The Wretched

by Brad Carsten

  The Captain’s lips tightened, but he had no authority over a Knight of the Fallen. They were outside the chain of command answerable only to the king himself.

  Dasclan, the bard, untied a small milk pail from one of the packhorses and tossed it over to the men to more laughter and applause.

  Dasclan was an overweight and soft-spoken character, who the knight had commissioned to capture his tales and compose a few songs to take back to the royal court. Soft spoken or not, the bard’s eyes were hard, and he knew how to handle a weapon. In the saddle, he’d flick a hand axe between the tip and the handle for long stretches at a time. He carried about twenty journals stuffed into bulky panniers and would jot down notes by the firelight often late into the night. He didn't have all that much to say but would occasionally sing or tell a story about some of the older towns and villages.

  Liam always listened intently to fill in the details of the places he'd dreamed about so often; those scribbles on a map that always seemed so far out of reach.

  Gosspree-nor was like any other village with stone buildings, lush gardens and plump chickens scratching in the sand, but something was wrong. Even as they drew near, Liam could feel it: a heaviness hanging over the town as thick as smoke from an evening cook fire. The others felt it too. The knight’s hand slid down to his sword. Others reached for their bows.

  “Nothing seems to be damaged,” Sir Remus said, “so there wasn't a fight—at the entrance at least, and ours are the only tracks in the snow, so no one’s left recently.”

  Captain Ardin's eyes never stopped moving, as he drew up alongside one of the doors and knocked. “No response.”

  Sir Remus gave a quick low whistle like a tiller bird and pointed to the closed shutters of a house across the way.

  “There was a small face watching us through the slats; a child. Bless the curious minds of the young.”

  “Look above it,” the bard said. A lock of hair hung above the window. “The golden hair of an innocent.” His voice was sombre and without any of its usual flair. “It’s an old custom I've only ever seen up north. They do it to soak up the evil like a white tunic soaks up a wine stain. If the feeling in this village is anything to go by, that hair will be as black as a raven’s wing by the end of the week.”

  “So, we're not just talking about a superstition then?” Captain Ardin said.

  “No, it works all right, if the evil’s strong enough, but there isn't much that can bring that kind of evil into a village.” He unclipped the buckle around his axe to slip the axe free from its sheath.

  “Well, that should be warning enough,” Sir Remus said. “The people are still here, but they're not coming out.”

  Captain Ardin ordered two of his men to scout ahead. “The rest of you,” he said, “keep your eyes sharp and your weapons ready. Something has these folks on edge, and I don't want to be taken by surprise.”

  Liam laid his bow across his lap and counted out three arrows. He could get those off in seconds if he needed to. He’d learned to ride when he'd learned to run and could shoot from the saddle in his sleep. Out on the trail, his father wouldn’t share any food—you didn't learn that way, and Liam often went to bed hungry, but that only doubled his resolve, and so he’d practiced harder and stayed out longer until he could hit a rabbit moving through a shrub at fifty yards away or spot a small shadow slipping between the trees, but here in the village, he felt trapped between the buildings, like he was that rabbit, and those shadows were closing in around him.

  The houses gave way to a thatcher’s barn. The doors hung open, and the shelves were packed high with grass and water reed. Fresh grass had been laid out alongside the barn to dry, but it was covered in snow, which meant it had been left out longer than it should. That could be ruined.

  Jerreson, the older of the two scouts was the first to return. He moved quietly like a wolf, like he had spent a lot of time outdoors. In the saddle, he passed the hours polishing each of his many knives with care like a surgeon cleaning his tools.

  “Captain, the rest of the village is just as quiet, but I found the assessor.” His eyes were calm, but one of his knives were out again and he was absently scraping his thumb over the tip. “It turns out, some wretched entered the village not two days gone and have been staying over at the inn. The innkeeper serves 'em, but everyone else has cleared out: cooks, maids, even the stable hand ran off leaving the doors open.”

  “How many wretched are there?”

  The scout turned away to spit. “Three, as near as I can tell.”

  The Captain cursed. Liam’s eyes snapped to the buildings around them, and his stomach soured.

  “It’s no coincidence that they're here, so stay vigilant and spread out. If anything happens, we won't reach them with swords, so keep your bows ready.”

  “Can you kill them with an arrow?” Liam asked, before he could stop himself. A few soldiers sniffed, most looked worried.

  Like every kid, he'd grown up with tales of the wretched, and none of them were good.

  “You can kill them alright,” Sir Remus said. “They bleed like any other, but it's not easy to make them bleed. I've seen you with a bow; you're a good shot, so if this goes badly and you get the chance then you'd better take it, because you're not going to get another.”

  They moved slowly after that. The only sounds were the horses clattering along the hardened tracks of dirt that passed for streets in Gosspree-nor. The men kept an eye on the gaps between the houses. The houses here were taller, the roofs pitched, with often a dark attic window jutting through the tiles. In a field, a man could keep his eyes in front of him, but in a place like this, the danger could come from anywhere.

  Up ahead, Sir Remus said something to the bard. He was trying to keep his voice down, but it carried like rumbling thunder. Quickly, Liam realized what they were whispering about. A horse lay in the street, its end trails spread out behind it, and its reins floating into the air like it was underwater. A few of the soldiers kissed two fingers to their helmets for good fortune, and Liam almost joined them. That wasn't the only unnatural sign.

  A crack ran down the street, right through a house, and the house had aged as though it had been standing there for centuries; all the wood was gray and the walls crumbling, and hundreds of black bugs were pouring out the split in the center and scurrying off into the surrounding brush.

  A woman waited for them in the village green. Behind her, the grass sloped down to a pond where coloured ribbons hung limply from festive spires, and tables of food had been left abandoned. The village must have been celebrating something when the wretched arrived. She had a knight with her in that same black armour, waiting, watching like a bear trap ready to spring. He was a lot older than Sir Remus but still a welcome sight. Liam wondered what was so important that would require two knights, and then what would bring three wretched up against them.

  The Captain inclined his head.

  “Assessor.”

  “Captain. Thank fortune you've arrived. I'm sure by now you've heard about our visitors in the inn.” She too was old with hard lines around her eyes, like she had seen a lot over the years, but even she seemed rattled.

  “I trust the child is safe?”

  “Thankfully yes. As soon as word arrived ahead of the wretched, we moved the child to an old farmhouse outside of the village.”

  “Does anyone know why they're here?”

  “I can only guess.” Her lips tightened. “They've kept to themselves thus far and refused an audience. No, they're not speaking and haven't left the inn. I've got eyes and ears on that place, so I'll know as soon as they do, but I’m sure they're not here to sample the perfumes. Whatever the reason, I don't want to remain here any longer than I have to.”

  “How many soldiers do you have?”

  “Fifteen men and Sir Kein, my knight. Only five are mine though. The other ten were soldiers of the watch from a nearby town. We don't usually run into problems assessing children, but this one was a surprise
. Sir Kein also cobbled together a ragtag band of twenty boys and older men and has them placed at different houses around the village as decoys, but there aren't more than five helmets and three rusted swords between them.”

  “How long would you need to leave?”

  “We've been ready to leave for many days now. The sooner we can get out, the better.” She ran her cold blue eyes across the deserted tracks.

  “Alright. Allow me to speak to this Sir Kein. We’re waiting for reinforcements from the capital; a thousand foot soldiers as I understand it and fifty knights, but we may not have enough time. I want to hear the knight’s setup and plan our next move. The quicker we can put some distance between us and those cursed wretched the better.”

  He said something to Sir Remus, and their eyes turned to Liam.

  “Tracker, it looks like we may need your services a little longer,” Sir Remus said. “Just stay where we can find you, and there'll be a hundred gold coins for you at the end of it.”

  A hundred! Liam nearly fell off his horse.

  The plan was simple: the majority of the army, led by Sir Kein, would travel south as a decoy, and a small group with Sir Remus, the Captain and five soldiers would leave with the child a few hours later heading west. A small group could slip away at night without being seen.

  Liam described the land around them and how far each of them had to get and how long it should take them. When the first group reached Otterburry, they'd swing south west and end up on the Lankin trail half a day behind Liam and the others. If there were any problems, they could provide reinforcements or attack from behind. It was a bold plan gambling on the wretched taking the bait.

  As they left the green and rode deeper into the village, they came across a pig ramming its head into the wall until its blood was painting the stones, and the Captain ordered one of his men to put it down with a bolt. Not only to put it out of its misery, but because the high-pitched squeals were setting the soldiers, hardened fighters, on edge.

  Liam's father always said that a man lived or died by his reputation and had to show enough integrity to see a job through no matter what happened, but the pig, what on earth would possess it to do that? Liam had never seen anything like it or even heard of such a thing, and he had to keep reminding himself that there was a lot of gold at the end of this, or he may have turned around right then and there and let reputation be damned.

  Chapter 5

  Kein laid his bow across his saddle and counted his arrows. He had counted them three times already along with his daggers and three legendary swords, and he would probably count them all before setting out again. He was precise; a little too precise, but he liked things just so. He prided himself on it and yet never trusted himself with it, and so he’d check everything over and over and then as soon as he stepped out of that door, he'd rely on his preparation absolutely.

  There came the signal: a single flaming arrow arcing through the sky—a distant light through the trees, and Kein straightened his old shoulders and flicked his reins. He'd kept the stable dark so that as soon as he stepped outside, he'd be able to see everything. It was one of the reasons he never used a lantern. Light burned into the eyes darkening anything more than a few feet away yet marking that position for miles around; it was a beacon for trouble. Even at his age, he could kill anything or anyone that stepped into that ring of light, but even a village lout with a bow and three fingers could drop a man from the shadows without being seen.

  The town of Huntston, where he grew up, could get as dark as a mine shaft where a man wouldn't see the horse underneath him, but even as a child before the assessors came, he'd often stepped outside allowing the darkness to cover him. While other children were afraid of the dark, he realised that he could hide in it—he could get away or turn it around and stalk his stalker. The darkness was his ally not something to be feared. That was many seasons ago.

  The cold pressed in around him piercing his old joints like daggers. It was on nights like this that he thought about hanging up his swords again and propping up his feet by the fire for good this time. He had done it once before at the age of sixty-five, but there's only so much sitting around that a man can do.

  He kept his eyes on the surrounding buildings and aimed for the closest shadow—a good spot hanging over a dark wall that he could disappear into, and then remembered that the wretched had to see him for this plan to work. He stepped away allowing the moonlight to fall across his shoulders, going against everything he knew, every instinct he had taken a lifetime to build, but tonight, he was the prey.

  He'd faced the wretched before. They were private people shunned by the kingdom but bound by their own strange laws. Most people feared them for the wrong reasons. They were smart and didn't kill for sport, but once they had your name in their books, they were relentless. He imagined the only reason they hadn't cindered the village already was because no one knew where he was keeping the child. If they struck early, the child could slip away.

  His job tonight was to lead the wretched away from the child, and after that, what was left of his forces would circle around and meet Captain Ardin and the others, but he had no illusion of things going well. Oh, he'd fight. Everyone would fight to the last man, and as kingdom soldiers, they'd stand for longer than most, but against three wretched, the best they could do was give the others enough time to escape, but he knew what was at stake, and if his life’s journey ended tonight on a quest such as this, it could only be said of him that he had lived a full life and had died with honor.

  ***

  Liam stood at the window watching as shadows slipped between the buildings. For half an hour, the men had been moving out, one at a time, to give anyone watching a chance to see them. Liam was good with a bow, but seeing these men made him realise that there was a lot more to being a soldier, and he couldn't shake the feeling that even if the assessors had tested him, he may never have been selected anyway. He forced the thought aside angrily. No, he could shoot as well as any—better even and was a gifted tracker. He had spent his whole life preparing for this, and tonight, he wouldn't make a mistake. He was ready for this!

  Captain Ardin moved to the window to stand alongside him.

  “Do you think they'll go for it?” Liam asked.

  “Well, by now they'll know that something's happening—that we're moving. The rest, we'll only know once we're on the road, and then it's up to you to steer us out of trouble. I hope you're ready for this?”

  Liam nodded. If he spoke, he didn't think his voice would make it.

  The Captain patted his shoulder. “You should get some rest.”

  Liam knew that would be a good idea, but he was too wound up to even think about resting. He finally settled for a seat at the window.

  When Captain Ardin shook him awake an hour later, his neck was stiff, and he had a numb line across his forehead where he had fallen asleep on the window ledge.

  “It's time.” The Captain tossed him the satchel, and Liam gathered up his bow. He didn't have that much with him, but he lingered in the room scanning it for the last time in case he had forgotten anything but mostly to work up the courage to step through that door.

  Outside, the air was cool against his face. They had chosen a house that was far from the inn but close to the back of the town. Past the back door, a drop led into a line of trees. As good as Liam was at moving outdoors, he wasn't used to moving without light, and he almost lost his footing more than once. He kept glancing back over his shoulder expecting someone to be standing there watching them, or worse, but the garden seemed deserted. From the trees and weeds to the shadows around the old wagon lying on its side with the wheels missing, nothing moved. They circled back around the village keeping to an old path that Liam had sniffed out earlier and soon came across the lights of a farmhouse. Two other soldiers arrived at the same time. Others were already there. The farmer hurried them in through the back door, holding a lantern up to the night.

  His wife and grown sons were wa
iting in the living area, holding cudgels, and a lady sat on a chair with a young boy, of perhaps seven, asleep on her lap. Was that him? Was he the one that all of this centered around? The child that was so important that they would pay Liam a hundred and fifty gold coins to get him out. Who was he? And how did he fit into all of this?

  “Have you heard anything?” The Captain asked one of his men. “Did it work?” His voice sounded strained.

  “No one's come in or out of the inn, as I hear it, but the heaviness is lifting. If I was a betting man, I'd say they're out. Fate knows how, but they're moving.”

  Liam could feel the change as well.

  “Good, but we’ll have to be careful,” the Captain said. “They may have their own eyes and ears around the town. Here, put this on.” He tossed a rough woolen coat over to Liam. It was similar to what the locals were wearing, and was dark, which would help them tonight. Liam drew off his own cloak and rolled it into his bag.

  Captain Ardin laid a hand on the mother’s shoulder and said something to her. She nodded reluctantly, and Captain Ardin took the child from her. Without opening his eyes, the boy’s head settled on the Captain's shoulder and on he slept, unaware of everything that was happening this night.

  Sir Remus arrived in the house, with his full armour showing beneath his woolen coat, and his helmet tucked under his arm. As always, he was trailed by the bard with that axe in his hand and a determined look in his eyes.