by Jon Sprunk
“Not even a chieftain will defy the asherjhag. They speak for the dark lord, and as such their word is law.”
Caim stepped carefully over a patch of ice. From what he'd learned from the Eregoths, the relationship between the priesthood and the Shadow Lord sounded suspiciously like the cult Sybelle had formed in Liovard. It sounded logical, to control the populace through a state religion. “What do the Northmen say about this dark lord?” he asked.
“They speak of him as a god. According to the asherjhag he is the Prince of the Night who once ruled these wastes millennia ago. Their myths say he was banished to the outer darkness, but he has returned to bring endless night to the whole world.”
Not a pleasant image. But Caim could believe it. They'd heard plenty of tales about the other marchlands, stories of Northmen armies bent on conquest. It had almost happened in Eregoth-would have if Caedman and his men hadn't risen up in defiance. All of it led back to the wastes. To Erebus, the heart of the darkness.
A jackdaw called from the front of the party. Dray was pointing. Caim followed the pointing digit to a flicker of fire atop a low hill. It looked like a bonfire, or perhaps several fires. It was too far away to be sure. Caim felt unfriendly eyes upon them, but saw nothing in particular. The shadows remained quiet.
“You think it's a town?” Malig asked.
Caim called for Egil, and the guide came hustling back. “A Bear tribe holding,” he explained.
“Swing clear of it,” Caim said.
Dray sawed on his horse's reins. “We should go for a look.”
“The last thing we need is more trouble.”
Dray lifted his brother's spear. There were thin gouges carved into the shaft. “If my brother's killer is up there, I'm not about to pass by without-”
Caim heard the high-pitched whine a moment before his brain registered the sound of the arrow's flight. He pulled Shikari down from the horse and dove to the ground, cushioning her from the fall. Malig's horse reared up. Caim thought the Eregoth had been hit, but then Egil rolled over from where he lay on the ground, a feathered shaft protruding from his chest. Everyone else was down on the ground or crouching behind their mount.
“How many are there?” Dray asked.
Malig attempted to string a bow, but the string snapped in his hands. Egil groaned as another arrow passed overhead. Caim traced the flight to a snowbank about seventy paces north of their position. He gathered his legs under him. “Stay here!”
“Wait!” Shikari called.
But Caim was already running. The hilts of his knives were burning cold through his gloves. He stayed low as he moved across the snow, hoping the shooters didn't have his night vision. Two men with short bows peered over the snowbank. Both wore a stuffed ursine head over their helmet. Bear tribesmen, just as Egil had warned. Caim was stalking toward them when a bright light lit up the wastes. A pillar of flames erupted from the vicinity of his crew. What in the hells?
The two archers looked right at Caim. He charged their position. An arrow sizzled past his head as he dove. His seax knife took the nearest archer in the throat, cutting straight through the meat of the Northman's neck to come out the other side. Caim ripped the knife free with a twist of his wrist and lunged across the falling Northman for his partner. The second archer hopped back, swinging his bow like a club. Caim took the blow on his shoulder and punched his suete knife into the man's thigh near the groin. The Northman stiffened as Caim tackled him to the ground. They thrashed for a couple moments until Caim knelt on the barbarian's chest, the point of his suete under the Northman's chin. “How many are with you?”
The Northman glared up at Caim. His mouth was a flat line framed with bushy, reddish-brown curls. Caim applied more pressure, and a line of blood trickled down the man's hairy neck. “I said-”
“Drepta mae, ter fridjen sekrburr!”
The Northman tried to punch him, and Caim drew his knife across the jugular. Steam rose from the bright red blood pouring onto the ground. Caim stared at it, feeling himself lean down. The blood called. If he just-
Caim wrenched himself away from the dying Northman. The bloodlust lingered, taunting him. This place is turning me into a gods-damned ghoul.
Sickened, he turned away. The second archer was stone dead. Beyond the snowbank, flames rose from a clump of bushes where he'd left the others, and the sounds of combat rang across the plain.
Caim leapt over the bank and ran back, alert for arrows. He arrived to find Dray bashing a Northman across the face with the butt of his spear. Blood and teeth exploded from the barbarian's mouth as he collapsed. Dray reversed the weapon and drove it down, pinning his foe to the ground. Streaks of blood ran down Dray's face as he twisted the spear back and forth. A knife's throw away, Malig dueled with another Northman. Malig swung his axe like a thresher flailing grain. It was a losing strategy, for the Northman was cagily holding back, waiting for Malig to exhaust himself. Caim could foresee the end. Malig would keep swinging away until he made a mistake, stepping out of balance for a moment too long, and then the Northman would cut him down. Caim hefted his knives. He could throw the suete in a flicker of an eyelash, but would Malig thank him for interfering?
Caim tensed as Malig's foot slipped out from under him. The Northman moved quick as a cat, swinging his sword for the kill, but Malig planted on his “slipped” foot, twisted away, and plowed the edge of his broadaxe into the Northman's side. Before the barbarian could recover, Malig's axe split his face from forehead to chin, splattering his brains across the snow.
“Bear tribe,” Dray said, kicking his dead foe. “Could be more of them out there.”
Snow crunched as Hoek trudged up to them. Blood covered his hands and forearms up to his elbows. His face was a white mask, showing no thought or emotion. Shikari walked behind him.
“What happened back here?” Caim asked. The fire was dying down, leaving behind charred stumps and a strong smell of spirits.
“She fucking threw away our last bottle of hooch,” Malig grumbled.
“A diversion,” Shikari said. “While Hoek and I went to make sure there were no other enemies lurking.”
Dray jerked his spear from the corpse. “And?”
“There was another man with a bow, but he is dead.”
Caim went over to Egil. The guide was unconscious, which was probably a blessing for him. His breathing was labored. Caim cut away the guide's clothing. The arrow was sunk deep. The steady stream of blood leaking from the wound was bright red. Tiny bubbles formed around the mouth of the entry site. The arrow would be damned difficult to get out without shredding Egil's lung. Pushing it all the way through was the safer option, but that wouldn't stop blood from filling his lungs and eventually drowning him.
Malig came over to them. “He don't look good.”
“What are we going to do?” Dray asked.
Caim sat back on his heels, trying not to look at the blood or listen to the tiny voices chittering in his ears. Egil needed a chirurgeon, and the last inhabited town was days behind them. He'd never make it. Caim considered what he would want if he were the one dying. A quick knife to the brainstem to end it? “Let me have some water.”
Dray went to his horse and came back with a sloshing water skin. Caim popped the cork and held the skin to Egil's mouth. Most of it poured down the guide's chin, but he swallowed a little. His chest rose and fell with little shudders.
“Get some blankets,” Caim said. “We'll make a sling to carry him.”
“He's done for,” Malig muttered. “We need to get away from here before more company shows up.”
“Just do it.”
Malig and Dray did as he told them. Then he led them in the direction of the fires on the hill.
“Caim!” Malig hissed from the back of the stretcher. “You're going in the wrong direction!”
But Caim kept walking. With each step the settlement on the hill's summit became clearer. The bonfires were enclosed inside a stout wooden palisade. Caim approached fr
om the south where there was a gate in the fence. It was closed, of course, and he saw several holes in the wooden ramparts, presumably to allow for arrow fire. He stopped a hundred paces from the wall. Singing and shouting-chanting maybe-and the rapid beat of drums could be heard from inside. A pair of bear skulls perched above the gate. Caim studied these things, searching for something to tell him if he was wrong or right. Would these people kill Egil out of hand?
“You sure about this, Caim?” Malig whispered as he set down his end of the burden.
“No, but it's his best chance. I'll take him from here.”
“I'll go,” Dray offered.
“No, I'll go alone. If anything happens, run hard.”
Malig gave a short laugh. “You can count on that.”
Just then, Egil coughed and tried to sit up, only to fall back on the blanket sling with a moan. Caim hunched over him. “We're here.”
“Hurts,” Egil whispered. “Arrow?”
Caim reached out to stop him from moving. “Through the lung. We can't do anything for you, but we can take you someplace nearby.”
Egil craned his head toward the fires, and then settled back on the litter. “At least there's”-he gasped as a shudder shook his body-“no feud between them and my people. Anymore.”
Caim bent down lower. “We have to keep moving. What do you want? I can take you inside, or…”
Egil moved his hand down to his hunting knife. His fingers wrapped around the bone handle. “I'll take the chance.”
Caim took up the end of the litter and dragged Egil as smoothly and quietly as he could. While the drums inside continued to pound, he set his burden down by the gate and paused at Egil's side. “We'll try to stop on our way back.” Do you really believe that? Don't insult him.
But Egil nodded. “I'll be all right. By the time you get back, I'll be married with a pack of little warriors running around.” He coughed and winced. “Oh! Don't tell Jenna I said that.”
Caim squeezed the guide's shoulder and pressed a pouch into his hand. It held all the money he had left, a handful of copper coins with a few silver in the mix. Then he whistled three notes out loud and ran.
When he reached his companions, Dray and Malig were huddled together, discussing something. Shikari and her guardian crouched farther back. Caim looked back to the compound as the gate opened. Two men appeared with spears in hand. When they found Egil, they shouted in their harsh language, and the drums ceased. Caim gripped his knife hilts as more people appeared at the gate. Was he willing to risk his life if they harmed Egil? But his conviction was not tested as two burly men took up the litter and carried it inside. Egil was too far away to see the expression on his face. At least now he's got a chance.
Caim started down the hillside, and the others hustled to catch up. “What are we going to do now?” Dray asked.
“We're going to die out here is what,” Malig grumbled. “A thousand shit-suffering miles from home. We're almost out of victuals, and we don't even know where we're going without Egil-”
“I know,” Caim said with a calmness he hardly felt inside.
“How can you? The sky's as black as a witch's cunny. We got no guide, no map, nothing!”
Caim pointed along the invisible line that was pulling him north. “That's the way. I can't tell you how far Erebus is, but it's in that direction.”
Malig snorted. “Yeah? Well, I think we've been wasting our fucking time out here. Now Aemon's gone. Egil's probably dead. When's it going to be enough?”
Caim winced like he'd been punched to the jaw. “I can't bring Dray's brother back and I can't heal Egil. And I can't promise any of us will survive this. I told you before. If you want to leave, then go.”
“Where are we supposed to go?” Malig said, too loudly. “We're stuck in the middle of nowhere. You ever think about the trip back home when you were planning this shit, Caim? Or maybe you figured we'd be happy to just follow you anywhere and give no second thought about it?”
They reached the horses, and Caim took up his steed's frayed reins. “I never claimed to have a grand scheme. All I've got is a cold trail and an itch in my brain that won't go away.”
“You and your fucking quest.” Malig spat on the ground, some of it catching in his beard as he yammered. “You know what I think? I think you're batshit crazy. How about that? And we're crazy for following you. Your ma's dead and gone, but you can't face that.”
“Mal,” Dray said.
“No! He needs to hear this from somebody, because he sure as shit can't figure it out for himself. We've heard you, Caim. Talking to yourself when you think no one can hear. I've seen the way you look out into the dark like there's answers out there. You're on a death trip and you're dragging us to the grave with you.”
Caim sucked in a deep breath and turned around. Malig stared back with an angry frown. This was the moment. In his younger, wilder days this was when Caim would have drawn and attacked. Kill or be killed. The urge was still there, but he kept both hands at his sides. Malig wasn't saying anything the others weren't thinking. Maybe this was a fool's errand, but he'd come this far. “I don't have any answers. But I'm going to keep following this feeling until I find out where it ends, or someone ends me. If you're coming along, you need to shut up and start riding.”
Caim mounted up and steered his steed to the north.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sun dipped in the west, its fading rays streaking the sky in hues of purple and blue. Josey rolled up the stiff parchment and tucked it into her fur-lined jacket. Hubert's latest letter was filled with ill news. Food shortages were causing protests in the streets of Othir-not violent so far, but it was only a matter of time. He had no evidence tying the Church to the demonstrations. In fact, he didn't mention the Holy Office at all, and that worried her not a little. News from the envoy to Mecantia wasn't good either. Talks to bring the free city back into the Nimean fold had failed. Hubert hadn't said, but Josey suspected Lady Philomena of sabotaging the summit. But she had more immediate worries. One of them was kicking inside her belly.
She placed a hand over her middle. Easy, little one. This will be a long night for us both.
The child inside her kicked again, but then quieted down. Josey's other worry was right before her. Sitting astride Lightning, Josey looked down from the hill she had chosen as a vantage point. Below, men moved with purpose, digging and building and hurrying. This is where we'll make our stand.
It didn't look like much to her. The field was little more than a half-drained swamp. Here, between tufts of scrub brush and stinkweed, was where her officers had chosen to meet the invaders. They had marched three long days to get here, pushing the soldiers hard, leaving a trail of supply wagons in their wake. The enemy was somewhere to the north of them. It wouldn't be long. Another courier had made it through the chaos in the north. If possible, his message was more disturbing than the previous one, telling of villages burned and civilians put to death. By all accounts, the enemy was moving at great speed, and Uthenorian standards had been seen among the horde, putting to rest the theory that this force came from Eregoth. It made her feel better knowing that Caim's people weren't involved.
Lord General Argentus rode up beside her and dipped his head in a nod. “Your Majesty, I have finalized the order of battle with the regiment commanders.”
As Argentus outlined the positions to be held by the units of infantry, horse, archers, and reserve companies, it reminded Josey of a chessboard. She imagined the footmen were her pawns, the cavalry her knights, and the archers her praetors. Except this wasn't a game. When the fighting began, real people were going to die.
“Will they attack tonight?” she asked.
“Not likely, but we have plenty of pickets out to forewarn us of an advance. I expect them with the dawn.”
Josey fretted with the reins looped around her hand. “What about treating with them? A diplomatic envoy to ascertain their intentions.”
The lord general's bushy eyebro
ws came together over the bridge of his nose. “Majesty, I believe they made their intentions quite clear when they sacked Durenstile and invaded Nimean territory.”
Josey looked down at a group of men digging trenches in the twilight. Exhaustion showed in their every motion. “Very good. I place my trust in you.”
“Majesty…” Argentus bowed his head. “If this battle should go awry-”
“That will be all, Lord General.”
With a nod, Argentus rode back down to a cluster of officers in clean blue jackets at the bottom of the hill. Josey tried to look serene and in control, but her stomach was churning, and her heart beat so fiercely she started to perspire under her clothing. She didn't blame Argentus for his lack of confidence. She'd sent missives to every noble and freeholder within a week's march, pleading for men and arms to help in the fight, but none had answered. And part of her didn't want to be here either. She wanted to be north, looking for Caim, and that made her feel horrible. This was where she belonged.
“Looks like something's put a bee in the general's britches, lass.” Hirsch winked as he reached the top of the hill. His eyes were bright, even after the hellish march they'd endured. It was strange how after just a couple months she had come to trust the adept so much. He had an easy manner that calmed her worries.
“Nothing too damaging,” she answered. “I asked about diplomatic solutions.”
Hirsch's eyebrows rose in an arch. “I can see how that might get him a bit riled. You having second thoughts?”
“It's not easy to send men into battle, knowing some of them won't survive.”
“I imagine not, but doesn't seem like you've been given much choice in the matter.”
“I suppose they have a plan for you in this?”
“Aye. I'm to remain with you.”
That surprised Josey. She would have thought Argentus and his officers would have devised a better use for the adept. “You've heard the reports. What do you make of these invaders from Uthenor?”