Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  “The one bright spot is your armory. You tell that leather bag Shim he can keep his smithing crew.”

  “I’m sure the warlord will be happy to know you’ve given your permission.”

  “Look, you haven’t got time for coddling. If Mokad is already under sail, you’re dead. Dead. I would recommend a few Fire sacrifices.” He pointed at River. “And I would wait on the fist of fell-maidens.”

  “No, old friend,” said Argoth. “There will be no sacrifices.”

  Eresh licked his bottom lip, playing with a flake of skin there. “You’re too fastidious,” he said. “I can promise you Mokad is not sparing its Fire.”

  River cut in. “Master Kish, I’m sorry, but we need to report. Uncle, our situation has changed.” Then she looked at the Kish in a way that suggested they move to a different location.

  “It’s all right,” Argoth said. He put a hand on the Kish’s shoulder. “This is Eresh the Horlomite—dreadman, terrorman, and all around bane. He’s as bloody as they come. And he’s going to get this army ready to battle Divines. He’s an old friend who has left his tidy den of aged iniquity at my request.”

  “And a fine den it was,” Eresh said.

  “But not finer than being able to strike such a blow that the enemy may never recover. Eh?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t commit until I’d seen what I needed to see. You’re no match for Mokaddian terrors. Not yet. But that can change. Especially if we can grow the ranks as that Shim thinks he can.”

  “So you accept?”

  “You will provide me a cook and a woman. The cook will be mine and mine alone. The woman will need a little bit of brain about her, but not too much.”

  “We can provide the cook,” said Argoth. “As for the woman, you’ll have to convince a willing victim on your own.”

  “Mokaddians,” Eresh said with disgust. “I’ll do it without the woman then. But I tell you this: the cook had better rotting well be able to serve up the stars and moon every morning, midday, and night.”

  “You’ll have lark tongues for breakfast,” said Argoth.

  “I don’t like lark,” said Eresh.

  “Then you’ll be served worms. Isn’t that what you Kish eat?”

  “Only when it’s time for love making.”

  “That’s right. I forgot the Kish needed help.”

  “Do you know why Mokaddian don’t eat worms?” Eresh asked.

  Argoth waited.

  “Because they have nothing to enhance, which explains why your women are so unsatisfied.”

  Argoth groaned. “Ah, yes, I had forgotten the dizzying intellect. May the Six save us.”

  “I can assure you,” Eresh said, “the Six will have nothing to do with it.”

  “Zu,” Oaks said and inclined his head at Eresh. “I have heard many things about the Kish. Were you in the Eastern wars under the Red Lord?”

  The Red Lord had been savage. He’d expanded the holdings of the Kish, but only with extreme blood and terror. It was said he beheaded two-thousand men, women, and children in one day with his own hand. His troops had shown no mercy. Nor were they shown mercy by their commanders.

  Eresh spat. “The Red Lord was nothing more than a great wobble of pudding. We murdered the Eastern hordes despite him.”

  Talen spoke up; they were wasting time. “Uncle, we were betrayed. Sugar is missing. As far as we know, Black Knee is still out there as well.”

  Argoth’s eyes narrowed.

  “I want to go after her,” said Talen.

  “Come into the main chambers,” said Argoth. “We’ll discuss it there with Matiga and Shim.”

  Argoth turned back the way he’d come, and they all followed him, filing past the clerk to clomp up a stairway that led to a chamber above. In that room, three tall windows opened onto the inner bailey, letting in the smell of the cooking fish, the sounds of the carpenters banging away, and the early morning light. Shim and the Creek Widow stood at a large table in the middle of the room where two oil lamps glowed, illuminating a map. Across from the windows, the plastered walls were painted with a scene of a woodikin battle.

  When everyone had filed in, River and Talen proceeded to report what had happened at the village of Plum. When they finished, Shim said, “Felts is one of the last I would suspect.” He shook his head.

  “Was Felts wearing any odd necklaces or collars?” Argoth asked. “Any rings? Anything that might be a thrall?”

  “I saw nothing,” said River.

  “Nor I,” said Talen.

  “Send someone to talk to his family,” said Lord Shim. “Felts wouldn’t sell out for money. Somebody got a lever on him.”

  Eresh said, “I’ll tell you somebody who would sell you out for money. That maggot of the Hand.”

  “The Hand?” asked Argoth.

  “That blond pustule outside with a dead man on his horse.”

  “Flax?” Talen asked.

  Eresh’s face filled with disgust. “The Hand is not to be relied on.”

  “We will see,” said Shim.

  Eresh grimaced but held his tongue.

  “Send Urban to find Sugar,” said the Creek Widow.

  Urban was another one of the few sleth that had heeded Argoth’s call. He had a crew of men that did not mingle with the rest of Shim’s soldiers. In fact, they quartered themselves elsewhere, but none had seen where. Talen said, “I want to go with him.”

  “I think not,” said Argoth.

  “It’s important to me.”

  “No,” said Argoth. “Work it through. Tenter’s weave was empty. All the weaves of the Fir-Noy dreadmen were empty. So who filled it?”

  Only Divines and sleth knew the lore.

  “There are no Groves or orders among the Fir-Noy,” said Argoth. “That means it was filled by a Divine. But I do not think Mokad would send a solitary Divine to these shores. Not after losing two Divines already. They’d come in force, which means—”

  “Which means you don’t have until next spring,” Eresh said. “If the Divines are already here gathering Fire for the weaves of their dreadmen, then you don’t have any time at all.” He spat. “We’re all swimming in the cesspit.”

  Shim sighed heavily.

  His and Argoth’s plan had been to build up an army of a two thousand dreadmen by spring. But these would have been more than simple dreadmen—they would have wielded the lore. It would have been more like an army of Divines. With such a force, the clans would have had to rethink their opposition. They would see brothers and cousins and fathers wielding the lore. They would hear the stories of those abominations that held the reins of the Divines. They would see with their own eyes the lies they’d been told. The ranks of Shim’s army would have then swelled, and they would have been joined by the ranks of sleth—loremen and lorewomen of great power—from lands all across the Western Glorydoms. It would have been an army unlike any other in the world.

  Then another thought struck Talen. If a Mokaddian Divine was here, he would have brought all his ranks of protection, which meant it wouldn’t be some idiot Fir-Noy lord they’d be rescuing Sugar from. It would be a Divine and his acolytes, who also knew the lore, all guarded by a whole force of mature dreadmen.

  “We need to find Sugar now,” Talen said. “Before it’s too late.”

  “That dreadman singled you out,” the Creek Widow said.

  “I don’t know that he singled me out.”

  Oaks cleared his throat. “He said, ‘The boy’s mine’.”

  “Anyone else in the party mentioned?” asked the Creek Widow.

  Talen gave River a pleading look.

  “Sorry son,” Oaks said. He turned to the Creek Widow. “It was just Talen.”

  “I’d say that was singling out,” said the Creek Widow. “And why would he do that?” she asked rhetorically.
<
br />   Talen wasn’t going to answer that. They both knew why. But how would that dreadman know that Talen was the one the Mother had claimed as her own down in her cave? The only person who knew the full details of that awful fight besides those that had taken part was Shim. For everyone else, Talen’s role had been played down. In the public version, it was all Argoth and Ke and the others who’d played the parts of heroes.

  “You’re going to stay here for a bit,” said the Creek Widow, “until we sort out what’s going on.”

  At that moment there was a commotion on the stairs. Shim’s clerk knocked, then opened the door to the room. “Black Knee has returned. And he’s going to need some doctoring.”

  * * *

  Talen and the others found Black Knee on the far side of the bailey looking pale. He lay on the ground, a number of women crowding around, cutting off one blood-soaked leg of his trousers.

  A blood-soaked strip of cloth was wrapped tightly about his leg. One of the women took a knife and cut through it. The wound underneath was a wide puncture that went right through the side of his thigh.

  The Creek Widow pushed past Talen and knelt by the big man. She felt his forehead, checked his wrist for his pulse. “Are there any other injuries?” she asked.

  He looked at her wearily, the sunlight blinding him. “Just my pride,” he slurred looking away. “Tell Lord Shim it was a trap. They got Rooster.”

  “We know,” said the Creek Widow. “River, Oaks, and Talen made it back as well.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “Don’t you worry about her.” She looked up and pointed at a group of women. “You two, clear the cabbages off that table.” The she turned to Talen and River. “Help me get him up.”

  Two women moved away the cabbages. Talen and River each slid their hands under an armpit while Oaks and Argoth took his knees. Then they hefted him onto the table that was still strewn with cabbage leaves.

  The Creek Widow turned to River. “Fetch me my bag. I’ll want some wine and oil, and warm water and soap. And bring me the opium with goat’s milk.”

  “This leg is going to want some maggots,” Black Knee said.

  “Not yet,” she said. “First we’ll clean it and make sure it’s stitched up right. Then we’ll see.” She bent his leg up and examined the exit wound. “Did you get the whole shaft out?”

  “Aye,” said Black Knee. “Pushed it through. That was a delight I won’t be wanting to try again anytime soon.”

  She smoothed back his hair. “You’re going to be fine. A weave and a couple of days of rest, that will see you out of the woods.”

  The Creek Widow looked at Argoth. “We really could use Harnock’s skills here.”

  “You might as well try to move a mountain.”

  Harnock was a member of the Grove, hiding in the Wilds. He’d refused Argoth’s call. Talen had heard only bits and pieces about him. Foremost was the fact that he was not all man, but the result of Lumen’s attempts to create a new type of warrior. He was unstable and, from what Talen could gather, would probably end up like Pinter, eaten by crows.

  Talen grabbed Black Knee’s hand. His relief at seeing his fist mate was immense.

  The big man looked over at him. “Where’s the girl?” he asked.

  “I’m going with Urban to find her,” he said.

  “Not on your life,” the Creek Widow said.

  8

  The Queller

  BEROSUS WATCHED THEM work on Black Knee’s leg for a moment. He watched Talen. The boy was a fledgling Glory not attached to any Sublime Mother. That is what he’d felt when he probed the boy. It was impossible, but there he stood.

  If the Sublime of this Glory had been killed and consumed by one of her sisters, that sister would now hold the reins. So that meant the Sublime who had started Talen had not been consumed by a sister. Something else had killed her. And that posed another puzzle because if the Sublime of this fledgling Glory had died, it was impossible the one enthralled would survive it. Lesser thralls had been known to survive the breaking of their bonds. But those bound directly to a Sublime Mother did not. So what was going on here?

  Before he’d been killed, Rubaloth the Skir Master had communicated through the bond he held to the Glory of Mokad. He’d communicated across a sea. Over such distances the link was always tenuous and difficult, but the Glory of Mokad had insisted he’d felt another Sublime Mother when Rubaloth had died. A Mother that had the power to raise a son of Lammash, although Berosus doubted that report.

  Rubaloth had been a powerful Divine—one of Mokad’s mightiest Skir Masters. And he’d died in this place.

  Berosus had been here two weeks now. Two weeks to study the sleth. They were using weaves of might, but none were in the pattern of any of the houses of Kains he knew. There were no Guardian Divines, no tethered skir, no Fire sacrifices. There simply were no signs that would indicate an enemy Mother was here, controlling this human herd.

  It would appear the sleth claims were true. But who here was so mighty as to overthrow a Mother?

  He was going to have to be careful. He was going to have to watch his back. True danger walked these shores.

  But that wasn’t necessarily bad. In fact, the thought of it brought a rising joy. There was no bitter without sweet. No light without darkness. No peace without fear. And it had been some time since he had felt fear. It made him feel alive.

  He felt for the Glory of Mokad across the sea. There is no Sublime Mother here, he reported.

  He waited, listening intently, trying to shut out the banging of the carpenters in the fortress and the soldiers practicing their forms. The faint distant reply came: Queller, you will destroy everything that has been infected.

  It was the Mother of Mokad that replied, not the Glory. He felt the wonderful thrill her attention always brought.

  Save what you can of that herd. The rest we shall lay up in store against our need.

  It shall be done, he replied.

  He waited for more, but the tenuous link faded.

  The Queller—that was her nickname for him because he, better than any of the other Divines, could quell a rebellion. Better than any other, he was the one that could restore order to a herd and make it productive. She had sent him to clean this mess up. And that’s what he would do.

  His first business was to secure Talen. You didn’t want a fledgling Glory running about as a loose end. That could come to no good. Once Talen was secure, he would identify who it was that defeated the Mother. And then he would begin the harvest.

  It was going to be a big job—tens of thousands of souls. A small sleth nest could be useful at times in managing a herd or in attacking another Mother’s holdings. He himself had infiltrated one branch of the Hand and directed them as the Mother saw fit. But this army Shim was raising was a pestilence.

  Ideas and knowledge spread like disease. In these situations, you couldn’t just kill the leaders because the infection didn’t end there. No, in these situations, it was best to simply destroy them all.

  He took in a great breath of air and surveyed the fortress around him—the candidates, the cooks over by the fires, the soldiers upon the walls. Harvest wreaths hung above doors and on posts, remnants from last night’s celebration. Such wreaths hung above doors in villages all throughout the New Lands. He thought it ironic: they had indeed celebrated a harvest, but not the one they supposed.

  After Black Knee was doctored, Shim and Argoth called to him. He led the priest over on his horse.

  “He’s dead,” Shim said.

  “He fought me, Zu. He was quite out of his mind. I’ve got a tidy hole in my gut to prove it. But if I recall, you didn’t specify that I bring him to you alive.”

  “What would I want with a dead body?”

  “If I could have taken him alive, I would. But you saw him. People are talking. Someone lik
e this was going make them uneasy.”

  Shim considered him.

  “I don’t mean to offend,” said Berosus. “But I came here because of a call. I’m sorry that he’s dead. But I know these types. They can’t be relied on.”

  Argoth looked over at Shim.

  “You’re wasting your time with that one,” Eresh said, his one good eye burning. “The Hand offers nothing but a knife in the back.”

  “Fools will often blame others for their own misfortunes,” said Berosus. “I’ve found that to be especially true among the Kish.”

  Eresh bristled. “It wasn’t foolishness that slaughtered a company of men at Amon ford. It was an ally that sat and watched other men burn.”

  “You’ve muddled the facts,” said Berosus. “But that does happen with age.”

  Eresh narrowed his eyes and moved his hand to his sword, but Shim held his hand up. “Hold, commander. We don’t need any blood today.”

  “I told you one of your own would vouch for me,” said Berosus.

  * * *

  Argoth watched Eresh release his sword, then draw an apple from his coat pocket. He expected the Kish to give it a furious bite, but, quick as a snake, Eresh hurled the apple at Flax’s face instead.

  Flax flinched but wasn’t fast enough. The apple smacked into his forehead and sailed into the wall of the fortress. Eresh followed the apple. There was a flash of steel and before anyone could move, Eresh held the point of his sword at Flax’s throat. “It appears I am not too old to take you, maggot.”

  Flax grasped the hilt of his knife, the only weapon a stranger would have been allowed to carry inside the fortress. Eresh did not have the best position on the blond even though he held a sword. If Flax turned just so, he could stick his knife into Eresh’s belly.

  But Eresh wasn’t someone to make such a mistake. It was sloppy, and Argoth realized Eresh was tempting Flax to pull his knife, to give him a reason.

  “No!” Argoth said and stepped forward, pushing them apart.

  Shim turned on Eresh, his face cold with anger. “We have within our grasp the opportunity, not of a lifetime, but of an age. It is not the time for squabbles.”