Serpentine (The Beggar's Ride Book 1)

by Tim Stead

  Alwain’s tent was quiet, which was a good sign. He couldn’t imagine that the duke, or former duke, would be sitting down to a quiet breakfast if he’d heard the news.

  A guard outside the tent lifted the flap and he walked in.

  Alwain was looking at maps. He ignored Sandaray for a moment, moving his finger across the paper as though tracing a route.

  “They’re gone then?” he asked.

  “All but the archers they said they’d leave behind,” Sandaray said.

  “You saw them go?”

  “No, my lord, they left in the night, but there are no camp fires, and their camp has been struck.”

  Alwain turned back to his map again and tapped it a few times with an idle finger. “They could have withdrawn a few miles, just waiting for us to leave.”

  This was the last thing Sandaray wanted. If Alwain was going to indulge in paranoia he’d never let the regiment go.

  “They’ve gone, my lord,” he said. “I’m certain of it. They weren’t here for a fight.”

  Alwain raised an eyebrow. “You could tell that, could you, just talking to them?”

  Sandaray decided to lie. “I had a chance to inspect their supplies,” he said. “They had very little. I think they had to leave when they did.”

  “They could be re-supplied,” Alwain said.

  “It seems unlikely, my lord. The Berashi’s weren’t acting in haste. They would have brought what they needed.”

  Alwain nodded slowly. “Well, you’re probably right, colonel. What was it you wanted to see me about?”

  “Well, seeing that the emergency is over, I was hoping to take the regiment back north. We need all the manpower we can muster for the spring planting, and that’s not far off.”

  Alwain couldn’t stop himself sneering, which is what Sandaray had expected. The duke’s opinion of part-time soldiers, and especially farmer soldiers, was well known.

  “I suppose we can do without you,” he said. “When will you leave us?”

  Sandaray allowed himself a moment to assess the tone of Alwain’s words. Was there something hidden there? Did the duke already know?

  No. The man wasn’t so subtle.

  “We will leave this morning,” he said.

  “Very well,” Alwain turned back to his map. “You are released from the levy,” he said.

  Know when to stop talking, his father had always told him, and his father had been a wise man. Sandaray stepped out of the tent and looked down towards the bridge where his regiment were camped. He wondered how quickly they could get out of here. He wondered what Dorcan would do when he saw them breaking camp. Would he run to tell Alwain?

  Willan was waiting for him. He was pleased to see that men were already beginning the task of packing up and moving out.

  “Did he say yes?” the major asked.

  “Aye, as you guessed, it seems.”

  “We could have put it all back if he’d denied us. Now we can be on the road in an hour.”

  Sandaray looked across the river at the Berashi positions. Just two companies of archers as Count Tragil had promised. Even so, and it was most ironic, he realised that he would feel safer on that far, foreign bank than here with his own commander.

  He made his way to his tent and found his things already packed and his horse saddled and waiting, a soldier-groom waiting patiently by the bridle. He wondered what he had done to deserve an officer like Willan as his second. The man was always ahead of him, as though he knew what was in his colonel’s mind.

  “Sandaray.”

  He turned, and was surprised, and a little apprehensive, to see Colonel Dorcan with a guard of four men standing not ten paces away.

  “Colonel Dorcan.”

  “You’re leaving,” Dorcan said.

  “Aye,” Sandaray said. “We’ll be gone this evening.”

  Dorcan stepped closer.

  “A word in private?” he asked.

  Sandaray nodded and the two men walked away from the bustle of the regiment and, followed at a discrete distance by Dorcan’s men, went down onto the flats by the gorge.

  “Your man Willan,” Dorcan said. “He’s a sharp one.”

  “I can’t disagree,” Sandaray said.

  “He didn’t get the whole story, though.”

  Sandaray waited. It was hard to know why Dorcan was here. The man should have told Alwain the news from Bas Erinor by now, but clearly he hadn’t – and now this.

  “There was an attempt to kill Cain Arbak after Wolf Narak and the king left the city,” Dorcan said. “It failed. Drassel was executed as a result and the Seventh Friend has occupied the city. Lord Dunsandel has sworn to General Arbak.”

  “They executed Alwain’s brother?”

  “He left them no choice,” Dorcan said. “The castle guard was almost wiped out in the attempt – over a hundred dead, I’m told.”

  “So there’s blood in it now,” Sandaray said. If there was ever a chance that Alwain would accept his fate it had just disappeared.

  Dorcan nodded, and stood for a moment staring across the gorge. Sandaray thought his pause pregnant and waited for him to speak.

  “Duty is a strange beast,” he said eventually. “I owe everything to My Lord of Ingerlay. I was low born, rose though merit…”

  “Like General Arbak,” Sandaray said.

  “Aye, like the general,” Dorcan smiled. “But we weren’t always Ingerlay folk. My grandfather moved there after the Great War. He was a fisherman in his youth, came from Berrit Bay.”

  “He was there? At the battle?”

  ”He saw nothing, of course. He was only ten and Henn’s victory took place outside the Bay, but his father was there when General Arbak brought the Seventh Friend into the town, he was on the council and ate with the general, heard his tales, broke bread with Tilian Henn himself, or so he said. I was raised on tales of that day, I became a soldier because of Cain Arbak, because his men saved my grandfather’s town from Seth Yarra, because he was such an honourable and gentle warrior. I have modelled my life on his.”

  “A strange beast indeed,” Sandaray said. “If you are not careful it will cut you in two.”

  Dorcan turned and looked up at the camp, at the hundreds of tents, the thousands of soldiers.

  “You think it’s different for them?” He shook his head. “They all know who Cain Arbak was, who he is, what he did. I don’t know what’s coming, Sandaray, but I know I’m not going to like it.”

  “Avilians should not fight Avilians,” Sandaray said.

  “I’d drink to that if I had a cup,” Dorcan agreed. “I sent a message to Colonel Karran this morning. He’ll be gone by the end of the day, close on your heels, I should think.”

  Karran was another northerner, commander of Lord Blackwood’s regiment. So it was plain that Dorcan was trying to save them, to postpone the inevitable bloodshed in the hope that something, or someone, would prevent it.

  Sandaray offered his hand. “I thank you for this, colonel,” he said. They clasped hands in the warrior fashion.

  “You’re most welcome, colonel,” Dorcan said. “And you’ll understand if I say that I hope we do not meet again until all this has passed?”

  “I do, and I share that hope.”

  “Do not tarry, Sandaray. I will not tell Alwain what I know, but he will find out soon enough.” Dorcan turned and walked away. Sandaray watched him go with a feeling of emptiness.

  War was inevitable, a war that nobody wanted to fight, but Sandaray knew that it would be fought all the same.

  He walked back up to his horse and climbed into the saddle, rode to where Willan was waiting.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “The van is ready to march,” Willan told him.

  “At least we will have a rearguard for a while. Lord Blackwood’s Regiment will be following us up the road.”

  “Dorcan?”

  “Aye, he warned them.”

  “A good man,” Willan said. “A bad business.”

>   64 The Disappearing Man

  Callista did not know Jidian well, but she liked him. The Eagle God was easily pleased and drew happiness from the smallest things; a good meal, the company of friends and perhaps from simply being alive. He might not be the cleverest of the gods, but in his own way he may have been the wisest.

  So it was unusual to see him looking so downhearted.

  Pascha was teaching her, words rather than deeds today, so they were sitting on the terrace looking over Col Boran and Callista was trying to understand the application of engineering wisdom to magical ability, her head full of fulcrums and levers, when Jidian came in with Sithmaree, who seemed to be supporting him. Jidian looked exhausted.

  Pascha looked up.

  “You haven’t found him?” There was disbelief in her voice.

  “Not a sign,” Jidian said. He sat down in the first seat he came to. “I’m sorry.”

  “I do not believe that any failure was due to lack of effort on your part, old friend,” Pascha said.

  “He has been on the wing for three days,” Sithmaree said. “He had even flown through the darkness in search of lights and fires.”

  “Nothing at all?” Pascha asked.

  “I have found caravans and camps all over the plains, but nothing that might be Mordo, unless he travels in a box.”

  Pascha stood and went to him, laid a hand on his arm.

  “If you cannot find him, then he cannot be found,” she said. “And we have more important matters to deal with than a mere murderer.”

  Callista held her tongue. She wanted to say that Mordo wasn’t a mere murderer, that he was something far more dangerous. Nothing the Under-Steward had done in Col Boran had been idle. Mordo had a plan, and even now he was following it, driving towards some goal, but she had no proof, nothing other than suspicion. She did not even know it in the dragon way of knowing – not for certain.

  The conversation turned to Avilian.

  “I want you to find Narak,” Pascha said, and when Sithmaree bristled she held up a hand. “Tomorrow, of course. You need to rest, but I want to know where he is.”

  “Between Bas Erinor and Golt,” Sithmaree said. “Why don’t you ask Bane, or Kirrith? Either one will know.”

  Pascha looked annoyed. “They will not say,” she said.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Jidian asked.

  “About what?”

  “Avilian.”

  “Nothing. Avilian’s business is Avilian’s alone. The kingdoms are not toys for us to play with. They have kings and generals and armies, and they will see to their own affairs.”

  “The king is in the right,” Sithmaree said. “It cannot be spoken plainer than that. What if he loses?”

  “Then so much the worse for Avilian, I suppose,” Pascha said. “But it is not my affair.”

  “But it seems to be Narak’s,” Sithmaree protested. “He sides with the king, and he brings Caster, Cain and Sheyani with him. It seems that half of Col Boran has decamped to Bas Erinor, and still it is nothing to you?”

  Pascha stood as tall as she could, and even then she was half a head shorter than the Snake, and yet it seemed as though she looked down on her.

  “I never said it was nothing to me. I wish the king well, and Narak and the others in what they choose to do, but the hand of a god mage meddling in their business would steal everything that they are. I cannot be somebody’s ally, Sithmaree. I thought you would understand that. A fox cannot befriend a mouse.”

  “A wolf can,” Sithmaree replied.

  “And what of Afael?” Jidian asked. He was trying to defuse the tension between Pascha and Sithmaree, but it was a bad choice of diversion.

  “Nothing,” Sithmaree said. “She will do nothing.”

  “Must I state my reasons a thousand times?” Pascha said.

  “I understand your reasons,” the Snake replied. “What I fail to understand is how you can stand to one side and let thousands die for no good cause.”

  “And this from one who avoided all involvement in both Great Wars,” Pascha said.

  “I defended Wolfguard,” Sithmaree snapped.

  “And I saved it.”

  “Stop!”

  They all turned and looked at her, and Callista shrank back a little inside. She hadn’t meant to shout so loudly.

  “She’s right,” Jidian said, and Callista felt a rush of gratitude for the Eagle’s support. “You’re squabbling like old hens.”

  There was a brief, simmering pause.

  “Old, perhaps,” Pascha said. She looked at Sithmaree. “I am sorry for my harsh words. Callista is right. There is no place for this pettiness in Col Boran. If there was something I could do that would not usurp the sovereignty of the kingdoms, then I would do it, but you know that I have no desire to become a second mage emperor. This would be the first step upon that path, and though it would be cheering to think that one step does not commit me to the journey I fear that I might be stepping off a precipice from which there is no return. I am not confident of my ability to resist.”

  It was a remarkable and honest confession. Pascha, it seemed, was haunted by the ghosts of the ancient god mages, by the havoc they had wrought, and Callista wondered if she, too, might not feel their shadow behind her when, or if, she ever achieved real power as Pascha had done.

  God mages were not like Narak. The Wolf could walk the world and his influence was limited by his presence and the length of his blades – and his conscience. Pascha could have burned Bas Erinor to the ground in a moment without leaving her terrace.

  Callista did not believe that even Sithmaree and Jidian understood the extent of Pascha’s power, or its limitations. She could destroy a city, but could not find a man. She could lift a mountain into the sky, but not know if there was a vein of gold within it. Like all power, Pascha’s was blunt when applied to many and subtle when wielded against a single man.

  “Well, then,” Sithmaree said. “I am sorry, too. But if you cannot go, then perhaps I must, and if Narak is in Avilian, then my steps must lead me to Afael, and I shall do what I can.”

  “I would rather you stayed with us here,” Pascha said. “We were sisters in the Benetheon once, and I value your counsel, even when we do not agree. Especially when we do not agree.”

  Sithmaree shrugged. “I will give it some thought,” she said. “But somebody must do something.”

  They left it at that, and because it was after midday and Pascha no longer felt inclined to teach, Callista was dismissed. She did not feel like going back to Sithmaree’s house. If fact she didn’t feel like company at all, and so she walked out of Col Boran towards the place where she had first met with Bane. She sat on the seat on the top of the same low hill and turned her mind to Pascha’s problem.

  In truth she did not understand, and she knew that she lacked the years to appreciate the god mage’s position. She did not see the immediate problem with a mage emperor, so long as such a monarch was benign, and she thought Pascha very benign.

  But Pascha was immortal. Would she always remain the same? Who could say? Certainly not Callista who had yet to live two decades. She suspected that they had all changed – Pascha and Narak, Sithmaree and Jidian – well, perhaps not Jidian so much. But the point was that they were always changing, everyone was, to a greater or lesser degree.

  While she was pondering all this the light began to fade, and so deeply was she caught up in her thought that she was startled to look up and find that the light of day had faded to scarlet clouds and the first hints of starlight in the east. She stood at once and began to walk down the path that led towards Col Boran. It was not a long walk, and she was certain that she would reach the first buildings before she lost the light altogether.

  She was within a stone’s throw of the first buildings when she became aware that she was being watched. It was an odd, but unmistakable feeling. She turned.

  “Shadow?”

  It was a few paces from the path, a dark silhouette under
a pine tree. Shadow didn’t reply, didn’t move.

  “I should thank you for this,” Callista said, touching the place where the medallion hung out of sight around her neck. “It protected me, I think.”

  Shadow remained silent. Callista approached, taking a few steps from the path. She was reminded of the test, but even there it had been all right to leave the path.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  Shadow drifted a few steps further away, restoring the distance between them. Callista followed. There was something different about the apparition today. Its form seemed more defined, its edges sharper.

  “Why did you help me?”

  “Help me,” it said, like an unthinking echo, or perhaps not.

  “You want me to help you?”

  “Help me.”

  “How? How can I help you?”

  “Now,” it said. “Then.”

  Callista had never understood what the thing was saying. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you just speak properly, in sentences? Tell me what you want.”

  The shadow seemed to quiver in the darkness.

  “Secret,” it said and vanished.

  She could not have guessed what it meant by ‘secret’. What it wanted was a secret? Was it referring to her amulet? Perhaps who it was, or who it had been was a secret. All three? Something else?

  She turned to complete her walk to Col Boran and found herself facing a larger shadow – much larger. Two pale moons hung above the path, regarding her in silence. She had never seen a dragon at night before, and the glowing eyes were unnerving.

  “Bane?”

  “Yes.” The dragon’s voice was almost a whisper.

  “You saw it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you understand anything it said?”

  “No, but it seems to follow you like a bee after nectar. Do you know why?”

  You couldn’t lie to a dragon, Callista reminded herself, and she had no idea how long Bane had been watching her. The dragon was amazingly stealthy for something so vast.