by Tom Lloyd
Kas coughed loudly. ‘I’m no theologian,’ she said, ‘but how’s about we don’t publicly compare the gods to slimy little creatures? At least not when we’re looking for an order of fanatical warrior monks, even if they’re crazy heretics.’
‘Point taken,’ Atieno acknowledged. ‘I only meant to say that, if magic came from the stars, how could so much of it have been bottled up for thousands of years?’
‘Aye, seems unlikely,’ Lynx agreed. ‘Hells, mebbe in another thousand years there’ll be a speck on the skyriver called Atieno instead.’
The mage shuddered at the notion while Deern laughed. ‘Plenty of rocks up there,’ Deern announced. ‘One for all o’ the Cards I reckon.’
‘Let’s just live through the day before building monuments to our glory,’ Kas said. ‘Come on.’
She led them down to a river, which they forded, and along a meandering ridge of stony ground. Following the slope of the land, they worked their way east around a wood, avoiding any signs of civilisation. This was a populous part of Urden, long fertile valleys and few Duegar ruins meaning the wilds weren’t quite as wild as elsewhere. The odd rumble of the earth suggested the passage of an earth or stone elemental, a more frequent occurrence than in the years before Jarrazir, but they saw nothing beyond trees, fields and distant farms. The smell of charcoal kept them from several coppiced woods where the colliers might note their passing and then Kas found them a holloway that likely led all the way to their intended destination.
Despite the travellers they might meet, the four descended to the half-covered path and walked their horses for an hour or more in a strange dusk silence. The birdsong from beyond the holloway’s canopy of blackthorn and brambles seemed distant and it reminded Lynx of the Duegar road they’d followed into Shadows Deep. The holloway was just two yards across, with earth banks topped by hedgerows – hardly a great tunnel highway from the distant past. All the same, even as they made good time through the dappled shade, there remained a sense of trespassing.
Presently, they found themselves looking down at a long plain of farmland and a large village in the distance. They followed the road this time, on horseback until they reached a stream that led to the village. They continued east cross-country, aware there were eyes upon them and glad they had stashed their red scarves.
The party would be notable all the same, but without uniforms on display they might not stand out too much among other summer travellers. The network of maintained roads would have patrols likely to question a small group, but it was doubtful anyone would bother going out of their way.
Their destination was a town called Vanostil. Ostensibly aligned to the Knights of the Oak, it was a hub for a number of roads and situated close to a bend in a Duegar canal. As a result, the Knights maintained a way-station but their presence was modest, more like those villages and towns beyond Parthain where their control was much reduced.
The message from the Sons of the Wind had not been to meet them there. The chaotic Order was rarely welcome in any town. Instead, they had instructed Toil’s representative to head to the vicinity and wait to be contacted. Exactly what that meant was anyone’s guess, but it was hardly the biggest risk they were going to take by year’s turn.
Past a wood of huge oaks and rustling lime trees the ground fell away and turned boggy. The Cards skirted north around it, looking for a path away from the kingsroad, but just as they approached the edge of another wood Kas raised a hand to halt them.
‘What is it?’
‘I smell something.’
She scanned around for a while but didn’t seem to spot anything. It didn’t prevent her from unshipping her bow and pulling three arrows from the quiver. Before she could draw it, there was the zip of an arrow. The horses shied as the missile thumped into the ground. No other shots came though and when Lynx glanced down at it, he noticed the feathers had been carefully dyed – and not only that, dyed white, grey and black.
He looked at the silver ring on his left hand, the mark of the Vagrim that Atieno also wore. Three diamonds, white, grey and black.
Oh hells, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
‘Strange feathers,’ Lynx commented, catching Atieno’s eye.
The mage spotted it and nodded as subtly as he could. While Kas and Deern cast around for attackers, Lynx slipped the ring from his own finger and pocketed it. With two of them wearing the symbol, someone would notice and comment on it – or think they were all Vagrim. Either way, it was a complication they didn’t need.
‘Come on out, ya fucks,’ Deern muttered, mage-gun across his lap. ‘We don’t bite.’
As though they heard him, a trio of horsemen broke from the shadows of the trees and trotted forward. Two men and a woman, the leader a broad man in middle years with just a winter’s stubble left on his brown head. He wore the sort of easy grin that might be interpreted as either the look of a charming rogue or a devious shitweasel – or both, if one spent much time around the Cards.
They wore a uniform of sorts, but like everything else about the Sons, it was chaotic. It was mostly panels and patches of grey and black with irregular flashes of white, but none of the uniforms were the same. The detail they had in common beyond the colours was a badge of five stars adorning a tree – the emblem of the Sons of the Wind.
The leader had the simplest design, but still his jacket uniform could have been easily mistaken as a pauper’s patchwork. Indeed, when Lynx had encountered Sons of the Wind units in the years before he joined the Cards, they had seemed just that. These three were not nearly so ragged, indeed the men were clean-shaven, but that only showed off the tattoos on their faces.
‘Which of you is the one?’ the leader called in Parthish.
‘The one what?’ Kas replied.
‘The one we seek,’ he said in a matter-of-fact way.
Clearly an officer of some sort, the man had narrow, pale green eyes and a gold tooth that glinted as he spoke. He wore his authority easily and lacked any decoration on his uniform bar a pattern of leaves on his collar that Lynx guessed was an indication of rank. On his shoulders hung a mottled green cloak that would conceal him well in the undergrowth of the north.
‘If you don’t know who we seek,’ he continued, ‘we will just kill you now.’
Deern’s hand shot out. ‘It’s him,’ he said quickly, pointing at Atieno. ‘He’s the one you want.’
‘You are mercenaries. What do you need of the Sons of the Wind?’
‘An alliance,’ Atieno replied. ‘We hope you may be able to … may want to help us.’
‘We are not an Order dedicated to wealth,’ the officer said. ‘What could we have in common with you?’
‘We suspect your creed may coincide with our mission.’
At this all three of the Sons laughed. ‘Our creed?’ the woman spluttered. ‘Who gave you this mission?’ She had a braided tattoo coiled on one cheek, crossing over her nose to end on the other cheek. Lynx then blinked and realised the end was a snake’s mouth, cleverly worked from the three strands of braid.
‘We mostly gave it to ourselves,’ Atieno admitted. ‘But some of it is our fault, so it only seemed right.’
That seemed to lessen their humour. ‘Your fault?’ the leader asked, giving them all a sharp look.
‘You have mages in your Order?’
‘We do.’
‘Then you know of the changes that have taken place.’
‘This is your fault?’
Atieno dipped his head and in the same moment began to draw on his magic. He was careful not to release it anywhere, but since the Labyrinth he could safely hold much more than ever before. It wasn’t a large amount, just enough to create a haze of bluish-grey in the air before them – but Lynx saw the sense in that. If any of the Sons were feeling twitchy, a shield that could stop gunshots wasn’t a bad demonstration of his power. More importantly, the creation made the white willow tattoos on each of them pulse with light.
At that the leader’s m
outh fell open.
‘Perhaps you are the one,’ he murmured. ‘Come with us.’
Chapter 11
Despite an escort of Sons soldiers, Lynx tried to ignore the sensation of being a captive. Instead, he followed meekly as the officer led them into the trees and fifty yards into the wood. At a natural hollow raised on three sides they came upon a camp, lean-tos and tents that looked like they’d been there for more than a few days.
Lynx counted twenty soldiers in total, but he knew there would be sentries and scouts out still. The lean-tos stood between two fires with a canvas stretched out between them. Beneath, there was a seating area, two tree trunks that had been roughly trimmed and laid under cover, while the tents sheltered at the back. The officers didn’t stand on ceremony, all simply dismounted and left their horses to be dealt with as they headed towards the seating area.
A few of the regular troops took the mercenaries’ horses once they’d retrieved a few possessions. Some of the others perched on the sloped ground, facing in while the rest headed past the fires to their tents. Lynx watched them go. They were a wild lot – as rough and hard-eyed as any mercenary company, more ragged than some, with beards and facial tattoos commonplace.
No two were dressed quite the same and the patchwork uniforms were covered in rag-adorned greatcoats that doubtless served as camouflage. It made Lynx think immediately of the So Han army – not for the look, but its effectiveness. The Sons of the Wind were known to strike at twilight with tactics similar to those of his homeland.
‘Food?’ the leader of the group asked, waving towards a pot over the fire.
Lynx found his nostrils flaring, but he forced himself to shake his head. ‘How about introductions first?’
‘Food first,’ Deern declared. ‘Bread and meat.’
The leader of the Sons smiled. ‘A man of the north.’
‘I get all over,’ Deern replied. ‘But it’s a common custom an’ best to know where we stand.’
At the leader’s direction, a squat woman brought over a bowl of stew with a corner of bread dumped on top. Her uniform was mostly grey and black, her face tattooed with swirls and streaks that ran back down the shaved sides of her head. As she turned away, Lynx saw she had a massive axe-like weapon strapped to her back, with a curved shaft and several angular spikes jutting out of the reverse.
‘Not common among the Sons of the Wind,’ the leader added, ‘but change is a gift. I am Sendan Kalozhin.’
‘Sendan?’ Kas hazarded. ‘That’s like a colonel in the other Orders?’
‘In a way,’ Kalozhin conceded. He indicated the other two officers, the white woman with the braided snake tattoo and a man with similar features to his own, but black eyes. ‘My seconds – Elsiarl and Anzhin. Now we are friends, tell us what you want.’
‘We’ve a proposition for you,’ Kas said. ‘But first we need to know a bit about your Order.’
‘Why?’
‘Our enemies are no friends of yours,’ Atieno said, ‘but we cannot afford to take any risks.’
‘And if we do not wish to tell you?’
‘Then we’ll go.’
Kalozhin cocked his head at them. ‘Without answers? This I do not think.’
‘Is your creed so great a secret?’
‘It is ours,’ he said simply. ‘We do not need to share it.’ The Sendan nodded to his seconds. ‘Elsiarl is adept at getting the answers we need.’
‘She ain’t getting shit from us,’ Deern declared. His hand had gone into his bag while they were talking and now it emerged, wrapped around a primed spark-grenade that would kill everyone in the hollow.
‘Before we get to that point,’ Atieno interjected hastily. ‘I have shown you one secret already. Allow me to reveal one more.’
‘This would be sensible,’ Kalozhin said with a fierce look in his eye. ‘Only a fool threatens the Sons of the Wind. You are a mage of tempest – we will not harm you. The rest we may have to kill on principle.’
‘I am a powerful mage of tempest,’ Atieno corrected. ‘The most powerful in the Riven Kingdom. You do not want to have this fight.’
That triggered a brief burst of laughter from the officers and even some of the soldiers watching. ‘If you think this,’ Kalozhin said with a smile, ‘you do not understand our Order!’ He paused and let the laughter die out around him. ‘But – you are touched by Banesh’s grace, this we honour. Tell us your secret. Perhaps you will get the answers you seek.’
‘I will have to show you.’ Atieno pointed down at his pocket. ‘Deern, put the grenade away.’
‘You sure?’
‘Fuck’s sake, Deern,’ Kas broke in, ‘put your dick away and let’s talk like grown-ups.’
Deern shrugged and did as he was asked. As the pin was removed from the grenade, Lynx kept a watch on Kalozhin’s face, but if anything he saw only disappointment there.
Are the Sons as blood-mad as folk say, Lynx wondered, or did we back down too fast? Which answer will I hate the least?
Once the air of imminent violence had lessened, Atieno removed a God Fragment from his pocket, half-wrapped in a handkerchief. The mood turned again as though the last card of a hand had been flipped. All the Sons leaned forward, hungry smiles on their faces. The light was dim, but still the knuckle-sized piece shone brightly. A pinkish light played over the white tattoos on Atieno’s face and those seemed to gather its light, becoming brighter and more prominent though he was not drawing magic. Kalozhin blinked once, twice at the fragment before recovering from the surprise.
‘You bring us a gift? This, ah … for this I would offer more than stew. Better than a grenade too, I think.’
‘It’s not a gift,’ Atieno said firmly.
Kalozhin made a small sound of amused disagreement. ‘I think, my honoured friend, it is. Blessed by Banesh or not, we may not value you over a piece of the gods themselves.’
‘One of them anyway,’ Atieno agreed. ‘Catrac, as it happens.’ He raised the fragment and turned it around as though inspecting its irregular lines and fractures. God Fragments were different to uncut gems and shone with some inner light. When Banesh had sacrificed himself to destroy the other gods, their bodies had shattered like glass. It created odd striations and facets that cast and focused the light in oddly fascinating ways.
‘It is no gift,’ Atieno repeated. ‘It is a demonstration.’
‘Demonstration?’ Kaolzhin went suddenly very still. His seconds didn’t seem so startled though, the pair merely exchanged a look. They’d caught the change in their commander’s manner, but didn’t know how to react.
Atieno nodded and took the fragment between finger and thumb. He raised it up so they could all see. The fragment took on a renewed light which sparkled red and pink around the makeshift encampment. Though Atieno kept it still, the light turned and winked, casting bright streaks across the faces of the onlooking soldiers. With one last blaze of light Lynx felt Atieno release the magic he’d been pushing into the fragment.
As soon as he did so, whatever force holding the God Fragment together, which made it indestructible to mortal hands, simply unravelled in the blink of an eye. The light vanished, the fragment collapsed into dust – falling in on itself as though it had never been real, only ever a conjuring trick.
Gasps and shouts raced around the hollow. Kalozhin stepped back, mouth open, as the glittering motes of dust fell and vanished before they reached the ground. ‘This is …’ He shook his head, still beaming. ‘My friend, my honoured guest! I think you have persuaded us!’
He stepped forward and clapped a hand on the shoulders of Atieno and Deern. ‘This is a good thing,’ Kalozhin continued. ‘Perhaps our creed is something we may share after all. But first …’
He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. As he spoke, both Deern and Atieno folded up, dropping like stones. Before Lynx could comprehend what was going on, there was the muzzle of a mage-pistol directly in front of one of his eyes and Anzhin had done the same to Kas
. Kalozhin turned to face him, clearly invigorated by the wondrous sight, but not only that – the surge of magic in the air too. Lynx didn’t move, but inwardly he cursed.
He’s a fucking mage – shit!
The smile that lingered on Kalozhin’s face made Lynx want to shoot the man even more, but he knew he wouldn’t reach his own pistol in time.
‘Peace, my friend,’ Kalozhin said. ‘We are not your enemy.’
‘You could’ve fooled me,’ Lynx growled back. ‘But … I don’t understand. How is a night mage also an officer in one of the Militant Orders?’
The Sendan shrugged. ‘We are unlike other Orders. We do not fear magic. We do not believe the gods alone deserve it.’
‘So what’s this about?’
‘Some say we are mad,’ he said, grinning as though to confirm the diagnosis. ‘Perhaps so, but we are not fools. I need time to think.’
As he spoke, Kalozhin reached out and touched two fingers to Lynx’s forehead. He barely registered the contact before everything went black.
It was dark when Lynx woke. There were voices all around, and the smell of spiced meat and liquor. Despite everything, his stomach gave him away and growled loudly, prompting one dark figure to turn. The man said something in his native tongue – either that or it was gibberish and they were a bunch of lunatics. Lynx wasn’t ruling anything out. It was no language he recognised though, but more faces came into view and replied in the same nonsensical way.
‘Wha’s goin’ on?’ Lynx mumbled, trying to get both his body and mind under control. Mostly he felt numb, his limbs unresponsive and his head filled with wool.
‘Hungry, my friend?’ called a voice he seemed to recognise. A grinning face appeared in his view.
Lynx tried to hit the face, but nothing happened apart from a sharp pain at his wrists. ‘Gon f’kin’ shoot you,’ he slurred.
‘Ah – I do not think so,’ the face replied cheerily. Finally, the details resolved into features he recognised – the Sons of the Wind colonel, Sendan Kalozhin. ‘We took your guns. Also, you are tied up. For the moment at least.’