Curse: The Dark God Book 2

by John D. Brown

  “She was splendid,” Sugar agreed.

  “And you’ll do her proud,” said Urban.

  Withers reached out and stroked the end of Sugar’s hair. “How are you feeling, Walker?”

  Now that he’d asked, she realized she had a bit of a headache. “A few aches here and there,” she said.

  Withers nodded. “Perfectly natural. To be expected. They will go away, but there are some that won’t. If you are ever walking and start feeling real pain, like the very flames of a fire are licking your bones, you run back to your body. You don’t hesitate. Or you may find you can’t get back at all. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear,” Sugar said.

  “Walking is not for everybody. For some it means death. Remember that.”

  “I will.”

  “Good,” he said. “Your job now is to practice with the spine. Don’t get cocky after bullying a few frights about. A spine’s good, the skenning helpful, but when you hear the howls or the wicked singing of the ayten, you run back to your body. You run back to the defense of the flesh until you know how to handle such things.”

  “I will,” she said.

  He rubbed his wrist and said, “You come back to old Withers. There’s no need to fear—I’ll fatten you up, then teach you how to weave a soul cleaver. Great Lords, then you will be a terror in your own right. In the meantime, you need to eat.” He pushed a number of dried biscuits into her pockets. Then he fetched the candied nuts.

  She took his food, then climbed back onto the wagon seat next to Urban. They left Withers and the shack. Soddam waved good-bye. She thought she saw another one of Urban’s crew as they rode back to the fortress, but she couldn’t be sure.

  When they had ridden a good distance from the shack, Urban said, “So, what do you think about Withers?”

  He’d been so kind and patient, like a grandfather, and yet he’d done abominable things. “I don’t know.”

  “He was a villain once. But he didn’t need killing, did he?”

  She thought on that, then said, “I truly hope not.”

  23

  Rabbit

  BEROSUS NOTICED the man tailing him before he had walked a hundred yards from the fortress. It was one of Eresh’s men.

  Shim and Argoth had wanted to give Berosus leadership of a terror, but he didn’t want to be under their eye, so he’d argued that Eresh would only balk and that it would be far better to use him as a spy. As a member of the Hand, not only did he know how Mokad worked, but he also knew the names of various Divines and lesser lords and could recognize them on sight. Furthermore, unlike anyone from the Clans here, his tattoos wouldn’t give him away. His honors had nothing to do with the New Lands, which meant he could pose as a Mokaddian scout and get in close to the enemy.

  His argument had convinced Argoth and Shim, and they’d agreed. However, it still didn’t mean they fully trusted him. Argoth, for example, was still wary. Berosus could see it in his eyes. And Eresh, of course, didn’t trust him at all. Still, his role as spy meant he could come and go as he needed, at least for now.

  Berosus walked past the fields between the fortress and the village that served it. Shortly after entering the village, he made a number of turns through the houses, outbuildings, and back yards. The man tailing him followed at a discrete distance, and then was replaced by another who was eating what looked like a fine bun of some sort.

  Very good, Berosus thought. He was impressed yet again with these sleth. In fact, if he hadn’t been looking, he would have never noticed the second man, or the man on the porch of the tavern, or the woman out with her cows. There was a whole network of eyes and ears here.

  Shim and Argoth had probably alerted them to note the movements of certain people and watch for anything suspicious. The attack on Talen proved they had a breach in their security, and so all eyes and ears would have been ordered to step up their vigilance. Any sleth who had come to join Shim would certainly be on the watch list. It would be the prudent thing to do. There was never any telling what a sleth might be hiding.

  So the tail following Berosus wasn’t the result of Eresh acting on his own. It was surely Argoth’s idea as well. But they wouldn’t find out any of his secrets today.

  He entered the woods outside the village. The original tail followed, albeit with a different hat and shirt, which anyone with normal senses would have missed.

  But Berosus wasn’t your normal dreadman. He wasn’t your normal Divine. He built his Fire and increased his pace. He increased it again. A few strides later, yet again. The woods on either side of him flew past, his lungs taking in far more breath than a normal human’s could. By the time Berosus came to the river, he was two miles ahead of his tail.

  Berosus entered the river and swam downstream a few hundred yards. Then he exited through some willows on the far side and disappeared into the woods beyond. The tail would spend an hour here, going up and down the banks. By the time he found a trail, if he found one at all, Berosus would be beyond catching.

  * * *

  A few hours later Berosus waited by a small secluded waterfall in the woods savoring a small basket of blueberries as his captain reported that the army would arrive on the morrow. There would be more than a hundred ships, almost fifty thousand normal troops, a few thousand dreadmen, plus dogmen, plus his Skir Masters.

  A whole army was descending upon this land, and Argoth was back at the fortress trying to force the last of his candidates. It made Berosus smile.

  The captain finished his report, and they discussed other plans and tasks, which the captain would need to fulfill. Then they waited for Nashrud. His dog appeared first. It wasn’t a big mastiff, but a smaller hound, black and brown with a salting of white hairs. It had one brown eye and one that was pale blue, both of which looked at you with far too much intelligence. The dog padded down to the waterfall, sniffed about, then sat on its haunches and looked squarely at Berosus. Normal dogs avoided prolonged eye-contact. This one did not, but that was to be expected with Nashrud. He was more Divine than dreadman, and his powers focused along one track.

  Moments later Nashrud appeared, coming through the trees.

  When he was close, Berosus held out the small basket of blueberries. “They’re quite good.” Nashrud took two and ate them without question as Berosus knew he would, but he did not show any delight. Nashrud was a hard man. An excellent servant. He enjoyed his animals and red meat and the thrill of the hunt, but he didn’t betray much emotion.

  “We have the rabbit’s location,” said Nashrud. His scar stood out in the muted light of the woods. It ran from the top of his forehead, cleaved his eyebrow, and continued down his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

  Berosus said, “You’ve confirmed this with human eyes?”

  “The Holy One and his sister are hiding at a farm close to the mountains. All we await is your command.”

  The water burbled across the rocks. The autumn leaves had begun to fall, and the whole woods smelled of leaf mold. It was delicious.

  “Secure him,” said Berosus.

  “And what of the sister?”

  “If she dies, it won’t be a troubling loss. The fledgling Glory is the main thing.”

  Nashrud inclined his head. “The rabbit will be in your hands by breakfast tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Miles away, in the barn of the Koramite farmer Len and his wife Tinker, Talen sat down upon a milking stool. On the dark wooden platter between River and him lay a duck, two squares of soft pumpkin, and a number of small apples, all of which had been roasted to perfection.

  Talen said, “The whole time in that barrel I was thinking we’d be laying up in some nasty cave or wet, mosquito-infested knoll in the swamps. I thought we’d be eating snakes and squirrels. But I believe we’re going to eat better here in Len’s barn than we did back at the fortress.”

  River said,
“A cave or knoll would have meant Uncle would have had to supply sentries, and that would have attracted attention.”

  “True,” Talen said and carved off a piece of the duck’s breast with his knife. Len had many children and grandchildren. Two more bodies wouldn’t attract attention. And with so many, he’d been able to position a number of these to watch the ways to the farm. Talen bit into the piece of meat. It was moist and seasoned. “He used salt,” he said with delight.

  “Len and Uncle go way back,” said River. “You be sure to show your gratitude.” Then she picked up a square of pumpkin and ate some of the flesh with her knife.

  Talen’s craving, to his incredible relief, had diminished over the last few hours. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t care.

  He said, “This is a good hiding place, but there’s going to come a time when we have to face the servants of the Devourers.”

  “Even when you’re as strong as Da or Ke, there will be times when running is the best option.”

  “The day’s coming when I will hunt them.”

  River smiled. “When you can beat your sister, then you can talk about hunting. In fact, I think this barn will make a fine spot for some hard lore work.”

  “You underestimate me,” said Talen.

  “Finish your duck, and we’ll see who’s the one doing the underestimating.”

  * * *

  High above Len’s farm two hooded crows circled and watched the landscape below them. There was the bright river, the dead badger they so very much wanted to descend and eat, and the barn that hid the two humans.

  24

  Alert

  ARGOTH WAS EXHAUSTED. He and Matiga had spent the whole night forcing candidates. One had died. More than twenty others lay broken. But two hundred and twelve had been raised. It was an awesome thing to contemplate, even if he feared their numbers weren’t going to be enough.

  He stood in the smoky great hall checking the pulse of a man who’d just broken. He was a strong fellow from Bain, the brother of one of Mokad’s official Shoka dreadmen.

  “Such a waste,” Matiga said, bringing a thick woolen quilt over.

  He didn’t want to think about that. The fall of each one of these men hurt him.“We’ll hope for the best,” said Argoth. “I’m sure he’ll recover.”

  “I’m not,” she said and unfurled the quilt over him. Argoth helped her wrap the man up. They checked the others who had broken, making sure their hearts were still beating and their Fire hadn’t broken forth again.

  Matiga fetched another bit of godsweed and put it in the fire. “We should take a break,” she said. “Get some sun. We’ve still got a stretch to go.”

  “Aye,” he said, but it took him a moment to muster the strength to leave the hall. Outside in the bailey, some troops had already begun to move out. Eresh and Ke were somewhere else practicing with the new dreadmen. Argoth made his way over to his family’s quarters. He entered to find Serah packing up a bundle of clothes.

  Nettle squatted over by the wall, tracking a spider as it ran across the floor. Just as it was about to slip under a bed, he crushed the spider with one finger, then brought up the gooey remains to examine them. He paused a moment, then flicked his tongue out to taste it.

  “Nettle,” Serah said, reprimanding him.

  Argoth’s heart sank. Nettle was getting worse.

  Serah folded a tunic and looked at Argoth. She didn’t say a word, but he knew what that look meant. She still didn’t forgive him for what he’d done to their son.

  “We’re more than halfway through the candidates,” he said.

  She didn’t reply, just picked up a pair of woolen socks and rolled them together.

  A commotion arose outside. A moment later a man rushed to the open door. It was one of those he’d sent to watch the ways leading to Talen’s and River’s hideout.

  “Captain,” the soldier said. “We spotted a hammer of mounted men moving along the road you told us to watch, proceeding toward West Hill by way of Smoky Ridge.”

  “Why did you not engage them?”

  “We did. They were dreadmen, and there weren’t enough of us.”

  Argoth cursed. Mokad was here. And it was more than a few spies. He wondered how many dreadmen had already arrived and why Shim’s ears had not even heard a rumor. Worse still, West Hill was where Len’s farm lay. There was nothing of value to Mokad out there, not unless you knew about Talen. But how could Mokad have found out Talen’s true location? Nobody but he, Ke, Shim, and Matiga knew where he’d hidden the boy. The driver who’d taken the wagon out hadn’t even driven to Len’s place. Argoth had sent him elsewhere so River and Talen could slip through the woods on foot and attract no attention at all. Even Eresh was in the dark.

  “Thank you,” Argoth said to the man. “Find Oaks. I want a hundred of the new dreadmen mounted up immediately.” Mokad was taking a roundabout way to Len’s farm. If he took the direct route, he just might beat them there.

  The man nodded and raced back out into the bailey.

  Serah looked at Argoth, then back down to her folding.

  Argoth followed the soldier out. Less than ten minutes later he and a terror of Shim’s new dreadmen were mounted on horses and thundering through the outer gate.

  25

  Scruff

  TALEN DIDN’T HAVE time to step back and avoid the blow that surely would have broken his jaw. Instead, he leaned away and turned his face, River’s fist just barely brushing past his cheek. Her swing had exposed her, but before he could strike, she moved, elbowed his forehead, and the next thing Talen knew, he was thudding to the barn’s dirt floor, a small puff of dust and hay flecks rising about him.

  River put her fists on her hips and shook her head. “Your footwork is sloppy. You’ve got to remember to keep a stance that will let you move. Stand up like a wall and someone’s going to knock you down.”

  Talen felt his forehead where she’d struck him, then climbed to his feet. They’d been practicing combat sequences the whole morning and were now using them in an open fight. All their work had raised a cloud of dust in the barn. “I’m choking,” he said. “We need to open a window.”

  “Cleaner air isn’t going to get you to stand right.”

  He was sweating and itchy from the flakes of hay and dust that stuck to him. He knew they shouldn’t risk open windows, but the farm was secure. Len and his wife Tinker were as loyal to Uncle Argoth as any of his soldiers. In fact, three of their older sons had fought under Argoth’s personal command. But it went beyond that. They had a true friendship with him. So much that the farmer had posted three of his younger sons and daughters to watch the roads. “I’m opening a window,” Talen said.

  River rushed him, as he knew she would. He dodged left, spun, and delivered a perfect kick to her side. Except by the time his foot arrived, she wasn’t there, and his perfect kick mortally wounded nothing but a few dust motes.

  She snatched Talen’s leg in a two-arm hold, and before he could cry out in dismay, she twisted and he was off his feet and thudding to the ground yet again. Another puff of dust and hay flecks curled up around him.

  She pointed at him. “How many times have I killed you today?”

  Talen groaned. “I think you just broke my back.” He rolled over and got up, gingerly feeling just above his tail bone. “It’s not quite a fair fight.”

  “No,” she said. “Fights never are. Do you think Mokad’s dreadmen are going to tie a hand behind their backs to give you a sporting chance?”

  Talen was irritated now. River had forced him to a higher level, and he was still dealing with the vestiges of clumsiness that came with his newfound power. But even if he’d mastered this new level, River was still stronger than he was, faster, more experienced. “The only way to even the odds is to run away from you and come back with help,” he said.

  “That’s one
way,” she said. “But what if that option isn’t available?”

  He sprang to the top of the horse stall wall about five feet off the ground.

  “What are you doing up there?”

  “Despite your powers, you’re not as nimble up here as I.”

  River picked up a block of wood from a small stack leaning against the wall and hucked it at him. He tried to move, but it struck him in the side. River was a thrower and always had been. Deadly with shoes, cooking spoons, and pots.

  “Don’t restrict your movement,” she said. “Restrict mine. Find an equalizer, something to let you strike from a distance or block my blows.”

  His eyes stung; his head was buzzing. She was going to send him to the world of souls before any of Mokad’s dreadmen had the chance. And as if to prove him right, she picked up another block of wood and threw it at his head. He ducked, and it banged into the wall.

  He spotted a hay fork, jumped down, and ran to it. He brought it around like a staff. River came at him with a stick of firewood in her hand.

  He was tired and angry. She was supposed to train him, not beat him to a pulp. If she wanted him to equalize this fight, he’d equalize it.

  “Careful,” River replied. “You’re losing your calm. You need to be angry, but not enough that you can’t think. It’s a fine balance.” She was going to throw that stick and immediately follow it with an attack. But he wasn’t going to let her get that far. Talen charged her with the business end of the fork. He didn’t hold back.

  River moved to the side. He shifted his weight and swung the other end of the hay fork at her head. She blocked the blow with her stick. He parried, but as he did so, she grabbed the shaft of the hay fork, wrenched, and the hay fork leapt from his hands.

  Impossible.

  She shook her head. She was going to teach him a lesson. He could see it in her face. She swung the handle end of the hayfork around to clout him.