He tore a leafy branch from a nearby cedar and swept the scene, hoping to remove his tracks. A prisoner at Geyr Froen once told him this worked. Except that it didn’t. There were footprints and gouges in the soft earth everywhere.
“Maribraaaaaaae!”
Shanks tried to control his breathing. He scooped up two handfuls of leaves and scattered them pathetically over the soil, then plunged into the forest as quickly and quietly as his massive frame would allow.
†††
Drissdie followed the brook southward, now and then throwing a stick into the rushing water to watch its progress downstream. He knelt by the stream and smiled at a bullfrog, watched it leap into the tumbling waters and disappear. He almost stepped on the first flower; A beautiful red and orange bloom that had been plucked from the earth and dropped. Another lay not far from it, then a stack of them a few yards from the stream.
He nudged at the stack with his foot, then crouched and gathered a few of them. They were pretty. He thought he might give them to Maribrae when he found her. A moment later, he noticed flooded footprints by the creek. He rotated in place, searching for anything that might guide him in the right direction. His gaze fell upon a flash of purple near a thicket.
He walked toward the thicket. Realization settled onto him like a lazy snowfall. He lifted the layers of branches slowly, not certain he wanted to discover what he most certainly must discover under them.
†††
Jastyn reached the creek. He found Drissdie’s footprints in the soft earth. They headed south, so he turned and walked toward the north.
Blythwynn, Mother of Mercy, let me find her and I will give every horse I own to your priestesses.
He called for Maribrae as he walked, but not loudly. His emotions raged in a fragile balance of hope and madness.
Let me find her, Mother Blythwynn, and I will give up tourneys forever, as a sacrifice to you.
He stared upward, wishing for stars, but there were only leaves, swirling like dreams in the light breeze. He walked northward, calling her name again. After fifty yards, the forest crept to the edge of the brook, forcing him to walk among trees and briars and spider webs and mud.
Blythwynn, Mother of Life, let me find her and I will marry her, truly and lawfully, damned be my lineage.
He felt himself drifting, a numbness taking hold of his body, his mind. A branch caught on the strap of his breastplate. He tugged, then, without looking, unbuckled the straps and let the cuirass fall to the ground. He felt lighter this way, more agile, so he removed his bracers and let them fall to the earth as well. He called for her again, feeling the warmth of despair at his core. Not his core. Someone else’s core. It was no longer his body. He was an outsider, watching a play. Watching this foolish knight wander the forest after his perfect maiden. Jastyn the Fool. Jastyn the Idiot. Jastyn the Lost.
Blythwynn, Mother of Light, show me the way to her and I will live in poverty and obscurity, forever at her side.
When a thorny vine clutched at his sword, the knight unbuckled the belt and let it drop without a thought. He called again, his voice breaking this time, threatening the balance of his emotions. He walked a few more steps then the mail vest came off as well. It was a struggle without Maribrae’s help, but he yanked it off and crushed a sapling with it.
“Blythwynn, mother of forgiveness,” he said to the forest. “Take me. Take me instead.”
†††
Beldrun Shanks strode into camp with a swift purpose. He kept one hand behind his back, his fingers playing against the hilt of a dagger tucked in his belt. His eyes found Ulrean, sitting alone on Aramaesia’s haypad. The archer was by the fire, stacking strips of the bitter jurren onto a wooden plate.
Shanks made his way toward the boy, his breath coming in controlled bursts, his brows jagged and low on his forehead. He tugged the blade from of its sheath, took a breath and prepared himself for his final act as a Laraytian Standard.
Grae’s voice froze him.
“Shanks, a word. Now.”
Shanks’s eyes darted to the child and back again. “A... aye, sir.”
Grae led the infantryman over the ramparts and to the edge of the clearing. “I’m not certain that you have a good grasp on the word, subtle!” His whisper was fierce. “It does not mean, ‘cut the boy’s head off in the middle of camp with everyone watching.’ Are you following?”
The big man looked to the child again. Aramaesia was returning with the boy’s food.
“Sir,” Shanks replied. “I weren’t going to kill him. I was just showing him my axe-work is all.”
“If that axe-blade hadn’t come off, we’d still be searching for that boy’s head. I’m not a fool.”
“I can’t say I didn’t think ‘bout it, sir,” said Shanks. “But when it came to it, I weren’t gonna do it. I was just going to come close. To show him how I do it.”
Grae studied him, watched the man’s eyes, the defensive posturing of his body. “The deal’s off. Everyone’s watching you now.”
“Off?” The big man nearly lunged at Grae, controlled himself. “Not likely, sir. You can’t call it off.”
Grae set his eyes on the big infantryman, a gaze that could wither the toughest of soldiers. “You’ll shut that mouth of yours and do as you’re told, trudge.”
The big man’s hands were fidgeting with the dagger, his breath coming in gulps. Something in the man’s eyes made Grae touch his own dagger’s hilt.
“Sir,” said Shanks. “You was ordered to do it. I want to do it for you.” He glanced in both directions, lowered his voice. “Brig, sir, I need that pardon.”
“You want that pardon, Shanks?”
“More than you can imagine, sir.”
“Then do your duty. If you do a good job on this assignment, maybe I’ll recommend it.”
“That’s fine advice, sir,” said Shanks, patting his waist. “But I got me a piece of paper right here, signed by you, that says if I do the job, all my crimes get pardoned.”
“Yes,” said Grae. He cleared his throat. “You’ll give that back.” He held out his hand and looked the infantryman in the eyes. Shanks stared back. Neither man moved.
The Beast howled.
“Falling walls!” shouted Grae. “Doesn’t that thing ever sleep?”
“About as much as we do, I s’pose,” said Shanks. “It still ain’t night.”
Hammer trotted across the clearing and approached the two men. He gave Grae a casual salute. “Beggin’ pardon, sir,” he said. He looked in the direction of the howl. “I truly hope that howl ain’t got to do with Drissdie or Jastyn. Or the maiden.”
“Get the men into Northern V, Second Gap,” said Grae.
“The men,” said Hammer. “You mean Sage, Rundle and Lurius?”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Hammer,” Grae replied. “Use what we have. Give Rundle a spear. We’ll run with one swordsman on each side.” He gazed off toward the Beast. “Let’s hope that monster’s just having a bad dream.”
†††
The soldiers sat in loose formation, helmets on, weapons drawn. The first hint of night pooled like blood beneath tree limbs and hedges.
The Beast had not cried out again. Rundle made a cut on his forearm and traced a vertical line under each of his eyes with the blood. He made a silent prayer to Lojen, asking for the safe return of the two missing soldiers.
Something crackled beyond the earthen walls. A shape rose in the fading light.
Drissdie Hannish lumbered into the clearing, carrying Maribrae’s body. She was wrapped in his cloak, only her face—with its staring eyes—visible. Drissdie’s own eyes were red. Maribrae’s blood covered much of him.
Sage dropped his spear and broke formation, his voice cracking as he called out. “No, no no no no no.”
Grae and Aramaesia followed.
Shanks looked back toward Ulrean, left alone on the bedroll not five feet away. He tightened his grip on his dagger and took a step toward the chil
d. Ulrean stood and backed away. He bumped into Lokk Lurius, who had taken position behind him. The Eridian placed his hands on the Ulrean’s shoulders and met the child’s upward glance with a blank stare and a wink. Then he stared at Beldrun Shanks until the big infantryman sheathed his dagger and turned away.
†††
They made a circle around Maribrae’s body. Aramaesia had drawn Ulrean away so that he couldn’t see the corpse. She sat behind him, both of them facing away from the songmaiden, one of her arms around his chest, one hand stroking his hair. She kept her tears behind him, hidden like Maribrae’s body.
“If it weren’t the Beast,” said Hammer. “And it weren’t maurg, what’s left?”
“I… I saw some thrulls on the perimeter,” said Shanks. “I was going to tell Hammer.”
Sage turned on him, his teeth bared. “Thrulls don’t rape people, Shanks. People rape people, Shanks.” He stepped toward the big man, fists clenched. “Say, weren’t you out on perimeter when she ran out there, Shanks?”
The infantryman dropped a hand to his dagger. “If you got something to say, you’d better say it, you little pastry.”
“That’s odd.” Sage moved even closer. “I thought I was saying it.”
Hammer separated the two of them gently. “Shanks,” he said. “There wasn’t nobody out there but you.”
The big man glanced at the faces around him, his eyes landed on Drissdie. “What about him. He’s the one found her, he did.” Drissdie blanched, shook his head slowly. “It’s a bit strange, ain’t it?” Shanks continued. “He’s out there a few hundred breaths and he stumbles on her body. Found it quick, he did. And look at her blood all over him.”
Drissdie shook his head, backed away. He couldn’t have looked more guilty if he’d held a blood-soaked dagger. “I… I didn’t kill her. I would never have… I didn’t kill her.”
“Drissdie,” said Aeren. “You’ve got blood in your hair. On the back of your neck. You’ve got blood everywhere.”
Drissdie’s eyes widened. He reached behind his neck, brought his hand forward and gasped at the blood. He shook his head and began backing away.
“I didn’t… it wasn’t like that… ” His eyes grew wider. He rubbed at his lips and studied his hand.
Grae rubbed his brows. “We have no direct evidence against either of them,” he said. “But it’s obvious that one of them did it.”
“I can tell you which one,” snapped Sage.
“Stand down, Sage,” said Grae. “We’re not assigning blame until everything gets sorted.” He turned to Hammer, who looked as tired as the brig felt. “Take their weapons and tie their feet. Both are in suspension until we find out the truth. Lokk, place her body somewhere discreet. If Sir Jastyn comes back I don’t want it to be the first thing he sees.” He stared out into the forest. “If he comes back.”
Chapter 36
I don’t understand why we, of the Galadane Empire, feel we are right in this war against Durrenia.
I asked an underlord once, and his response was, “Because we are the strongest. Morally and militarily. Because they attacked us first. Because we know the true gods of this world. Because the charter of this kingdom says we can. Because the Durrenians are evil, and we are good.”
I thought about this for the entire dinner, and finally replied, “I wonder if some Durrenian underlord is saying the same thing about us?”
—Elendyl Bask, Warrior Poet
The remnants of the camp gathered around the fire. There were still several bells until sundown but Meedryk had flashed a large fire. The soldiers sat on their bedrolls. They ate salted jurren and stared into the fire, seeing Maribrae’s dance in the wild flickering of the flames.
Grae and Hammer sat in the officer’s pavilion. Neither of them ate much of their meal.
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Hammer. “It’ll be over soon enough.”
“Giving up?” Grae replied.
Hammer looked stunned. “Giving up?” he asked. “No, sir. No, sir loudly. What I meant was, you’ll find who killed ‘er, then you’ll find a way to slay the Beast, and get us ‘ome. Like always.”
“Be serious, Hammer.”
“Grae, that’s the most serious thing I’ve said in quite ‘a time.”
You believe that we’ll kill this thing and go home? Just like that?”
“Aye, sir,” said Hammer. “Just like that.”
“Have you taken stock of our situation? Two, perhaps three of our soldiers are dead. One of our squad members has been raped and murdered, possibly by one of our best fighters. Two of our soldiers are in chains. What’s that leave? Four soldiers beside you and me?” He stood up and paced as he spoke. “That beast toyed with us the first time. It took only Jjarnee Kruu because it didn’t want more. It knocked us around like children. You think we can kill it with three swordsmen and a spear?”
“There’s no doubt in my mind, sir.”
Grae stopped pacing. “And how do you expect we’ll accomplish this miracle?”
Hammer shrugged. “You have me there. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
Grae stared down at his own hands for a time. There were more lines around the knuckles. “Hammer,” he said finally. “Have you ever been given an order so reprehensible that you didn’t want to follow it?”
“I’ve been given lots ‘a bad orders. I didn’t wanna follow none of them.”
“But you did, of course.”
“Aye,” said Hammer.
“You never felt guilty about any of them?”
“It ain’t my place to feel guilty or not about ‘em. I’m a Laraytian Standard, Grae. If I start thinking ‘bout the merits of one order against another, then I’m not thinking about my job, I’m thinking ‘bout someone else’s. Anyways, I’d be a fool to think I could do my commander’s job better than ‘e could. My duty is to follow orders.”
“And a commander can’t take advantage of that?”
Hammer shrugged. “ ‘course some commanders’ll take advantage. But it’s their shadow’ll get lengthened, not mine. They’ll ‘ave to explain to Blythwynn and Lojenwyne.”
“It all seems so logical, the way you say it.” said Grae. “So fair and proper.”
Hammer smiled softly. “My mum used to say that life ain’t supposed to be fair. If you think something’s fair, it means that someone on the other side of the issue is screaming about injustice.”
“Maybe we heard those screams last night, Hammer,” said Grae. “All this time, we thought it was the Beast.”
†††
Grae woke with a sharp breath and stepped from his tent.
Aramaesia ran an ivory comb through Maribrae’s hair. The body had been cleaned, and dressed in a white dress with dagged sleeves that Aramaesia had found in the songmaiden’s pack. Her eyes had been closed and her hands laid together on her stomach, the stems of two wild gyriens rested between her fingers, the purple blossoms brilliant against the white.
Jastyn Whitewind sat ten feet away. He had returned to camp. A seventh warrior.
Jastyn’s eyes were rimmed in red and swollen with tears. Sage and Meedryk sat with him. Grae had fallen asleep so it seemed Hammer had taken it on himself to tell the knight about his maiden.
On the west side of camp, just outside the earthen wall and a foot from Jjarnee Kruu’s cairn, Drissdie and Shanks dug another grave. Their feet were bound loosely with rope, so that if they tried to flee their gait would be limited by the rope’s short play.
No one spoke. A silence fell, broken only by the comb slipping through Maribrae’s hair and the sound of shovels striking rocky earth.
“I should have made her a proper wife,” said Jastyn, breaking the silence. “I should have married her proper.”
Grae approached the body. “Let’s give her a burial. Sage, can you sing something? Seems there should be singing.”
Sage nodded.
“Brig, sir,” said Jastyn. “Which one of them did this? Which one killed my Mar
ibrae?”
“We don’t know for sure, Jastyn. If we did, he’d be trussed up and a little rough around the gills.”
Jastyn stood and approached the two diggers, his lips pressed tightly together, his hands making tight fists. “How do we find out?”
Grae nodded to Sage and Rundle. The two men flanked the knight.
“We’ll go with Sage in the morning,” said Grae. “He’ll find the truth in the tracks.”
“Why not now?” asked Jastyn, a hint of desperation in his voice, a touch of petulance. “Can we all go now?”
Aramaesia, finished combing and began painting Maribrae’s lips with a purple pigment from the songmaiden’s pack. She opened the songmaiden’s mouth, cocked her head tone side and peered inside.
“It’ll be night in three bells,” said Grae. “Sage will need a few bells of daylight to study the area. And the Beast is awake. I don’t want to get caught by surprise.” He patted Sir Jastyn’s shoulder. “Tonight is about sending Maribrae to Eleyria. The tracks will hold ‘til the morning.”
Hopefully we will hold, too.
Aramaesia opened Maribrae’s mouth wider, peeked to either side of the camp, then gently reached her in with her fingers.
“Grae… Brig Barragns,” called Aramaesia. “I think perhaps you should see this.”
The archer held something between her thumb and forefinger. Everyone except the diggers made their way over. Drissdie and Shanks glanced up. They exchanged guilty looks then continued their toils.
Aramaesia held up the steel boss she found in the songmaiden’s mouth. A blackened disk with a broken stem on the back, used to secure a cloak onto armor. Grae studied it, scanned the breastplates around him. Sage didn’t wear one. Neither did Hammer. Rundle had both of his bosses. He turned toward the two diggers. Drissdie didn’t wear a breastplate.
“Shanks!” he shouted. “Here, now!”
Hammer gestured to Sage, Lokk and Rundle. The three soldiers maneuvered themselves around Sir Jastyn. Shanks shuffled toward them as if his pants were around his ankles. They studied his breastplate as he approached. One of the bosses was missing.
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