by David Wragg
Chel shivered with adrenaline, a warm glow spreading out from his chest. He didn’t even mind being called boy.
‘This ends now. I will not have my company’s fate teetering on the contributions of an amateur, a whelp, an invalid. This fucker can’t swing a punch, he can’t use a sword, hold a shield, shoot a bow … Nine hells, he can’t even carry his share of pack-weight. Don’t you fucking smirk at me, Lemon, this is on you more than anyone.’
The warm glow faded.
‘We have been face-down in a shit-swamp of our own making. Now it’s time to get the fuck up.’
‘Meaning what, boss?’
‘Meaning drill. Rigour and training, starting tomorrow, for as long as we billet here. We have lost our edge, and we either hone ourselves sharp again, or we die in ignominy. If the Black Hawk Company is ever going to be …’ A cluster of figures emerged from the big house, and Rennic acknowledged their summons. ‘We start at dawn,’ he spat, then turned and walked away.
Chel released a long-held breath. ‘Why’s he so angry?’
Lemon sat down beside Foss with a sigh. ‘He always gets like this when a job finishes. You know, twitchy. High-strung.’
Foss nodded. ‘Likes to know where the next meal’s coming from, I suppose.’
Whisper gestured, and Foss put up his hands. ‘Not that he doesn’t have a point, indeed.’
‘Did he mean it? About me?’
Whisper pivoted a hand. Maybe, maybe not.
Lemon grinned. ‘Suits his purpose to give us a bollocking now, but aye, right, why not? You’ve done us all right, wee bear. For a damned foreigner.’
Chel returned the grin, then his expression clouded.
‘Wait, what do you mean, the job’s finished?’
‘I hear you dribbling pricks are in danger of doing some training tomorrow.’
It was Dalim, the long staff laid across his shoulders and a smirk on his clean-lined face.
‘Didn’t your mam ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop, Dalim? Did you even have a mam, or did you just hatch out of a heap of cow-shite?’
Dalim swung the staff off his shoulders and twirled it in a figure of eight around his head before striking it at his heel.
‘We saw that one already,’ Foss said.
‘I seem to find myself lacking a decent sparring partner,’ Dalim said, brushing his fingernails against his jerkin. Chel looked beyond to see his henchmen and former sparring partners sitting beside a brazier in the lee of the stables, looking none too energetic. One was wrapping a bandage around his head. ‘Shame the Eagle has flounced, he’s decent with a pole. Any of you feeble featherweights up for a beating?’
One dark arch of eyebrow raised, he surveyed the group. Foss shook his head with a humourless smile while Lemon flicked Vs; Whisper didn’t even look at him. ‘What about you, Chel the Andriz? I could strap an arm if you feel it would make it a fair match. Hells, I could even wear a blindfold. What do you think? Still too much man for you, sand-flower?’ Dalim’s finger jabbed at his chest.
‘Thanks, but I don’t want to get my hand dirty.’
Dalim’s face curdled in disgust. ‘I stand corrected, Chel the Andriz. You’re well suited to this bunch, just another reeking failure on the rank pile.’
Chel bristled. ‘You keep hinting at things, Dalim. Perhaps you should put some meat on your words.’
Dalim narrowed his eyes, then smirked. ‘You don’t know, do you? You don’t know who this liquid shit lake are.’
‘I know enough.’
‘If you knew enough, Chel the Andriz, you’d have no hunger for fail-meat.’
‘God’s bollocks, Dalim, you’d fuck the sound of your own voice if you could pin it long enough.’ Loveless was a few paces away, advancing on them with a sharp and hungry expression. The diminishing sun cast a pale, yellow light across the courtyard, its twinkling shafts drifting through the rolling silver clouds as if through a prism. Even in the weakening light, it was clear her hair was no longer blue. A crest of violet now adorned her head, her fingertips stained a matching hue.
She caught Chel’s stare and flashed him a flat, fleeting smile. ‘Time for a change.’
‘Matches your eyes,’ he said, and her smile returned for another instant.
Dalim wasn’t smiling, but neither did he look displeased. ‘Loveless, my merry belle. Are you so anxious to feel the pounding of my weapon?’ He waggled the staff to hammer home his innuendo.
Loveless pursed her lips. ‘All I see is a little prick with a little stick. And I’ve little interest in child’s games.’ She drew the gleaming short sword from its dull leather scabbard, the blade glittering in the light of the newly lit braziers sparking around the courtyard.
‘If we do this, we do it properly. Fetch your blade, and your balls if you can find them.’
Dalim stood and stared at the sword-point, unwavering in her extended grip. For a moment it looked like he might concede, but instead he raised his gaze to hers.
‘You’re a singular piece, Loveless. Wait here.’
He moved quickly off into the dusk in the direction of the stables. Loveless began to circle her arms, one at a time, loosening her shoulders, then flexing her neck and back.
Foss stirred beneath the tree. ‘Are you sure this is wise, my friend? Given the boss’s words a moment ago—’
She frowned without looking at him. ‘Not now, Mother. I need to concentrate.’
She was dipping her chin to her shins when Dalim reappeared, unwrapping the leather that bound the blade of his spear. Chel shuffled around to Lemon and Whisper.
‘Does she do this sort of thing a lot?’
Whisper tilted her palm again.
‘Is she going to win?’
Unsurprisingly, the palm waggled again. Chel sighed and tried to sit back against the tree, but his nerves kept him upright and fidgeting.
Dalim untied the final cord. ‘Fancy little knife you’ve got there, precious. Loot a tomb, did you?’
He threw off the skin that covered the blade, revealing a weapon no less fine and fearsome than Loveless’s. The last red rays of sunlight cast the inlaid metal crimson as fresh blood.
‘You give yourself away, Dalim. Where’d you dig that relic up?’
Chel tapped Lemon’s arm. ‘What do you call one of those? A spear with a blade like that?’
Her eyes remained fixed ahead. ‘Glaive.’
‘Glaive. Right. Thanks.’
Its cutting edge freed, Dalim whipped the weapon around him in a lethal circle, twirling and spinning as he pivoted on one foot, then the other. He finished on one leg, the other foot bent to his knee, the glaive thrust forward with the tip of its blade swaying six inches from his adversary’s face.
Loveless puffed the leading crest of fringe from her eyes. ‘Are we going to fight or fuck about?’
Dalim hauled back the glaive, swivelled and bounced, then cricked his neck. ‘First blood?’
‘To the death.’
Dalim’s eyes widened and he took half a step back. Loveless grinned.
‘Just messing. First blood it is.’
‘If you’re lucky, you’ll still be pretty when this is over.’
‘And if you’re lucky, I’ll hand you back your bollocks.’
Dalim moved with lightning speed, closing the distance between them in two strides, the glaive travelling upward in an arc as he moved. Chel gasped as the blade swished through the air, whipping past Loveless’s face as she darted aside. Dalim swivelled, twisting the thrust sideways and dragging the glaive across and into her body.
‘Fucking hells,’ Chel said, his voice a strained whisper. ‘He’ll kill her!’
Steel clashed, and Loveless rolled back in a ball, the short blade held before her. She staggered to her feet, woozy and disorientated, as Dalim skipped around her. He twirled the glaive as he moved, swaying with each bounding step, then lashing out with the blade with sudden ferocity.
Loveless parried, throwing the sword into the glaive’
s path. Twice, three times she blocked his blows, skittering backward with increasing desperation.
‘We said first blood,’ Dalim said as he feinted a swing with the blade, ‘but we never said how much.’ He ducked a clumsy swipe from Loveless and jabbed the butt of the haft back into her midriff in return. She tumbled backward, the sword clattering from her grip, and scrambled onto her hands and knees. Dalim pranced across, moving between her and her fallen sword, the glaive slapping at the ground before her questing fingers.
Chel looked around in alarm. ‘We have to do something! He might really hurt her.’ His words got no response. He became aware of more people around them, the occupants of the compound gathering in the torchlight to investigate the commotion, transfixed by the brutal duel.
‘You know,’ Dalim said, his entire face a smirk, ‘some say that it’s against the Shepherd’s teachings to strike an unarmed foe.’ He rested his foot on the sword. ‘Myself, I don’t subscribe.’
He levered his toe beneath the blade, then flicked it up, catching the hilt with his off-hand.
‘Maybe I’ll keep th—’
Chel looked at Foss. Was Foss smiling? Why was Foss smiling?
Loveless drove forward, springing from the ground like a gazelle. Dalim saw the movement, but one-handed could only flail with his weapon at her approach. Before he could drop the sword she was on him, inside the sweep of the glaive, one hand catching the haft as it passed. She twisted, guiding the weapon around her, spinning into Dalim’s body and delivering a crunching elbow to the centre of his face.
He stumbled back with a howl, dropping the sword and clutching at his nose. Loveless swung down, catching the falling sword with a dancer’s grace and driving her opposite heel into Dalim’s midriff. He grunted and lurched back, at last regaining control of the glaive and snapping it around with viper speed. Loveless was already away, the sword returned to her hand but held loose at her waist, and as Dalim charged forward with wild strokes she ducked and swerved away from each, fluid as spring water.
Chel’s mouth was gaping.
Loveless swayed to one side as the glaive drove forward, then slapped it away with contempt as Dalim tried to swing the blade around. ‘Hey, Dalim,’ she said.
He growled and swung again, the glaive tearing at the air. She danced away, aside, and parried.
‘Dalim.’
Another clang of steel.
‘Dalim.’
‘What?’
She reached up and tapped her nose, then waggled her eyebrows. His assault paused, Dalim reached up to his own nose. His finger came away sticky. A small trickle of blood was leaking from one nostril.
‘You lose, fuck-stick.’
‘You cannot be … You fucking sea-cow! You played me?’ He was as incredulous as he was irate.
‘Like a one-stringed lute.’
‘What is happening here?’ Palo’s voice wasn’t loud, but every one of them stiffened. Chel turned to see her standing at the head of a small group that included Spider, Tarfel and Rennic. Rennic radiated a cold, silent fury, which seemed to be directed more at Loveless than anyone else. She blew him a kiss.
Dalim wiped his nose with his forearm, leaving a dark streak. ‘Training, comrade. A friendly wager.’
‘And what were the stakes?’
Dalim paused, mouth half-open.
‘Loser digs out the latrines,’ Loveless said without missing a beat.
Palo nodded. ‘Then let us end this matter here. I cannot think of a good reason why we would leave perfectly serviceable training weapons aside when sparring. I’m sure this oversight will not happen again.’
Loveless and Dalim nodded, as did those around Chel.
‘Good.’ Palo seemed satisfied. ‘We’ll gather to eat shortly, where we’ll have much to discuss, I’m sure. Please make sure you’re clean and presentable for our hosts. Thank you.’
With a few coughs and shuffled feet, the group began to disperse. With angry snuffling, Dalim retrieved the leather covering for his glaive and turned toward the stables.
‘Dalim?’ Palo inclined her head.
‘Comrade?’
‘The latrines are over there.’
Dalim’s dark and handsome eyes flicked to Loveless and back, as the muscles of his jaw worked in the glowing light of the braziers. She kept her expression neutral.
‘My mistake, comrade.’
He shouldered the glaive and set off the other way. Loveless watched him go, waiting to see if he shot her another look. He didn’t. Chel stepped forward, but Rennic was already beside her.
‘I thought we’d agreed to keep away from that oily little shit?’
‘I never agreed to that.’
‘Indeed, I believe you missed our gathering earlier. Attending to your appearance?’ He flicked a hand at her newly coloured hair.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘A girl has to look good to feel good, boss.’
He snorted. ‘Does she fuck. Lemon’s living proof.’ She turned to go, but he put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m serious. It’s bad news to incur the wrath of the small-minded, and that fucker has the wit of a beetle. He’s going to hold a grudge.’
‘I’ll just have to live with that.’
‘Easy thing to say …’
‘Anything else you need to add? You heard Lady Palo, it’s time to wash up and brush up.’
Rennic took in a deep breath through his hatchet nose. ‘Go on. Fuck off.’
She did so.
Chel stepped beside Rennic, watching her walking away in the twilight. ‘Is she all right?’ he said.
‘Fucked if I know,’ the big man said, then turned his gaze to Chel. ‘But I’m not going after her.’
***
Chel rounded the corner to the low wooden structure where the stockade’s residents heated water, arms tucked against the evening’s growing chill. Something moved in the shadows ahead of him, something hunched. He heard retching.
‘Are you all right?’
The figure sat back with a resigned sigh. The light from the courtyard’s braziers illuminated a shock of violet hair. Chel hurried forward.
‘Loveless? What’s wrong?’
She looked none too pleased to see him as she wiped spittle from her chin. Her skin was pallid, waxy from a thin layer of sweat. She waved a hand in dismissal, affecting imperious indifference.
‘I’m fine.’
He crouched down beside her. ‘Are you hurt?’
She maintained her glare a moment longer, then her expression broke and she sat back against the wooden structure, eyes distant. ‘Hells, he was fast,’ she whispered, one hand rubbing her midriff.
‘I thought you were toying with him?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Had to make him think that, didn’t I? Him and everyone else.’ She sighed again, wincing, then pulled her shirt up around her ribs. Even in the low and flickering light, the ugly welt spreading across the base of her sternum was clear, dark fronds of bruise creeping up beneath the strapping that bound her chest. A gleam of blood had beaded at its centre.
‘Fuck me,’ she said. ‘Looks like he won after all.’ She locked eyes with Chel. ‘You tell no one of this, yes, cub?’
He nodded, rigid with intent. ‘No one.’
‘Good.’ She pulled down the shirt. ‘Now let’s give ourselves a rinse, eh? We should look simply sparkling for our generous hosts.’
NINETEEN
The main chamber of the large stone house was low-ceilinged and hot from half a dozen iron braziers that lined its walls. Chel and Loveless arrived to find the others already seated around a T-shaped table, lit by candles in wide-based holders. Other tables stood empty against the room’s far side, stacked against the wall; the house was accustomed to hosting larger gatherings. The food laid out on the main table wasn’t plentiful, but it looked more appetizing than trail rations. Chel felt a sudden hunger on seeing the golden crusts of small loaves shining in the candlelight.
Their late entry went unremarked as one of the
residents of the stockade ushered them through. It was hard to tell if the man was servant, family member or vassal. Everyone they’d seen deferred to both Palo and the pregnant young woman, but Chel could determine no specific social order to their deference.
Tarfel was sitting to the left of Palo and her friend, looking sweaty and confused in the room’s heat. Chel realized he’d not seen the prince since they arrived at the stockade. He’d either washed or been cleaned, and he was dressed in the closest thing to formal wear that Chel imagined was available. He did not make eye contact, but the seat beyond him was empty. Of the young woman’s many children, there was no sign.
Dalim sat to Palo’s right, his nose swollen and expression petulant. His hands looked red and well-scrubbed, and he looked away as Loveless sashayed past the table and plonked herself down next to Rennic. Chel made toward the empty seat beside Tarfel, when Spider strode in from a side entrance and sat himself proudly next to the prince. Chel hovered a moment, then sat down next to Foss, who winked at his approach. He caught Lemon’s eye as he settled on the bench, and she gave him a questioning look. He returned it, his eyes on the flattened cables of red hair that were plastered to the side of her head. Her eyes flicked up, then back to him, and her expression darkened. Either side of him Whisper grinned and Foss chuckled.
‘Don’t say a fucken word, wee bear. Not one fucken word. A Clyde’s tresses are her own concern.’
The pregnant woman at the table’s head stood and the room fell silent. She once more bade them welcome and introduced herself as Erdi. After signalling for the remainder of the food to be brought, she excused herself and swayed out of the room, leaving them to eat. Chel watched the actions of the others at the head table carefully, anxious not to transgress any social mores. Palo began eating as soon as Erdi was through the doorway, and Chel relaxed.
Lemon had watched the woman go with a frown of deep suspicion. ‘Where’s she off to, then? Too good to eat with we riffraff?’
Whisper rolled her eyes and put a finger to her lips.
Foss tore off a hunk of bread and began to chew. ‘Too pregnant, perhaps,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘Or maybe she has those moppets to subdue.’