by David Oliver
Strange really. It might have been an inhospitable place populated by even more inhospitable beasts, but, despite my griping, I found myself resonating with the land we were walking through. Yes it was dangerous, yes it was cold, but there was a stark beauty to the scene that I hadn’t realised my soul had missed. The others huddled within their furs, but the two mountain born felt a previously unknown weight lift off their shoulders, for like no other place since entering the grassland of the Endless Sea, the Meredothian Heartland felt like home. A distant cousin to the grand mountain Cassius and I grew up on perhaps, but the relation was there. We strode with light steps, ignoring the bemused looks of our friends as we laughed, cajoled and chattered as animatedly as they had ever seen us, breathing in the crisp air and stunning landscapes with a vivacity much like a white sand addict in the Chains.
We marched north, hugging the foot of the mountains. It was as Jadira had said, much of the mountain range looked largely impassable, or at least requiring so much effort to traverse as to not be worth it. Sheer rock faces soared out of the ground, passable to a dedicated climber with spools of equipment and rope perhaps, but to a group of Hrudan encroaching onto enemy territory and armed for battle? Not likely.
Every now and again we would see caves or fissures in the rock and ice and we would creep in expecting a whole host of troubles; the least of which was the Hrudan. Thankfully, aside from one somewhat irate bear who decided that we weren’t worth the effort of trying to eat we didn’t run into anything too dangerous on our explorations. Rikol’s face was drawn and pale whenever we explored a cave, as though he was constantly expecting a spider to crawl up beside him and stab him in the back. Considering that was pretty much exactly what happened last time I couldn’t quite blame him for it and it said much about his character that he was able to follow us into the caves at all.
We set out with a range of plentiful supplies that Jadira had given us, lots of dried food, wood and kindling for starting fires. She warned us not to eat the snow to quench our thirst but to melt the water in a series of pots that she provided. I wasn’t entirely sure why - surely snow was just frozen water - but memories of our parents stating the same thing was enough to stay our hands and warn the others off too. What many outdoor people don’t tell you is that after a few days dried food becomes a real chore to eat. Your body starts craving fresh meat, fresh vegetables, and you begin to incessantly look for anything that you can forage. Thankfully we all had a fair amount of experience of surviving off the land - some of us more than others. Cassius and I were back in our element, reliving the time that we had spent with Seya hunting and living on the mountain - just with a lot more adult responsibility and less childish freedom. And, of course, without my cat.
I could still feel Seya. Our connection was there and seemingly whole but for the last few weeks it had been a drawn and pale imitation of itself. I missed her terribly. It’s one thing to be surrounded by friends, but to be missing a part of your soul? Everything felt more dull, less vibrant and alive, and I don’t think it was just a decrease in the magic of our bond but the simple fact that Seya - funny, witty Seya - wasn’t there. The others missed her too, I knew that much. Our time at the Academy had meant that they had grown extremely close to Seya, giving her treats and scratches and wrestling with her at any opportunity. They asked me about her, where she was, what she was doing, but soon stopped when I explained that I knew as much as they did; that she was alive but far away. I didn’t know what was stopping her from joining me and so I could only hope that she was not in pain.
We were coming towards the end of the second week when we finally came across some sign. Nothing much to a layperson’s eye perhaps, but thanks to the skills instilled in Cassius and myself by the Tracker it was easy to infer that it was the remains of a once heavily used camp. The trail was hard to read, days or even weeks old, and it spread in every direction. Reasoning that those that pushed into the heartland were some of the incursive teams that have been attacking the Meredothians, we decided to keep with those that came from further north. The trail had been worn fairly heavily through the icy landscape - footprints that would have disappeared in a single night of rain had instead remained frozen in the grass, giving practically perfect conditions for the trained eye to track, and very tricky problems to get rid of for any party, as we well knew having struggled to do so over the past week.
“There’s something about this trail…” Cassius said, crouching down beside the rutted ground. We all gathered around expectantly, but he just kept combing the ground.
Finally, Scythe couldn’t keep his quiet any longer. “Well, what is it?” he asked.
“It’s...getting cold.”
The party groaned as Cassius cracked a grin.
“Really?” Scythe said exasperatedly. “That’s the third time in as many days!”
“And it gets you each time,” Cassius replied, his smile broad.
Whilst the party devolved into good-natured bickering I smiled and closed my eyes, opening my senses to the world around me. The crunch of ice-encrusted grass, the rustle of the wind across the furs of my coat, the creaking of distant boughs under the weight of snow, it all became that much clearer and more vivid- I froze, the only trees in view didn’t have a large weight of snow pressing down amongst them.
“Down!” I roared, grabbing Scythe and Ella, the two nearest to me, and flinging them to the floor. I heard a muttered curse, sensed the snap of bowstrings, the flexing snap of wood, and an arrow rocketed towards where I had been a split second before, a second narrowly missing Ella. Just the two as far as I could tell, and I could sense the hurried movement of a man in the brush further ahead.
“Calidan?” Cassius shouted with a questioning voice.
“Two,” I replied, already moving. “I’m fairly positive.”
Instantly the group were up and on the run, their movements trained and confident. We had done exercises in the Academy designed to maximise our chances against snipers, and our movements consisted of erratic stop and start sprints that twisted and turned, all while closing the distance as quickly as possible. It was much harder in open terrain rather than the streets and buildings we often practiced in, but at least you didn’t have to worry about arrows coming down from floors above you. We rapidly closed in on the two men in the thicket of trees, angry Imperators-in-training moving like hungry wolves. I was right, one of the men had been trying to make a break for it, the other wasn’t moving - or at least wasn’t moving away - I could sense that he was scrabbling to knock another arrow to his string, panic and adrenaline making his actions more erratic and prone to error. As for the other man, he was going to be out of the thicket and away before we were close enough to catch him.
“Sophia!” I cried, pointing in the direction of the rear of the thicket in case she could see me. “We’ve got a runner, far end of the trees, bring him down, alive if possible!”
I heard a grunt and felt Sophia change direction ever so slightly, unlooping her bow as she ran. I continued past the unmoving man, leaving him to the others in case I could assist in catching the runner. On even ground and drawing on the power of Seya’s bond I would be much faster, but his lead was substantial and it was possible that he was trying to lead us into a trap - something I could hurtle straight into. Thankfully however, Sophia’s bow was a thing of sheer beauty and power and she wielded it like it was an extension of her body. It was a rare day that anyone saw her miss. I had no doubt that she would be able to bring him down before he was out of range. I rounded the edge of the small thatch of trees and saw the man sprinting, his head tucked low with his arms pumping furiously. He was clad in a variety of leather with his bow slung over one shoulder and a hatchet tucked into his belt. As far as I could see there was no chainmail, no large war axe - nothing, in fact, that I particularly attributed to a member of a Hrudan warband; he could be anyone.
My brain sparked. “Wait!” I roared to Sophia whilst putting every ounce of speed I had into m
y legs, hoping that I could make it in time and knowing that it was futile. Even one bonded to a Great Heart can’t outrun an arrow in flight and Sophia’s fingers had already loosed. I slid to a halt next to the man in time to watch blood froth from his lips, Sophia’s arrow having embedded itself deep into a lung. I held his gaze as he died, my hand on his shoulder in a small attempt to offer what support I could. Though the man had shot at us I couldn’t bring myself to be angry, particularly when I was fairly positive he was Meredothian.
Sophia and I returned to the cover of the trees as quickly as possible, lunging through the grasping undergrowth and all the while hoping that Cassius had done his usual - and very un-Imperator like - thing and stayed his hand. I gave a sigh of relief as we arrived to find the rest of the group standing around the second attacker but it was easy to see why they had not cut him down and why he hadn’t run like the others. The stump of his leg was eminently visible with dirty bandages stained black with blood. More worryingly were the black lines spreading up from the wound and into the meat of his thigh.
“He’s Meredothian,” Cassius said softly as I arrived, his eyes turning further downcast as he noticed the bloody hands I bore. “Thought we were more Hrudan coming to finish them off.”
“Doesn’t look like he needs much finishing,” Scythe said grimly. “That’s blood poisoning. He will be dead within a day, two at the most.”
“You killed Cannae,” a wearied voice rasped in Meredothian, the tone not accusatory but matter of fact. The man’s eyes had found my hands and the fresh blood that coated them.
I inclined my head. “I did,” I replied in the same language, ignoring Sophia’s glance. “I believed him to be Hrudan and running to return to warn of our approach. I gave the order to bring him down and only when the deed was done did I realise the error. I am sorry.”
The man raised his hand and waved my apology off. “We shot first. We thought that we were likely to die when we saw the number of you, and knew it when we saw you move. Fighters one and all. Cannae and I are hunters, not blooded killers. I should hate you for killing my brother, but I have nothing left to grieve.”
“What happened?” said Rikol, crouching down beside the man. His face held no emotion but his voice was soft, gentle.
There was silence for some time and then the man began to speak. His eyes were haunted as he relived the memories of the last few days. Days filled with fire, swords and death. He spoke of how his village, a relatively meagre collection of huts that kept to themselves, came to be set upon by a small but experienced band of men. His brother and himself came back to the village following an unsuccessful hunt to find people they had known their entire lives dead on the floor. At this Cassius and I shared a look, the horror that we had known that day was new and fresh for this man, front and foremost in his mind whereas for us it was now just a deep, soul-wrenching ache to which we had become accustomed. If he lived - and that was doubtful looking at his leg - I fully suspected that he would die in some violent spat and a needless waste of life further down the line.
He spoke about how the men, the Hrudan, were still in the village, still raping and still murdering. Our ears perked up when he spoke about how he saw some people being dragged away, thick ropes binding their hands and wooden contraptions locked around their necks. He spoke about how he and his brother had done what they could and attempted to find survivors before trying to extract vengeance. He shakily, yet proudly, talked about how they had shot down at least one man, their arrows striking true and the Hrudan falling to the ground and lying still. This had given them away and for the past two days they had been chased, though he imagined that the trail was now somewhat cold. As a parting gift their pursuers had managed to cut him with an arrow - the wound shallow and barely noticeable, but a fierce burning soon began to rage within his leg and it became clear that the Hrudan used poisoned arrows. By the time they were safe enough to deal with the injury the wound had been black and putrid and the only thing they could think to do was to remove the limb. He spoke and rambled, his voice getting weaker until he drifted into fevered sleep.
I looked at the group. “Thoughts?”
“Sounds like the Hrudan are slavers,” Scythe muttered, eyes dark.
“Slavers aren’t the only thing to come out of the deep North,” Cassius said softly. “Tracker said that the people he was forced to work for were not Meredothian,” he looked at me with a fierce light in his eyes, “could it be they were Hrudan?”
“Could be,” I replied. “But we don’t know enough to declare war on the Hrudan populace for demon summoning and human sacrifice. What we do know is that they, or at least a segment of their population, are aggressive and intent on either claiming this country or raiding it whilst inflicting wanton violence. Anything else?”
“He’s brave,” Ella said, speaking up. “To cut off your own foot without something to numb the pain and no medical experience? Brave.”
“True enough,” Rikol interjected, “but it doesn't look like it did him all that much good in the end. Either that poison got further into his flesh than he expected or his leg has become fouled. Those black lines are a very bad sign.”
“Agreed,” said Scythe. “We all know that he won’t last much longer. If we had come across him a little earlier perhaps we could have done something, but at this point?” He sighed and shook his head. “Probably best just to ease his pain.”
“We aren’t leaving him,” Cassius stated firmly. He raised a hand to cut off Scythe’s response. “I will not leave someone out here to die, I will carry him.”
“Where?” said Ella, moving close to grasp his hand in hers. “Where will you take him?”
The fact that Ella didn’t say ‘we’ was telling. She hadn’t lost her sense of toughness or her street smarts from her rough upbringing and consequently had an astoundingly practical nature. Cassius was the only one who was driven by his need to save others. He always was the best of us.
“You won’t take him,” I said bluntly. “It’s too far, we are miles from anywhere and we don’t know where we are headed, let alone the fact that it is going to be dangerous. We can’t risk our best swordsman being tired if we suddenly get attacked.” Cassius looked devastated, as though I had betrayed some inherent value that he held most dear. At that point in my life he wasn’t quite used to that.
And I guess, neither was I.
I walked up to the unconscious man, gathered him into my arms and stood up, turning as I did so to lock eyes with them all.
“I will take him.”
Chapter 17
Avalanche
The man’s name was Kernighan and when he was in a more reasonable state of mind he was quite an amusing bloke, cracking sardonic jokes at any available opportunity. Even Rikol, lost as he was in his own bitter thoughts, cracked a smile here and there and began to join in, one bitter and broken boy to a bitter and broken man.
Kernighan was aware that he was going to die. He had accepted it before we arrived. Village life anywhere in the world, let alone in the Meredothian heartland during winter, was hard. Though he only had perhaps thirty years under his belt he had seen enough people come and go to know that death more often than not came at the behest of the infected wound or sickness than it did at the hands of blade or claw. With pained breaths he directed us back towards the torched remains of his village - a distance we made in just under a day of hard walking. His fatigue ridden eyes watched blankly as the broken and burned walls came into view, the village nestled at the base of a small hill, the blackened wood stark against the snow-covered landscape. Broken bodies lay where they had fallen, frozen in rictures of pain, many of them savaged by beasts that had found the grisly feast.
With a glance the group spread out, weapons at the ready in case of straggling Hrudan - or more likely scavenging wolves - but nothing moved. The dead village was silent save for the cawing of crows. Little remained of the buildings; everything had been smashed and then burned. Kernighan, mercifully, w
as unconscious for the majority of the time that we spent there hunting for clues. For those moments that he was awake he was silent, watching the remains of his village and home with haunted eyes. With no immediate tracks and the light long since faded we set up camp on the other side of the hill, huddling together against the cold with only a small banked fire and some hide tarpaulins for warmth. It was a long and restless night as Kernighan struggled in his sleep, wrestling with fever dreams. Only in the deep hours of the morning did he eventually still, allowing some rest to be had by those not on watch.
He died during that night. It wasn’t unexpected but it was still surprisingly impactful. We hadn’t known him long and he had started our relationship by attempting to kill us but carrying an injured man through snow and ice tends to quickly build a relationship. We buried him on top of the hill overlooking the remains of his home, said a few words and then moved on. Whilst it might not seem sentimental the biggest thing we could do to honour his memory was to find the band of men who had done this and send them to join him in the great beyond.
As you might imagine, the tracks around the burnt village were almost completely unintelligible. People had run, died and been dragged back through the mud and blood throughout the village and to top it all off there was a few days of fresh snow on top. Circling further from the village however, we began to find signs of the group that had passed through. It looked like it was maybe a dozen strong, which might not seem like enough to take out a village, but a dozen armed men with mail and weapons versus thirty scared and unarmed villagers? Easy prey.
The tracks led further to the north east, the Hrudan moving slowly, hampered presumably by the fresh addition of slaves. The tracks of the slaves were heavy, hindered as they were by the yoke that Kernighan had seen round their necks. Periodically we saw waste that had been dropped just off the tracks, all in a line indicating toilet stops for the slaves. Unpleasant for them but a useful tracking tool for us. That said, the Hrudan really didn’t seem to be minding their tracks in the first place, perhaps because they were on their way out of the Heartland and thus heading home, or because they thought they had this entire area of the Heartland to themselves. Either way it made our lives a whole bunch easier.