Blackwood Marauders

by K. S. Villoso

  “Look at him,” Tasha snorted. “Can’t even hold a sword, I bet.”

  “I don’t want to be one of you,” Luc said. “I’m just bringing you to Blackwood, remember?”

  “What will the client say if we go there and there’s just the two of us?” Hana asked. “I thought he expected us to participate in Iorwin’s little show. That’s what I think it’s all for, you know,” she added, glancing at Luc. “A sorry show. Iorwin just wants his lords to think he’s doing something about all of it. Does he really think mercenaries can solve his problems?”

  “Don’t think the boy’s interested in your political opinions, Hana,” Tasha grunted.

  “I’m not a—”

  “And anyway,” Tasha continued, a little irritated that Luc would interrupt her. “He wants us to join another group at his behest. Don’t know what for, but at this point, the numbers might not matter.”

  “We lost half our men. Including Oswyn.”

  “Like you have to remind me that,” she snarled. But Hana’s words seemed to have made her think a little, and she glanced back at Luc with what appeared to be a second look. “Have you ever held a sword in your life?”

  “I’ve chopped a lot of wood,” Luc said.

  “So no,” Tasha said, eyes narrowed.

  “That’s almost too hard to believe,” Hana broke in. “Never play-fought with your friends? Hard to imagine a village that didn’t at least have a handful of wooden swords laying about. What do boys do with their spare time?”

  “Stand around fucking each other’s hands,” Tasha snorted. “Till they’re old enough to fuck milkmaids, anyway. This one doesn’t look old enough to have fucked a milkmaid.”

  “Hey—” Luc started. He scratched his head.

  “Ah, come on. That’s how Tasha jokes. I’ll teach you a bit when we have time,” Hana said. “Can’t be too hard. At least look like you know how to hold one. We want to convince the client we’re worth the time, whatever’s left of us.”

  “Without Oswyn, it’s not that big of a difference, anyway,” Tasha murmured. “Don’t even know why he insisted on bringing those two along.”

  This time, Hana gave Luc a sideways glance. He wasn’t sure what it meant. The women confused him and the life they offered was not...something he had ever thought was an option. A mercenary? As if he’d brought enough shame to his family. He just wanted to get away from Alun and his father for a few days until he figured things out.

  But Hana seemed dead-set about what she said. When they camped out by the edge of the creek, right after he’d built the fire and it was crackling merrily against the sharp bite of the freezing wind, she took him by the arm and flung a wrapped sword at his feet. He gaped at her. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Pick it up,” Hana said cheerfully. “And then pretend I’m trying to kill you.”

  He barely had time to respond to that when she lunged at him. His reflexes kicked in, and he managed to grab the sword in time to block the blow.

  Hana sparred with him until he could lift the sword without making a fool of himself, and then a bit more. By then, twilight had come and gone, and the sky had turned a deep, bluish-black, peppered with stars and the occasional black cloud. Steam rose from Luc’s pores as he deposited himself in front of the fire and changed out of his shirt before his sweat started freezing on his skin. Still panting, he reached for the stewpot to try and spear a potato with his paring-knife.

  “Would take more than that to survive this life,” Tasha observed.

  “I’m really not interested,” Luc said, nibbling on the edge of a potato.

  She gazed back at him with an expression that bordered on amusement. He wondered what it was about what he’d said, but before he could ask, he heard Hana give out a small cry. “There’s smoke from the other end of that field,” she said, coming around back to them. She unwrapped the cloth from her sword before glancing back at Tasha. “Should I go and look?”

  “Do we want to show ourselves if it’s not necessary?” Tasha asked.

  Hana sniffed. “They’ll have seen us, anyway.” She turned to Luc. “How often is this path used?”

  “Not very,” Luc murmured. “It’s why I took the chance of bringing you here.”

  Hana clicked her tongue. “Well, let’s test your newfound skills, Lucky boy. You can have Treda’s sword. Not like he can use it right now.”

  “Ahh, no, thank you.”

  Hana laughed. “I wasn’t asking nicely. You can’t expect Tasha to risk herself. She still has to get to Blackwood.”

  He gave a soft sigh of resignation, and reached out to take the sword once more. The handle was still warm from his sweat. He tried to remember what Hana had taught him over the past hour, but the only thing that stood out was how tired his arms were, how they felt like they would fall off the socket at any moment. He could already guess that tomorrow was going to be a slog, and part of him began to wish that it was the guards waiting to arrest them in that other camp. Sleeping in a cell, even with swollen muscles, seemed a lot better than trudging through the freezing woods. They had a fire there, at least.

  Almost as if to echo his thoughts, snowflakes began to drift around them, light enough that it seemed to take forever for them to settle on his dark cloak. He blew out a quick breath, watching as it fogged over his lips, and suddenly wondered—with a quick pang of guilt—what his father was doing at that very moment. Four hours from home and it already felt like he was in a completely different world.

  The light from the other fire appeared in the distance. He tightened his grip on the sword.

  “Relax,” Hana said. “You’re too tense.”

  “How did you—”

  “You’re clenching. You’re too focused on what you’re doing. You have to watch your enemy, not your own damn feet.” She sniffed. “Maybe I should have taken Tasha. Bit too much to expect you to remember anything after one lesson.”

  “I told you both—”

  “Too late for that now, I suppose.” She whistled as they came down the path. “Ah, blessed Agartes,” she suddenly said, punching him on the shoulder. “Maybe you are our lucky charm, after all.”

  The two men around the fire looked up, and Luc recognized Treda and Demon.

  ~~~

  The first thing Luc noticed was the frown on Demon’s face, one that didn’t disappear even as Hana sauntered up to the campsite. The man’s gaze skipped past her and fell on him, and the lines on his face deepened.

  “You boys are a sight for sore eyes,” Hana was saying. “I almost thought we’d never see you again.”

  “And why is that, I wonder?” Demon asked coolly.

  Hana paused mid-step. “What’s that? Are you pouting?”

  “You left us. I saw you peering over the fence when the guards came to arrest Treda. And then I saw you run.”

  “Did you really expect me to stay and fight armoured men?” Hana snorted. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing!”

  “Where were you the whole night, anyway?” Demon asked.

  “Running an errand for Tasha. You know—”

  “Yes. I know that you’re all hiding something. You and Tasha and Oswyn, and this whole damned mission…” He gritted his teeth and then, almost as if as an afterthought, he dropped his hand to his belt.

  Hana shook his head. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Demon,” Treda spoke up. He looked worn-out, though his colour was a lot better than last night’s. “We shouldn’t fight amongst ourselves. Not with Oswyn gone.”

  “Don’t have to fucking remind me that. I went with you all because I respected Oswyn.”

  Hana smiled. “You went because the Boarshind would’ve gutted you otherwise.”

  “We don’t know that. If I had explained—”

  “You didn’t see the way Algat cut them down. There was no time to explain. They had us branded for traitors from the beginning. If Oswyn hadn’t gotten us out there, we would all be dead. How m
any more times do I need to remind you?”

  “And with Oswyn gone, Tasha’s supposed to be the leader now, is that it?” Demon asked. He glanced at Treda. “Are you listening to this bitch? They left us. Whispering amongst themselves, keeping secrets from us…”

  “And you’re only talking because Oswyn’s dead, is that it?” Hana asked. She took one step forward and nudged Demon’s knee with her foot. “Is that why you suddenly found your balls? Come on up, little man. Show me what you’re made of.”

  “You fucking cunt…” He seized his sword by the fire and drew up towards her.

  “Hold on a moment,” Luc said.

  They ignored him. Demon swung his sword. The blade sank into the ground where Hana had been. He swore and started for her again.

  Luc smashed into him from the side.

  Perhaps it was the cold, or only that Demon was caught completely unaware, but he managed to drop his sword. It clattered several feet away. Luc reached out to strike him and only then felt a blow on his cheek, which knocked him away from Demon.

  “You fucking idiot,” Hana said, stepping on Luc’s hand before glancing at Demon. “Both of you, actually. Idiots. You should’ve told me you had a death wish. Spare everyone the trouble.” She kicked Luc again. He grunted against the frozen ground.

  “And you,” she said, stepping towards Demon. “You should thank him for saving your ass.”

  “Fuck you,” Demon hissed.

  She laughed. “What did you think you were doing? If you did manage to kill me, did you really think Tasha would let you get away with it? Standing there bitching around like you got the short end of the stick. You’re lucky you’ve still got a head on your shoulders. A good many others—men we’ve worked with, fought with, bled with, don’t. So don’t give me that. Don’t pretend like you’ve got it worst when I know plenty of good men who’d trade with you in a heartbeat. Fucking cunt, indeed.” She spat on the ground beside him.

  Demon flexed his arm, though he didn’t get up. Luc must’ve hit him harder than he thought. But he never took his eyes off Hana. “If you want my loyalty,” he said carefully. “You need to give me a better reason than because I owe Oswyn. He told me there was money to be had with this client. Fair enough. But worth all of this? Now that we have Crossfingers’ guards on our trail? All of that, on top of the Boarshind?”

  “You can go if you want,” Tasha broke in, coming out from behind them in the dark. Her face was deepened by the shadows of her scowl. “Fuckfaces. I could hear your bitching from a field away. If that doesn’t bring the damn guards on our tail…”

  “What do you want to do with him, Tasha?” Hana asked.

  “The hell do I know?” Tasha snorted. “I didn’t want to bring them. I’ve got no desire to babysit a couple of whiny-ass cunts. So you got yourselves free from the guards, eh? Congratulations. What did you do, Demon? Pull your trousers down for the guards? They must’ve liked your skinny ass.”

  “He distracted them away from me,” Treda spoke up. “He’s not—Agartes, Tasha. Let’s stop this. I know we’re all upset after Oswyn.” He drew a quick breath before turning to Luc curiously. “He’s still with you. That’s…surprising.”

  “Been a big help all this time,” Hana said, giving Luc the sort of smile that was out of place after everything that had just transpired. She slumped down beside Treda and poked him. “I’m surprised your guts haven’t spilled all over the place yet.”

  Treda laughed. “I guess I’m made of tougher stuff than I thought.” Despite having carried him for all of last night, it was the first time Luc ever got a close look at his face. He had dark brown hair, cropped short, and a nose that must’ve been broken more than once over the course of his life. His whole face was covered with the sort of fuzz that didn’t seem like it knew whether it wanted to remain stubble or be a full beard. He grinned, noticing Luc’s observation. “A lucky find, you are. I suppose I have you to thank for my life. Don’t think Tasha would’ve allowed me to bleed all over her if it had been just us.”

  “So that’s it?” Demon spoke up. “We’re all happy now? No one’s got a thing to say about all this?”

  “Stop your yapping and sit your ass down,” Tasha growled. “I told you. You can stay with us and get paid at the end of this, or walk out now. No one’s stopping you.”

  “I think, perhaps, if you explained a little bit about what the client wants…” Treda began.

  She gave him a look. “I told you. He wants us to assist Duke Iorwin.”

  “Hard to imagine why someone would go through all the trouble of transporting us here just to supply Iorwin with a few extra mercenaries,” Treda said with a grimace. “With Oswyn gone, we should at least be more honest with each other.”

  “Honesty,” Demon snorted. “Right. With these bitches in charge?”

  “I’m not in charge,” Tasha hissed. “But I’ll bite.” She glanced at Hana before taking a deep breath. “The client. He promised he’ll clear our name with the Boarshind if we do what he says.”

  “Clear our name,” Demon repeated, like he was a child being lectured to.

  “Yes,” Hana said. “Once that happens? We can go home at last.”

  Chapter Six

  Roena had never encountered anything she detested half as much as she detested the Hafed nobles’ parties.

  Perhaps it was the ridiculous amount of perfume the gentry liked to wear. Bad enough that they layered themselves with it on a daily basis—a faint attempt to combat foul odour during the coldest winters, of which this one looked like it was shaping up to be. During parties, they all but soaked themselves in it. For what purpose, Roena hadn’t quite figured out, though she liked to think it had something to do with whatever nefarious reason people attended those parties in the first place. A walking factory of noxious odours would, in theory, make a potential business partner less clear-headed, more pliable.

  Worse than the perfume, however, were the courtship games.

  The Hafed, as a rule, were obsessed with marriage. Roena remembered her tutor nattering on and on about how it was marriage alliances that helped form the kingdom. It gave the Hafed the notion of nobility in the first place—a falsity, given that most traced their bloodlines to mere merchants or peasants from the Kingdom of Baidh. They weren’t true nobles, just ambitious, foolhardy, occasionally foolish people who decided that life out in the strange, wild continent of Vir was preferable to a life of oppression back home. Why continue toiling on your lord’s land when you could proclaim yourself lord elsewhere? Never mind, of course, the monsters and creatures and strange happenings that plague this new land. If Agartes hadn’t come at all, they’d probably all still be crammed along the shoreline within a stone’s-throw of Baidh, shivering along the ragged hamlet of Tilarthan while waiting for griffons, dragons, murderous ka-eng, or whatever else foul thing lurking about in the shadows to pick them off one-by-one.

  No, the Hafed had more important things to worry about. Courtship forged houses! Elevated the powerful from the truly common man and made history! Marry the right man and spit out the right number of sons and you were set for life. Roena had been told that the magic number lay between five and eight. Daughters were good, too, as long as they were pretty enough to be married off to the right men. Or as long as they were inoffensive, at least.

  Roena, of course, was sure she was neither of these things.

  Pretty was subjective. It changed with the times. A few years ago, small noses were all the rage. It got so bad that you were made to feel like a hag if you could see your own nose over your bowl of soup. And then there was a year when it was small waists, and every maiden from north of Tilarthan and all the way to Blackwood rendered themselves near-unconscious trying to fit into these contraptions that were supposed to make it all just right.

  Inoffensive? Ah. Not a single soul in Blackwood who could use that word and Roena’s name in the same sentence. The wise ones don’t even dare try.

  Both suited Roena just fine. An
y excuse to be left out of that particularly troubling facet of Hafed society was more than welcome. Only, that left one last thing, one that Roena wouldn’t have seen coming even if all the fates had sat her down and slapped her with the signs: superstition. The Hafed were not nearly as religious as they ought to be, even after Agartes had spread the god Yohak’s influence throughout the Kag. But a land as troubled as the one they were in resulted in superstition that multiplied faster than the rats in the sewer ever could. Roena, for all her smug assurance that she could grow up to be a spinster and do whatever she wanted with her life, was caught unaware.

  Five years ago, when she came of age and was first presented at court, a high priest of Yohak happened to be an honoured guest. High priests didn’t used to exist before—not with a religion as blasé and provincial as the worship of the goddess Namalah’s consort—but this one had, through some combination of bribery and political elbow-rubbing, managed to get himself appointed. The lords and ladies of Hafod treated him as a great man of high importance, as a result—the Kags worshipped people a lot better than they did gods. You didn’t see gods, couldn’t invite them to gatherings to make yourself seem more important than you really are, can’t get them to kiss babies or inscribe quotes on your castle wall for all to clap and cry over.

  Well, this high priest had been real enough, and the first thing he did upon first sight of Roena was to exclaim—quite loudly—that he had never before encountered such an enchanting presence. And he used that word—enchanting—which sounded a lot like sarcasm at first. Agartes, every man and woman who knew her in that crowd would’ve thought the same thing. But the high priest had taken her hand into his own, wrinkled one, his fingers adorned with jewelled rings, and spoke of how he could see greatness in her future, and how the god had told him in a dream of such a woman as her, one who would find herself bound to an honourable man before she went on to do great things for the Kag lands. She even saw Lord Draigar, one of her father’s bannermen and closest friends, almost choking back tears, and he was normally the straight-faced sort who didn’t get carried away by such frivolities.