Even with Eva’s force ploughing a path through the snow, we found it slow, hard going. After an hour the wardens in front of us stopped dead and my nerves jangled as they readied weapons. The sky ahead was black with bone vultures.
Bryden looked to Eva, who nodded. His face burst into a wide grin. “Finally!” Wind whipped past and carried the lanky form of Bryden into the air at the centre of a swirling blizzard. He soared above the cliff walls, then higher still to survey the terrain ahead. The flock of bone vultures dived to attack him. He laughed as invisible fists of wind seized their wings and pinned them together. The things dropped like hailstones to smash against the mountainside somewhere above us, a drumming of dull thuds and very brief squawks.
A few scattered cheers erupted among the wardens. Even such a small victory lifted their moods, but for me every step just took us closer to Kil Noth, and to my grandmother.
I wasn’t nearly lucky enough for that spiteful old crow to be dust and bones in her family tomb. She was no kin of mine, whatever she claimed. My mother had fled Kil Noth as a young woman and hadn’t returned even when the madness of the voices overtook her. And six years ago I had finally discovered why.
A pulse of fear interrupted my thoughts. Bryden’s grin had vanished and he was staring hard at something in the distance. He plummeted towards us, slowing at the very last moment to land in a swirl of snow. “I see plumes of black smoke to the north east.”
I couldn’t be sure but from what he was describing it sounded like it was coming from Dun Bhailiol, the furthest east of all the Clansfolk holdfasts, and consequently the closest to occupied Ironport. It was right in the path of the Skallgrim advance, and only three days’ steady march away from us.
“Then that is welcome news for us,” Eva said. She had the good grace not to sound happy about it. “If they have stopped to siege the holdfast then it grants us more time to fortify the area around Kil Noth. Every day they delay in the Clanholds grants the Arcanum more time to take Ironport and come to our aid.”
With that we shouldered all our gear and marched quicker than ever before. At least our effort kept the winds from biting too badly, though already one or two wardens seemed to be suffering the beginnings of frostbitten fingers and toes. My group remained hale and hearty, and during a rest stop I ignored Adalwolf surreptitiously passing around a flask of cheap Docklands rum. I wasn’t about to take the last of their drink off them, not when I might have to share my own hidden flask of fine whisky in return. I took a belly-warming sip and slipped it back into my coat pocket.
We camped only a day from Kil Noth and we had still not uncovered any signs of life, just hastily abandoned homes and empty barns. Huddled around our fire, bowls at the ready, I doled out salt-beef broth and hard bread before settling down with my own. There was a little left over, but I’d leave them to argue over that. I could do without, mostly because I had a private stash of dried meat and fruit they knew nothing about. If there was one lesson that life had beaten into me, it was to look after yourself first before trying to look after others, and to always keep something back for when Lady Night’s luck flipped to the Night Bitch’s misfortune.
Dusk arrived quickly in the Clanholds, the sun dipping below the mountains to paint the snowy slopes a burning bronze. It was breathtaking; you had to give these barren and icy lands that. With the sun slumbering, Elunnai’s silvery light sparkled all along the valley, a silvery path enticing us onwards to Kil Noth, the accursed holdfast of the druí.
The campfires were eerily quiet tonight, devoid of the music and song I’d been led to expect of armies on the march. I opened my Gift to seek out the answer – they were dwelling on the enemy’s massive numbers, and after seeing the work of their flying daemons our men were now also nervous of the open sky. My leadership only made things worse, but Eva’s relentless efficiency and martial power seemed to counter that in their minds. I knew that I was pretty much just here as a sacrifice – Kil Noth wanted me back for some reason, and they were happy to use this war as leverage. They knew I would never return willingly, not unless the fate of all Kaladon hinged on it. I was a confirmed black-hearted bastard but even I wasn’t that selfish.
I couldn’t get to sleep, tossing and turning and mind racing with a thousand different thoughts; mostly dreading tomorrow. I gave up and threw on my overcoat and thick cloak, then pulled on my boots and gloves and headed out into the snow. With my Gift it wasn’t difficult to move unseen, or rather, disregarded; I wasn’t actually invisible. My footprints in the snow proved the only troublesome aspect, convincing the sentries to continually ignore them while I was away.
It was undoubtedly a stupid decision to leave camp without my guards, given we were at war and daemons were loose in these hills. But I didn’t give a rat’s arse, I needed to be alone and free of the morass of stray thoughts pressing in on me. People kept so much locked away in their heads, unsaid and unacted: flashes of anger and disgust, images of punching some annoying git in the face for scraping a metal spoon across a pot or for chewing too loud, hints of lust and filthy images… all sorts of impulses that they would never act on in reality. And yet I knew it all. People were never exactly what they portrayed on the outside – Eva was not the only one to wear a mask.
I tramped a fair way towards Kil Noth until I glimpsed the mountain it was burrowed into, all limned in silvery light. A few columns of smoke rose from unseen fires somewhere deep inside its subterranean halls. I stood in the snow, thinking and occasionally sipping my whisky for warmth. Eventually I became aware of a quiet presence off to one side watching me intently. I reached out to investigate and found a human mind curled up tighter than a snail in its shell. Eva.
“Want some?” I held my flask of whisky out towards her without looking in her direction.
A white cloak rose from the snow to reveal the armoured form beneath. She took her time approaching, emotions as inscrutable as ever behind her steel mask. She took the whisky from me but didn’t drink.
I yawned into a glove. “Did you expect me to run and hide?” Her single green eye studied me. “I was ordered to stop you if you did. We made a very specific deal with the Clansfolk druí.”
“Not what I asked.”
It took a while for her to answer, never a good sign. “No,” she said finally. “Not now.”
I’d tried to flee before, more than once when faced with the Magash Mora and the Skallgrim. “And why now?”
“Nowhere to run to,” she said. “Everywhere is at war, with daemons and gods and fuck knows what else popping up everywhere. You would be hunted with a ferocity that no rogue magus has ever seen before.”
I grunted. “True enough.”
“And you have seen true horror,” she added, the words oddly soft in her cracked voice. “In the end you did not shirk that terrible task. You faced down daemons, the Magash Mora, a god, and the Arcanum itself to do what had to be done. What is this petty little skirmish in comparison to that?”
Unexpectedly, I laughed. How had she managed that? “You make it all sound so easy.”
Now it was her turn to laugh, a harsh hacking. “What do you make of this place?”
I shrugged. “The Clanholds is a backwater, but not without its charms. It’s an impenetrable maze to outsiders and all those stones make me nervous, especially the ones marked with three eyes. This place harbours a hundred ancient mysteries. Have you ever heard of the myth of the God of Broken Things?”
She shook her head. “It’s a local legend around these parts, but unusually this one is about a god instead of giants or spirits so perhaps the tale bears some kernel of truth. There is supposed to be a sacred valley around here that only the despairing can find, hidden from the sight of all the rest. There, a god makes its home. It is said that the broken can find succour and safety there. Wish we could find it. I wouldn’t mind having a god on our side right now.”
“Sounds farfetched to me.” She turned away and eased her mask up to take a drink.
&nbs
p; “There’s no need to hide,” I said. “I have seen horrors beyond compare and your scars were gained protecting us. Without you we would all have been lost to something worse than death. Your wounds were earned in righteous battle, not like…” I traced the scars running down my right cheek, “…not like mine, earned from naive stupidity. I appreciate a good mind more than the meat we wear.”
My breath misted the air for long moments until she chose to turn back to face me. I could only see her lower face, but that was enough to know exactly what she suffered. Her nose was missing and the left side of her face was a tapestry of black and red ruin with bone peering through in patches. The lips were gone to expose bare teeth. Her right side was better, but still a mass of angry burn-scars. She opened her mouth and poured in a goodly amount of whisky. Her single eye pierced me, defiant and expecting comment. I made none.
She stoppered the flask and tossed it back to me. “So now you know.”
Her scars didn’t matter to me. Without thinking, I reached towards her and stroked her scarred cheek with my hand. The moment I touched her I knew it was a mistake. She slapped my hand aside, a whisker away from breaking my arm, then hastily slid her mask back down into place. Her hands shook with fury. “How fucking dare you, I should break your face.”
Words were crude things at times. I let go of my emotions, Gift radiating exactly what I was thinking and feeling. She lurched backwards, swamped in my unfiltered admiration and respect. Anger at what had been done to her, yes, but not a single bloody smidgeon of pity. No, I wouldn’t run, and not because I had nowhere to run to – that had never stopped me before – but because of her. I wished to possess even half of her brave heart and iron will. Again, her ruined figure clad in half-melted armour stood before me during the darkest hour of Black Autumn, spirit-bound sword in her hand and duty in her heart. In agony, she did what needed to be done. Me? I just followed in her wake. She had saved me, and I owed her. I intended to pay her back in kind. I would be something better than I was. I was here to fight at her side and her ravaged body did not dissuade me – it was her mind I was attracted to.
A strangled choke from behind the mask, and then she fled as fast as knightly body-magic could propel her, a blurred shape blasting through the snow and out of sight in seconds before the waves of snow had even settled.
“Oh well done, you fucking arse. Handled that well, eh?” I had no idea how she was feeling and as usual I’d just done whatever I wanted without a thought in my stupid head, and damn what anybody else felt about it. “Walker, you absolute shitestain.” But now she knew exactly how I felt about her. Surprisingly, this was also the first time that I did as well.
Jovian was awake and waiting for me when I returned, a disapproving look in his eyes. I said nothing and tossed him the last of my whisky.
“We are in this together, yes?” he said, taking a swig. “Best you had remember that, lest I spank you like a little boy.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I snapped, full of self-recrimination as I replayed my mistake with Eva over and over in my head, wishing I wasn’t such a cack-brained prick.
“Challenge accepted,” he replied, deadly serious. “We shall see at dawn.”
CHAPTER 12
This morning I had the pleasure of facing Jovian in mock battle as the wardens gathered to begin their own daily drills. We picked up wooden hafts instead of real weapons and I eyed mine dubiously, clutched as it was in traitorous hands that could now barely hold a flask of whisky. It might not be steel but it would still hurt when he beat the crap out of me, and I supposed sparring with goose-down pillows wouldn’t be much of use to anybody.
Still, my own big mouth had landed me here, so I just had to shut up and take the punishment. Hopefully it wouldn’t prove completely humiliating. He stripped to the waist in a circle of cleared snow, and as he rolled his shoulders and stretched, the wiry little Esbanian’s impressive collection of scars earned from hundreds of fights garnered a measure of respect from the circle of wardens surrounding us. I kept my damn clothes on. Nobody wanted to see a mop-haired, rake-thin, ugly old git like me half-naked. Besides, it was bloody cold.
I cricked my neck from side to side and took a stance, right leg leading, and assumed a basic guard with the weapon held in front of me. Even I knew that much of bladecraft. Jovian stood loose and easy on the balls of his feet, giving no indication of what he was about to do.
“Fight,” Coira shouted.
All I could do was desperately block as Jovian exploded towards me, sword cutting down and right towards my neck. Not that it connected. My parry sailed out to the side as he twisted his wrist, sword tip slipping up and over my haft to smack me on the forehead.
“First blood,” he said, grinning. I had died in half a second. We both took our stances, and this time I started cheating. Magic flooded my muscles as I waited eager for action. This time things would be different.
“Fight!”
I darted forward with blistering speed. Lunged and cut low at his exposed knee. He slipped his leg back out of reach and swung straight down at my head.
Crack. My head throbbed. Dead in half a second again. Duels were not as thrilling and glorious as the bards depicted.
“Second,” he said, smirking.
We began again, and again I darted forward, barely avoiding impaling myself on his weapon as he did the same.
I scrambled back, barely avoiding his darting point. I was off-balance, and he was on me like a cat worrying a rat, a flurry of blows that even my magically-enhanced strength and speed barely kept up with. This was the first time I’d properly used a weapon in months and my clumsy damaged hands were betraying me at every turn. My grip slipped and he was through my guard, sword smacking me on the arse as he slipped past me. He spun back to face me, grinning insolently.
“Third,” he said.
“Fight!”
He whacked my shin.
“Fight!”
He tapped my elbow, exposed by a clumsy strike. I fumbled and almost dropped the weapon and in my ire drew deeper on my magic. Frustration boiled over as he took me apart with consummate ease.
“Fight!”
He rapped my knuckles, then spanked me with his hand on the way past. The wardens snickered and whispered, mocking.
I was done playing. I gritted my teeth and waited for the next bout. My Gift throbbed with the torrent of magic flooding my body.
“Fight!”
The world slowed to a crawl as I flashed forward and tossed my sodding stick at a mocking warden’s stupid face. I could barely use it anyway. I’d always been better with knives and fists. Jovian’s eyes widened as I slapped his weapon aside with my gloved hand and the other found his throat. I heaved the little Esbanian up and off his feet, then slammed him down to the icy earth, squeezing.
He slapped the snow with open hands, a sign of submission. After a moment’s hesitation, I let go. The magic protested. It wanted me to use even more, a greater display of my righteous might. The Worm of Magic always lusted for more. The wardens murmured amongst themselves, surprised at me putting him down so brutally, so casually.
He coughed and sat up, rubbing his neck. Somewhat chagrined at my loss of control, I offered my hand and pulled him to his feet. “A dangerous man,” he said. “You were playing with me, yes? Ah, one day I will be your match, this I swear.”
I stared at him as he winked. The little bastard had let me win to soothe my pride and solidify my standing as commander. In his eyes he’d done me a big favour. At that moment I knew he could have spanked me like an unruly child if he’d wanted, even with all the skill I had with body magic. It was a pointed warning about overconfidence. I nodded grimly.
At some unseen signal the wardens broke away and began packing up camp. Today we would reach Kil Noth, and for that Jovian’s warning was timely indeed.
Six bodies in Clan Clachan hunting plaids, half-buried in the snow and frozen solid. An equal number of dead Skallgrim in thick furs and chain
scattered on the slope below them. The Clansfolk bore ragged claw wounds around their arms and faces while the Skallgrim sprouted arrows from their backs.
Jovian sighed. “It was a fine ambush. The Skallgrim advance scouts were well feathered but those Clansfolk forgot to look up. We shall not make that same mistake, I think.”
I peered into the grey sky. “Staying alive is the one thing I’ve proven to be good at. Despite everybody’s best efforts, including my own.” Jovian grinned at that. “That, we have in common.”
Vaughn abruptly dropped Biter’s reins and whooped in delight as he plunged his hands into the snow, retrieving a beaked Skallgrim war axe that had to be half my height. It was a fine thing, the metal acid-etched and adorned with bronze trim. He grinned at us and swung it one-handed. The big weapon suited the huge brute and I wasn’t one to complain about looting a corpse; why, it was practically a second profession for us poor Docklanders.
At least one of us was happy amidst the frigid wind and drifting snow, but then he was too stupid to worry about the coming bloodshed, or maybe he really didn’t care – it was still better than rotting away in the dank depths of that prison cell.
We left the frozen corpses where they lay and kept on trudging through the snow, a long line of men, women and pack ponies. As we grew closer to Kil Noth my paranoia kept my magic ready to lash out, so I was the first to sense the strongly Gifted mind waiting for us. I gently probed, finding their mind a silent fortress immune to anything bar a fully-fledged assault. I withdrew before they felt me, and warned the other magi to expect company. Scouts soon passed back word that a Clansfolk emissary from Kil Noth awaited us further down the valley.
A mere slip of a girl, perhaps a single summer past full womanhood, sat cross-legged on the mossy back of a fallen standing stone. Her hair was white as snow and spilled over a strip of embossed leather across her forehead to hang free to her waist. In defiance of the freezing weather she was naked and her flesh inked all over with whorling blue and black tattoos. She boasted delicate, almost fragile, features and her eyes were closed, her expression serene and innocent. Her appearance was deceptive – I knew it masked something gut-heavingly vile.
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