‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘He was holding you and…damaging you in some way,’ Elana said. ‘I tried to stop him…’
Dirk remembered Nexodore’s fist crunching into Elana’s head, and how he had wondered if the blow had killed her.
‘…but I couldn’t. I blanked out myself after that. But Prince Lorant survived the blast from Nexodore. He blacked out for a couple of minutes but woke up to see Nexodore attacking us. He fired an arrow…luckily for us it hit the mark. When Nexodore’s attention was turned to the Prince, you used Madria’s Dagger to kill him.’
Dirk had no memory of the last bit; his head felt foggy. ‘What about your injury?’ he asked.
‘I had a headache for the rest of the day,’ Elana smiled, ‘but I am fine now.’
A thought occurred to Dirk. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Two nights have passed. It is now about six in the morning. The Caladri, including Princess Hajna herself, helped me to tend you. We all thought it likely you would die at first. You have still sustained serious injuries, though. You will never be fully healed, Dirk.’
Dirk nodded briefly to acknowledge the information. He certainly felt like he had been seriously damaged. He remembered the burning sensation of his insides. At the time he had assumed Nexodore had killed him. Elana had saved his life for a second time. He hoped that his actions had gone some way to repaying the debt.
Elana walked over to the bed and picked up a jug from the table in the corner. She carefully poured some of the contents into a mug.
‘The Caladri have prepared this for you. It will help with recovery and with the pain.’
She reached over to let him drink it, but Dirk insisted on reaching out to take it himself. He gave it a brief smell, but his stomach roiled in protest, so he decided to quickly take a gulp. As soon as the liquid hit his stomach he received a piercing, shuddering pain. It was as if the acids in his stomach were attacking his organs. He cried out in pain and doubled over as his stomach cramped, spilling the rest of the drink onto the bed. Gritting his teeth, Dirk controlled himself and sat back up, red faced.
‘Are you alright?’ asked Elana. Her voice did not sound unduly concerned, and that helped Dirk to calm down.
He nodded, ‘Yes.’
‘You will have that kind of reaction to anything for a while. This drink will help to heal your insides. But I think you have permanent damage there. You must eat and drink only the blandest of foods. And drink water instead of beer or wine.’
‘Very well,’ agreed Dirk. What else could he say? ‘What’s been going on while I’ve been asleep, then?’ he asked, hoping that a change of subject would make him feel better.
‘Szabolcs, Prince Lorant’s adviser, has identified the location of another of Madria’s weapons. It is in the hands of the Grand Caladri. I…asked Soren to wait until you had regained consciousness, which he agreed to. But now that you have, we will make our way there immediately. Nexodore’s comments were worrying. If Ishari knows of the existence of Madria’s weapons too, we are in a race to collect them all.’
‘I am going with you,’ said Dirk, worried that Elana was implying that he was to stay put and recover. He knew he was in no physical shape to continue the journey at the pace they travelled. But he was desperate not to be left behind here with the Caladri.
Elana frowned, as if she was about to deny his request. However, something seemed to make her change her mind and her face relaxed.
‘Very well,’ she said, giving a nod in acceptance. ‘I will go to see Soren about it. You need to get ready immediately, then.’
Dirk nodded. First of all though, he thought to himself, I need to empty my bladder.
It was night-time. The sun had set about an hour ago. Farred sat at his table in his tent. A couple of candles shed a bit of light about him and cast some flickering shadows, but the rest of his tent was shrouded in darkness. The united army of North Magnians, South Magnians and Middians were camped in the relative safety of Kelland. Farred and his men had made speedy progress since leaving home, successfully meeting up with the forces controlled by Prince Ashere and Brock, the Middian chieftain, at the agreed location.
Things had become more difficult since then. Firstly, Bastien, Duke of Morbaine, had been unable to persuade his brother, King Nicolas of Guivergne, to allow their force passage across Guivergnais territory. Wary that they should respect this, Farred and the other leaders had agreed to march from the Steppe to Kelland across the northern part of the duchy of Barissia. This meant moving across what was effectively enemy territory, since it was now well known that Duke Emeric had declared his duchy to be an independent kingdom from the Empire. Emeric had raised a large army which, although based in Coldeberg, could destroy their force of six thousand if they encountered it. They had decided that today they should ride across the duchy in one day. This was a tall order, but they were a highly mobile force, since most soldiers had their own mount. Those without shared mounts. They had been successful, though it had been a long and tense day.
Secondly, relations between the soldiers were not good. Many had, a week before, literally been enemies. Soldiers amongst the North and South Magnians had been stationed on either side of a hostile border. They were now expected to be comrades in arms. The tensions of the day had perhaps added to the problem: a fight had broken out this evening. A soldier of North Magnia had been stabbed. Luckily, the injury was not fatal, but Farred needed to restore order now or it would be lost forever.
The tent flap, facing Farred, was pulled aside. Burstan walked in.
‘You wanted to see me?’ he grunted.
Burstan was the captain of the troops who had been stationed on the Magnian border, about one thousand in all. This was about one half of all the troops under Farred’s command. Although Burstan had not directly disobeyed an order, he had made it quite plain that this experienced core of the army were his soldiers, challenging Farred to act otherwise. Since it was clear that he did command the loyalty of his men, Farred had avoided a confrontation over the issue. Until now. Burstan had been present at the confrontation earlier this evening and, according to accounts, had done nothing to stop it from taking place.
‘Yes, I sent someone for you about a half hour ago,’ Farred replied to the captain’s question. ‘Take a seat,’ he suggested, offering the chair opposite him.
Burstan sat down, a nonchalant air about him.
‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ said Farred. ‘As you know, there was a stabbing a couple of hours ago. By one of your men. Apparently, you were there. I’ve heard mention that you did more to stir up the antagonism than stop it. I shouldn’t have to remind you that we need to maintain unity amongst our forces so that we are an effective fighting force against the Haskans.’
‘Anyone who says I was stirring up trouble is a liar. I want a name,’ demanded Burstan angrily.
Farred remained quiet. With no name forthcoming, Burstan continued.
‘What you don’t understand is that for my men, most of whom ’ave served their country for years, it’s the North Magnians who are our real enemies, who are responsible for spilling South Magnian blood. Haskany poses no threat to us. That’s the way my men see it, and then they see you licking the arse of their Prince.’
The insult was meant to provoke, but Farred kept cool.
‘That sounds like treason to me. It’s Prince Edgar who decides who our enemy is, not you.’
Burstan’s face reddened. ‘I’m passing on to you what my men are thinking, that’s all. And my men,’ he continued, ‘make up half of our army, so I suggest you start listening to ‘em. Cos they won’t tolerate you accusing me of treachery.’
The gauntlet was being thrown down, much more obviously than before.
‘What you fail to appreciate, Burstan,’ Farred replied, keeping his voice neutral, ‘is the fact that there are four thousand other soldiers in this army in addition to ours. One of ours has stabbed one of theirs. Prince Ash
ere is outraged; Brock supports him. They came to see me about one hour ago. It’s all around the camp that you were there at the time. They’re asking for your head, since you were the officer in charge. And while you may have the support of your thousand men, that’s not enough to fight off four thousand.’
‘They want my head? What for?’ demanded Burstan. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Farred could see in the man’s eyes, however, that he almost did.
‘How did you expect them to react?’ asked Farred simply, almost gently.
Burstan thought about that for a while. ‘Look, I didn’t do the stabbing. It was Vanig. I didn’t encourage him, neither. I’m not that stupid.’
‘I believe you, Burstan. That’s what I said to Prince Ashere.’
Burstan looked at Farred gratefully. Farred almost felt sorry for him.
‘You’re a good soldier with a fine record. Prince Edgar told me as much himself. But we’re in a situation here. This attack can’t go unpunished. You know what has to happen.’
Burstan breathed out slowly. ‘Vanig’s not a child. He knows that something like this can get you killed. But he’d been drinking and he was provoked…he didn’t kill the other lad after all, did he?’
‘No, but what’s the message, Burstan? Stab a comrade and get away with it if you’re a bit tipsy? I’m not going to stand for that; neither are Prince Ashere and his troops.’
‘Alright, discipline is discipline,’ responded Burstan gruffly. ‘Death it is.’
‘There’s one more thing, Burstan. I told you that Ashere and Brock wanted you punished as well. I told them no, that you believe in discipline. But you’re going to have to prove it.’
Burstan didn’t understand at first. He frowned, then shrugged, as if to say that he kept discipline amongst his soldiers anyway. Then his face went pale as he realised what Farred was saying.
‘You mean—you want me to…do Vanig in myself?’
‘You have to. You’re his commanding officer. You need to show that you’re in charge.’
Burstan said nothing for a while, his mouth open as he thought about his situation.
‘So be it,’ he said finally, his voice thick. ‘I’ll do it.’ There was a pause. ‘May I be dismissed now?’ Burstan asked, not looking Farred in the eye.
‘Of course.’
Burstan stood up and made his way out of the tent without looking back. Farred was left in darkness. He turned around to look at the far corner of the tent. Prince Ashere was sitting in the shadows.
‘You handled that well,’ he commented, his voice a soft whisper.
Farred sighed. ‘We’ve maintained a united front for now, that’s the main thing. I’m thoroughly sick of this day.’
‘This is the hardest part: controlling the troops when there’s no fighting to be done. I tell you, it will be a relief when we reach Castle Burkhard and meet with the enemy. Things will be easier then.’
Farred gave a brief smile, for in the darkness he could not tell whether the Prince was making a joke or not.
23
Dark Tidings
DIRK HAD BEEN GIVEN A FEW minutes to prepare himself, and then they had set off. Prince Lorant, still recovering from his own encounter with Nexodore, had given them fresh mounts and loaned them the use of a couple of Caladri soldiers to make their journey out of his lands speedier. The soldiers knew the route, so the group could concentrate on setting a good pace.
For Dirk, the journey was intolerable. The physical pressure on his battered body made his head pound like someone was smacking it with a hammer. He felt nauseous and faint. Princess Hajna had bestowed on him plenty of herbs and medicines which might help his condition before he had left. She had been very gracious, calling him a hero. Dirk had never been called a hero before, and it had made him feel better for a while. There was plenty of the drink which Elana had introduced him to this morning. He took an occasional swig of it as they rode. His stomach protested at having to digest it, but it did keep the direct pain from his injuries down to a minimum. The bitter after-taste he could live with. He found that chewing on some herbs, from a pouch which Hajna had provided, eased his nausea. Not, he thought grimly, that he had anything left inside him to expel.
After days of sunshine, rain clouds had rolled in, depositing a steady drizzle onto their heads, making Dirk’s mood even worse. The forest glistened wetly and the water soaked into his clothes, making them stick to his skin. They stopped briefly for a rest at lunchtime. Dirk immediately swung down from his horse, hoping that someone else would see to its needs. He staggered off into the trees. By this time his limbs were shaking from his exertions. Dirk gritted his teeth and insisted his body do what he told it to for a while longer.
After he had gone a distance which he thought was far enough to avoid people overhearing, he allowed his body to take over. His insides convulsed sharply, and he doubled over in pain. He then faced a wracking series of coughs which resulted in dark coloured blood coming up, spattering the leaves and grass on the floor. Another bout of coughing followed and more came up.
He wiped his sleeve over his mouth and headed back to the others. He knew that Elana would be keeping an eye on him, and he didn’t want her to see. He was enough of a liability as it was. If Soren and the others knew how ill he was, they would doubtless have left him behind; for his own good as much as anything else, he knew. But he couldn’t leave Elana on her own when he was her only disciple. He had to deal with his injuries.
As he returned to camp he met eyes with Elana, who was nervously looking out for him. He nodded in her direction in a neutral way. She would think he had gone into the trees to relieve himself. He had been doing enough of that, lately.
Dirk went over to the saddlebag and rummaged around until he found a Caladri bread roll, dark brown and savoury to the taste. He took a bite and chewed thoroughly, making sure he didn’t swallow any of it until he had turned it into a watery paste. He swallowed, feeling the food go all the way down. His insides protested at the arrival of solid foods. It was the first thing he had eaten for two days. He kept it down. That was important, and he was hopeful that it would get better over time. He couldn’t face eating anything else, however, and returned the roll to his bag.
Before long they were travelling again. The two Caladri soldiers led them onwards, as efficient and as serious as they would be on any military mission. After a couple of hours, they informed everybody that they had moved into that indistinct part of the forest where the lands of the Blood Caladri ended and those of the humans of Grienna began. They had to be more on their guard from this point onwards.
They carried on into the evening, deliberately skirting around any signs of human habitation. It would be easier if they were not seen by the local inhabitants at all. Eventually, and to Dirk’s relief, the two soldiers stopped them in a suitable clearing.
‘Half a mile in that direction and you will find yourselves on the brow of a small hill,’ one of the soldiers told them. ‘If you look down from there tomorrow morning, you will see the Great Road and a number of settlements. The Road is only about three miles from here. You can work out your favoured route then. I suggest you try to head due west as much as possible, while avoiding settlements. Be careful of the Road. We know that large armies have passed south along it. But it is still being used to carry supplies south to the Haskans.’
The two soldiers did not hang around. It seemed that their orders were to head straight back that night. After they left, taking the horses that Lorant had loaned them, Herin said that he had suspected Lorant’s army was ready to move out. He added, in his typically dark manner, that Lorant wouldn’t have shared such information in case any of them were captured and revealed the destination under torture.
That night Dirk retreated into the trees again and coughed up more blood. This time it only happened the once. He was too tired to worry about it and went straight to sleep, as everyone else around him busied themselves with making camp and dinner.
Hunger pangs afflicted him, preventing him from resting further. Dirk collected his bread roll from yesterday and a flask of water. He sat down and began to eat. He took one bite from the roll and a sip of water to go with it, to help him work on the hard bread. Like a child or an old man with no teeth, Dirk thought to himself. But he persevered, forcing himself to complete his breakfast. It was a long process and by the time he had finished, the others were up and preparing to go.
Gyrmund had followed the advice of the Caladri soldiers and surveyed the plain below them. He led them along a route he had planned out from the viewpoint. They headed west, for the woodland and rugged terrain which lay between the settlements of the Griennese dotted around the countryside. Dirk could tell that these settlements they skirted around were getting progressively larger the farther they went.
As it turned out, they smelled the Great Road before they saw it. At first it was an unpleasant odour on the wind which one or two of them would catch before it disappeared. But as they walked onwards it became a consistent stench. Dirk’s nausea returned. He tried chewing on the herbs he still carried, but the smell in the air mingled with the taste in his mouth and he had to spit them out. In the end, he resorted to holding a piece of cloth over his nose and mouth.
The countryside had now become flatter, the trees replaced by grassland. This was man-made scenery. The woodlands had been cut back from the Great Road to prevent robbers from waiting in ambush. The Great Road appeared on the horizon up ahead. There was no traffic on it, but the smell in the air made the group wary.
‘Smells like shit and rotting meat,’ Herin suggested. The comment didn’t make Dirk feel any better.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 31