The Bloodstained God (Book 2)

by Tim Stead

  Skal sat down on his bed. He’d expected something more, well, military, something more miraculous. What Narak had done was so crude, so blunt. But he could not deny that it had been effective.

  “Telas Alt is ours, then. They cannot hold it or take it back from us without help. They do not have enough men.”

  “They will have more men,” Passerina said. “Narak is sure of it, but perhaps not for a while.”

  Skal looked at his hands. Just a week more and they would be at Telas Alt. Terresh had said that only about a thousand men remained there, and a thousand was not enough to defend the city. It was, however, enough to hold the citadel against them. The king had assured him that there were ways into the fortress that the Seth Yarra did not know, but he would not believe that until he had his men inside.

  The presence of Captain Emmar had brought home the fragility of his situation. He had started out the commander of the largest contingent, and he had faith in his own men, but he could see the future quite clearly. By the time they reached Telas Alt, and certainly by the time they took it, he would be outnumbered by the Telans, and their need for his men was somewhat diminished with the elimination of the northern Seth Yarra. Some, like Emmar, already resented him. As they became more confident of their ability to hold the capital they would resent him more.

  He did not fear an attack, or at least not yet. If the Telans attacked him their remaining force would doubtless be inadequate to hold the city. Passerina, too, would not permit it, and he thought that Hestia, too, would prevent such an act.

  “I have been rash, have I not?” he asked.

  “You are safe enough, I think,” she said, almost laughing at him. “I will speak to Hestia. The Telans will never be gracious hosts, but by all the gods I’ll make sure they behave.”

  “It’s not the Telans that concern me,” he said. “It’s each and every Telan warrior who might think himself above sharing a road with Avilians. You know what they’re like.” Impulsive, prone to violence, and too fond of their wine, he thought. His own men would obey his orders but he couldn’t expect any man to fail to defend himself if the situation arose.

  “And the blades?” She pointed to the sword and dagger by his bed.

  “There’s one called Emmar, Captain Emmar. His brother died at Fal Verdan.”

  “A Feud? No, they stopped that. Do you think he’ll come after you?”

  “In a word, yes, but if he does I’ll kill him. I’m just worried about afterwards.”

  Passerina laughed again. “Sometimes you remind me of Narak, colonel,” she said.

  “I take that as a high compliment,” Skal said.

  “Don’t.”

  * * * *

  The following day was a disaster. They were still several days ride from Telas Alt, but their route led them through a large town called Greenhow. There was no avoiding this particular town. It sat at the bridging point of the Perit River, a major flow of water that could not be crossed other than by a bridge, and it was a day’s ride either way, probably more, to any alternative bridge, and both of those sat in the midst of similar towns.

  Greenhow was a town of seven thousand, most of the houses being on the west bank because that was where the land was flatter and easy to build on. The east bank, the one that they now approached, rose up into a series of low, rounded hills, mostly denuded of trees because it was the habit of the people of Greenhow to graze their livestock there.

  Apart from the population, the cause of Skal’s concern was that Greenhow had been a garrison town. When Hestia and Terresh had passed this way on their flight from Telas Alt they had been aided by the Telans here and concealed from the Seth Yarra. Yet now Terresh insisted on riding in the van, leading his army through the shallow valleys and down to the bridge. He was of the opinion that the Telan soldiers here, too, would have thrown off the shackles of their former allies, and that the town would rise up to greet him.

  Skal thought the king may well be right, but it was a poor strategy to assume it was so. Not all Seth Yarra commanders were fools, and in a town the disadvantage of infantry facing cavalry would be greatly eroded.

  When the time came Terresh was even more cavalier in his approach, riding at a pace they took them well ahead of their army, and dragging Hestia, Skal and an assorted bunch of royal guards and officers along with them. Skal took just two men with him, leaving his senior officers where they belonged, with his men. Passerina was elsewhere, doing whatever it was that she did when they could not find her.

  They crested a rise, a saddle between two hills, and looked down at the town. It seemed peaceful. In the distance they could see the harsh lines of military buildings, straight walls, long barrack houses, but they were a good mile away, and Skal could see no evidence of soldiers of any kind among them.

  Below them, on the near side of the river, there was a single street, a line of warehouses and short jetties that served the river trade. Again Skal could make out no men moving about, no ships or boats tied up at the docks, no cargo being moved. It made him uneasy.

  “Lord King, shall we wait here until out army comes?” he suggested.

  Terresh threw him a Telan look, a glance that said an Avilian might do well to wait here, but it would be unmanly for a Telan. It annoyed Skal a little more that it should have. The Telans in general held that the Avilians were arrogant, effete, less honest and courageous than their own, and so the annoyed Skal rode down the hill with Terresh and Hestia and a couple of dozen men. He would not have done it on his own.

  He didn’t see the attack when it came. He heard it. So many times when he had stood on the wall at Fal Verdan he had heard the rush of arrows, their own racing away and Seth Yarra arrows arcing towards them with that subdued, sibilant roar.

  His reaction was instinctive. He was mounted and happened to be beside Hestia. He rolled from the saddle, picking his shield from his saddle as he went, one arm reaching out to pull the Telan queen from her own horse. They crashed into the ground together and he covered her with his body. He was at least partially armoured, and his shield covered his head and hers.

  The arrows’ hiss became a clatter, punctuated with the solid butcher’s noise of the occasional point striking home. He felt something sharp in his shoulder, heard more than one horse scream and more than one man curse. He rolled upright, drawing his sword and lifting his shield. His shoulder was cut, but the wound was insignificant. There were dead men and horses all around him.

  Terresh, you idiot, he thought, and looked around for the king. He saw him almost at once. He was lying on the ground with three arrows in his chest, looking up at the sky with eyes that no longer saw. Dead of his own folly.

  There were five men left unhurt, and himself. A glance up the hill told him that there were about fifty Seth Yarra, and that they had put away their bows. He wondered why. Another volley like that would have finished them. Perhaps these men were keen to dip their blades in blood now that the odds were so much in their favour.

  Two of the Telans drew their blades and made to step towards the enemy. He grabbed one by the shoulder and spun him around.

  “We need to protect the queen,” he said.

  “She’s dead. The king’s dead,” the man said.

  Skal glanced down at Hestia, and realised that she still hadn’t moved. Had he killed her, pulling her off the horse like that?

  “She’s not dead,” he said. “She took a blow to the head, that is all. We must defend her until the army comes up and kills these dogs.”

  “Who are you to give orders?” the Telan snapped. “She looks dead to me.”

  Skal slapped him across the face.

  “Go to your coward’s death, then, Telan, and let your bards sing about how an Avilian stood by your queen when you and yours surrendered to death.”

  The man raised his blade, but his companion put a hand on his arm.

  “The Avilian is right, Gran,” he said. “The queen breathes.”

  Resistance ended. Now Skal was in
command. They had been lucky, he thought. If there had been a second volley, if the Seth Yarra had been closer, if they had been on both sides of the valley it could all have been so much worse.

  Worse was an odd word. They would have been dead. However, it seemed that they would shortly be just as dead. The Seth Yarra closed at a steady pace, walking and not running. These were better soldiers, better trained at least. He spotted their officer, a black clad Cleanser who walked in the middle of their line.

  “He’s mine,” he said to the other men. They had arranged themselves in a short line with Skal at the centre, ready to fold back into a circle about Hestia as the enemy surrounded them.

  There was a cautious pause as the enemy drew close. None of them wanted to rush alone onto the steel line before them, and they shortened step and edged towards the fight. Skal took the initiative away from them. He stepped quickly out and killed the nearest man to him, his blade fast and deadly against the clumsy infantryman he slew.

  They reacted as he had expected, rushing forwards, their attention on him, which gave the men at his sides the opportunity to make hay. Three more Seth Yarra died and they pulled back a step. Some of them eased around the sides, trying to find a weakness, but Skal and the men with him formed a circle. Skal pointed his sword at their officer, met his eye. It was a challenge, pure and simple, but the cleanser shook his head. Either he had seen something in Skal’s style that warned him not to cross swords with the Avilian, or he was simply a good officer, and would not throw away the advantage he had.

  They attacked. The Telan circle, facing outwards, had more freedom of movement, and the Seth Yarra were too many, pressing in together and hampering each other. None of the invaders were as good with a sword as the men they faced, and when the engagement broke off again there were five more Seth Yarra dead, and one fallen Telan.

  Better than he would have expected, but the odds were still poor. Things were not going to go their way.

  Something stirred at his feet. He glanced down to see that Hestia was conscious again, and taking in her situation. The Seth Yarra saw her stand and it seemed to make them pause. More than a minute passed without a sword striking a sword. Skal felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Thank you for this, Lord Skal,” she said.

  They attacked once more, almost as though her words had been a signal. It was a more prolonged assault, and Skal was hard put just to defend himself. Two men went at him and he was a constant motion of shield and sword just to keep them out. He got one of them, though. The man struck too high and Skal was able to ward off the other’s blade with his shield while he dispatched the first.

  A grunt to his left told him that the man at his side had taken a blow and he stepped that way, striking with his shield, holding his own position as well with a couple of rapid cuts that made the Seth Yarra duck back. He was trying to buy the man time to recover himself, if he could.

  He was surprised when it was not the man but Hestia herself who stepped into the gap, sword in hand. He didn’t have time to protest that it was her they were trying to protect, but immediately had to defend himself against a renewed onslaught.

  There were five of them again now, but Skal was aware that they were accumulating wounds. About twelve of the Seth Yarra had fallen, but they could not hold their little circle much longer.

  A cry from the hill above them turned heads among the enemy. A Telan scouting group had found them, and immediately began to rush headlong to their aid. It was something, but he wished it had been some of his Avilians. In that case a couple of hundred horsemen would have been riding over the hill within five minutes, but the Telans, all six of them, charged valiantly to the rescue.

  “Just what we need,” he muttered. “More dead Telans.”

  Sure enough all six of them fell, but they eased the pressure on Skal’s little group for a few minutes, their undisciplined assault allowing the Seth Yarra to surround each of them and cut them down from behind.

  Yet the time they had bought was crucial. The cavalry that Skal longed to see was already on the way, and a few moments after the last Telan rescuer had fallen the rumble of hooves announced their presence. He saw doubt on Seth Yarra faces, and fear.

  “Stay tight!” he shouted. “Don’t be drawn!”

  Miracle of miracles, they obeyed. The little circle held against one last, desperate assault, and then they were in the midst of a river of horses, sweeping away the rest of the Seth Yarra, lances and swords flashing, ground shaking beneath their feet.

  When it was over they stood looking at each other, knowing that they had survived. The cavalry unit that had swept the Seth Yarra away gathered around them. Skal sat, laying his sword across his thighs and looked down at the town. It still looked empty. It still looked dangerous. He looked across at Hestia, who had gone to sit by Terresh’s body.

  The end of a glorious adventure, he supposed. Now that Terresh was dead the Telans would want a new king. They were not a people that willingly followed the gentler sex, even a woman as remarkable as Hestia. He had no idea how they would go about the succession, but it seemed an insurmountable obstacle to Skal.

  A pair of boots stopped in front of him, and he looked up to see Captain Emmar. Well, the man certainly had a sense of timing. He stood, allowing his sword to hang point down, his shield still lodged on his left arm.

  “Now?” he asked.

  Emmar looked him in the eye for a moment, then, to Skal’s surprise dropped to one knee. The captain drew his sword and offered it to Skal hilt first. Now it was Skal’s turn to stare.

  “What…?”

  “You saved my queen,” the captain said. “It would be dishonourable to kill you when I owe such a debt, and dishonourable to deny my cause against you.”

  “And?”

  “You must kill me,” he said.

  Skal stared again, for a moment completely unable to find anything to say. It was simply too ridiculous. He began to laugh. Emmar surged angrily to his feet, but his precious honour prevented him from doing anything at all, so he was forced to stand there, red faced and scowling.

  “Why are you laughing?” he demanded.

  “Captain, I can no more kill you than I can turn into a wolf. You are my ally, and a doughty soldier I have no doubt. Your queen needs every man who can kill Seth Yarra to do just that. Please, let us name ourselves allies in that cause.”

  Emmar looked undecided for a moment, and then stuck his hand out. “I will take your hand on it,” he declared. Skal took his hand and discovered that the man was at least as strong as he appeared.

  Trouble had not abandoned them. Even as the main body of their force caught up with the queen’s party they could see Seth Yarra soldiers in the town, and to Skal’s dismay the bridge collapsed into the river. Clearly the party they had encountered had been a scouting group, and by the look of it there were ten times that number in the town. Of the Telan garrison there was no sign, and Skal guessed that in Greenhow the battle had gone the other way.

  They camped that night on the slopes above the warehouses, looking down on the river and the broken bridge. Skal was not sure if he should attend the queen. He thought that she might like to be alone in her grief, or at least attended by officers of her own people, but he went anyway, to pay his respects and offer his condolences.

  Militarily, it was not a bad thing that Terresh had been killed. The man had been a poor commander, and one who had been difficult to challenge, being a king. Better men sought the opinions of others, but Terresh had been ignorant of his own inadequacy. Besides, Skal had never been able to overcome his dislike for the man.

  Hestia was a different matter. She was intelligent, graceful, willing to listen to the opinions of others and quick to understand what was said.

  Outside the queen’s tent there was a small gathering of Telan officers. Emmar was there, and to Skal’s surprise he nodded and stepped over to the Avilian.

  “She has been waiting for you,” he said. There was no rancour or res
entment in his voice. It seemed that as quickly as the blink of an eye he had transmuted from enemy to friend.

  “For me?”

  “Aye, so they say.”

  He went to the tent flap and the guards there drew aside as he approached. Apparently he was both expected and welcome. He ducked inside.

  Hestia was alone. That was a surprise. Not only was she permitting an Avilian to be alone with her, but also a man. It was as gesture of considerable trust. She was seated by a fire, and her eyes were lingering on the flames.

  “Queen Hestia.” She looked up.

  “Lord Skal.” She gestured to a chair set close to her own, and he sat, waited for her to speak. It was some time before she did.

  “You have seen Narak fight, have you not?” she asked.

  “I have not,” he confessed. “When he came to Fal Verdan I was already injured and bedridden at the other end of the pass. I was not on the wall that day.”