What Remains of Heroes

by David Benem

  Fencress spat and returned her attention to the battlefield. The Arranese were very clearly prevailing, and judging from the soldiers both standing and dead it seemed they’d entered the battle with far superior numbers. They were skilled horsemen and wielded their long bows and curved blades with ease as they rode. Rune’s forces, by contrast, seemed slow-footed and tight, their meticulously organized formations a clumsy hindrance. The Arranese harassed their flanks, carving away at the red-sashed soldiers standing along the edges and smoothly working to separate them into smaller and smaller groups.

  “Those soldiers won’t last long,” said Paddyn, standing in his stirrups. “The field is lost. Why don’t they sound the retreat?”

  Fencress’s horse stamped nervously and she patted its neck. “I don’t know much of military tactics, but it would seem a bad gamble to pick a fight with an enemy who outnumbers you three to one.”

  “Where are the reinforcements?” Paddyn asked. “How could this happen? Rune’s armies are the finest in all the world. More soldiers, better training, better weapons. Arranan was always said to be a nation of savage horse thieves.”

  Merek dismounted his horse and studied the battlefield. His voice was quiet. “This doesn’t look like a battle Rune’s commanders intended to win. But why? Why sacrifice so many men? A ruse, perhaps?” He clenched his hands into fists and cursed. “I fear for Riverweave.”

  Fencress sneered. “Just as I said. Evil bastards on both sides of this thing.”

  Merek shot her a black look but said nothing.

  “Now tell me,” said Drenj, “how it is you think we’ll find Karnag amidst all this chaos?”

  Merek returned to his horse and climbed into the saddle, his face sagging. “He will seek violence. It is his nature. If we shadow the Arranese armies long enough, we will find your friend.”

  “And when we find him?” asked Paddyn, his tone fearful.

  Fencress turned to Merek and smiled. “We pray, right?”

  They decided to keep at least half a league between them and the Arranese, figuring the space would offer a measure of safety. They held to higher, harder ground, navigating the steep hills lining the plain below. The ground rose and fell with sheer crests and sharp ravines and the horses struggled for footing. Nevertheless, they kept pace with the Arranese army, and were able to behold the massive gathering of soldiers and supply wagons whenever their path brought them across the faces of the hills.

  Fencress kept to the rear of the group, figuring it best to keep an eye on Merek. She wasn’t the sort to trust another quickly—her time spent playing deadman’s dice had taught her lies could be concealed behind the most earnest expressions. Although she suspected Merek intended to help rescue Karnag from whatever plagued him, she knew the man had an agenda of his own. He hadn’t disclosed his secrets yet, and didn’t seem inclined to do so.

  Fencress reached into one of the pouches stitched in the lining of her black cloak and withdrew Merek’s bracelet, his Coda as he’d called it. It was an odd thing, strangely heavy for its size and crafted from a dull metal which seemed to reflect no light. It was etched with countless angular symbols, some ancient language with which Fencress was entirely unfamiliar. Merek had asked for the thing on several occasions, but Fencress sensed that as long as she kept it from the man she held an advantage.

  Her horse stumbled on a patch of gravel and Fencress looked upward, finding Merek’s gaze upon her. The fellow’s eyes followed the Coda as Fencress tucked it inside her cloak. “You want that thing, eh?” Fencress asked.

  Merek slowed his horse and waited for Fencress to pull even with him. “I can be of far more use to you with it.”

  Fencress studied the man. He was a nasty looking sort, his face full of stubble and his eyes set too deep in his square head. He appeared much the same as the strong-armed brutes who frequented The Dead Messenger but for the look in his eyes. There was an intelligence there, a power. There is a great deal he hasn’t told me.

  She tugged her cowl overhead, shading her eyes from the sun. “Time for some answers, friend.”

  Merek rubbed at his flat nose. Fencress suspected he was recalling the beating he’d taken from Old Crook’s lads before they’d first traded questions. “I will tell you what I can,” he said in an even tone.

  Fencress rested her hand on the pommel of one of her twin swords. Folk speak more frankly when there’s the implication of violence. “We’ll start with simple introductions, Merek. You’ve told me your name, you’ve mentioned your ‘order.’ Now you will tell me details. The important ones, that is.”

  Merek stared skyward for a few moments. “You know of the Sentinels?”

  Fencress regarded him skeptically. She held many doubts about the Old Faith, but what she’d seen in Karnag compelled her to at least play along. “I’ve heard the stories. Lullabies cooed to babies. The occasional drunken bard singing in a tavern. I’ve even stumbled upon an old shrine or two. Relics of a time long gone.”

  “No,” Merek said flatly. “Not relics. These forces persist, and they are eternal.” He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a mark near the crease of his elbow, a watchtower. “My order is the Variden, which means ‘Vigilant’ in the old tongue. We are the disciples of the Sentinel Valis, and we serve as watchful guardians of Rune. We honor the oath Valis took when the goddess Illienne descended to oblivion. We serve to protect Rune.”

  Fencress cocked a brow, suspicious. “Protect from what, exactly? The likes of me?”

  “Hardly. We guard against the dark forces, the disciples of the Lord of Nightmares. He is sealed in oblivion, yes, but his followers still do his bidding.”

  “Ah,” Fencress said, trying to conceal her sarcasm. “The secret war you’ve mentioned. But don’t the old tales say the Sentinels were banished?”

  Merek nodded. “They were. Some of the Sentinels abide the banishment, but others do not. Those who don’t decided the oath they’d sworn to Illienne was more binding than a decree from the High King.”

  “So what of your Sentinel? Did Valis obey the High King?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. He gifted his powers to his disciples, and he faded from this realm. That object you keep from me, my Coda, contains a fraction of those powers. Which is why you must return it.”

  Fencress caught Merek’s gaze. “I will not be handing over your magic bauble anytime soon. You must forgive me, friend, but I can’t yet trust you enough to surrender any of my advantages.”

  “I will require it if I am to be of any help to your friend.”

  “We’ve not found Karnag yet.”

  “Perhaps I can use it to help find him, then. And after, it will keep our purpose hidden from him.”

  Fencress waggled a finger. “When we find him, perhaps I’ll let you have your trinket.” She leaned back in her saddle as his horse navigated a downward slope. “Now, speaking of Karnag, what has happened to him and why do you think you can help him?”

  “The man you killed, the Lector, was a Sentinel as well. The Sentinel Castor.”

  Fencress nearly laughed aloud but suppressed it. “A Sentinel? One of Rune’s seven legendary heroes? The man bled and died just as any other. Ridiculous.”

  Merek shook his head. “A great part of me hopes my suspicions are unfounded, but the teachings of my order instruct that Castor’s spirit is capable of moving to another body upon the death of his own. He is immortal in that way. What I have seen of your friend implies that those ancient powers reside now in him. We must consider the possibility that he has assumed the spirit of a Sentinel.”

  Fencress would have branded this chap a lunatic had she not seen what Karnag did in Hargrave. She tugged at her cowl. “Then why isn’t Karnag all wise and just and merciful? All of those godly things we’re told to believe? That bastard is a killer, and the very worst of them all.”

  “I don’t know. My order suggests a Sentinel’s spirit is as water, able to assume the shape of the vessel into which it is poured. One of my o
rder’s charges has been to monitor the passage of those eternal souls. A thing such as this has never before occurred, and it seems a great balance has been disrupted. I fear all of Rune is in danger.”

  Fencress didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder with fear. At last she settled upon a long, heavy sigh. “Dark work yields dark rewards, they say.”

  The Arranese marched north without pause for the remainder of the day, through the night and then well into the day after. At last, as evening fell the great army slowed their march to a halt and made camp. Fencress suggested the company do the same after finding a narrow creek winding through the rocky ground. They set about watering the horses and scrubbed themselves free of the dust and barbs they’d collected on their ride.

  She found a spot beside the creek and stretched out to stare at the purple sky, letting the cool water wash over her feet. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a decent bath. She was no stranger to rough going, but if truth be told she sometimes fancied the comforts of a plush inn. “Paddyn,” she called, “do we have any wine?”

  “No wine, but we still have a good deal of Old Crook’s cider.”

  Fencress smiled. “Do a friend a favor and bring me one of the skins.”

  Paddyn did as requested, and soon Fencress had swallowed more than a few mouthfuls of the fruity stuff. She splashed her feet in the creek and tried to remember the names for the constellations of stars in the sky. There was the Dragon’s Wing, the Three Witches, the Spitted Sow, and in the sky’s center rested the Eldest Eye. She recalled stories of them all, mostly from the tawdry dramas in which she’d performed as a younger woman. She recalled an entertaining moment when, just after a performance, she’d caught the troupe’s leader servicing the well-fed lass who’d played the role of the Spitted Sow, and how the man had so much trouble pulling his jingles out of the woman’s costume. Or his “spit,” as I called his jingles for months afterward. She laughed aloud.

  Just then there was a clamor behind her, a cascade of dirt and rocks. She started upward and whirled about to see Merek scrambling down a hillside toward the creek.

  “Dead gods,” Fencress grumbled. “Can’t a girl enjoy a bath without you barging in? You have no sense of etiquette, friend.”

  “There’s something amiss among the Arranese,” Merek said, scanning the area about them. “There,” he gestured. “That hill should grant us a better view. Follow me.”

  Fencress cursed, tugged on her boots and grabbed her swords. “Saddle the horses,” she said as Paddyn looked at her with a cocked brow.

  Fencress followed Merek through a dark ravine and then up a steep slope. It was a difficult climb, but in time they managed the top. There, they were granted a panoramic view of the Arranese camp and the scrubby grasslands about them.

  The distant camp looked much like a reflection the starlit sky above, with innumerable, flickering fires adorning the dark landscape. Fencress squinted to sharpen her eyes, and after a moment was able to discern among the fires the faint angles of tents and ghost-like shapes of soldiers.

  “Do you see it?” Merek whispered.

  Fencress was about to confess she did not but then caught her tongue. On the periphery of the camp there was commotion. Her eyes struggled for details as the scene shifted in that maddening way of the deepest shadows of night where movements seem imaginary. But there was something.

  “They’re forming a hunting party,” Merek said, leveling a finger toward the army’s edge. “Two riders just arrived at the camp, and now they’re gathering greater numbers. Look at the torches alighting. The Arranese have decided to hunt something in the dark.”

  Fencress could see it, although the scene didn’t remain in focus for long. Perhaps a bit too much cider. The lights were multiplying, and she imagined soldiers setting torches ablaze and making ready to move. “Let’s hope they haven’t decided to hunt us.”

  Merek snorted, whether from amusement or derision Fencress could not be certain. “You see they’re moving into a formation. A crescent shape, with the outer ends at the lead. That is their way.”

  “Looks to be about twenty men, by my count.”

  “Twenty-one,” said Merek firmly. “The Arranese always group into units of seven.”

  Fencress rolled her eyes and figured she would have repeated back the words in a snarky tone had she swilled any more of the cider. The fellow was useful, yes, but lacked any measure of charm. “You just said a group of two riders returned to the camp.”

  “Which means five men from that group did not return. The party is heading southwest,” Merek said. “And quickly.”

  “Perhaps hunting down stragglers or deserters?”

  “That would seem a strange quarry to pursue at night. I can’t imagine an army that size would concern itself with a few desperate and very likely wounded soldiers wandering nearby.”

  “It could be any number of things.”

  “It could be your friend.”

  Fencress stood. “Well we should ride, then.”

  Merek waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll never catch them, not while riding at night on this terrain. We should wait until morning, then track where they went.”

  “On your feet,” Fencress said. “We’re following them.”

  The ride proved more difficult than Fencress had anticipated, and her horse staggered repeatedly on the patches of loose stones. After being pitched from the beast she wondered if it’d be best to abandon caution and ride down from the hills and onto the wide plain below. She thought of the odds, and reckoned it was a necessary gamble. “We’ll head down,” she called to her companions.

  “That will be an easier ride,” said Paddyn, adjusting the quiver of arrows slung across his back, “but we’ll be awfully close to the Arranese.”

  Fencress shook her head. “An army that size won’t care about a few riders wandering near their flank. They’ll think we’re farmers or shepherds or something.” She looked at Merek. “Won’t they?”

  Merek pulled his green cloak about him and said nothing.

  “We’ll head down,” Fencress said firmly.

  The broad face of the hill was a steep slope, replete with crags and gullies and slicks of mud. It was a place better suited for goats than horses, and at many points the horses stopped dead, not daring take another dangerous step downward. When soothing words failed, the company dismounted and tugged the beasts by their reins. At last the horses complied, and they chose a slow, crisscrossing route across the breadth of the hill.

  In time the slope eased and flattened, and they descended into the gentle rolls of the fields. It was an eerie landscape, with a low fog blanketing the earth and set with the pale hue of moonlight. It looked as much like the open sea as dry land. There were also the distant sounds of the Arranese army: the shrill rings of steel being sharpened, the low din of discussion, and the echoes of strange songs sung about their fires.

  There came then a murmur of voices nearby, and after scanning the fields about them Fencress caught sight of an Arranese patrol atop a rise no more than fifty yards away. She gestured to the others and they stopped and held motionless. After a long, tense moment the patrol dipped behind the far side of the rise. Fencress patted her horse and congratulated herself on her sense of fashion, her steadfast resolve to dress ever in black. Hard to see at night, and always welcome at funerals.

  They resumed their ride, kicking their horses to a brisk trot. They’d lost sight of the hunting party, but Merek was certain of the direction they’d headed. He suggested they make their way due south in order to have at least some thin chance of finding them. It seemed a fool’s errand, Fencress thought, but then so did this entire endeavor.

  As they rode Fencress wondered how long she’d last in this task, how long it would be before she abandoned Karnag. There was war all about them, and the kingdom she’d called her home seemed on the brink of disaster. She held a small fortune in her pocket, yet had chosen a path that left her no chance to enjoy it. She was in the
middle of nowhere, hoping to find a friend who seemed to have turned into as wicked a demon as any poet had ever described. And when she found him? Merek seemed to know something of these “old powers,” as he called them, but there were no sure bets, no guarantees they could help him. If this were deadman’s dice, this wouldn’t be a smart play.

  But she thought too of her bond with Karnag. It was never a romantic thing—nothing with men was after what she’d endured as a slave in her youth. No, it was no romance, but it was just as deep. In their work, she and Karnag trusted each other with their lives when death was the most imminent of possibilities, when all the coins were in the table’s center. Their bond had endured the darkest of deeds, had withstood the most depraved acts imaginable. And through it all, Karnag never questioned her, never doubted her capability because of her gender. And because Karnag respected her, others had been made to, as well. Because of him, she’d earned as much sway with the criminals of Raven’s Roost as any man.

  The odds matter not at all when the prize is the life of my friend.

  They pressed on for some time, passing through empty field after empty field and encountering no more than the occasional fallen soldier or burned-out farmhouse. Gradually the stars shifted overhead and the moon sank low against the horizon.

  “It will be morning soon,” said Drenj. “There’s a chance I could track the hunting party with some light, but we’re sure to be seen by the Arranese.”

  Fencress’s shoulders sagged. “No. We shouldn’t risk being seen or hunted down. We’ll head back to the high ground and out of sight.” She pulled her horse to a stop and turned it about.

  Just then a faint cry caught her ear.

  Fencress threw back her cowl and pressed a finger to her lips. The company halted. The field about them was featureless but for a low wall of rocks. The ground was obscured by mist and shadow. Fencress could see nothing.

  She listened, and in time heard a quiet sob. She urged her stallion toward the knee-high wall and rode beside it, her companions behind her. She squinted, struggling to discern details in the dark. Soon she saw what seemed to be a shape huddled near the wall.