Fallen Empire

by Keith McArdle

  Vyder is unstoppable.

  “There is one option.”

  Miriam took a step back and disengaged from Griff. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I know of someone who may be able to help.” He paused, looked at the ceiling and then at his feet. “Although it is a last resort.”

  “Another doctor?”

  “No, not quite.” Griff licked his lips.

  Miriam grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Tell me, for Gulgon’s sake! Tell me now!”

  “She’s a Wiccan! Alright?” Griff closed his eyes as if he felt dirty for having said the word. “Yes, she’s a bloody Wiccan.”

  “She’s a witch?”

  Griff swallowed, eyes still closed. “Yes.”

  “And you think she can help Vyder?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes finally opening. “Despite what my colleagues say of the Wiccan craft, I’ve seen her work what can only be described as miracles.”

  Miriam hurried into the kitchen and halted as she looked at Vyder. Her master’s skin was ashen grey, his chest barely moving. Griff stopped beside her.

  “He’ll make the journey to the other side soon.”

  Miriam sniffed. “Well, we must hurry then. How do you propose we move him?”

  “I have a cart. I’ll take Vyder’s horse and ride home, attach the cart, and be back as soon as I can.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. But please hurry.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it.” He strode from the room.

  She stepped forward and rested an open palm upon Vyder’s chest. She could barely feel his chest move. Miriam leaned over him and looked down at his face. Tears dripped from her cheeks and landed upon Vyder’s grey skin in wet splotches.

  Vyder hadn’t purchased her in the slaver’s market held in the main square each Sunday. The assassin had stolen her.

  The memory was painful as the face of her previous master came to mind. A cruel old man who beat or whipped her if he found even one piece of furniture wasn’t cleaned to his liking. Occasionally he forced her to perform sexual favours, usually when he was drunk.

  Sexual favours? She screwed shut her eyes and bared her teeth. No, he raped me! Say it Miriam! She sobbed. He fucking raped me!

  Miriam leaned against the kitchen table, closed her eyes, and tried to fend of the memories. She was raped the night her master had died.

  He’d gagged her, tied her hands in front of her, and commenced the business of violating her. Biting down on the gag and sobbing, trying to ignore his animal-like grunting, the weight of his body, previously pinning her down, suddenly disappeared, followed by a loud crash in the corner.

  “You bastard!” a voice growled in a highland accent.

  The newcomer, a much younger man, all but cut her master’s head from his body.

  “It’s alright, lass, it’s alright. You’re safe now.” The tall stranger sliced the fibrous rope binding her hands. He’d pulled the gag free of her mouth and thrown a blanket over her naked form.

  “My name’s Vyder, and your master’s dead.”

  And that had been Miriam’s introduction to Vyder Ironstone.

  “Don’t you die.” She cupped his face in her hands and felt how cool his skin had become.

  At least he’s still breathing. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, and then blew her nose. That’s still something.

  “You can pull through this, Vyder.” Miriam tapped his face with a hand. “You hear me?”

  His mouth twitched. Or had she imagined it? She pushed the handkerchief up one of her sleeves and frowned. “You’re not dying today, Vyder. You’re more stubborn than that!” She tapped his cheek again. But he remained silent and still.

  Miriam squeezed her eyes shut. Gulgon, stay with me. Don’t abandon me now. A sudden gust of wind tugged at her skirt.

  She walked to the closest window and looked out upon the street. The sun was kissing the eastern horizon and daylight threatened to break. Turning, she made her way back to the kitchen table and looked upon her master once again. She held her breath, staring at his chest until she saw it finally move. Exhaling in relief, she wrung her hands and looked back at the window.

  “Come on, Griff. Please hurry.”

  A gentle noise brought Miriam back to the present and she looked around the room. The noise, softer than before, came again, and she realised it was coming from Vyder.

  “Vyder!” she rushed to his side, cupped his face.

  He groaned, I’m sure of it!

  Her master lay silent, breathing once for every six of hers.

  Did I imagine it? She pulled the handkerchief out of the sleeve and blew her nose again. No, I didn’t. I can’t have.

  The clip clop of horse hooves grew in volume and Miriam looked out the window. Griff pulled the horse to a stop. With a creak, the wagon came to a halt behind the animal. The doctor engaged the handbrake and jumped from the wagon. Sweat beaded his brow, and he looked short of breath.

  She touched a finger to one of her master’s cheeks. “We’re getting you out of here, Vyder! We’re going to get someone to help you.”

  The front door crashed open and Griff strode into the kitchen. “I’ll need your help to carry him off the table and outside.” Griff wiped his brow with a hand.

  They dragged Vyder off the table, Miriam’s legs almost buckled under the weight. She swore under her breath “I’m sorry, Vyder,” she said through clenched teeth.

  They worked well together, pulling Vyder’s limp form across the kitchen, his boots leaving narrow, parallel smears of dirt on the floor.

  Her arms burned and her breath came in rapid gasps.

  “Griff.” She stumbled and almost dropped her master. “I need a rest!”

  But there was nothing for it but to continue. Anything less and Vyder would make the journey across the Frost River to the Veil, to live with the dead.

  If you see the Frost River, you turn around and walk away. You hear me? Walk away!

  * * *

  Vyder crouched upon the ice, trying to gain his bearings. Behind him lay a thick, snow-covered forest of tall pines. Above him threatened thick, dark clouds, and ahead lay a welcoming open expanse of green, luscious meadows. A beautiful, warm, bright sun beamed down upon the thriving fields of grass. He brushed a hand through an ice-covered beard and shivered as the freezing cold ebbed into his being and soaked into his bones. The warm pastures beckoned. Warmth was life.

  If I am to survive, I must warm myself. He pushed himself to his feet and slipped, falling face first upon the hard, unforgiving ice. Pain lanced through his nose.

  Warmth is life, Vyder old son. Now get up!

  He pushed himself to his feet and slid sideways but managed to maintain his balance. Blood streamed from his nostrils but froze to his skin before it reached his chin. Looking at his feet, he noticed he was standing upon a frozen river.

  The Frost River? He shivered against the cold, his teeth chattering as a gust of icy wind clawed at his clothes and worked its way into his skin and beyond. Am I dying?

  Ignoring the throbbing pain from his nose, he took a step towards the sun-swept fertile land in the near distance. You soon will be if you don’t get moving. He took another stride and his boot lost traction. He fell backwards onto his arse and grunted.

  “If you see the Frost River, you turn around and walk away,” the whisper echoed across the sky. He looked up at the looming clouds.

  He frowned as recognition dawned upon his frozen face. “Miriam?”

  “You turn around and walk away. You hear me? Walk away!”

  “Miriam! Is that you?”

  He stood with care, holding his arms out to keep his balance. His question was left unanswered, and the clouds, descending ever closer to his position, remained silent.

  “Am I on the Frost River, Miriam?”

  He cupped his hands to his mo
uth and took a deep breath. “Miriam! Can you hear me?”

  A cold wind, blasting against his face was the only response. Gritting his teeth together, he began moving, placing one foot in front of the other.

  I must be imagining things. The ice is affecting my mind. Keep your balance and move. This is not the Frost River.

  Vyder looked at his feet and flinched, cold air rushing into his lungs, fear breaching his body colder than the ice and snow assaulting his body. Beneath the ice-encrusted river, he noticed corpses sliding underneath him, their wide, dead eyes staring at him.

  A trick of the mind, damn you! Ignore them! Ignore the cold and bloody well concentrate on the warmth!

  He swallowed and looked up at the bright green, welcoming fields before him. Vyder ached for the heat of the sun upon his ice-encrusted skin. He stumbled forward another few steps and relief began to defeat the fear.

  Two more steps, Vyder. He clenched his fists and snarled. Two more strides and you’ll be warm again.

  He attempted to control his body from shivering and failed. But if this really is the Frost River, you’ll cross it into the realms of death, never to return.

  He squeezed shut his eyes as confusion took hold. If I stay here, I’ll freeze to death. His hands unclenched. Not much of a choice. But it’s the better of two options. He nodded. You can do this, son.

  Raising a boot off the surface of the frozen river, he walked forward with confidence.

  * * *

  Vyder’s body slipped and fell to the ground.

  Miriam, short of breath, wiped her brow and stepped back. “I’m sorry,” she puffed. “He’s so heavy.”

  Griff held up his hands. “It’s fine Miriam, we’ll just keep trying.” She noticed he looked as exhausted as she felt.

  Miriam looked around, but the street was empty. Gone were the onlookers who’d stood idly by in recent hours. They’d probably retired to their soft, warm beds. Her breathing began to slow, and the burning and aching, which assaulted her, began to ease just a little.

  She caught Griff’s eye. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Let’s try again.”

  “Just what the bloody hell’s goin’ on here?”

  Miriam froze, fear sweeping through her. She turned to see a man of the Watch sitting astride a large horse, watching them.

  Griff looked as frightened as she. When he remained silent, his mouth a tight line, Miriam decided she would have to speak.

  “He’s wounded, we’re trying to lift him up onto the wagon.”

  The guard leaned forward in the saddle, forearms resting on the pommel. “Ah yes, the highlander. I thought he’d have died by now.”

  “He’s crossing the Frost River as we—”

  Miriam shot Griff a withering glare, and the would-be doctor cleared his throat and returned to silence.

  Miriam held the guard’s stare. “He’s not dead. We’re trying to take him to a—”

  “A doctor,” Griff blurted. “She lives just outside the city and wagon is the only way to bring him.”

  “I see.” The guardsman nodded. “Would you like some help?”

  Relief washed over Miriam.

  Oh thank you, Gulgon!

  “Much appreciated,” Griff replied.

  The guard shrugged and swung out of the saddle, jumping to the cobbled street. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Striding towards the wagon, the guard leapt up onto the tray with lithe speed and turned to them. He crouched down. “If you can lift him into a sitting position, I can lift him from under the arms and up onto the wagon.”

  Miriam nodded and grasped Vyder under one arm while Griff took the opposite side.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Griff took a deep breath. “Ready,” he muttered.

  They lifted Vyder’s dead weight as best they could. Miriam felt like her face was going to explode. The guard leaned down. “Just a little more!”

  One last effort, Miriam.

  She lifted with all her strength and felt rough hands brush her arms away from Vyder. “I have him.”

  Miriam stepped back, breathing hard, and watched the guard. The Watchman had a firm grip underneath Vyder’s armpits, his arms encircling her master’s chest. With a grunt, the guard lifted the big man up onto the tray of the wagon like he was a child.

  The Watchman jumped down, wiping his blood covered hands upon his trousers. “Easy!” He grinned.

  “Our sincere thanks,” said Miriam. “Thank you so much.”

  He placed a boot in a stirrup and stepped up into the saddle. “You’re welcome. Luck to you!”

  With a tug of the reins, he swung the horse away and trotted past.

  Miriam watched Griff climb onto the seat at the front of the four-wheeled wagon and drape the reins across his knees. He leaned down and offered her his hand. She grasped ahold and felt Griff’s grip enclose upon her forearm.

  He’s stronger than he looks! She tried not to wince as Griff tightened his hold. She stepped up onto the wagon and sat down.

  She looked at the doctor. “Thank you.”

  His lips formed a tight smile as he took the reins up in one hand. “You’re welcome.” In his other hand, he held a long whip. He disengaged the hand brake and touched the horse’s rump with the whip. Finally, they were underway, trundling along the empty cobbled street.

  Miriam looked over her shoulder at Vyder lying supine. She attempted to focus upon his chest to ensure he was still breathing, but the wagon’s movement prohibited her from properly seeing. They rattled over bumps, slewed across uneven cobbled sections, and ignored bleary-eyed residents who pushed curtains aside to watch them pass. Dawn was breaking, and with it, the city began awakening.

  “How far away does this Wiccan live?”

  Griff, who seemed to have been busy with his own thoughts, cleared his throat and shrugged. “We’ll probably reach her by mid-morning.”

  “Mid-morning?” Miriam clenched her jaw against the abject fear spreading through her body like a disease. “But Vyder might be dead by then!”

  Griff shifted in his seat and looked at her. “I know,” he said. “I know, Miriam, but it’s the best I can do.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  At least he’s helping.

  “No need to apologise, Griff. But it’s time we sped up.”

  Miriam snatched the whip off the near doctor and gave the horse’s rump a sharp slap.

  Vyder’s horse broke into a powerful canter, and the wagon accelerated, the wooden wheels rumbling along the street.

  “Apparently, we can go faster!” Griff yelled, a wide grin adorning his face.

  Miriam nodded. “Of course we can.” She slapped the whip against the horses arse once again, and the animal accelerated into a gallop.

  Griff’s grin vanished, knuckles turning white as they gripped the reins.

  He threw a panicked glance at her. “Miriam, do you think this wise? I’m losing control of the steering!”

  They rounded a tight corner and missed a man by a fingerbreadth. “We’re perfectly safe, Griff. Trust me!”

  She ignored the incomprehensible shouts of the man who’d almost gone under the wagon’s wheels.

  “My master’s dying!” she shouted over one shoulder. “We’re in a rush.”

  “Sorry!” Griff hollered.

  She turned to Griff. “Would you like me to steer?”

  “What?” he glanced at her. “No!” He chuckled. “I know exactly what I’m doing, thank you very much!” He remained silent for a moment before looking at her again. “Besides, have you ever driven a wagon before?”

  “Many times,” she said under her breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, many times.”

  They missed another man by mere inches. He shouted something at them, holding up his fist, but the words were lost to Miriam as they roared past. The horse opened up its g
ait, seeming to enjoy the experience and the cobbled street started to become a blur.

  “Do you think we should slow down?” Griff shouted, fear glinting in his eyes.

  She whipped the horse’s arse again, ensuring it maintained a good pace. “No!”

  “Are you sure?”

  She grasped the reins and pulled them out of his hands. “I’m sure, Griff, for Gulgon’s sake! I’m sure. Shift over, I’ll steer.”

  “Right you are!”

  She slid across the seat so she was sitting directly behind Vyder’s steed, holding a firm grip of both the reins and whip. Looking at the space between the animal’s ears, she saw a slight right-hand bend approaching in the street. She gently tugged on the right rein. When they continued straight, she tugged harder and the beast snorted, tossing its head and obeying, pulling the wagon around the bend.

  When the horse began breathing hard, Miriam slowed it to a rapid walk.

  She brushed the whip against the animals flank. “Well done, girl. Well done!”

  “I say, lass, yes, well done.”

  She brought them to a halt at an intersection and allowed several coaches to trot past before proceeding.

  Miriam felt Griff lean into her. “We need to head towards the western gate of the city.”

  She looked at him, but the doctor was staring off towards some glamourous, multi-storey building.

  “Griff!”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m a servant, Griff. A slave! Do you think I have any idea where the western gate lies?”

  “Oh of course! I apologise, Miriam. I shall steer from here on in.” He grabbed the reins.

  “I’d prefer not, Griff, please trust me.” She pulled the reins free from his hands. “Just tell me where to turn and we’ll get there much faster.”

  The skin of his face began turning a faint claret colour. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  “You’ll notice a large arterial road in the far distance.” He pointed.

  She frowned. “No.”

  “Well trust me, Miriam, it’s approaching. You’ll know when you see it. Turn left onto it and that’ll take us out towards the western gate.”

  The horse’s breathing had settled and the sweat had dried upon its flanks and between the rear legs, leaving a light layer of salt upon its fur. Tempted as she was to break the animal into a canter again, the line of coaches and wagons in front of them precluded her from doing so. A thick stream of traffic was pacing past in the opposite direction, making overtaking impossible. The wide, cobbled street was littered with horse dung and urine. Miriam wrinkled her nose at the aroma.