The Bloodstained God (Book 2)

by Tim Stead

“General, we’re doing well. The muster is ahead of schedule.” He handed the board to Cain, who looked it over quickly.

  “Very good,” he said. “The wagons are all moving?”

  “They are. I sent men to roust them out before dawn, but they were already loading at the forges, queued down the streets. The men are keen.”

  Cain nodded. It was something he’d seen many times, something he’d felt himself: the eagerness to be started, to be doing what they had prepared to do, and yet he found it strange. These men were going to war. At best they would be facing great odds, and at worst would be caught undefended and slaughtered. Whatever happened he was sure that many of them would not return. Yet here they were, bustling about him, smiles on their faces, keen.

  “Any word on Seth Yarra, sir?” Gorios asked.

  Cain shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “I have no word.”

  They all assumed that he had some sort of pipeline to Narak, but the Wolf spoke to him when it suited the Wolf, told him what he wished him to know. He did not doubt that Narak knew if the enemy had moved. From what he understood he, the Sparrow and he, would be aware of the first foot outside a stockade over in Telas, would be able to track the Seth Yarra armies every step of the way north, but Cain had been told nothing. Indeed, the orders to move had come not from Narak directly, but through Lord Quinnial, and for some reason Cain felt he had earned a more personal touch.

  It was something he was able to shrug off, though. If the war ended this very moment, just went away like a star at sunrise, he would be the happiest man on earth. He had all that he wanted, perhaps more, and a thousand times what he had ever hoped for. There was not a shred of bitterness in him.

  He looked up and saw Sheyani. She was riding across the practice ground aboard a grey horse that looked three sizes too large, steering slowly through the cross traffic. In the chaos of the muster he did not see for a moment that she was not alone. A second horse rode a parallel course through the soldiery, and was at the moment he first saw her a little way to the right. The horses came side by side again, and he saw. The figure on the second horse was Narak.

  “Gods, it’s the Wolf,” he said.

  Gorios turned and followed his gaze.

  “What should we do, my lord?” he asked. Cain thought it was odd that his major had defaulted to the most exalted of his titles when it was known that he preferred to be addressed by his military rank. Then he thought that Gorios had never seen the Wolf before, let alone met him.

  “Nothing, major,” Cain told him. “Just be yourself. He prefers that.” He sounded more confident and relaxed than he felt. He watched and waited while the horses approached. The two riders were in conversation, and he wondered what Narak had to say to Sheyani, or indeed the other way about. It seemed amicable enough.

  The horses stopped before him and both riders dismounted.

  “Deus, it’s kind of you to come to bid us on our way,” Cain said.

  “Not at all,” Narak said. “It seems that I have several duties to perform here.”

  “Deus?”

  “I am inspired, Cain,” he said. “The plans you drew up, your first line of defence. They have given me an idea. I need men, and I thought to draw them from your regiment.”

  “How many, Deus?” Cain hoped it would be a small number. His men would already be hard pressed, considering the duty they had been given.

  “Fifty, if I’m greedy,” Narak said. “Twenty would do, but fifty to be sure, and they must be steady men, not given to panic or fancy.”

  “What duties?” Cain enquired. Fifty was all right. He couldn’t spare ten, not really, but fifty was a pain he could bear.

  “Stealth and patience. Do you have any men who are country born?”

  Cain thought of Skal’s men, Tilian’s squad. “There may be some who are more suited than my own men, Deus,” he said. “Colonel Hebberd has a squad of foresters. I think they would be perfect.”

  “Foresters?”

  “Yes, Deus.”

  “And they’re Skal’s men?”

  “As I said.”

  “Well, I suppose one Seventh Friend is as good as another,” he smiled. “You always seem to have a wise suggestion, Cain. I must make a point of speaking to you more often.”

  “As you wish, Deus. I am at your service.”

  “And there is something else. I understand that you have some happy news.”

  “Deus?”

  Narak glanced at Sheyani, who had waited silently by her horse through this exchange, and Cain followed his eyes. She was smiling.

  “Oh, yes. We are to be married, Deus.”

  “So I was told.” He smiled, but it was not complete. Part of it was a frown. “Will you walk with me a while, Cain?”

  For a moment Cain felt like a boy again. His father had always invited him to step out of the house before a beating – often as not a beating that he deserved – and this felt similar. He wondered if he had done something wrong. He knew that Sheyani was royal blood, and he was the opposite, if such a thing existed. Perhaps the Wolf objected to such a thing.

  They walked to the edge of the training ground in silence, crossed a small bridge over a bright, chattering little stream, and found themselves on cultivated land. They walked along the edge of the field, following the brook. The Wolf seemed to be having some difficulty finding the words he wanted, because it was some time before he spoke.

  “I congratulate you, Cain,” he said at last. “She is a fine woman.”

  “Thank you, Deus.” But?

  “You know that she is of royal blood, of course?”

  “I do, Deus.”

  “What you may not know is that I have promised to support her claim to the Occult Throne if we all survive this war. Hammerdan’s attempt on her life has been construed as a challenge, and that gives Sheyani choice of weapons. I have guaranteed her safe passage to Durandar , and she is probably a better Halith than Hammerdan. She will win. I expect her to win.”

  “She will be queen?”

  “It seems likely.”

  Cain still didn’t see it. He would be consort to a queen. That didn’t seem a bad thing. Narak was looking at him, as though he expected some realisation to dawn, but Cain was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “You are in my favour, Cain,” Narak continued, seeing that the colonel had not made the leap. “It means that you do not age, you are not subject to sickness, your wounds will heal more quickly than those of other men. You may live for a thousand years. But it is forbidden for the Benetheon to take the mighty into their favour. Sheyani will become queen of Durandar. She will age and die. You will not.”

  So that was it. In truth he had not set much store by being in Narak’s favour, but he remembered how quickly he had recovered from his wounds at the wall. He had thought it was Sheyani’s piping that had helped, but apparently it was not. As for the rest, well, he was a few months from his first meeting with the Wolf and had not had time to notice any benefit.

  “I will give it up to be with her, Deus,” he said.

  “Sheyani does not wish it,” he said.

  “You asked her? That was unkind, Deus. You must have known the answer she would give. I will not sit by and watch her grow old alone.” He was indignant. What right did Narak have to say what they must or must not do?

  “She said that she would set aside her claim to the throne, but I fear she does not want her people ruled by Hammerdan. She does not consider him a good man.”

  “But the throne is her birthright.”

  “No. The throne of Durandar is an open seat. It is supposed that only those who desire it and have the power to take it may rule. If Sheyani does not desire it, then it is not hers. I am not trying to be difficult, Cain. I am not trying to trick you. She sees things in you that even I cannot see. She sees music, she says, that touches the heart of the world. You have a part to play for the good that would be greatly diminished by an early death.”

  “If she gives
up her claim will you take her into your favour?”

  “I will, Cain, but you must first understand what that means.”

  “I think I do.”

  Narak shook his head. There was an old cherry tree by the side of the stream, and he leaned against it, blew into his hands to dispel the cold.

  “No. You do not. I did this once before, and it was a mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “Immortality is something that we all must do alone, Cain. How can I explain? I am of the Benetheon. I am very hard to kill, and yet most of those of my own kind whom I loved are dead. I knew them for centuries, trusted them. For all that I can do for you, both you and Sheyani are mortal, any spear, arrow, rock, fall, accident – anything at all can end your life, and it will. Something will happen, and one of you will die, and the other will be alone.”

  “This happens to all who love, Deus. It is a price that we are willing to pay.”

  “Yet you do not understand the price. If she dies you will go on, and on, century after century, each year blunting the pain, but never erasing it. The truer your heart, the greater the pain. You may think to kill yourself, but you will realise that the only part of her that survives is within you, in your memories, and you will find it hard indeed to throw those last remnants away.”

  Cain turned away and looked back at the training ground, now some half mile distant. He could see the men and wagons bustling, but he could not make out Sheyani, not even her horse. He tried to imagine what Narak described, but how could he? His being was filled with the now, with the war and Sheyani, with duty and love. No future, however certain, could force its way into that busy place.

  “The road brings what the road brings,” he said, quoting Sheyani, he realised. “All we can do is choose our road.”

  “All roads remain open until the war in ended, Cain,” Narak said. “You have done me great service, and I would see you happy for it.” He reached into a pocket and pulled something out. He offered it to Cain. “Take this,” he said.

  Cain took it. It was a ring with a wolf’s head sigil; Narak’s symbol.

  “Give it to her as a wedding gift,” he said. “But there is yet one more thing.”

  “Deus?” What now, he wondered?

  “Sheyani asked that if things went between us as they have, if you should remain true, and she was certain that you would, she asked if I would marry you both when the war is won, in the temple of the wolf at Bas Erinor. I agreed. I hope that this finds favour with you.”

  “It would be a great honour, Deus,” Cain replied. He meant it. He could not recall another wedding at which a god had officiated, and it would be a mark of favour unmatched.

  “Then I shall look forward to that happy occasion.” Narak pushed himself away from the tree and turned to walk back to the training grounds. It seemed that their business was concluded. “Tell me about your plans again,” the Wolf said. “And I will tell you mine.”

  27. A Task for Tilian

  It was supposed to be an early night, a chance to sleep before the long journey that beckoned on the morrow. Not that Tilian had expected to sleep. He was torn between memories and expectations, the wall he had helped to defend and this new wall that they were to build in the White Road Pass. It was all timing. They needed to get there first by at least a week, enough time anyway to throw this new fashion of wall together and set themselves behind it. The memories of one were revived by the prospect of the other, and he felt an odd mix of excitement and dread.

  As it happened he got no sleep at all.

  He was on the point of retiring. Like many officers he had taken a room in the Seventh Friend, so crowded now that he had been sharing with a lieutenant from the first regiment, now gone to war. He had the room to himself for this one night, and he was enjoying a glass of the General’s excellent ale, sitting with three of his men at a table near the bar, when the hubbub of the tavern died down quite suddenly. He looked round to see what had caused the quiet.

  It was the Wolf, and he was with the colonel, and they were walking towards him.

  Tilian pushed himself to his feet and saluted.

  “Deus, my lord.” He was aware of his men scrambling to their feet behind him, their relaxed bonhomie all dissipated in a moment.

  “Sit down, Tilian,” lord Skal said. “You men, too. Sit down.” He turned and looked around. “Can we get a couple more chairs here?”

  Almost at once chairs were pushed towards them, other men giving up their seats so that the Wolf and the colonel might sit where they wished. Tilian heard Narak sigh, but he sat all the same.

  “It seems that I shall have to do without you again, Lieutenant,” Lord Skal said. “Wolf Narak has a task for you.”

  “For me?” The words were out before he could prevent them.

  “Yes. For you and your squad.” He turned to Narak.

  “There are thirteen of you?” the wolf asked.

  “Yes, Deus, but we are to expand the squad.”

  “Well, you will have to pick your men in the morning. I want fifty of you on the road before the day is out.”

  Tilian looked at the Wolf. He had no idea what was going on, what he was expected to do or say, what men he was expected to pick?

  “May I ask what our duties will be, Deus?”

  Narak grinned, a sudden, fierce, almost frightening grimace that on another would be alarming, a flash of lightning illuminating the storm within. On Narak it was positively terrifying. “You will destroy the Seth Yarra army,” he said.

  Tilian looked at Lord Skal, and the lord seemed equally nonplussed by Narak’s words. “Fifty of us, Deus?”

  The Wolf seemed to relent. “Don’t fret, lieutenant Henn. It is not a great task, but it does require steady men. You will go into the great forest, you will be accompanied by wolves, and you will be split up. I need men who can be alone, men who will not be afraid. Country born is best, but anyone with a level head and courage should manage the task. You may have to avoid Seth Yarra, so a modicum of stealth may also be required.”

  “We can do that, Deus,” Tilian replied. Stealth was easy, but he was a little more concerned about the men being alone. They were better as a unit, he thought, stronger and able to accomplish more. But to be fair he did not know them that well and would have liked to have seen them blooded together before investing them in such a task. It was only in a fight that you could see if a man had the makings of a good soldier.

  “Good. Well, pick your men and assemble them tomorrow afternoon on the north end of the training ground. I will give you your orders then.”

  Narak did not stay long after that. He bought drinks, made a point of speaking to each of the men, asking their names and some small detail of their life. The men seemed nervous but happy to speak when spoken to. Not one of them had seen Narak before, and even Tilian had only seen him that once on the wall when he had brought a Telan army to relieve the defenders. Tilian could appreciate the skill of it. Each man would march tomorrow knowing that Wolf Narak knew his name, that he had spoken with a god, the invincible, death dealing Wolf. It would be a piece of steel that would stiffen their backs for whatever they must face.

  When he left he shook Tilian’s hand, bid them sleep well, and walked out, nodding to men in the tavern who greeted him, the crowd parting around him, eyes turning to the men he had spoken with. Lord Skal stayed a little longer.

  “No sooner do I have you back than you are stolen away again,” he said to Tilian. “I shall have to find another to see to my needs.”

  It was a jest, and Tilian knew that it was, but in his mind’s eye he saw Sara.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you do, my lord,” he said. “In case I do not return.”

  Lord Skal laughed. “The position is yours for life, Lieutenant,” he said, slapping Tilian on the shoulder. “I am certain that you will return. I insist on it. I would be lost without you.”

  Eventually the lord left them, but their evening was shattered and could not be put ba
ck together again. It was time to sleep – past time, but Tilian had work to do, and so he sent his men to get what rest they could and retired to his room where he began to assemble lists of soldiers. He knew a lot of men in the regiment, veterans of the wall, and he had seen them fight. He could easily name fifty good men, but he needed thirty-seven, enough to make up the number, and so he named them, one by one, wrote them down, and slowly began to cross off the names, add new ones, knowing who would work well with whom, picking men of a more independent cast.

  The winter sun was already washing the horizon with light when he finally put his pen down and rubbed his eyes. He had his list.

  28. Single Combat