Servant of a Dark God

by John Brown

  Arogth looked at the second man. Shim’s performance was having its intended effect upon him.

  “Where is your ship?” asked Argoth.

  The translator spoke.

  At that moment, a messenger rode into the meadow at full gallop. He called out to two soliders searching the saddlebags of a Bone Face horse for the location of the warlord. One pointed in Shim’s direction. The messenger galloped through the tall grass to Shim.

  “What is it now?” Shim asked.

  The messenger looked down at the prisoners. “My Lord,” he said. “May I suggest a more private place?”

  Shim sighed. “Probably more council instructions. Very well.” He turned to his captain. He pointed at the Bone Face who had lost a tooth. “Lay out all our tools for them to see. A little think should do them good.”

  “Forgive me, Lord,” the messenger said. “But I was asked to give the message to Lord Bosser as well.”

  “Very well,” said Shim. He turned to Bosser and Argoth. “Why don’t you both come?”

  They walked a number of yards away and stood in the grass.

  “What is it then?” asked Shim. His voice was so dry it made Argoth thirsty.

  “Sleth have attacked at the village of Plum,” said the messenger.

  Argoth tensed. That was where Purity lived. Had she been exposed? Lords, had she revealed the Order?

  The messenger then related to the three of them the tale of Master Sparrow and Barg, the harvest master.

  With every word, Argoth’s heart sank.

  When the messenger finished, Shim told him to take a message to the lords of the Fir-Noy and dismissed the man. When the messenger rode off, Shim whistled through his teeth.

  Bosser grunted and stroked his mustache the way he did when he was in deep thought.

  “What do you think?” asked Shim. “Yet another Fir-Noy scheme to purge the Nine Clans of the Koramites, or have the Bone Faces begun to move their wizards?”

  Bosser shook his head. “I do not trust the Fir-Noy, but even they wouldn’t make something like this up.” He spoke in the common Mokaddian, but his Vargon accent was still thick, rolling his r’s and turning his v’s into f’s. He sighed. “Dreadmen with failing weaves, Koramite spies, Sleth. We’re a kingdom of dust. Perhaps it’s time to flee these shores.”

  Shim’s anger rose. “Flee? By all that’s holy, I will stand my ground. I’ve spilled my blood here, sired children on these hills. I will triumph or die trying. I will hear no talk of flight.”

  “There are young ones with full lives ahead of them,” said Bosser.

  Argoth knew Bosser was thinking of his own children. The Bone Faces would make them nine-fingered chattel. They would rape the women, force those they thought were pretty into being concubines. And when they finished, they would draw the Fire of the people to build their armies. They would levy taxes of Days until people began dropping like flies.

  “Perhaps it isn’t Bone Faces at all,” said Bosser. “Maybe the ruins have produced this.”

  When the first settlers had arrived in this land, they found a number of ridges and cliffs riddled with the ruins of extensive warrens. The Teeth, a six-mile ridge of limestone hills that looked from a distance like the maw of some fearsome fanged animal, was the biggest. These weren’t nasty holes in the ground, but long passages with many chambers. Over the years, many parts had eroded and fallen in. Pools of water stood in what once must have been grand halls. Bats littered the floors in many places with mounds of excrement. But what was left showed the mysterious race had carved with intelligence. For lack of any other name, the settlers called the vanished race stone-wights.

  Nobody had seen a living stone-wight. The carvings and bones found in the warrens gave a good idea of what the creatures looked like. They walked upright, some with the long hair of a musk ox, but they were clearly not any breed of human. Their heads were too long for that, as were the short tusks found in a few of the skulls.

  Some said the stone-wights were the same type of creature that inhabited the desolate solitudes in the lands of the Kish. The Kish called those creatures Ungar. But Argoth had tracked one many years ago, back in his dark days. He’d never caught the creature, but he had glimpsed it, and it looked nothing like what was carved in the walls of the stone-wight caves. Some saw evidence the stone-wights had worshipped Regret and claimed the other six Creators had obliterated them for their wickedness. This had led Koramite and Mokaddian parents to tell dreadful tales of stone-wights to their children to keep them obedient.

  But if the stone-wights had been so wicked, so dedicated to undoing the creation, then why had they delighted in carving so many beautiful things of the world above their lairs? Argoth had seen a people vacate a land because of pestilence or drought. Perhaps this same thing happened to these ancient inhabitants. Argoth suspected the woodikin, who inhabited the wild lands beyond the Gap, knew the true tale, for woodikin were recorded in at least one of the carvings. But humans had not been able to extend their borders much into the wild lands. Even if they could learn how to survive those places, there was too much hate between human and woodikin.

  It was true what looked to be records had been found in the stone-wight caves, but nobody could interpret the language. It was as foreign as the tongue of fishes. The stone-wights were a race whose history had been swallowed up by time.

  Yet something did live in the caves. The warrens were uncanny places. Odd lights were seen in some of the windows. It was said some passageways whispered. But that did not deter the curious. A scattering of treasure was found along with the bones of odd beasts. But as the first settlers delved deeper, people began to enter and never return.

  “Nothing has ever come out of the ruins but bats and snakes,” said Shim.

  “That’s not true,” said Bosser.

  Shim waved off his objection. “If anything is in there, then it’s had decades of opportunities to come out and feed. Someone would have seen it before. No, this is something else.”

  “Whatever it is,” said Argoth, “it finds us in a precarious state of affairs. We can only hope for an embassy from Mokad.”

  “Mokad,” said Shim in disgust. “Our lords in Mokad will send nothing. The war with Nilliam has them on their hind legs. Any new Divine they might have raised has been sent to fight. If they were going to help us, they would have sent a Divine months ago. No, we cannot count on them.” He rubbed a weathered hand across the stubble on his jaw in frustration. Then he paused. “But that doesn’t mean we’re lost. Sometimes extreme situations demand extreme measures.” He put his hand on Argoth’s shoulder.

  “What measures?” demanded Bosser. “What have we left undone?”

  Shim looked meaningfully at Argoth. “There are ways to combat both dread-men and wizards, aren’t there, Captain? There are alliances that can be made.”

  “Alliances?” asked Bosser. “Mungo will not lend their wizards to help us.”

  “I’m not talking about that type of an alliance. If the events at the village of Plum were not the result of some Bone Face plot, then that means there are”-he paused to find the right words-“other powers abroad.”

  Shim had come perilously close to speaking treason. But then Shim was always one to take risks. Shim’s eyes glittered in his leather face. Argoth knew that look. He’d seen it a hundred times as he and Shim had fought and drank and laughed together.

  Neither Bosser nor Argoth spoke.

  “Such things would require great delicacy,” Shim continued.

  Bosser was indignant. “Lords, man,” he said, his r clipped short in anger. “I’d rather die, rather run every member of my house through with my own sword than ally myself with abomination.”

  “Our good captain here saved us last year with his seafire. Of course, the Bone Faces obviously have adjusted their tactics. Still, he might save us again. So I’m not talking about casting our lot with monsters,” said Shim. He cocked an eyebrow at Argoth. “Or am I?”

  A wa
rning shot through Argoth. Shim knew.

  But if he did know, what did it mean that he had not revealed Argoth’s secret?

  Bosser turned to Argoth with a look of disbelief and indignation on his face. “What is this?”

  Argoth had done all he could to not reveal his lore, to make his fighting look like that of an unmultiplied man. He stroked his neck and felt the husk of the brilliant blue beetle one of his daughters had found and made into a pendant for him. She and her sisters, his son, his courageous wife-they would bear the brunt of the violence that would be directed against him. Even if some individuals in the Clans trusted him, many more would fear him. And they would exercise their fears upon his children.

  “Lord Shim,” said Argoth, “I do not know what you suggest.”

  “Don’t you?” asked Shim.

  Arogth looked at his lord, his friend. As much of a friend as one might have and still keep the kinds of secrets Argoth did. He bowed his head. “I am sorry, Lord. I truly wish I knew how to help.”

  11

  HUNTERS

  Da returned in the early evening and whistled Talen and the others in from the fields. Talen was more than happy to oblige. Most of the injuries from the villagers had receded to a dull throb. But the one close to his kidney had not. It hurt every time he tried to stand straight.

  They loaded the saws, axe, billhooks, hoggin, and bush knives into a pushcart and began to walk back, Prince Conroy following behind. As they approached the yard, Conroy must have heard the new hens, for he let out a squawk, made an end run about the dogs, and raced to the yard.

  Talen put away his tools and joined his father. Conroy stood on the handcart eying four golden hens in their baskets and vocalizing whatever thoughts roosters did to their new ladies.

  “Only four?” asked Ke. “I thought we had enough for six. Has Mol raised his prices?”

  “No,” said Da. “Mol’s in a bad way. So I advanced him a payment for a load of goose down and a few hat feathers.”

  “Did you see anything in the woods?” asked Talen.

  “In fact, I did.” Da paused, looked at each of them, taking on an air of one about to tell a harrowing story. “Trees. There were lots of trees.”

  Talen shook his head and sighed.

  “Of course, there was that one hatchling swinging about on a vine. But he wasn’t bothering anybody.”

  Da’s joking in the face of danger had worked when Talen was younger, but this wasn’t just humor. He was mocking Talen’s concern and that was annoying.

  “That’s nothing,” said Ke. He pointed at Talen. “Mighty hunter here saw one in the yard.”

  “Really?” asked Da.

  “Yes,” said Ke. “A fine view of its leg and bum.”

  His brother made it sound as if he were making it up. “And a spoon,” said Talen, “wet with fresh porridge.” Talen folded his arms.

  “I wondered where that had fallen,” said Da. “I got to the barn this morning with my bowl, but no spoon. And I know I’d put one in.”

  So much for the spoon. “I saw somebody,” said Talen.

  “I’m sure you did,” said Da.

  But Talen could see he was going to give him the same lecture River had. And so he decided not to push it. Maybe they were right. What he needed was more evidence. “Come on, Nettle,” he said, “let’s go get some fish.”

  Nettle handed his hay fork to Ke with a smile, then followed Talen down to the river. The river ran so low this time of year that the gravel bars stood high and dry. Frogs croaked back and forth to one another from the edges of the slower pools. Talen fetched eight pan-sized trout out of the weirs, then he and Nettle took the fish back to the house. They filleted them, throwing the bones and guts into a bucket for the garden.

  Talen looked over the meadow where they kept their mule. That thing he’d seen today, if it was a hatchling, could be out there in the shadows of the forest line right now looking at him and he’d never know it. One thing was for sure, his dogs were not going to be any help.

  If it was a hatchling, he couldn’t cower. He’d have to be ready. Have to have his bow at hand and shoot first. There could be no hesitation.

  He went in the house and laid the fish fillets on the table.

  Ke sat in his chair mending a tear in his tunic. He looked up at the fish. “You’ve got to make it hard for me, don’t you?”

  Ke was beginning yet another fast to purify his heart. He’d started fasting after the battles last year where one of his best friends had fallen and been taken by the Bone Faces. The Bone Faces hadn’t removed his finger and enthralled him. Nor had they fed him to their gods. Instead, they put out his eyes, shredded his ears, broke his feet so he’d be lame the rest of his life, and cut off his manhood. Then they left him by the side of the road to die or tell his tale.

  Ke changed. You could see it in his eyes, a frightening purpose. He killed with a ferocious rage after that. Talen was so proud, and jealous, of him and the respect he won. And then Ke began to fast and ruined it. At first, his fasts consisted of passing up red meat. Now he would go without food or water for a day, sometimes two.

  Talen didn’t understand all the fuss. It was right and good to defend home and hearth. It was right to take pleasure in the death of an enemy.

  When he’d brought this obvious fact up to Ke, his brother had said, “Yes, but what happens when you begin to relish it like a roasted apple? What happens when you cannot slake the hate?” And so Ke fasted.

  But the fasting didn’t appear to give Ke any new insight. The only thing it produced, as far as Talen could see, was a loud stomach and a short temper. Besides, Da had killed, and he didn’t fast.

  Talen jiggled the basket of fish a bit. “They’re going to be tasty,” he said. “Are you sure you can’t wait? Given what’s happened, I would feel more comfortable with you at full strength.”

  “You’ve got to get the weeds when they’re small,” said Ke.

  Talen grunted. There were things about Ke he just couldn’t understand. He went back out to the well to wash up. Da had picked up this Mokaddian washing habit from Mother. Talen wondered if Da demanded they clean themselves because he truly believed in cleanliness or because it was his way of remembering her. Either way, Talen wouldn’t eat until he’d scrubbed with soap.

  A large basin sat on a table next to the well. Da had lined the ground around the well with bricks. He’d also laid a brick path from the well to the house. Another was half built from the house to the privy, all to keep the boarded floor of their house clean.

  Talen took his shirt off and scrubbed his arms, neck, and chest. He dumped a bucket of cold water over his head, and that’s when he saw the footprint in the soft dirt at the edge of the bricks.

  He walked to the edge of of the bricks and looked down. There were three prints heading away from the well toward the old sod house. The toes looked a little long. The prints weren’t deep. In fact, you had to be standing just right to see them. But they were there.

  “Nettle,” he said.

  Nettle was slick with soap.

  Talen pointed at the footprint. “What do you make of these?”

  Nettle walked over. He took a wet cloth, wiped his chest, and looked down.

  “Hatchling or woodikin?” asked Talen. Either way it was trouble. When the first settlers arrived in these lands, they found a number of small, hairy creatures sitting in a wild apple tree eating fruit. The first settlers had considered the creatures pests. But over time things had turned deadly, for the woodikin were not simple and dumb brutes. There had been much bloodshed between the first people and the tribes of the woodikin.

  After a moment, Nettle said, “It’s not woodikin. This foot is too fat. And the toes aren’t nearly long enough. They’re human.”

  “The prints are too small for any of us,” said Talen.

  “So it could be the Sleth children or someone else. If it is Sleth, you know we’re bound by law to report it to the authorities.”

  “
And have them take all the glory and the reward?”

  “I’m just saying we need to think this through.”

  “What’s there to think? We get my da out here, we execute our plan. We’re not talking about some ancient Sleth. We’re talking about children.”

  “I know,” said Nettle. “But I also know you don’t give some things enough time. You jump to conclusions. Look at your father’s spoon.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to help?”

  “No,” said Nettle. “I’m in. But we need to have a solid plan. Not some half-baked thing. This one-legged hatchling snare scheme of yours is about as good as your running up the tree to escape Ke and River. This is one print. One hatchling. How many others might there be? We have to take that into account.”

  Nettle had a point, but sometimes you didn’t have time to reconnoiter and strategize. “If you’d been in my shoes this morning,” said Talen, “River and Ke would have had you before the chase began because you’d still be deciding which way to run. Sometimes what’s required is immediate action.”

  “Yes, just do the first thing that comes to mind. That will win wars and conquer nations.”

  Nettle heard a lot from his father and his men about battle. But just because his father was a man of battle tactics didn’t elevate Nettle to the same level. “You only get a perfect plan after the fact, Nettle. A good plan, boldly executed now, is far better than a perfect one next week.”

  “If they’re Sleth,” said Nettle, “then a hasty plan will get us both killed. I just want to make sure we do this thing in a way that will show everyone what we’re capable of. Not a way that backfires on us.”

  Nettle was right, but that didn’t make his resistance any less annoying. “Fine. Then let’s look for more spoor, or are you just going to stand there dripping on the bricks?”

  Talen and Nettle found two other sets of prints: one by the privy and the second in the mud by the pigpen. Nettle had just measured the one by the pigpen with his hand and concluded they had found prints that belonged to two different people, not one, when a man spoke from behind them.