A Time of Dread
Page 29
Sig looked up, feeling her blood stir, a cold anger, a white flame in her belly. A silence filled the stable.
‘Little Drem,’ Keld whispered, ‘Byrne’s nephew. The Ben-Elim wanted him as a ward, and Byrne said no. You used to sit him on the Stone of Heroes so that he’d stop chopping at your shins while you were teaching sword-skills.’
‘Aye.’ Sig smiled at the memory.
‘What do you want to do?’ Cullen asked.
‘I’m going to do as he asks,’ Sig said, ‘Byrne wants her nephew back – I’ve had to talk her out of coming with me. She’s needed here with all that’s happening. It sounds as if the Kadoshim are moving in the Desolation as well, so I’m going to poke a nose in and see what I can find. And more than that, I’m going to find some justice for my sword-brother and friend, Olin, and I’m going to bring Drem back to Dun Seren. He’s one of us. Was born here. This is his home.’ She looked at them both. ‘I’m asking you both to come with me. You’re my crew.’ She shrugged. ‘You don’t have to. I know what the morrow is, would not think less of either of you for wanting to stay.’
‘Of course I’m coming,’ Keld said, tightening his belt and looking for a cloak, as if he were going to walk out and head north right then and there.
‘But, what about Midwinter’s Day? The Remembrance? The feast. The drinking!’ Cullen said.
‘We’ll leave on the morrow, stay for the Naming, be away right after, long before highsun.’
‘But, the evening feast, the toast to the fallen,’ Cullen said. He knew the weight that Sig put upon honouring their fallen sword-kin, but Sig suspected he also looked forward to the evening feast for his own reasons.
‘It is good and right to honour the dead,’ Sig said. ‘But I’ll not turn my back on a brother that needs us.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
RIV
Crows lurched into the air at Riv’s arrival in the town square, squawking a raucous protest as they abandoned their grisly feast. A choked cry escaped from Riv’s lips as she stared at the mound of heads. It stood twice as tall as her, wide at the base, steam curling up in clouds from the rotting skulls. Most had red holes for eyes, flesh ripped and torn into tatters, the dull gleam of bone beneath. A stench of decay and putrefaction rolled out from the mound clawing into Riv’s nose and mouth like rotting fingers. She retched, turned away and vomited onto the dirt.
There was the sound of marching footsteps, growing louder, and somewhere above and behind her the rush of air, the beating of wings. The scrape of a sword drawn from its scabbard.
‘Turn around, slowly,’ a voice said behind her, calm and cold. ‘Reach for your blade and you’ll die.’
A jolt of fear like bright sunlight burned through the red haze that had been driving her feet and fogging her head. Suddenly cold to her toes, Riv turned slowly, making sure her hands stayed well away from her belt and the hilt of her dagger.
Kol was staring at her, white wings flexed, ready for flight, a bright sword levelled at her chest.
‘Riv!’ he said, a frown marring his scarred face. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
What have I done? Think I’m going to save Aphra all on my own. Think I’m the hero of every story, she berated herself. I’m just an idiot girl who’s ruled by her childish temper. Israfil is never going to allow me to pass my warrior trial.
‘What are you doing here?’ the Ben-Elim asked suspiciously.
‘Being an idiot,’ Riv muttered. ‘I was worried about Aphra,’ she added, fully aware of how stupid she sounded.
‘You were given orders,’ Kol said.
‘Aye,’ Riv said. ‘I broke them.’
A silence, Kol’s gaze intense, boring into her.
‘Rules are not iron, and breaking them not always a sin,’ he said.
Riv blinked at that. It was not the answer she’d been expecting from a Ben-Elim.
The noise of the approaching White-Wings filled the town square, almost upon them now. Kol’s eyes twitched from Riv to the street the White-Wings were advancing from, then back to Riv.
‘Get out of here,’ Kol said, jerking his head towards the street she’d run through to get here. ‘Quickly; if you’re seen, I can’t help you.’
Riv didn’t need any more encouragement. She leaped forwards, sprinting out of sight just as the first row of the White-Wings’ shield wall entered the courtyard. Slamming herself against a wall, she looked back, saw Kol give a beat of his wings and glide twenty paces towards the skulls. The White-Wings spread into the town square, scouts breaking off to search buildings, looking for any potential ambush, and other Ben-Elim dropped down from the skies.
Aphra appeared with her guard; orders were given, smaller units of tens breaking away, marching to the outskirts of the square, setting secure perimeters while Aphra, weapons drawn and prepared for battle, led her warriors past the mound of heads, their booted feet thudding on the timber steps of the feast-hall. Then she was disappearing into the shadowed doors, Riv straining her ears, heart beating heavy as a drum in her head.
Be safe, be safe, Riv pleaded, eyes flitting back to the mound of heads.
Whoever, or whatever, did this might still be here, might be waiting in the shadows of that feast-hall.
Aphra appeared in the doorway, sheathing her sword, and signalled that the building was clear. Riv released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
There was the sound of more feet as the second hundred of White-Wings marched into the courtyard, led by Garidas. They split into smaller units, continuing the search of buildings and alleys around the courtyard, moving on towards the far end, and to where Riv was lurking.
Time to go.
Riv turned and ran back towards where she determined the main gates were. As she drew close she heard familiar voices, saw Jost and the other helpers moving into the town now that perimeters were set. She made her way as close as she could to them, always hugging the shadows, light and silent on her feet. As they passed her by, she stepped out and rejoined them. Jost pulled a relieved face.
‘Thank Elyon you’re back,’ he whispered. ‘There’s only so long I can tell people you’re on a latrine break.’
‘Thanks,’ she said and grinned at him.
Riv sat close to Aphra, who was engaged in deep conversation with Garidas, Lorina and Kol.
They were sitting around a fire-pit dug into the meadow that surrounded the town of Oriens.
All around the meadow fire-pits crackled, small oases of light in night’s darkness. White-Wings were sitting and taking their meals, giants and Ben-Elim spread amongst them, the Ben-Elim looking as relaxed as she had ever seen them. It reminded her of the night in her own feast-hall back in Drassil, when she had seen Adonai with Estel. Something twisted in Riv’s stomach, a sour taste in her mouth, and she pushed the memory away.
There’s enough darkness in this very day, without searching old memories to find it.
Guards patrolled the line between meadow and forest, and above her Riv occasionally heard the whisper of wings, hoped that it was Ben-Elim, and not one of the huge blood-sucking bats that dwelt within the gloom of Forn.
Or Kadoshim.
Riv glanced at the walled town, silent and still. There was plenty of room in there for the warriors, and the walls and roofs would have offered protection against the predators of the forest. But no one wanted to sleep within the walls of Oriens. The mound of heads had made an impression upon all of them. It was clearly the townsfolk, not just warriors or men who had taken up arms against a raider. Men, women, bairns, all were amongst the macabre, blood-soaked mound.
Kol had ordered the mound dismantled, in itself a grisly act, as a search for the bodies had been made, but none had been found before light had begun to fade. So a deep pit had been dug, Riv’s hands blistered by the hard shovel work, and the heads were buried. Kol had spoken words from the Book of the Faithful over them.
‘The unjust will laugh and mock the righteous, they may outlive their dark deeds
by a day or a year, but the righteous will find them, and when they do, the unjust will tremble.’
Voices had called out agreement, oaths made to avenge the slain.
‘Who would do such a thing?’ Jost whispered to Riv.
‘Kadoshim,’ Riv breathed back to him.
Must be. Who else would murder innocents, mutilate children and babies?
The smell came back to Riv unbidden, a vision of a tiny skull, red holes for eyes. She breathed deep and slow, controlling the lurching of her stomach.
‘Ask Aphra,’ Jost urged her.
She looked at her sister, who was staring into the flames of the fire-pit, not involved in the conversation between Kol and Lorina. Garidas was silent, too, though his eyes were on Aphra, not the flames. Riv had long thought that he had more than a warrior’s respect for her sister.
‘Go on.’ Jost nudged Riv with his elbow.
‘Is it Kadoshim?’ Riv leaned close and whispered in Aphra’s ear.
Her sister jumped as if stabbed, staring at Riv.
‘I don’t know, Riv. We found only the dead in Oriens,’ Aphra said, her voice clipped, as if she were straining to hold the rest in.
Kol glanced between Aphra and Riv.
‘It’s a dark, grievous thing that has been done here,’ Kol said, standing; others turned to listen. He looked at the faces about the fire-pit, all staring at him, washed in a blood-red flicker.
‘Was it the Kadoshim?’ a voice asked. Jost.
Kol looked at Jost, the fledgling White-Wing standing still as stone, all sinew, stretched muscle and tendon. He looked ten shades of uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many eyes.
‘I don’t know. This could well be the work of the Kadoshim,’ Kol said, a snarl twisting his features, his golden stubble glinting in the firelight. ‘I can think of no other that would perform an atrocity such as this.’
That’s what I thought.
‘Whoever they are, we will find them,’ Garidas spoke up. He was a fine warrior, and a respected leader, though Riv considered him to be too serious, too obsessed with following the Lore’s every dictate, and that was saying something, because she took the Way of Elyon more earnestly than most. As Riv watched him, his gaze flickered beyond Kol’s wings to Aphra.
‘As to the how of it,’ Kol continued. ‘When the sun rises we search, we scour this place for tracks, signs as to who did this. Then we hunt them down. There will be a reckoning.’ He shrugged, his wings a rippled sigh with the motion, then strode into the darkness.
‘There’s your answer, then,’ Aphra said with a weary sigh to Riv.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Riv said, sitting next to her sister. ‘Is it something I’ve done?’
Aphra gave her a long look. ‘No,’ she said eventually.
‘Then wha—’
‘Leave it,’ Aphra snapped, quiet and cold. ‘The world does not revolve around you and your woes, Riv. Shocking as it may seem, people have troubles of their own.’
Riv stared at her, then stood and marched off.
Sick of being Aphra’s training post. Thinks she can take out her anger on me!
She heard footsteps behind her, hoped it was Aphra following her. She didn’t like how cold and distant her sister had become, wanted her to go back to normal.
I suppose Mam is right, though. Leading is hard. Especially at times like this.
She looked back over her shoulder and saw Jost hurrying up behind her, felt a rush of disappointment that it wasn’t her sister.
‘What do you want?’ she said to Jost, more curtly than she meant it to sound.
‘Shouldn’t be walking around on your own,’ Jost said stoutly. ‘Orders. Safety in numbers, those giant bats of Forn . . .’
Riv knew that. ‘Orders aren’t iron,’ she said, though, and stalked on.
The camp was contained to the meadow and road, neatly ordered rows of tents, a paddock roped off for the horses, wains on the raised embankment of the road. Riv was stomping along close to the paddocks, only a few hundred paces from the trees of Forn which loomed like dark cliffs.
Riv knew Jost was right, and she had no intention of wandering off alone into the dark. The mound of heads in Oriens had left its mark. And she was glad of Jost’s company, at least it meant he cared whether Riv lived or died. She rolled her shoulders, trying to shift a dull ache in her back, high, between her shoulder blades.
Must’ve pulled a muscle climbing that tree.
They walked past a group of White-Wings gathered around a fire – the paddock guards, part of Lorina’s hundred. Some of them were singing; one invited them over, but Riv walked on.
‘Hold,’ a voice rang out before them; two figures stepped out of the darkness, spears in their fists. Two White-Wings standing guard duty. One of them was Vald. He looked tense, his eyes constantly scanning the gloom and shifting shadows within the forest.
‘Don’t stray so close to the trees,’ the other one said, an older warrior from Garidas’ hundred.
‘They’re all right,’ Vald said.
‘Aye. Of course they are, they’re going to be White-Wings. Won’t stop them being eaten by one of Forn’s hungry mouths, though, or snatched by a Kadoshim, or whatever it was did that to those in the town.’ He looked pointedly at Riv and Jost. ‘Back to the meadow, eh?’
‘As you asked so nicely,’ Riv said, and they started back, soon reaching the road guards. They were still in their cups, songs louder and more slurred.
‘Aren’t they the two fledglings that failed their warrior trial?’ a slurring voice said.
‘Ignore them,’ Jost whispered.
‘Run back to your sister’s apron strings,’ one of them said, pointing at Riv, then he fell over, laughing.
Riv scowled at the warriors, a mixture of young and old. The one who’d fallen over climbed back to his feet, only a few years older than her. Jost was pulling on her arm and she gave a frustrated sigh, stamping down the ever-present rage that had begun to burn again. She turned away with Jost and began to walk away.
‘Fly along, little fledglings,’ another guard said, making a flapping motion. ‘Get back to Big Sister before it’s too late.’ The one who had fallen over laughed so hard it sounded like he was crying.
Riv twisted on her heel and marched towards them, the rage descending like a red mist again.
‘What?’ Jost said. ‘Riv, what’re you doing? Riv, no, come back, Riv. Riv, please.’ He hurried after her, snatched at her arm but she pulled it away.
‘So, which one of you arse-wipes wants to go first?’ Riv asked, glaring at them all.
‘Eh?’
‘Just ignore her,’ Jost said, pulling at Riv’s arm.
‘Listen to your friend,’ one of the other guards, a sharp-nosed man, less in his cups than the others.
‘Aye, listen to that bag of string and run along,’ said another, a woman, a scar running from eye to jaw. ‘No doubt you’ll be a White-Wing soon enough – your sister will make sure of that, even though you don’t deserve it.’ She looked Jost up and down. ‘What is he, anyway? Your guard-stick?’
‘Bag of string? Guard-stick?’ Jost said.
‘You first, then,’ Riv said and leaped at the woman.
She crashed into the warrior, the two of them rolling together, Riv throwing punches and using elbows all the while. Someone grabbed her collar, hoisting her away. A glimpse of Jost punching someone flush on the chin.
He has long arms, as they’re finding out, Riv thought, feeling a rush of joy sweep through her, a grin splitting her face as she let the frustrations in her bubble over into a physical release of violence. She twisted in the grip about her neck, knee lashing out, connecting with something soft. There was a whoosh of air and a gurgled groan and she was no longer being held. People all around her, faces, limbs, all one long, furious, blurred drunken dance. She threw punches and kicks, felt some land, dimly, through her euphoria, saw a flash of a face that looked like Vald.
Couldn’t have been.
The rushing of air about her, a sound. She looked up, saw broad white wings beating, Kol’s grim face looking down at her.
Dawn was close, a grey stain seeping across the horizon, turning the solid black of night into shifting shadows. Riv’s mouth throbbed, pains everywhere clamouring for her attention and she put a hand to her face, felt a cut on her lip, a loose tooth.
She was in a wain with the baggage train, her head on a grain sack, peering out through a slot in the wain’s tall sides. It was the closest to an isolation cell that Kol had been able to find at short notice. Jost and Vald had their very own wains a few score of paces away. Riv could hear Vald snoring, could hear the rhythmic shaking and rattling of his wain’s brackets as if they were in a storm.
It had been Vald’s face she’d seen in fight last night. He’d seen what had happened and come rushing, diving bodily into the melee.
He’s a good friend, coming to help like that. And now he’s in isolation for deserting his post!
Must control my temper, must control my temper, Riv recited to herself, over and over.
If I don’t get my temper under control I’ll never get to pass my warrior trial. I’ll never even get to take it. When Israfil hears about this . . .
She punched the side of the wain, hissed a string of curses and then sighed, setting about removing the splinters from her knuckles.
A whisper of wings, a silhouette blotting out the grey of dawn, and then Kol was alighting inside the wain, sitting down so that he was hidden from view from outside the wain, his great wings wrapping around him. He stared at Riv, his dark eyes fixing her, golden hair shimmering in the first glow of the sun.
‘Disobeying orders and sneaking into Oriens. Fighting guards. Let’s go back a little. Fighting on the weapons-field. Further. Fighting in the feast-hall, kicking your friend in the stones. Back further. You punch Israfil, the Lord Protector of the Ben-Elim, Overseer of the Land of the Faithful, in the face.’ His lips twitched at the last. ‘It would seem you have anger issues, Riv.’ He shook his head. ‘What am I to do with you?’