by Neil Beynon
‘No, I do not worry about trying to save my people,’ said the thain. ‘It is my role to play, and I do not resent it. I worry that I may fail.’
Bene shrugged. ‘We may fail.’
‘You agree with Golan, then? I am mistaken.’
Bene smiled. ‘I didn’t say that, milady.’
‘No, you didn’t. Tell me what you think.’
‘We may fail to get our people out of this dreadful place; we may perish at sea; we may be ambushed. There are lots of possibilities. If we had remained in Vikrain or if we attempted dialogue with the Kurah, then I assure you we would all be dead.’
The thain nodded. ‘You repeat the words I tell myself every few hours, but still I doubt. Is the chance of survival real or imagined? The gods have forsaken us. Golgotha! They appear to have forsaken each other.’
‘A wise woman once told me that the gods help those who help themselves.’
‘An old woman,’ said the thain, kicking the surface soil before her. ‘I doubt any would call her wise these days.’
Bene did not answer her. I’ve pushed him too far, thought the thain. She looked away from his earnest eyes because they just put her in mind of her own earnest boy, who she had held dying on the steps of the palace long ago. Ridiculous, they look nothing alike. Everything reminded her at the moment. She found old memories bubbling up like air trying to escape a swamp. She hated it.
‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said the thain, turning to face the sprawling camp. ‘I’m not entirely reliant on the gods, fat lot of good they do us most of the time, but faith is easy when you have seen your gods, when you know they will come to your aid. Knowing they are gone, that I do not have them to call on, has left a void, and I am not sure what to fill it with. Perhaps they have decided to take us all home to Golgotha and beyond. Perhaps we should let them.’
Bene’s eyes narrowed. ‘Let our people die?’
‘Why not? All things end, and as some are saying, perhaps this is the will of the gods.’
‘Then to Golgotha with our gods! I will not follow anyone who believes in death on such a scale. Believer or not, we only visit this world once, and what we have here is precious.’
Bene’s words were not punctuated with any signs of deference to the thain, and his normally placid voice was raised in anger.
‘Perhaps we should negotiate, then,’ said the thain, folding her arms. ‘As Golan would have me do …’
‘You cannot negotiate with the Kurah,’ said Bene, shouting. ‘They would kill you where you stood, as they did Jeb. You heard the shadow.’
‘Feels good, doesn’t it?’ said the thain, smiling. ‘The anger fills you up, gives you an alternative to faith to hang on to. We can use that. Forge the rage into a new weapon. Maybe the hope that long since left this world.’
Bene’s expression froze before melting into a smile. ‘You were testing me.’
The thain shook her head. ‘I was testing myself. I know doubt, but I needed to hear someone else argue my views.’
‘Glad to be of help,’ said Bene, turning away.
‘Don’t be sore, old friend,’ said the thain. ‘I have an important task for you.’
Bene looked at the ancient ruler in surprise. ‘You’re sending me away?’
‘Not just you,’ said the thain. ‘I want you to take a platoon of the guardsmen you trust the most.’
‘To do what?’
‘To free the prisoners,’ said the thain, folding her arms. ‘I’ll not leave my kin to die in an archaic ceremony because the Kurah are deluded enough to think they can control a god.’
‘I thought such a mission was suicide,’ said Bene, smiling.
‘To lead the army against the Kurah would be. To try a raid to free the prisoners is … challenging … but it does have a chance of success that a large battle would not.’
‘Whatever you wish, milady, but I would like to know why.’
The thain closed her eyes. ‘Falkirk.’
‘The major?’
‘He said that they had prisoners, but he wasn’t trying to tell me about all of them, just one, and I think I know who he was referring to.’
‘Thrace?’
The thain smiled. ‘No, not Thrace. If it were just Thrace, I would not send you, because he would not thank me. Thrace passed away over a year ago. I think he meant Thrace’s granddaughter.’
‘General Thrace had a granddaughter?’ asked Bene, incredulous.
‘A daughter too.’
Bene stared at the thain.
‘Yes, amusing, isn’t it? Thankfully, the granddaughter takes after Gobaith,’ said the thain with a smile. ‘She doesn’t need that gnarly bastard’s looks.’
‘You want me to free her?’
‘I want you to free them all, but, yes, she is my motivation. I made a promise a long time ago to her grandmother, and I must keep my word, or I am a fraud.’
Bene did not meet her gaze.
‘Will you go?’
Bene raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh, you have a choice,’ said the thain. ‘I just know what you’ll say.’
‘I need not answer, then, milady. Instead, I shall see you, with Thrace’s granddaughter, at the port in a month’s time. Can I add your shadow to my warriors?’
The thain raised an eyebrow. She was surprised by his request, and she was so rarely surprised by anything these days. ‘Why?’
Bene shrugged. ‘She knows the Kurah better than any of us, and she can slip in anywhere.’
‘Your counsel is wise as always, and I wish I could let you take her with you. She has another mission. She is there now, and I cannot spare her from it.’
Bene frowned. ‘What else is underway?’
The thain did not smile this time. ‘I cannot answer that.’
If she told him, she knew the warrior would not leave for his own mission, because he would want to tear the camp apart looking for the traitor. She knew Golan was part of the conspiracy. She just needed to find the other one.
Bene’s steps crunched into the distance as the ancient ruler wrapped her cloak around herself. The thain stood watching the gods’ light show above the forest for a long time, with only the sound of the wind for company. Her memories of the young family she had let leave the city all those years ago, against her better judgement, swirled round her head. Things were worse now. She prayed she wasn’t making the same mistake.
Cernubus did not fold the world to get to Golgotha.
The hunter took a different path into the underworld. Wearing his stag form, he led the wolves into the ur-light of that in-between place and felt the Morrigan’s rage permeating every speck of dust. The god’s anger made even him flinch. The wolves whimpered as he forced them on for the palace, sensing even as he ran that the palace was no longer standing.
The whole of the Trivium and the cliffs in which the complex had been carved were gone, leaving only a pile of rubble. Through the detritus, there was the occasional glimpse of darkness so black even his eyes could not permeate the murk. The gaping void of nothing was uncomfortable to look at.
Where are you? Cernubus asked, reaching out with his mind, his body unfolding into his human form. The wolves circled him like dogs. Scared, they fought for the feel of his fingers on their snouts. He ignored them. They had failed him just as the Morrigan had.
Free me, she replied in Cernubus’s head.
Cernubus raised an eyebrow. Where is the boy?
There was no answer.
I thought you had this under control.
I did, but Pan …
The trickster did this?
Yes.
You stopped me killing him.
Free me.
Cernubus let his senses shift into the dust and bone of the underworld. He had not always had this gift, but there was so much he had added to himself with ink and needle and magic. The Morrigan was buried deep, so very deep, and the hunter could not imagine how close Pan had come to pushing her into the doorway to the next wor
ld. Cernubus could see how easily he could do this himself. Pressure here. Pull there. Yet no one knew what would happen if there was no guardian of the dead.
Free me.
No, he replied. I must hunt them down now. If there is time.
Pan must live.
Why?
The Morrigan’s rage flared in the dark rock. You made a deal.
And you broke it. If Pan crosses me, he will die.
No! There must be laughter, there must be, or …
Cernubus could not listen to any more. The god broke the link even as he changed back into a stag and leapt out ahead of the wolves for the only other way back up into the real world. He would need to move faster now. All around, the ghosts of the dead stared at him with fear as he began his cant to fold the world.
The camp was a makeshift affair.
There were swiftly erected tents and bivouacs that the clansmen could assemble and dismantle easily, and so with the coming dawn, it was swift work to make ready for another day’s marching. The thain watched her people form up into the trail, a mile and a half of them stretching down the road just travelled. She moved the group out, leading from the front as always and followed by various members of the council. Bene took his group out to the eastern flank, preparing for when he would peel away.
It took a few hours to reach the crossroads, the eastward road – under cover and an aftermath of the last war – leading to the Barrens, and the westward road leading to the port but devoid of cover. Their path was clear, and the group turned onto the westward road. The thain did not wave Bene’s men off as they made their way to the east as if on patrol. Instead, she led on, praying that no one would notice Bene’s departure. She thought she had got away without being discovered, until she heard the heavy steps of Golan’s overloaded horse.
‘Milady,’ said Golan, drawing near. ‘May I talk with you?’
The thain glanced at Golan and grunted. The councillor could do what he liked as long as he didn’t stir up the people, and so she allowed her horse to slow enough for Golan to move alongside.
‘If this is about talking to the enemy again, I am in no mood.’
‘Indeed not, milady. I can tell your mind is made up, and that is why I assume General Bene’s absence, along with his guards, is because Bene has deserted.’
The thain fixed Golan with an icy stare that the councillor appeared to ignore, plunging on. ‘One of my men saw him heading eastwards, and I thought it best to advise you lest we walk into an ambush. Perhaps we could seek cover or alter our route.’
‘Lord Golan, you are mistaken,’ said the thain, shifting her reins to one hand. ‘They were proceeding under my confidential orders.’
Golan stared. ‘Your orders?’
‘Yes.’
‘Milady, what were the orders?’
‘Confidential, Lord Golan. Better you do not know.’
‘You have sent those men to their deaths on some foolhardy mission,’ said Golan, testily. ‘As you sent Jeb.’
‘The men were free to choose,’ said the thain, eyes ahead. ‘I did not force them.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, then,’ said Golan, raising his voice. ‘Never mind that we need every warrior.’
‘Are you not up to defending us, then, Golan?’ said the thain, dropping any pretence of civility. She had grown tired of this loathsome man. ‘Perhaps you underestimate us.’
‘You’ve lost your fucking mind, old woman,’ said Golan, hissing to contain his rage. ‘I will bring you down here and now.’
‘You have forgotten your place, Councillor, or are you challenging me?’ asked the thain, her free hand resting on her sword handle.
Golan halted his horse. ‘Yes.’
The thain blinked. She had not expected the coward to accept that he had challenged the thain, and she was not afraid to fight him, but they were not yet far enough from the city or the forest. Golan’s eyes followed her carefully and smirked. The little bastard knew that I wouldn’t want to fight here, thought the thain. Or does he know I am sick? Either way, I can’t back down.
She slid from her horse and drew her sword. Around them, the army and people drew to a halt. A handful of Bene’s guards had stayed behind to protect the thain, and they formed up into a circle around her and Golan.
‘Challenge accepted,’ said the thain.
She would fight this oaf. She wondered if her other traitor had put the vile merchant up to this and if it were to actually discredit her or because the man had become a liability.
Golan went pale.
‘What is the meaning of the stop?’ asked General Vort.
‘Lord Golan has challenged my authority in time of war,’ said the thain. ‘As is the law, we will now fight for the title of thain.’
‘Perhaps this could wait until we were a little closer to safety,’ said Vort.
‘No, lass. I wish we could, but Golan here issued an open challenge in front of the men.’
Vort looked at Golan with contempt.
‘Very well,’ said Vort, sliding from her horse. ‘Fifteen paces between you, and swords drawn. Well, come on, Golan, we don’t have all day.’
Golan looked from Vort to the thain to the surrounding crowd. His face turned scarlet as he drew his sword and stepped back to where he would start. His blade shook in his hand. People pointed and laughed. Uncomfortable, unsure, he slipped his cloak from his neck.
The thain kept her wolf-like eyes on him as she stepped to her own start point. She saw her shadow, in the distant crowd of watching warriors, and she knew the woman would hate this foolhardy risk.
‘You may begin,’ said Vort.
Golan lifted his sword as if the weapon were heavier than the world. He made a half-hearted attempt to step forward to fight before he threw his sword down on the soil and fell to his knees. ‘I withdraw.’
Vort spat. ‘Pathetic.’
The thain strode forward, sword outstretched, and lifted the councillor’s chin with the tip of her blade.
Golan stared, cross-eyed, down the end of the blade towards the thain, barely able to speak. ‘I yield … You wouldn’t kill an unarmed man …’
‘I would kill a traitor,’ said the thain, quiet enough for only Golan to hear her. She could smell piss from the man. His fear reeked. ‘Who is working with you?’
Golan shuffled back from her. The thain smiled. Inside she cursed herself for the weakness she was showing by not killing the councillor, and swore because Golan was right: she would not slay an unarmed man. She turned from the councillor.
‘Vort, get that scum out of here. He is stripped of office.’
‘No, milady,’ said Vort, drawing her blade across Golan’s neck and opening his throat to the morning suns. The councillor fell forward, gasping for air that was no longer available, and expired on the soil in front of the shocked people.
‘I did not order his execution, Vort,’ said the thain, looking down on the mess. ‘Am I grown so old that my warriors seek to protect me in such ways?’
‘No, milady,’ Vort argued. ‘Nevertheless, the law is clear. The challenge was to the death, and yielding is not an option.’
The thain tilted her head. ‘You are fortunate in your understanding of the rules and your importance as part of the army. Were you not a warrior in a time of war, I would lay you out beside him. You are stripped of your rank, General. Your major will lead your battalion, and you will serve as warrior unless she decides to promote you to a more senior post. Get out of my sight.’
Empty words. The thain had not acted when she should have, and she knew it. The woman she was chastising was as much her ally as Bene. No, she thought. With Bene gone, until I know who the traitor is, I only have one ally left. She looked for her shadow but could not find her.
‘My apologies, milady.’
‘It is over. Let us get this show on the road.’
The corpse was bundled onto the man’s horse, and the army and the people moved on, avoiding the bloodstained grass as they
went. No one else questioned where Bene had gone, and the council kept itself to itself as they made their way across the plains towards the port. The thain’s slump in her saddle became more pronounced.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Montu watched the spy ride hard across the Barrens as if Cernubus himself was on his heels.
There is little chance of that, thought Montu. Days had passed since the god had been seen at the camp or sent any word with those cursed wolves that left the men so uneasy. The forest light show that the king assumed was Cernubus doing whatever he had left to do in the woods had come to an end with a ground-shaking thump that brought down one of his trebuchets. More importantly, there was no sign of the Shaanti. The alignment was three days away, and the god had yet to make good on his bargain.
The scout reached the edge of the camp. Montu did not wish to watch him weave his way to him: he would look too desperate for news, and that knowledge would travel through the men like wildfire. He turned, ignoring the fetid smell of a camp kept too long, and re-entered his tent. Incense was smouldering from a small table near the bed, and his pregnant wife lay sprawled on the bed, half-naked – she was too hot all the time. She looked up at him.
‘You are still agitated?’ she asked.
Montu did not answer. He thought his mood was evident enough, and he still did not understand his wife, who seemed to move from friend to foe dependent on which way the wind was blowing. He blamed her Delgasian heritage. She had not spoken to him for a month following the invasion of her homeland. Only the pregnancy had stopped her trying to kill him. I will have to correct or kill her, he thought. Once the child is safe, he added.
‘Is it the god?’ she pressed.
‘No, a scout,’ he said, throwing a blanket to her. ‘Cover yourself. He will be here in a moment.’
‘I’m too hot—’
‘Do it,’ he said.