Cullen never even slipped her bow from her shoulder. She just ran.
She was walking with a small group of other survivors, traveling together toward Canhoon, when the nightmares came for them.
The mounts of the Sa’ba Taalor had terrified her when she’d seen them in the woods, but here, without riders, on the ground and hunting, they were so much worse.
One moment a man named Tomlo was explaining what he could about Canhoon – he had been there several times, which was several times more than Cullen – and the next they were running as a beast came for them, roaring and bulling through the low brush along the side of the road.
There should have been no way for the things to hide in the scrub and yet they came from nowhere. Tomlo saw them first, and tried to run. She saw his eyes widen in fear and then the man was turning, his long legs bunched and muscles tensing and the paws came into her sight and caught him at his shoulders and ripped downward, peeling the flesh from his arms and driving him down to his knees in one savage blow.
Cullen screamed. Tomlo screamed. The great predatory beast roared and then there was madness.
The bow never once crossed her mind. Cullen ran, bolting from the road and charging through the woods. Here she was closer to comfortable. The road offered no cover, no protection of any kind, but the woods? The woods were home and always had been.
The problem was that there was no way to negotiate with the hellish beasts coming after them. They were an unknown. When she was a little girl, her parents had traveled to Canhoon on behalf of the Queen. She did not understand the reasons and couldn’t remember if she ever had known them, but the end result was that she stayed in the house of her grandparents for almost a month. Her grandfather had taught her that there were predators in the Trecharch, bears and others. He had also explained that some of the beasts could be negotiated with.
“Bears don’t want you. They want either food or to be left in peace. Give them what they want and they will leave you alone.”
Whatever madness the beasts were that the enemies rode, they wanted only one thing: blood.
By the time she had scrambled up a tree with enough low-lying branches to accommodate her, the worst was over. The slaughter was done.
Cullen waited as patiently as she could, doing her best not to focus on the creatures that ate the people she had been talking with only minutes before. There was no way of moving from where she was until they were finished. By then the sun had set and she had to venture out in the darkness.
Before his death Tomlo had stated that they were only three or so days away from Canhoon. She decided to make it in two. Sleep was not going to come to her that night in any event.
Deltrea kept her company, often by providing graphic descriptions of how each of her friends had died while Cullen cowered in the trees.
Despite Deltrea’s best efforts, Cullen felt no shame. It was not only a matter of self-preservation. She was also on a mission. The Mother-Vine had plans for her and she had to keep those plans.
Tuskandru sat among his followers and listened to their cheers and conversations. The war was going well. Trecharch had fallen and the people who ran from them were closer to death than most could have imagined.
Around him the fires blazed and his people feasted as well they should. Some of what they roasted and ate had once carried swords, but most were fourleggers: horses and cows and small, screaming things called sheep. There were a variety of meats and Tusk tried them all. Universally he found them interesting.
When the feasting was mostly done he called out to Halrus, one of the men he’d set to guard duty earlier.
Halrus came forward with a grin on his face.
Tuskandru, king of the followers of Durhallem, struck the smile from the man’s features with one hand. Halrus staggered back, shaking his head and drawing his sword in the same motion. King or no king, he was a follower of Durhallem himself and no one would strike him without fearing the consequences.
It was Tusk who grinned now.
“Come for me! Come for me, Halrus, and while you come tell me why nine humans got past you on the road this day!”
Halrus eyed his king and moved his sword in a circle around his wrist. It was a pretty move, but meaningless. The very act of sweeping the sword in a short circle required that he let the weapon move too loosely to be effective. That aside, Tusk was smart enough not to get cocky. Sword patterns were meant to distract and he would not let himself be distracted.
“I let no one get past me!”
“Brodem and Loarhun both fed on their corpses after killing them!” Tusk’s voice was loud only because he wanted all to know why he had challenged one of his own in the middle of a war. “I have feasted on the meat of one of them, as Brodem was feeling generous enough to share.” He gestured with one hand to where very distinctly humanoid remains continued to roast on a spit above a nearby fire. “You may call Brodem a liar if you feel the need, but he will defend his honor the same as anyone here.”
Brodem let out a growl that shook the woods nearby and sent small animals scurrying for better hiding places.
“Why did nine Fellein walk down the road you were guarding this day, Halrus? Explain yourself!”
“My king…” There was nothing Halrus could say. He was caught and he knew it.
Tusk continued to grin, challenging with his eyes until Halrus had no choice but to either attack or retreat.
That was no choice at all. The followers of Durhallem do not retreat, and Tusk had struck him a brutal blow first.
The swordplay stopped and Halrus came for him, using the caution of a wise man, for Tuskandru was king for a reason and combat prowess was a large portion.
He brought the sword around in a low sweeping arc, hoping to cut Tusk’s legs out from under him but Tusk danced to the side, the teeth around his neck clacking and chattering as he moved.
Halrus came in a second time, feinting for Tusk’s head. For one moment he was off-balance, leaning too far forward. Tusk shattered his knee with a hard kick.
Halrus winced as he lifted the ruined leg. He did not have the luxury of stopping. He did not dare. His face was pale from the pain of the blow but that did not matter. Tuskandru might have let him live, might have been satisfied with humiliating him, but he had attacked his king with a sword when his king carried no weapons.
The sword Halrus had forged with his own hands was beautifully balanced and held an edge that could cut thick hides and leather with ease. The tip was keen and could and had pierced metal on more than one occasion.
The blade never got near Tusk. When Halrus swept it toward the king again, Tusk swatted it aside with his helmet. While Halrus had been finding his balance on one good leg, the king had pulled the great helm free and the large teeth of the helmet caught the blade and deflected it easily.
Helmet and sword were cast aside and Tusk came in hard, driving his thick fist into Halrus’s stomach, and then his chest, and then ramming his elbow into his enemy’s clavicle as he staggered back. The collarbone broke and just that quickly one arm was useless.
Halrus tried to defend himself but it was no good. The king struck again and broke the other collarbone. In an instant Halrus had one leg to stand on and three useless limbs. He could rant and roar all he wanted but the king had crippled him.
Before he could recover from the damage, before he could even fall down, Tuskandru grabbed Halrus in both of his thick arms and raised him over his head.
“Brodem! A treat for you!”
Halrus screamed as he sailed through the air.
Brodem roared again and took his new plaything. He was kind enough to kill Halrus quickly. Because he was a generous spirit, Brodem shared him with the other mounts.
All around him Tusk’s followers cheered.
He held up one hand and called for silence and they listened.
“Fail me and you fail Durhallem. Fail Durhallem and know our god’s mercy! I don’t care if you need to shit in the woods or sha
rpen your knives; do not turn away from your guard duties when called. Do you understand me?”
His followers answered, screaming his name and Durhallem’s. He gave them a moment and then nodded his head.
“Eat! Feast! We are almost to the capital of the Fellein! Our battle will be glorious!”
Tusk moved back to his spot and settled on the ground. Stastha smiled at him as he reached for a piece of meat.
Sometimes the gods were kind.
Merros Dulver’s day started well enough. In the morning he met with Dretta March and they broke the fast together, discussing the current state of Canhoon and its preparations for the inevitable conflict coming their way.
According to the latest reports Stonehaven had fallen to the Sa’ba Taalor. The place where Dretta had lived and raised her son and waited for her husband on countless occasions was gone. He was so very grateful that she had decided to come to Canhoon instead of returning there.
Of course, Canhoon looked to be lined up for invasion next. The Sa’ba Taalor were coming from several different directions and they looked to be meeting in the next few days at the gates of Canhoon.
“How will you stop them, Merros?” Her dark eyes looked into his, trying to read the future, perhaps. Whenever she stared too intently he was made uncomfortable; he prayed she would never stop.
“We have gates, Dretta, and walls that are over fifty feet in height. They will at least slow the bastards down.”
“I was out shopping yesterday and saw you talking to several of the newcomers. What were you saying to them?”
“Near the wall at the northern gate?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head and felt his lips press together even as he spread a blend of fresh fruit and honey onto the hearty bread she’d prepared.
“Ever since Tyrne we’ve had a great deal of people coming in, naturally, and now with Trecharch there are more. It seems that everyone wants to place their belongings along the outside of the wall and start building their homes in that spot.” He shook his head and waved the bread around as he warmed up to his subject. “It’s not a particularly safe location. They are setting their tents on the outside of the walls. Of course I can’t allow that. I’ve tried to explain a dozen times to the people who showed up there and now I’ve posted proclamations explaining.”
“Explaining what, exactly?”
“If their possessions and people are on the outside of the wall they will not have the protection of the wall. Also, they’ll be the equivalent of an invitation to the Sa’ba Taalor. They’ll literally be a stepping stone to help our enemies get over the wall with more ease.”
“How do you mean?” She still stared, but she listened, studied his words, paid attention in ways so few women seemed capable of in his experience. That was not fair. Others listened as well. It just seemed to matter more that Dretta paid heed.
“You have not seen the great beasts they ride. I have. Those creatures can scale nearly sheer surfaces and can pounce like cats. I think with even a little advantage that the creatures will find a way to climb the walls and if they manage that, the deaths they cause will be hellish.”
He took a moment to chew at his food and eyed the sweet cheese she had cut in advance. “In any event, I have the guards clearing the walls today and every day from now on. No one will add to the risk of the Sa’ba Taalor taking us by surprise.”
“Surely you’ll have sentinels.”
“Of course. They’re already in place and staying alert. But better to avoid giving the enemy an open invitation.”
“If the Sa’ba Taalor come here, if they lay siege to the city, how long can the city hold? Are there supplies enough with all of the refugees coming in?”
Merros smiled at her. He was fully aware that she had purchased a lot of land, that she had set up places that would work as housing for people if it came to that. He also knew that she had stocked many supplies away, ordering them from both up and down river. She was wealthy, just as he was. Both he and her husband had made a great deal of money while they explored the Blasted Lands.
“At the very least we have enough supplies to handle at least two months. They would be lean weeks, to be sure, but enough to handle a substantial siege should it come to that.” He shrugged. “It would have been more, but the fall of Tyrne took a lot of supplies that had not yet reached us here.”
Dretta nodded at that and poured a tiny glass of the potent wine she managed to find in the market. The only other person Merros knew who was willing to pay for the stuff was Desh Krohan. It was delicious and only to be consumed in small doses.
They talked of training the new soldiers, of how best to get rid of the cursed vines that kept creeping up the walls of Dretta’s place, of how best to prepare a boar caught in the wild, something both of them knew a surprising amount about. While Merros did not often cook he’d requested recipes from several cooks on the road and had come up with what would, in theory, be a wonderful preparation. They agreed that they should try to cook one of the beasts as soon as time permitted.
They did not dwell on the approaching armies. They did not speak of the reports that something horrible had happened in the Blasted Lands. Some subjects were simply too large to consider.
Instead, they spoke of the growing tide of people coming from the east, people who were citizens of the Empire and not more grayskins. It seemed likely that volunteers were coming to help the citizens. That, or a small army of people were coming to demand better protection from the army.
The one point of positive news on the war front was simply that the Sa’ba Taalor in the far east had not managed to gain much footing. The soldiers were managing to keep them locked down around one fort that had been taken quickly.
While they discussed the ranged weapons of the Sa’ba Taalor – weapons the likes of which Merros had never seen and which he wanted to examine up close – they rose from the breakfast table and moved around the room where Dretta did most of the cooking. There were days when she had help, but this was not one of them. Fruit spreads and bread did not take as much effort as a roasted calf or the occasional meat pies.
Looking back later, Merros remained uncertain exactly what happened. They were standing one moment and the next thing he clearly recalled was holding her naked body in his arms and kissing her amazing mouth urgently.
There was a moment of brilliant, scintillating panic, and then she did something with her hands to make him forget all about the fact that he was laying with Wollis March’s widow.
He did things with his hands, too, things that had her making the most fascinating noises. When it was done he was exhausted in the best possible way. She must have been, too, because both of them slept half the afternoon away.
He could always blame the wine, of course. It was a potent blend and he knew that before he sipped, but the simple fact remained that if he’d been asked, he’d have admitted their encounter was virtually inevitable. The attraction he’d felt for Dretta was as strong as any he’d felt for a woman in a long while.
It was later, after they made love a second and third time, sated and sore and wonderfully exhausted, that the guilt came for him and settled on his chest.
Wollis’s wife.
Dretta March, the amazing woman he’d spent an unforgettable day with, was Wollis’s wife.
Wollis, who had been his finest friend and confidant.
She lay unclothed on the bed beside him, her face slightly turned away, her eyes closed and her breaths coming steadily. He took the chance that she was asleep to study her.
The guilt was bad.
But not bad enough. Despite his misgivings, he smiled at her sleeping form.
She was amazing. There was a very real chance that what he felt for her was love.
And that notion terrified him.
The world was ending and Teagus sat in a cell, very nearly forgotten.
It was a clean cell, true enough, but it was not at all what he was used to.
&nbs
p; There had been a time when he was respected. He had spent a great deal of time in this cell wondering exactly when that changed.
He knew the answer, or course. He was far from a stupid man. He just didn’t like admitting that he had done things of a questionable nature with girls who were barely more than children. That dark part of him that answered his urges whispered in the recesses of his mind that there were no laws against talking to girls and making suggestions. He had never forced the issue with anyone in his life.
His station in Tyrne had kept him safe from repercussions. He knew that. But Tyrne no longer existed and he had struck at the highest-ranking member of the Imperial Army in a fit of grief and rage. The price he paid for his outrage was a beating, followed by walking in leg irons from the edge of the Empire back to Canhoon. By the time the walk was done his ankles were bloodied and the meat under the irons was infected.
He had learned a lesson. Do not cross the military.
There were members of the Church of Etrilla who came and cleaned his wounds. They fed him. They cared for him. They barely knew him, but the head of the church in Canhoon had shared many correspondences with him over the years. They may never have become friends, but they were at least friendly.
Of course, the very reason he was locked in a cell was preventing that friendship from ever blooming into a reality.
In the cell closest to his, a man was bellowing endlessly. He knew his name. Laister Krous. They had met more than once, and they had been associates on several deals over the years. Power and money are often attracted to like.
While he looked at his healing ankles, picking at the wrappings and peering at the cleaned scabs, Teagus listened to the conversation in the adjoining room.
“Why are you here?” Despite being locked in a cell, Laister Krous’s voice dripped contempt.
The voice that answered was also known to Teagus. It took him a moment to recognize the older woman. Her words were softly spoken, but the waspish quality of her words carried easily enough. Danieca Krous was not happy.
The Seven Forges Novels Page 86