by Luke Scull
‘What’re you talking about? I never went whoring with you!’
‘Aye, true. No wonder you’re so bloody good with a sword, Kayne. You’ve had more practice swinging your weapon than any man I know. Let’s see if you can keep up now you’ve got a woman doing it for you.’
‘Cheeky bastard!’ Kayne had to chuckle at the sheer nerve of his young friend. Mhaira had finished speaking with Braxus’s wife Sal and was about to make her way over to them. He lowered his voice. ‘I wanted to thank you,’ he told Borun. ‘For stepping in at the last minute. For volunteering to stand as Spirit Father.’
Borun shrugged. ‘You’d have done the same for me. Not that I’d ever be stupid enough to wed. Brothers forever, aye?’
Kayne nodded, and the two men bumped their fists together. ‘Brothers forever.’
Mhaira joined him and the two spent the next while in each other’s arms. Kayne placed a gentle hand on his new wife’s stomach. ‘We’ll name him Magnar,’ he whispered. ‘If he’s a boy. After your da.’
Mhaira hugged him tighter and he knew that had been the right thing to say. He stroked her hair, thanking the spirits for bringing this woman into his life. As he stood there with his arms wrapped around her, he became strangely aware of the sensation he was being watched. He looked up to see a large raven perched on the edge of the tallest tower, staring down at him.
The bird screeched once and then took to the wing, soaring west in the direction of Heartstone.
Choice and Consequence
Brothers forever.
Brodar Kayne poked the dying embers of the campfire and cracked his knuckles, easing the stiffness from his fingers. His joints had been bothering him worse than ever since they’d left the swamp. The pervasive sense of decay in that place seemed to have somehow wormed its way into his own aching body, making him feel even more beaten-up than usual. He stared up at the stars, thinking of Mhaira. Of the night they’d spent together after their joining.
It was funny how the years took their toll on a man. On his health, slowly robbing him of his youthful notions of immortality until he was glad just to be able to get up in the morning. On the hopes he’d once had; ambitions that had fallen by the wayside; dreams that would give a man purpose one minute and feel as empty as the night sky the next.
Yet for all that time stole, there was that handful of moments during a lifetime that would remain etched in the memory. It was those moments that defined you, Kayne reckoned. The choices made. The friends won and lost. The decision to do the right thing or the easy thing, and it was impossible to tell which of the two a man would choose until the time came. Even a man he had once called brother.
There was a rustle of movement behind him and Brick crept over to sit beside the fire. The boy had been awfully quiet since the necromancer’s tower. Kayne passed over a bowl of the rabbit stew they’d cooked up for supper. ‘We’ll ford the River of Swords tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Once we’re through the Purple Hills, you’re free to go.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Brick seemed less excited by the prospect than he had a week or two ago.
‘No sign of your uncle. Where d’you reckon he’s got to?’
The boy spoke around mouthfuls of food. ‘Maybe he’s hiding from the Bandit King’s men. Do you think they found our trail?’
Kayne shrugged. ‘More than likely. Something tells me we ain’t seen the last of them, at any rate.’
Brick finished his bowl and set it down on the grass. He stared into the guttering flames, and when he spoke again his voice sounded very small. ‘Why did you save me back at the swamp?’
‘We had a deal. You’re our guide.’
‘I’m not stupid! You don’t need me. You never needed me. Jerek could guide you through the Badlands blindfolded. That necromancer might have killed you!’
‘He might’ve. But he didn’t.’ Kayne reached down and rubbed his aching knees. ‘I weren’t so different to you once upon a time, lad. Someone gave me a chance, and I took it. Figured I owed you the same.’
‘And Jerek?’
‘What about him?’
‘He risked his life for me. I thought he hated me. I thought he hated everyone. He’s always threatening people.’
Kayne rubbed a hand ruefully over his bristly chin. He needed a good shave. ‘What a man says and what a man does are two separate things,’ he said slowly. ‘A person can present as many different faces as there are folk to believe in ’em, but you never learn the truth of their character till they’re put to the test.’
Brick’s brow creased in confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Words don’t mean nothing. Being agreeable ain’t the same as being true. When it comes right down to it, it’s a man’s deeds that define who he is.’
Brick nodded slowly.
‘You’re a good kid, Brick. Never do anything your heart knows is wrong just because someone told you to. Not even your uncle Glaston.’
‘He’s not a bad man, you know,’ Brick said quietly. ‘He rescued me from Asander and the Seer. He raised me as his own. All the showiness, it’s just an act. He needs his followers to believe he’s smarter than they are.’
Kayne remembered Skarn and the things that bastard would do to impress or intimidate the rest of his gang. Skarn would never have rescued a child. More likely the opposite. Maybe this Glaston wasn’t as bad as he thought. ‘You ask me,’ he said slowly, ‘any man who raises another’s as his own can’t be that bad a sort.’
That seemed to lift Brick’s spirits, but before he could reply the sound of clashing steel rang out across the camp. Kayne leaped to his feet, fearing they were under attack, but when he turned it was to see Jerek and Grunt facing off. The Wolf had his twin axes in his hands, while the big greenskin clutched a pair of swords they’d found in Nazala’s tower.
Kayne was about to ask the pair why they were fighting – though as far as the Wolf was concerned, a reason was generally an optional extra – when Grunt bared his tusks in a grin. Jerek simply nodded, the tiniest of movements that for him passed as a towering act of respect. ‘Not bad. Where’d you learn to fight?’
Grunt made a series of gestures and then formed a dome shape with his hands.
‘He was a gladiator,’ Brick translated. ‘He fought in the great arenas far to the east. Then a… princess? No, a wizard took him away. He woke up in a box, in a big city. But he thinks something’s wrong. The world’s not the same as he remembers.’
Kayne breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t like to bet on a winner if the pair ever came to blows for real. ‘Aye,’ he said wryly. ‘It never is.’
The River of Swords wound down from the Purple Hills all the way west to the Broken Sea, cutting a jagged line across the northern reaches of the Badlands that was passable only at a few scattered points along its great length. Though the river rarely ran deeper than the height of three men, the currents were often strong enough to pull even the most determined swimmer beneath its churning waters.
The ford they were currently inspecting lay many miles west of the spot Kayne and Jerek had crossed into the Badlands earlier that year. The ford was narrow, perhaps two hundred feet across. Kayne saw something dark in the shallows and reached in. He brought out a length of rusted steel, so corroded it felt as though it would break apart in his hands under the slightest pressure.
‘How long do you reckon this has been there?’ he asked Brick.
The boy shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell. The horse tribes fought many wars over this land. According to Yahan beliefs, whichever tribe held the hills beyond the river were blessed by the gods.’
Kayne tossed the remains of the ancient sword back in the water. ‘Seems to me that if the horselords had spent less time killing each other and more time getting along, they might’ve eventually conquered the southern lands.’
Jerek stared across the water and spat. ‘Reckon you could say the same about the High Fangs.’
They dismounted and secured their horses, fastening their pac
ks as well as Grunt’s mysterious sack tightly to their mounts. The big mute led the way, wading out into the swift-moving water, which quickly rose until it reached his waist. The horses were less than happy, snorting and squealing and pulling back on their reins, but between the four of them the companions managed to stop the animals getting themselves drowned.
Near the middle of the ford, Brick slipped and went under. Only a quick reaction by Jerek saved his life, the Wolf reaching in and pulling the boy up before he was swept away by the current. The young bandit opened his mouth to stammer his thanks but Jerek simply turned away. ‘Watch what you’re doing,’ the Wolf growled.
When they were almost across the river, less than thirty feet from shore, Glaston rode into view.
The moustachioed bandit must have been hiding behind the thicket of trees lining the bank. He sat astride his showy white stallion, fancy sword hilt sticking out from his hip and flamboyant ponytail swaying behind him. He held his gloved hands out before him, palms open to show that he carried no weapon. ‘Peace!’ he called. ‘I wish only to talk.’
‘Uncle!’ Despite his near drowning, Brick’s face lit up. Jerek muttered a torrent of curses.
‘Got any friends hiding behind those trees?’ Kayne called out, keeping his voice level.
‘I’m alone.’
‘Get off your horse. Slowly. And keep your hands where I can see them.’
Glaston did as he was asked, sliding effortlessly from his saddle. He locked his hands behind his ponytail and then went to his knees, a gesture that struck Kayne as perhaps a trifle dramatic.
Brick splashed his way out of the river, almost tripping as the others waded through the shallows. The boy threw his arms around his uncle, who patted him fondly on the head.
‘Calm, Wolf,’ Kayne whispered. Jerek’s face was like thunder, his teeth grinding together as if he were chewing rocks.
‘You tried to kill us,’ Kayne said pointedly, once they joined Glaston and his nephew on dry land.
The bandit inclined his head. ‘For that I can only apologize. My men were near starved and our situation had grown desperate. Things got rather… out of hand. I was thinking only of their welfare, and that of Brick here.’
‘Prick,’ Jerek rasped.
Kayne crossed his arms, trying to appear forbidding despite being soaked to the bone. In truth, he couldn’t really blame Glaston. You did what you had to in order to survive. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I bring dire warning.’
‘Let’s hear it, then. If it’s a good one we might just let you ride away.’
‘Allow me to start at the beginning. I had been trailing you for weeks, as you were doubtless aware. When I saw my nephew was in no immediate danger I decided to keep a safe distance and bide my time. Then a sizeable band of Asander’s men showed up and you fled to the swamp.’
‘Go on.’
‘I watched an army of corpses chase Asander’s men from the swamp. They regrouped to the east, and I managed to get close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. They’re planning to ambush you in the hills ahead.’
Kayne’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why ride all this way just to warn us?’
Glaston placed a gloved hand on his nephew’s shoulder. ‘Whatever our grievances, I could not allow Brick to ride into danger.’
A moment of silence passed, and then Kayne grunted. He’d have done the same in the circumstances. ‘We need to pass those hills,’ he said. ‘We ain’t got a choice. Not if we want to make it to Mal-Torrad.’
The bandit leader smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. ‘I know of another route through. I can show you the path, with Asander’s men none the wiser. Consider it my apology for attempting to rob you.’
‘Bullshit,’ Jerek spat. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I have no reason to lie, friend. I only wish to see my nephew safely returned to me.’
Brick turned to Kayne, his green eyes shining with excitement. ‘Let my uncle come with us! He knows these hills better than anyone alive.’
Glaston raised an eyebrow. ‘You rather seem to be enjoying the company of these men.’
‘We had a deal, Uncle. You always taught me to keep my word.’
Kayne cleared his throat. ‘You’re free to go, Brick. I reckon you’ve lived up to your end of the bargain already.’
To his surprise, Brick looked disappointed. ‘But I wanted to help,’ the boy said. He reminded Kayne of Magnar just then, and the old warrior’s objections died in his throat when he saw the hopeful expression in those emerald eyes. He glanced at Grunt, who shrugged, and then at Jerek, who seemed on the verge of exploding.
‘All right, lad. You and your uncle can guide us through the hills. But after that we go our separate ways.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Kayne.’ The Wolf shook his head in disgust and spat in the river. Brick, though, wore a big grin.
‘There were skeletons,’ Brick was telling his uncle. The two of them were riding double on Glaston’s horse up in front. ‘Skeletons that moved!’
Glaston listened to his nephew in silence. Occasionally he would stroke his moustache. Kayne followed behind, Jerek just to his right, Grunt to his left.
Hills rose all around them, blanketed by purple flowers. Glaston twisted in his saddle and gestured at the colourful view.
‘The dahlia flower,’ the bandit said. ‘The Yahan cultivated them. They believed the stems would drink the blood of the fallen, and that the flowers would house the souls of the dead until the Great Wheel turned and they were reborn anew. They were a primitive people, the horselords. Rather like your friend there. What exactly… is he?’
‘Grunt?’ Kayne replied. ‘Dunno. Never thought to ask. Don’t see as it’s important.’
‘Not important? You could be travelling with a monster.’
The big greenskin made a gesture with a finger you didn’t need to know hand language to understand.
Kayne thought about pointing out the fact that Grunt had never tried to kill him, but in the end he decided to let it pass for Brick’s sake. ‘How’d you know all this stuff? The names of flowers, facts about the horse tribes and such.’
‘My father taught me to read, just as I taught Brick. I have acquired many books over the years. There is nothing more valuable than the written word.’
‘Brick said you got noble blood in your veins. That your ancestors were Andarran princes.’
Glaston slumped slightly in his saddle. ‘That’s right.’ He seemed a good deal more subdued than during their last encounter, but then Kayne figured getting your followers killed and fleeing like a coward would rob anyone of a certain amount of bravado.
They squeezed along a narrow gulley winding down between two hills, and soon they emerged into a steep basin. Fast-rising slopes surrounded them all on sides, drowning in towering dahlia flowers dense enough to conceal a small army. The perfect spot for an ambush, in fact.
Jerek immediately brought his horse to a halt. ‘I fucking knew it,’ he growled.
The flowers shifted and then began to part. Bandits slunk out of the foliage, bows raised and arrows targeted at the small group below. Glaston suddenly spun his white stallion around, positioning his nephew between himself and the Highlanders.
‘Uncle?’ Brick said, panic rising in his voice. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Shush. Say nothing.’
The bandits kept on coming, a host of them, ready to launch a storm of arrows at a moment’s notice. From this distance, the bandits couldn’t miss.
‘Shit,’ Kayne said. He met Glaston’s eyes and saw the truth there. The man had set them up.
‘Well, well. If it’s not the two goat-fuckers that killed half my band this winter just past.’
Kayne squinted. His eyesight was bad and getting worse, but he didn’t need to strain hard to recognize the identity of the speaker. There weren’t many bandits wide enough for two men. ‘Fivebellies.’
‘You remember me!’ The corpulent bandit placed a hand over his h
uge stomach and gave it an affectionate pat. ‘Twenty-seven of my men are dead thanks to you. I should have listened to my stomach; it never lies. The pair of you turned the roads near Emmering into a bloodbath.’
‘Never start something you can’t finish.’
Fivebellies smiled nastily. ‘Oh, I plan to finish it right enough. But first we’re taking you to meet the Bandit King. My cousin’s got something special planned for you.’
Glaston shifted on his horse and ran a finger nervously over his moustache. ‘I delivered them as promised. Where’s my reward?’
Brick flung his arms back, whacking his uncle in the face. The youngster threw himself from the horse and scrambled to his feet. ‘You said you would lead them to safety,’ he screamed. ‘You lied!’
‘I had no choice in the matter!’ Glaston exclaimed. He dabbed at his nose, where Brick’s elbow had drawn blood. ‘I’m done with this life, boy. I spent years convincing Raff and Slater and the rest to join us. Now they’re all dead and we’re back to square one.’ The bandit yanked off his gloves and hurled them to the grass. ‘I’m too old for this,’ he said wearily. ‘We’re never going to beat Asander. Better to let bygones be bygones and take the gold. We’ll settle somewhere in the Unclaimed Lands. You can find yourself a girl.’
‘But I promised them! You taught me never to break my word!’
Glaston sighed. ‘Things change, Brick.’ He turned to Fivebellies. ‘As we agreed? Twenty gold and you let my nephew and me leave in peace.’
Fivebellies nodded. ‘Sawyer, give the man what he’s owed.’
Kayne watched what happened next with a bone-deep weariness, a familiar sickness in his stomach. The bandit named Sawyer raised his bow and fired an arrow that hit Glaston in the shoulder, knocking him from his stallion. Glaston tried to rise, but a second arrow thudded into his back, knocking him face down in the mud. Still he struggled to his knees, began to crawl towards Brick, who tried to run to him.
Kayne saw the danger. He grabbed hold of the boy, dragging him back kicking and screaming. ‘Easy, lad,’ he whispered. ‘Easy. It’s too late now.’
