Rak Ashor dismounted twenty yards behind and edged his way through the bodies towards us. His gaze flicked to the left and the right as he went. He was looking for something. He joined us, not offering a word. Towards the centre of the carnage there was another pile – this one almost twelve feet high and a mixture of men, broken tents, armour and shattered carts.
“Cranmar Sunderer,” said the Pyromancer quietly. He raised a hand and pointed towards one of the bodies. I’d never seen Cranmar before and hadn’t needed to in order to recognize him. At first, he seemed to be half-submerged by the detritus of his ruined camp, with his lower body buried beneath the fallen. By the time I’d clambered to within a few feet of him, I saw that his legs and lower body were gone. There was no blood to be seen, but I could see the ragged edges of the injury he’d suffered. In life, he’d have been a properly big bastard – ten feet tall and with the strength of a hundred. His face was only half-visible and I saw the cruel set of his features. He looked human, though with something bestial within. It made me think that a savage animal had constantly fought for control of his body. Sometimes you only need one look at a person to make a judgement you can rely on. I knew that the world was a better place without Cranmar Sunderer.
I stood over his ruptured torso. Whatever it was that had killed him, the wound wasn’t clean. There were Northmen here. I counted fifteen of them in total, their bodies partially hidden from sight by the pile. Some of them were riven, split in two as if by a single, unstoppable blow. I couldn’t see Cranmar’s axe, but I was certain it was the Emperor’s man who’d caused these wounds.
“He saw off a good number before they got him,” I said. I was sure Cranmar’s soldiers had perished long before he had.
“It wasn’t these undead warriors which killed Cranmar,” said the Pyromancer. “I despised him, but he was perhaps the toughest of all the Emperor’s nobles. He could have stood forever against these weaker Northmen, or at least against so few. He’d have laughed at them as they came.”
“What killed him?” I asked. “It looks like he’s been torn apart.”
“Another thing I don’t know,” said the Pyromancer. “If it could kill the Sunderer, it is not something we should willingly face.”
Above, the crows shrieked and cried ever more insistently. They began to settle on the bodies again, some even swooping towards us to drive us away from their dinner. We left Cranmar’s remains and headed back to the Cohort. Crows descended in great numbers, eager to resume.
“Captain Charing?” It was Rak Ashor. “I too remember what it was like to be a soldier. I have seen a hundred thousand of my fellows die when I have lived. I know what it means. Would you permit me to give the bodies of these men what they deserve? And it will deprive the Northmen of their use.”
I didn’t know why he’d asked – I guess he felt some small affinity with us as he recalled his own past. It must have been something important to him. I nodded and ordered the men away, a hundred yards distant from Cranmar’s defeat. They stared quietly, their eyes fixed on the dead.
Rak Ashor stood at the edge, facing across the battlefield, smoke drifting away in ephemeral wisps. With both arms straight, he raised them upwards and away from his body until he’d formed the shape of a cross. The air had been still before and then it rushed by us, sucked in by the demands of his sorcery. I looked at the fabric that underpinned the world and saw the tens of thousands of distant memories of these men, floating adrift. The Pyromancer was there – a focus of energy that was vast and chaotic. I was not sure if I was mistaken, but I thought I could feel the currents here as well, as if Ashor affected the air in both realms. There was no air and no wind amongst the warp and weft, but I had no better words for the sensation.
The bodies of the dead ignited. From nothing, they burned. Flames climbed fifty feet into the sky and over a hundred yards to either side. With no build-up, nor gathering intensity, they roared and howled, consuming the bodies of the men. The crows died too, without a moment for them to screech out their pain. Seconds later, the heat smashed against us, like the hottest wind driven by a desert tempest. We narrowed our eyes and we watched, each man lost in his thoughts. On the periphery, the Pyromancer stood, his arms still aloft; an unmoving silhouette against the inferno he’d brought into existence.
It lasted for less than a minute. Rak Ashor lowered his arms and turned towards us. He walked to his horse and mounted without a backward glance. The fires continued to burn, their strength already diminished, their fuel almost gone. We made our way around the pyre at a good distance. None of us wanted to experience the smell of burning dead men and crows. The flames were gone completely by the time we’d passed by, leaving thick clouds of greasy smoke, which mercifully we only caught in the faintest of hints.
The rest of the afternoon was a period of sober, reflective quiet for all of us. We knew what defeat looked like – we’d seen it in our enemies time and again. Still, there was something unsettling about seeing such a large number of bodies gathered in one place. They hadn’t needed to die. A commander should have an interest in the lives of his men. I imagined that Cranmar hadn’t cared one bit – he’d led them here and let them die for no reason. The Empire was rotten to the core and I found that I was angry at myself for entertaining fond memories of our time serving Malleus. There was no good in anything he did and I counted myself a fool for thinking there ever might have been.
As afternoon drew to a close, Craddock and I spent our time looking for a suitable place to make camp. We still followed the road, which was becoming wider and better-made the further north we went.
“This was built from the north to the south,” said Craddock, reaching the conclusion before I could.
“It looks old,” I said.
“There’s much we don’t know about the world, Captain.”
“That there is. It bothers me sometimes. If I allow myself to think on it too long.”
“We’re looking for the ruins of a city, you said. There was life here long before the Emperor. I wonder what the land would look like if we could turn the clock back ten thousand years. Would there be great cities that have fallen to dust? Or would there be nothing?”
“If we had the answers to these questions, we would know what the Northmen want, Lieutenant Craddock.” It was Ashor, come close to listen to our words.
We camped near to a shallow river, which worked its way through the arid rocks. It was wide and had formed a dozen separate channels which split and reformed endlessly, carrying the water on this leg of its endless journey. The sound was pleasing to the ears and many of us sat along the edges, looking for stones to skip across the surface or to throw carelessly into the water. These are the simple diversions that you never tire of, no matter how long you live. We had a few small campfires, partially hidden by the walls of our motley collection of tents. There were a few men around them and there’d be many more once the night-time hours became sufficiently advanced. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation and spent my time examining the ever-changing distortions of the moon’s reflection on the river’s surface. I’m sure my mind was thinking of something, though I wasn’t quite sure what it was. I became aware of a commotion, to the south side of the camp, on the other side of the river. There were excited shouts and a few men had gathered. I thought I heard the mention of a name – one I hadn’t expected to hear.
I got to my feet and walked towards the cluster of men. There were at least thirty people, laughing and talking excitedly. Above them loomed another, bigger and taller than the rest. I pushed my way through, hearing the voice I’d never thought I’d hear again. And there he was, as large as life and twice as ugly.
“Harry Sinnar,” I said, taking him in a bear hug and lifting him from his feet.
29
The excitement took some time to settle. It had become depressingly familiar to lose our friends, so it was a great boon to find someone we’d thought dead returning to our ranks. Eventually, the chatter died away and I
was able to get time to speak to Sinnar. We were at a camp fire sitting in a circle, with Craddock, Ploster and a few others. I was still in a state of disbelief and shook Sinnar’s hand again, as if to reassure myself that I wasn’t imagining his presence.
“I got lucky,” he began. “The Hungerer wanted to fight all the way to the end and that chasm goes down a long way. He kept a hold of me and hit me a few times. He was a strong bastard and I thought he was going to knock me out. I didn’t want him to have the pleasure of killing me – I’d wanted to be broken on the floor of the gorge. That was my pride talking at least. I remember getting my sword out and then I saw the ground coming towards me. He was still holding on to me and then it all went black. I woke up and it was night time. The Hungerer was dead, with my sword through his chest. I can only imagine I landed on him and he broke my fall, and I somehow managed to get my blade through his heart. I don’t know how many bones I had broken. Nearly all of my ribs, I reckon and there was definitely something wrong with my skull and one of my arms.” He lifted his left arm up and waved it around.
I looked closely – I hadn’t seen it before. I was no surgeon, but it looked like the bone had been broken in two or three places and set badly. “We’ll have to get Grief and Slicer to break it and set it again,” I told him.
“Aye, it doesn’t feel too strong at the moment. I tried to stretch it and press the bones into place. Whatever I did, it didn’t work too well. I’ll have a word with the good corporal later tonight.” He laughed in genuine humour. It was the sound of a man still surprised to find himself alive.
“How did you find us?” asked Ploster. “We’ve covered a lot of ground since the bridge.”
“There was no nearby way out of the chasm. I remember hearing it ended somewhere near Tibulon. Luckily, there was nothing wrong with my legs. At least nothing that slowed me down. I walked for hundreds of miles and eventually the ground sloped up. Just like that, the canyon ended. I thought I might get asked too many questions in Tibulon, so I didn’t go looking for it. I got someone to point me towards Angax and every time I saw someone new, I asked them as well. By the time I got to the city, it was filled with fog.”
“The Northmen came, just before we left. I fear they will have killed everyone,” I told him.
“It wasn’t easy to get through unseen. I had to kill a few of their risen soldiers. I’m glad they fight without teamwork or reason. I found my way to the keep – it was locked up tight, so I tried the barracks nearby. There were a few old boys hiding in the cellar, waiting for death to come. They told me you’d gone north.”
I didn’t know how they’d discovered this. Soldiers always talked, so I wasn’t exactly confounded by the fact that they’d been able to direct Sinnar onto our trail.
“You were lucky to get through the fog,” said Craddock. “We have the Pyromancer with us and we needed his assistance to come through without losses.”
“The Pyromancer? Well, he’s helped us up till now. I suppose I should forgive him for the time he buried us in Gold.”
“He killed many of us in Gold,” said Ploster quietly. We all knew that Sinnar was making a joke, albeit not the best one.
“Aye, I know that Jon,” said Sinnar. “We have faced men as enemies before and then later called them friends. It’s not always the right thing to hold a grudge.”
“Indeed not,” said Ploster.
“You’ve heard my tale, barring the details. Here I am,” said Sinnar.
“The Captain’s promoted Sense to lieutenant,” said Craddock, with an admirably straight face. “You’re now just Sinnar, unless you can work your way back through the ranks.”
Craddock almost had him. I watched the uncertainty appear on Sinnar’s face, before it vanished as if it had never been. He laughed and spoke a number of oaths.
“You’d best go and see Corporal Grief, Lieutenant Sinnar,” I said with a wink. “We’ve been sent on a mission for the Emperor. North, a thousand miles. The prize is five years for our lady.”
Sinnar climbed to his feet and I could see that his twisted arm hampered him more than he wanted to let on. “I’m sure if Malleus is involved, the journey and the destination will conceal a million hazards.”
“That they will,” I told him. “I’ll fill you in on the details later.”
Sinnar walked away to find the company’s surgeon. Although we didn’t feel pain as much as we used to, it was something we could sense like it was hidden behind a thick veil. It would still be greatly unpleasant for Sinnar to have his arm broken several times, in order that it could be properly set. I didn’t even know if it could be done with enough accuracy to return his arm to its original state. I kept my fingers crossed that Grief would be able to perform one of his miracles. Around the campfire, many of the men were grinning.
“It’s good to have him back,” said Ploster, speaking for everyone.
“We’d have missed him in more ways than one,” I said, speaking honestly. There was no one this side of Bonecruncher who could force a soldier to hold a line better than Sinnar. He’d made the difference on more than one occasion and the whole unit would benefit from his return. I also valued his perspective and his thoughts on a wide variety of subjects, not all of them relating to killing other soldiers.
The next day we rose with renewed vigour. Sinnar’s return represented something bigger than just the man himself. His reappearance spoke of hope and the possibility that even death itself could forgive us – as though we were death’s chosen, destined to defy the odds and somehow triumph over whatever we faced. Even if it was a fanciful notion, it was a good one and I clung onto it tightly. I went to see Sinnar before we broke camp. He looked distinctly pale and his arm was tightly bandaged to a splint.
“Corporal Grief treated you well?” I asked, as if to suggest it wasn’t a guarantee.
“Bloody butcher he is,” said Sinnar, his voice unmistakeably weaker than normal.
“If you want us to carry you, I’ll understand,” I said, struggling to hold away the smile.
He didn’t bother to grace me with a reply and stormed away, muttering loudly to himself about the state of my captaincy. I was glad he still had enough energy to respond to the banter. A few minutes later I spoke to Corporal Grief, who told me that he’d had to make a number of incisions in order to ensure the breakages were as clean as possible. It sounded like a messy business, but he didn’t seem overly alarmed at Sinnar’s prospects of a recovery.
The next few days had little variation. We broke camp, we marched north along the road and we stopped for the night. The scenery was oddly disheartening, made up as it was of parched earth and wiry vegetation. We did see rain, so I was left unsure as to why the land was so infertile. Perhaps it was a combination of poor soil and harsh winters. The land was mostly flat around us, with the occasional lone hill or distant crag to break up the monotony. There was no wildlife and we didn’t see any other people living here. With so little to catch the eye, I spent much time lost in thought, or talking to the men. The good spirits remained – we had far too much experience to let a brooding landscape dampen our mood. Having said that, I’m sure a period of relentless rain and wind would have set the men off to griping.
The road entered a town which seemed too large to be way out here, miles from anywhere else. I sent Eyeball ahead like I usually did and he came back to report it was deserted.
“There’s not a person there, Captain,” he said. “I looked in a few houses.”
“It’s not like Nightingale?” I asked.
“Perhaps, if someone’s gone to the trouble of hiding all the dead,” he said. “If so, I didn’t see any.”
We entered the place with caution. Craddock didn’t know the name of the town, but the Pyromancer told us it was called Tolfirth. I thought he looked troubled at the news that it was empty. Eyeball’s impression of the town was correct – there was no one living within its boundaries at all. Like a man scratching at a half-healed scab, we searched houses and
shops, determined to locate a sign that someone or something still lived there. Part of me knew it was stupid – the only thing we were likely to find was more of the dead. One of the men did find some bodies – a couple of mangy hounds had keeled over in a dirty alley. Other than that, there was no one.
“How many lived here, do you think?” I asked Craddock.
“Forty or fifty thousand,” he said.
“I agree. A lot of people to vanish without a trace.”
“I don’t like it,” he said. None of us did.
The longer we stayed in Tolfirth, the greater the sense of foreboding we felt. I found myself worrying that fifty thousand men, women and children were hiding somewhere we couldn’t find, waiting to hurl themselves at our swords and shields. I ordered us to take the camping equipment we needed from a couple of the general stores. We also took supplies in the form of food and a small quantity of spirits from one of the taverns. The fruit and vegetables had perished, but there was plenty of preserved meat and travelling biscuits for us. I was left with the impression that whatever had befallen Tolfirth had happened within the last two weeks. I fervently hoped that the citizens of the town had got wind of the Northmen and had simply fled elsewhere.
The next day, we crossed the northern border of the Empire and entered the Northlands. It was only the second time I could remember leaving the Empire and the last time had been in the company of the sorcerer Dag’Vosh, as he hunted for the Saviour. I didn’t feel any change, not that I would have expected to. We could see the mountains in the distance and when the air was clear, could make out what looked like a shrouding haze over their snow-laden sides.
“This is the same range that we saw from the Northdown Moors?” I asked Craddock.
Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3) Page 31