Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  Sugar wondered if all Kish were so rude and distracted. Or was this simply the first sign of incompetence? She stole a questioning glance at River who shrugged. Sugar could tell the other candidates were having the same questions.

  Commander Eresh dipped the ladle again and fished out a chicken leg from the pot. He put the leg into his mouth and with one bite dragged the meat off the bone. Then he handed the ladle back to the cook.

  All watched in silence.

  As he chewed, he nodded. “Not quite,” he said. “But good, very good.” He bit the cartilage end off the chicken leg and munched it.

  “Commander,” said Argoth. “They’re yours.”

  Eresh walked back to the soldiers. “Never underestimate the importance of a cook,” he said, the meat and cartilage still in his mouth. “Dreadmen are nothing without their cooks. But, of course, that’s not what you want to hear. You want to hear of battles and tactics and awe-inspiring feats. The power feels good. As fine as a silky woman’s skin.” He worried a stubborn pieced of flesh off the bone with his teeth. “The power is like a lover. You’ve all felt it.” He pointed at a man. “What do you say?”

  “I’d say that she’s a succulent thing.”

  “Succulent, indeed,” said Eresh. “She caresses you. Flatters you. You’re quick, she tells you. You’re strong. Invincible. But if you listen to her, that will be your doom.”

  He turned to Argoth. “I need a formidable volunteer.”

  “Bags,” said Zu Argoth. “Step forward.”

  A soldier of many years broke from the lines. The tattoos on his forearms proclaimed him an armsman, fully trained, with many kills to his name. He was in the top group of candidates and often helped with the skills training.

  Commander Eresh cleaned a morsel from between two teeth with his tongue. He eyed Bags. “Very good,” he said. “Zu Bags, do you wear your lover?”

  Bags pulled up the sleeve of his tunic and showed his candidate weave.

  Eresh pulled up his sleeves and tunic. Then he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them to show he wore no weave. He looked ridiculous.

  “I’m an old man,” he said. “Fat, half-blind. And I’m going to strike you. Avoid it if you can.”

  Bags nodded. “And do I get to strike back, Zu?”

  A number of the candidates chuckled.

  “If you think you can land a blow, do it. In fact, I will make you a promise. If you land a blow, I will be your servant for a day. I’ll wash your feet. Pick your toenails. Bring you cake. Agreed?”

  “Throw in some good wine,” said Bags.

  Eresh grinned. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

  Bags stretched his arms wide, loosening himself. He was a big man, a seasoned warrior. He was not someone to toy with. As he approached, Eresh bit the chicken’s leg bone in two. He sucked loudly on half of the bone, extracting the marrow and juices. Then he began to munch it.

  Bags stopped two paces away from Eresh.

  Eresh pointed at him with the other half of the leg bone. “Have you prepared yourself, Candidate?”

  “Aye,” said Bags.

  Commander Eresh struck. One moment he was standing casually, the pointed half of the chicken bone in his hand. The next moment Bags was reeling backwards, clutching at his forehead.

  Eresh stood back and spat a bit of bone shard off his tongue.

  Bags got his feet underneath himself. A part of the chicken bone stuck out of his forehead. The other part was shoved up under his skin. Blood began to pour out of the wound. Bags steadied himself, yanked the bone out, and looked at it in dismay, and then the blood began to run down his brow and into his eyes.

  “And in such a manner,” said Commander Eresh, “is one of the mighty slain by a chicken.” He looked at the other candidates. “Is that the best you have to offer?”

  Nobody moved.

  “Come,” said Eresh. “If any one of you lands a blow, I will grant him a boon. Or is it true that Mokaddian clansmen are nothing but old women?”

  Another man stepped forward. A tall Burundian with a massive beard. He went straight at the commander. His blow should have landed, but Eresh dodged, took him by the throat, and before the man could react, Eresh had him bent backwards over an empty vegetable wagon. He slammed the man’s head into the side board and stunned him.

  “Mokad comes,” Eresh said. “They know you’re something now. Seafire. Slain Divines. The mighty Grove of the New Lands. They come with all their powers to kill every last one of you.” He slammed the man’s head into the side board again. “And you present this?”

  Another man stepped forward.

  * * *

  Talen watched the old Kish in amazement. These men were some of the fiercest fighters in Shim’s army.

  Flax had been standing behind Talen. He leaned forward and whispered, “Are you going to let a Kish talk to you that way? Show your comrades what a Koramite is worth.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I’ll go at him from the front. You get behind him, on his blind side. Hit him with anything you can find.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “You think the Commander is playing fair?”

  Eresh tripped another man and sent him to the ground.

  “Don’t let me down,” Flax said, and then he began to circle around in front of the Commander.

  Talen hesitated. Flax wanted him to strike a superior officer in the back?

  Flax looked back, motioned for Talen to get moving.

  The Hand were Divine killers. Maybe Flax knew things Talen did not.What did he have to lose? If this was how you fought in the mad world of dreadmen, then so be it.Talen moved. He wasn’t going to close with Eresh. He’d seen the results of that. Instead, he looked for a rock.

  A fourth man came forward, but he did not close immediately with Eresh. Instead, he paced back and forth like a wildcat in a cage. He was a fighter known for his murderous kicks. He feinted. Commander Eresh, his naked legs looking ridiculous, rolled his eyes.

  Talen circled around behind. There weren’t any rocks, but there was a crookneck squash at the base of the vegetable wagon.

  The fourth man kicked at Eresh’s blind side, but Eresh caught his ankle and lifted his leg up high. He grabbed the man by his crotch. “Good-bye walnuts,” he said and squeezed. “You’re Mokaddian. You don’t need them anyway.”

  The man groaned in pain and fell back.

  “And so your lover betrays you,” said Eresh.

  “May I play?” Flax asked.

  Eresh turned. “Ah,” he said, “the fearsome Hand.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of your age.”

  The other candidates laughed.

  Eresh looked over at Shim for permission. “I won’t hurt him too much. I promise.”

  Shim didn’t looked convinced, but he nodded his assent with a warning look.

  Eresh turned back to Flax and rubbed his hands together. “Let us see what a man with such fine pants is good for.”

  Talen picked up the gourd. He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

  Flax began to close the distance. He moved to the side. And Talen saw it was to make sure Eresh turned so Talen would be behind his blind spot. Flax stepped to the side again. Eresh turned, putting Talen in his blind spot.

  This was Talen’s moment. He took two steps and hurled the gourd at the back of the commander’s head. The gourd flew straight and true. And at the last moment commander Eresh must have seen the faces of the candidates who noticed it, for he turned like lightning and caught it.

  Flax flew into motion. He kicked. Eresh spun back. The blow landed on Eresh’s back, but not squarely. Eresh caught Flax’s leg and twisted. Flax went down to the ground, Eresh on top of him. There was a flash and Eresh held Flax’s own knife at the man’s throat. Hate and disgust twisted
Eresh’s face.

  “And so your lover lies to you,” Eresh said and moved the knife closer.

  “Commander,” said Argoth evenly.

  A beat passed. Then Eresh pushed himself up off of Flax and stood back.

  Flax grinned. “I believe that counts as a blow.”

  “Indeed it was,” said Shim. “Which means he’ll receive the promised boon, won’t he commander.” It wasn’t a question.

  Eresh threw the knife into the ground at Flax’s feet. “Of course he will. I keep my oaths, unlike others.”

  Flax motioned at the candidates. “I give my portion of wine to you. And I’ll throw in a barrel more. I think you’ll remember the lesson better that way.”

  Eresh pitched his voice so low that it was a strain for Talen to hear. “I see through your game, Handsman; you may have scored points with them. Not with me.”

  Flax smiled and shrugged.

  Eresh turned to the candidates. “If you’re going to beat Mokad, you need to think differently. You underestimated me. You came to me on my own terms. Even our blond wonder only thought to pair with one of you. The whole lot of you should have turned on me. Do you see now? Mokad will come, and if you try to stand against them man-to-man, you will die. And then, bish-bash, there goes your pretty field of blue and your brass sun. There goes your wife. Your pretty children. There goes your soul.

  “You cannot beat them at their game. You cannot beat them as individuals. You will only beat them by breaking off a part and attacking it with the odds in your favor. And even then, you won’t be enough. So you will fight with cunning. You will ambush and harry. You will trap. You will flee.” He pointed at Talen. “You will take your enemy unawares with any weapon at hand. You will sing your enemy to sleep. You will not fight his war. You will fight your own. And you will remember that the fist is everything. There will be no single heroes in this army. You will stand together, or Mokad will scatter you like chaff before the wind.”

  Commander Eresh paused and surveyed the candidates. “Mokad’s troops have already begun to arrive. So tonight you will prepare yourselves for the first quickening. We do not have time for luxuries. Those who pass will become dreadmen of the first level. Some of you will break. But even if we had time to wait for every last one of you to mature, some of you would still break. More will break when you go through the second quickening a few months from now. Still more will break when you move to the third. But you’ll never make it to the second or third if we don’t field a stronger force today.”

  14

  Gifts

  ALL AROUND TALEN the candidates talked excitedly, some with surprise and eagerness, others with grim concern. As far as Talen was concerned, the quicker he moved through the changes that the lore were awakening in him, the better. He could smell the army about him. Smell the sweat of their bodies and clothes that hadn’t been washed in a week. Somebody’s bad breath kept assaulting him. Mixed in were the smells of the horses in the stables and the cooking swamp. And underneath it all were lovely whiffs of Fire and soul.

  Lords, but he couldn’t wait until that craziness was gone.

  Sugar came over to him, leading Legs along by the hand. “Well done. Very brave going against that wild man.”

  Legs spoke up. “Indeed. Such valor deserves a poem. Luckily, I have sounded one out.” A few of the men in the immediate area overheard him and turned. Legs cleared his throat.

  The Kish was insulting our men,

  Dealing death with his boiled chicken.

  A few of the men chuckled.

  Mighty weapon in hand,

  Talen said, “this won’t stand!”

  And with his gourd he did the foe in.

  Talen rolled his eyes. “That’s it?”

  “A saga for the ages,” Legs said.

  “I think your rhythm is off in that last line.”

  Legs said, “I believe I shall call it ‘Talen, mighty wielder of lettuces and sundry vegetable products’. Or maybe ‘The Gourd Warrior’.”

  The men about Talen hooted with laugher. A few clapped him on the shoulder. He smiled, going along with the joke, but would they have laughed as hard if they knew at every touch he wondered what it would be like to taste their souls?

  Flax walked up then. He put his arm around Talen and held a jug of wine high. Talen tried to shrink away from his embrace, but the big man was strong.

  “For Talen and the spoils of war!”

  “Ho!” a number of men cheered.

  “That’s not much spoils,” a skinny man said and pointed at the jug. “Divide that up, and each of us won’t get more than a lick.”

  “Which is why,” Eresh said, cutting in, “I’ve ordered a barrel up from the buttery.”

  The men turned to look at him.

  Eresh continued, “Bring your cups with you when you come for your swamp this evening. We shall celebrate your quickening.”

  Someone shouted, “Bloody Eresh!” The crowd responded with another “Ho!”

  “Bloody Eresh!” the man shouted out again. This time more of the army picked up the refrain. The man shouted once more, and this time the “Ho” rose from the whole host, ringing about the walls of the inner bailey in a deafening chorus.

  Eresh pinned Flax with his one good eye and gave him a look of contempt. Flax just smiled.

  “He doesn’t like you very much,” said Talen.

  “I can’t imagine why,” said Flax. “Do you think it’s my pants?”

  This time Talen laughed.

  * * *

  Talen and Legs stood in line in front of the large cooking pots and got their bowl of swamp and a section of hard bread. Sugar said she’d already eaten, but made sure to get a generous serving for Black Knee.

  They went and sat by a group of men asking Flax about his background and exploits as he ate. Someone asked him about the Hand and if he’d ever himself killed a Divine.

  “Divines do not die easily,” he said, gesticulating with his spoon. “And killing a Divine isn’t always the objective.” Then he told a story about how he once was smuggled into the palace of an Urzarian Divine by a eunuch to steal weaves and scrolls of lore. He told another story about rescuing five of his fellow sleth from a hanging in Cath. He showed them a puckered scar on his back that he’d gotten from that exploit when a guard had skewered him with a knife. He showed them another scar from a tumble he’d taken out of a tree while avoiding a giant of Trolumbay.

  The men listened raptly. Some added anecdotes of their own. Eventually the conversation wound around to whether there were more of the Hand coming. “Perhaps,” said Flax. “A few of the leaders have died. The others sent me to observe and report. I hope they join us.” He stood. “And now I need to run an errand.” He took his wooden bowl and spoon to the washing cauldron, rinsed it out, and put it in the stack to dry. Then he waved to them as he walked out of the bailey. The men turned back to the last bits of their meal.

  “He appears to be a quality fellow,” said Black Knee.

  “Aye,” said Talen, “that he does. What do you think, Legs?”

  Legs had removed his father’s skull from Sugar’s pack and was soberly running his fingers over every crack and bump. Legs had told Talen many stories about his da; it was clear he loved the man. Talen hoped that skull brought him some solace.

  Legs said, “Earlier, when I was waiting, Flax said he had things he might be able to teach me.”

  Talen felt a little pang of jealousy. “Like what?”

  “Things,” Legs shrugged.

  “Maybe these are things I might benefit from too.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll have the chance,” Black Knee said. “I’m hearing that Shim has decided the army needs to be out more, not squatting here at the fortress where it’s easy to find us. This won’t be a war of fortresses. And the speech our commander of chicken
bones gave confirms it. So I think we’ll be splitting up.”

  “What do you mean?” Talen asked.

  “The army is going to be going out more. Patrols, raids, spying. I think Shim wants us to practice communication and maneuver, breaking up and disappearing as smaller groups, and then suddenly joining up in great numbers to surprise the enemy. I’m thinking we’ll camp in terrors. And they’ll send hammers and fists off on specific missions.” He looked at Sugar. “I don’t know what they’ll do with the women.”

  “Commander Eresh seems to have other plans for them,” said Talen.

  Sugar said, “Let him tell the Creek Widow to keep us out. I’d like to see that.”

  “That’s indeed a fight I’d pay to watch,” said Talen. “But I doubt you’ll be coming with us. I bet the Creek Widow has plans for her fell-maidens.”

  “How can I get myself in that fell-maiden fist?” Black Knee asked. “That’s what I want to know.” Then he looked down at Legs who was still running his fingers over the skull and said, “What are you going to do with that?”

  “I don’t know just yet,” Sugar said. “Mother’s ancestors are buried back in old Koram across the sea. Da’s are in Koramtown. But part of me wants to keep him about.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” said Black Knee. “In fact, it’s a good idea to have some bones close by. It helps the ancestors find you. Myself, I keep a bone about my neck to help my grandfather remember me.” He pulled up a necklace with a small bone threaded through it.

  “His finger bone?” asked Talen.

  “No. This is from one of his dogs; they were his pride and joy. I imagine they’re in that place with him. They’ll snuff me right out.”

  Sugar nodded.

  “What about the other items you retrieved?” Talen asked Sugar. “What were they?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sugar. “The Creek Widow is examining them.”

  Over by the great hall, Argoth called out for the first fist of men to report for the quickening. All the eyes in the bailey watched the fist of men walk over and disappear through the door.