m bleeding,’ he said weakly.

  ‘You’ll live. It’s surprising how tough it is to break a man’s skull.’ Kayne glanced around, but saw no sign of Brick’s mount. ‘Looks like you’re riding with me. Here, let me give you a hand.’

  They were climbing onto his brown mare when Jerek burst back into view, standing straight up on his stirrups, axes trailing beads of blood. ‘They got us surrounded,’ the Wolf snarled. A fist-sized rock suddenly flew past his bald head. Jerek shot Kayne a look the older Highlander knew all too well.

  Brodar Kayne dismounted again and this time he unsheathed his greatsword. Brick was rummaging around in the saddlebag, looking for his bow. Kayne thought about warning him to leave the weapon alone, but in the end he decided to keep quiet. Sometimes you had to trust your instincts.

  ‘Here they come,’ Jerek spat. With murder in his eyes and his scarred visage flecked with blood he looked like something out of a nightmare. In that at least, the half-dozen savages who suddenly emerged through the relentless sheets of rain were every inch his match.

  The hill-men were as naked as the day they were born. Filthy hair adorned with finger bones and other strange devices reached halfway to their waists. One was noticeably smaller than the others, and it took Kayne a moment to realize she was a woman, sagging breasts swaying wetly as she inched forward beside the men, whose shrivelled cocks were mostly concealed beneath extraordinary bushes of hair. Each of the savages clutched a thick cudgel of wood or stone in an oversized hand.

  ‘Nargh,’ growled the closest savage, his jaw jutting out further than any man’s ought. He shook his club at the Highlanders and their guide. The female hissed.

  Jerek spat right back at them. ‘Fuck off. I killed one of you pricks already. Shake that at me again and I’ll shove it up your arse.’

  Kayne placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Let’s see if we can’t do this the easy way,’ he whispered. He lowered his greatsword, resting the tip on the ground. ‘We mean no harm,’ he shouted affably. He pointed towards the north. ‘We were just riding by.’

  ‘Nargh,’ said the largest of the hill-men again. He bared oversized teeth and thumped his hairy chest.

  Kayne turned to Brick. ‘What’s he saying?’

  The young bandit shrugged his narrow shoulders. He already had an arrow nocked.

  ‘Right then,’ shouted Kayne, taking a step forward. ‘We don’t want any trouble and besides, it’s shitty weather for a fight. Sorry about your dead friend. We lost a horse, so I guess we’ll call us even, eh? What do you say?’

  The savages looked at one another, then began to hoot and holler and beat their weapons on the ground. The female raised a hand and they all fell silent except for the largest. She snarled and cuffed him around the back of the head and he quietened with a whimper.

  Kayne relaxed a fraction. Even among these wild savages, it seemed a man knew when to listen to his wife or mother. Likely one and the same around these par
ts, he reckoned, noting the uncanny resemblance between the brutes.

  The hill-woman scrutinized him thoughtfully. Then she shrank back, squatting down on her haunches as if preparing to grovel.

  Kayne shook his head ruefully. ‘There’s no need for that. It was our fault for intruding—’

  The woman suddenly thrust an arm forward and launched something at him. It connected with an ominous squelching sound. Kayne’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the fresh shit splattered over his hide shirt. The other savages began to howl and then they too were hurling slimy brown turds or smearing excreta across their bodies.

  ‘Fucking unbelievable,’ rasped Jerek in disgust. Before Kayne could respond the savages rushed towards them. Brick’s arrow struck one in the eye, dropping him lifeless, and then two of the stinking bastards were right in Kayne’s face, swinging with terrible strength. The cut he had taken above his eye still leaked blood, leaving him half-blind as he blocked blows powerful enough to shatter bone, driving him back against the ridge. He parried a cudgel aimed at his head. The impact almost knocked the greatsword from his hands, which were quickly growing numb.

  ‘Fine,’ he spat between gritted teeth. ‘I tried to be reasonable.’ He lashed out with a boot, hitting the nearest savage firmly in the groin. The hill-man’s eyes took on a distant look and his feral face twisted in agony. Kayne responded by wiping blood from his wounded eye with the back of one hand and then cleaving the dazed savage open from neck to sternum. It was a good kill, and would have merited a satisfied grunt had not his greatsword got stuck in the dead man’s chest.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, giving the weapon another tug. It didn’t budge.

  The remaining savage slammed into him like a runaway wagon. Kayne’s back crunched into the rock face behind him, the air knocked from his lungs and the greatsword torn from his wet grip.

  The hill-man pressed huge palms around Kayne’s throat and forced him back against the embankment, shit-smeared mouth and brown teeth straining to take a bite out his face. Kayne struggled to pry the savage’s fingers loose but the brute was as strong as hell. Seemed everyone he fought was stronger than him lately. Here he was again, overpowered by a younger and more powerful man.

  Still. He was Brodar Kayne, and he wasn’t once named Sword of the North for nothing.

  He let go of the hill-man’s wrist and reached up to the savage’s filthy mane. The savage squeezed harder but Kayne ignored the terrible pressure as he tugged hard on the bone charm hanging there. It came away in his hand in a tangle of slimy black hair. He turned it slightly in his shaking palm, angling the sharp point upwards.

  Then he stabbed with all his remaining strength. Shoved the bone right up the bastard’s left nostril.

  The savage howled in agony and reached for his face. Kayne threw himself into him and both Highlander and hill-man crashed down into a great puddle. Kayne raised the sliver of bone again and thrust it down into the savage’s throat. He grit his teeth as he felt it pierce flesh. Then he gave the bone a good hard drag.

  It wasn’t as easy as cutting with a blade. It took a while to open the savage’s throat, and for the screams to become gurgles and then fall silent.

  Kayne rolled away from the body. Close by, the corpse of another savage flopped face down, a broken arrow protruding from his chest. Brick had his bow aimed at the female savage, who was edging towards him.

  ‘Shoot her, lad,’ Kayne tried to shout, but it came out as more of a ragged wheeze. His chest was hurting and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  ‘She’s a woman!’ Brick yelled back. He sounded confused and more than a bit afraid. The wild woman hissed at him, raising a cudgel studded with nails and broken glass.

  Brick wavered and then suddenly Jerek was there, muscular arms covered in blood. He caught the swing aimed at the boy’s head between his axes, gave them a twist and yanked the club out of the savage’s hands. She spat and snarled and tried to bite the scarred warrior, eyes filled with hatred, spittle spraying around her chin.

  He head-butted her in the face.

  ‘Mad cunt,’ he muttered as she went down with a splash.

  Kayne stumbled over. The woman was still alive, judging by the way her drooping breasts rose and fell, but the rest were deader than dead.

  ‘Kayne. You okay?’ Jerek had a queer expression on his face. Almost like he was worried about something.

  ‘Fine,’ the old warrior lied. His chest had stopped hurting, but now he felt lightheaded – as if he needed to lie down.

  They stood in silence for a time. ‘Brick’s horse bolted,’ said Jerek eventually.

  Kayne nodded. The lightheaded feeling was beginning to pass. ‘He can ride with me.’ He walked slowly over to his mare. The beast waited patiently, unperturbed by the carnage. Jerek went to fetch his stallion, which was tossing its head skittishly.

  Brick wandered over, a haunted look in his green eyes. Likely this was the first time he had killed a man, Kayne thought. He shook his head sadly. The realities of the world caught up with everyone sooner or later. He hesitated, and then placed a hand gently on Brick’s shoulder. ‘Lad.’

  The young bandit blinked. ‘Yes?

  ‘I could use some help in wrenching a sword out of a body.’

  The downpour finally stopped later that afternoon, to everyone’s great relief. Every clop of the horses’ hooves sent up great splashes of water, but they didn’t dare slow their pace. They wanted to be out of sight of the hills before nightfall.

  The cut above Kayne’s eye had finally stopped bleeding, though it stung something rotten. Behind him, Brick sat Kayne’s horse in silence. He had a lump on his skull the size of an egg. Between their respective wounds and the threat of savages attacking at any moment, neither had much appetite for conversation.

  That changed when Brick sighted something to the east.

  ‘Your uncle?’ Kayne asked. His own eyes couldn’t make out more than a faint blur, but the sudden change in the boy’s expression told its own story.

  Brick grinned. ‘I knew he wouldn’t abandon me.’

  ‘I never doubted it. But remember, we have us a deal.’

  The youngster gave him a reproachful look. ‘I’ll keep my word.’

  ‘That’s what I figured. Or I’d never have given you your bow back.’

  ‘I… I’ve never killed anyone before.’

  Kayne nodded. He’d been expecting this. ‘You did what you had to do,’ he said levelly. ‘Those savages didn’t give us much choice in the matter. There’s a lot of dubious reasons for killing, but self-defence ain’t never been one of ’em. I hope you never need to learn about the others.’

  ‘How many men have you killed?’

  Kayne stared into the distance. ‘I try not to think about it.’

  They travelled in silence for a time, Jerek riding some way ahead. The darkening sky was as clear as the surface of a lake. Tomorrow promised to be glorious.

  ‘I hope you find them. Your wife and boy, I mean.’

  Kayne glanced back at Brick, surprised. There was a wistful look on the bandit’s face. Likely he was remembering his own family. ‘I hope so too,’ said Kayne. ‘You got a mother or father?’

  ‘No. They’re both dead.’

  ‘Sorry to hear.’

  ‘They were murdered,’ Brick added. ‘During the Unification War, when Asander united all the Badlands under his banner. I was only a babe then. My uncle Glaston raised me.’

  ‘I ain’t never met a bandit like your uncle.’

  Brick’s face lit up and Kayne couldn’t help but grin, knowing he was in for a story. Magnar had been the same once. He would run to greet his father, eyes shining with excitement, bursting to share all the mischief he and the other lads had got up to without their mothers knowing. Kayne remembered the moment his son had stopped confiding in him. Had clammed up whenever his father entered the room. The smile slowly faded.

  ‘You might not believe this,’ Brick began, youthful voice full of enthusiasm, �
��but my distant ancestors were nobles from Kingsport.’

  ‘Kingsport?’

  ‘The capital city of Andarr. It was the most powerful kingdom in the north. Well, except for Mal-Torrad.’

  ‘Andarr’s twenty feet under water. Has been for the last five hundred years.’

  ‘Not everyone died when the sea flooded the land. My ancestors escaped and helped settle the Unclaimed Lands.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘They helped fund the construction of Emmering. But after it was built the settlers chased them out of the city.’

  Kayne grunted at the young bandit to continue. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. There was no sign of the boy’s uncle.

  ‘The townsfolk rejected my ancestors’ rule,’ Brick explained. If he noticed his uncle’s sudden disappearance, he gave no indication. ‘They declared that no man of the Unclaimed Lands would ever bend knee to another.’

  ‘That don’t seem very grateful,’ Kayne said, though privately he thought those settlers had the right of it. He’d spent a few months in Dorminia and seen some things he wasn’t much fond of. As far as he was concerned, any system of rule where kids starved on the streets while a handful got fat needed a good fixing.

  ‘My family has noble blood,’ said Brick. ‘That’s why the Bandit King had my parents murdered. The Seer foretold a prophecy about the scions of Andarr.’

  Kayne raised an eyebrow. ‘A prophecy, eh?’

  Brick nodded. ‘The Seer foretold that one day the true rulers of the north would return and scour the land in a storm of blood and fire. She said I would be the catalyst. Or at least that’s what my uncle told me. I was only four and I hardly remember.’

  Kayne said nothing. The boy’s story sounded improbable: more than likely a flight of fancy dreamed up by this Glaston fellow.