by Tom Lloyd
The woman’s riding leathers were plain and battered, but the clothes underneath showed signs of an eye for style. Yellow thread had been used to stitch her trousers, the dark outline of fishes had been embroidered into her close-fitted jacket and a wine-red neckerchief was coiled around her neck. The badge on her chest was rather less elegant – the Madman of Stars, a white, tear-streaked face howling up at the night sky.
‘Got any kit?’ she said as she reached Sitain.
‘Kit?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Clothes, whatever.’
‘Oh. Yes, they let me pack a bag before they put me on the horse.’
‘Fetch it.’
‘Why?’
An amused smile appeared on the woman’s face. ‘You’ll share my tent. Unless you’d prefer to be in with Lynx, that is. I’m Kas, by the way. Don’t let the badge fool you, I’m the sanest of the lot here.’
Sitain’s stomach tightened at the thought of sharing a tent and her mouth went dry. Feeling like an awkward little girl she nodded, eyes downcast, but before her humiliation could be compounded further a greying man scampered up. Darker than Kas and another couple of decades older, his face was twisted in some sort of childish awe as he ran up and grasped her hand. Like Kas he wore battered clothes picked out with small flashes of colour; green braiding edged his jacket and every brass button was polished bright.
‘Is it true?’ he gasped, as though unable to believe what he was talking about.
‘Is what true?’ she demanded as she tried and failed to haul her hand back.
‘Himbel, leave the poor girl alone.’ Kas laughed.
‘Absolutely not, Kas, this is too important!’ he insisted. ‘She holds the key to my future well-being!’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Sitain demanded, having to brace herself on the man’s shoulder to yank her hand free. ‘What’s going on?’
‘They say you’re a night mage,’ Himbel continued. ‘So your magic can quieten; bring on sleep and the like.’
Sitain took a wary step back, a familiar sensation crawling on her skin as it always did when her magic was being discussed.
‘What of it?’
It wasn’t illegal or heretical to possess such abilities, but most magic was dangerous and unpopular, so she wasn’t happy to talk about it so openly with anyone, let alone strangers.
Before the man could reply Kas burst out laughing, drawing more attention to them. ‘Ulfer’s horn, Himbel! Of all the dumbshit uses for magic, that’s just …’ She briefly doubled over in more laughter.
‘It’s the best argument for magic I ever heard,’ he snapped, not taking his eyes off Sitain. ‘Is it true?’
‘I, ah – yes,’ she said, eyes downcast, ‘I suppose so.’
‘You suppose? Can you or can’t you? This is important, girl! Can you put someone to sleep?’
‘It really ain’t important,’ Kas gasped beside him, ‘but it’ll make you loved by half the company if you can.’
Feeling like she was having a trick played on her, Sitain looked around at staring faces. She saw only confusion on all of them, however, not amusement at her discomfort. As she looked, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, the round-bellied lump called Lynx pushed his way between two of the onlookers, heading to join them. Unlike most of the mercenaries the man wore no trace of colour whatsoever; only the flecks of yellow in his eyes punctured the dull brown of leather and the shades of grey clothing. Even the ridiculous, obtrusive tattoo on his cheek was composed just of black lines.
‘I can,’ she said eventually. ‘I ain’t skilled with it, but I can do some things. Maybe calm a mood or put someone to sleep if I really have to.’
She didn’t manage any more as the black man grabbed her in a bearhug and almost swung her around in his delight. ‘Salvation!’ he crowed into her curls. ‘A gift from the gods!’ When she finally pushed herself free he calmed a little and took her by the shoulders to look her straight in the eye. ‘We’re going to be best of friends, you and I,’ he assured her. ‘Anything you need, just say and it’ll be yours.’
‘Why?’
He beamed. ‘Because if you can shut that scrawny gobshite up with your magic, you’re worth your weight in gold.’
‘What’s going on?’ Lynx demanded, eyes narrow and suspicious.
‘Himbel’s found a way to shut Deern up whenever he wants,’ Kas snorted, wiping tears of amusement from her eyes. ‘I think he’s in love.’
‘Leave the poor girl alone,’ Lynx said. Himbel gave Sitain one last hug then allowed Kas to drag him away, leaving the big man to stand frowning at her while Sitain tried to make sense of what had happened.
‘Who’s Deern?’ she asked eventually.
‘Eh? Oh, one o’ the company jesters,’ Lynx replied cryptically. ‘Don’t worry about him. You’ll want to shut him up from what I’ve seen, but his friend Reft is the biggest thing I ever met on two legs so you might want to be a little cautious about it.’
‘Are all your company mad?’
That made the frown turn into a half-smile. ‘Aye, mebbe. They ain’t my company, though. I just joined for this one job, but most of ’em look crazy from what I’ve seen.’
‘You’re not really part of the company?’
Lynx shrugged and pointed to the breast of his jacket. ‘Only just signed on for this job. No badge, see? I’m getting paid like I’m wearing the Stranger of Tempest, but I doubt I’ll stick around long enough to actually sew one onto my jacket.’
She looked around at the other mercenaries. All those who hadn’t removed their jackets did indeed have playing card badges sewn on. She’d noticed some wearing them but hadn’t realised it was the official mark of the company.
‘So you picked a fight with the bloody Knights-Charnel on behalf of a company you’re not really a member of?’
‘That’s about the size of it. I’m starting to think maybe Anatin’s not so happy about that.’
‘Why did you, then?’
He gave her a puzzled look. ‘You wanted to be their prisoner the rest of your life?’
‘Of course not! But still, I didn’t really expect you to step in. Most people we passed on the road wouldn’t even look at me.’
‘Seemed the right thing to do,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Next time I won’t bother.’
Sitain paused and mentally backtracked. The man had put his life on the line for her, a stranger and a woman to boot. He might be a long way from home, but her mother had told her a few stories of the arrogant, warlike men of So Han and Lynx fitted that picture, at least until he spoke. It had been a desperate gamble to ask for his help, but Sitain knew no one round these parts argued with the Knights-Charnel. While the little she’d heard of So Han wasn’t good, it was at least clear their views on both mages and women differed greatly to those prevalent in these parts. Whatever his reasons for doing it, she reminded herself, asking why wasn’t the best form of gratitude.
‘Thank you,’ she said awkwardly.
‘Eh?’
‘I didn’t say it before,’ she explained, ‘what with the killing and looting of bodies, but thank you. You saved me. Once they’d got me to whichever sanctuary they were taking me to, I’d never have left. You risked your life for me.’
He turned away. ‘Aye, well, like I said. Seemed the right thing to do. Best you go and get some food now, we’re on first watch.’
‘We?’ she asked, startled. ‘You want me to stand guard?’
‘Aye – well, I’m going to,’ he added with a smile that crinkled his tattoo, ‘and you’re under my care so you are too. Suspect we’re together on Anatin’s shit-list, so get used to first watch. You’re likely to see a few of them.’
As the camp took shape around them, Sitain realised she wouldn’t have long to fetch her belongings and find Kas’s tent. She scampered over to the caravan she’d passed the day in, found the one small canvas sack containing the sum total of her possessions – a blanket, two changes of clothes and a carved
wooden flute given to her by her grandfather. She had been unable to grab anything more and suddenly she found herself squatting on the floor of the large caravan, eyes screwed up against the tide of despair rolling over her.
Memories of her family filled her mind; her mother’s wary face, which always seemed surprised at every kind word or gesture that came from Sitain’s father. Her father himself – a slight man and shorter than his tall Hanese wife, but able to labour every hour of daylight and return home to his family’s enthusiastic chatter with strength remaining. Felit, her brother, larger than his father by the time he was fourteen and with more than a little of Lynx about him. As quick to anger as any young man, Felit was always quiet and careful around their mother, while little Sutai with her round, guileless face and boundless joy made noise enough for all three of them.
Sitain knew then that she would never see them again – or at least not for a long time – and she would never be able to return properly. Her happy little family, shattered by some grasping informer and the unmatched power of the Knights-Charnel. She knew night mages were rare. Just how rare was anyone’s guess, and no one back home had known anything more than rumour about magic. Rare enough that the Charnelers wouldn’t let her go easily, though, she guessed that much. Her family would be watched or at least informed on, so there was no return there – no life of farming and family ahead of her, just danger for them all if she so much as visited.
How long she stayed in the gloom of the caravan Sitain couldn’t tell, but in a mercenary company there was little time for sentiment. Soon she found herself jostled by the men and women fetching their own belongings, barely noticing the young woman curled at their feet. At last she sensed someone watching her and looked up to discover a slight, middle-aged man with blue eyes and a stern expression staring at her.
‘Hop it,’ he said once he had her attention. Not unkindly, but Sitain sensed unkindness could be forthcoming. ‘You’re the mage girl, right?’
Sitain stood up and nodded, wiping the last traces of dampness from her cheeks. ‘That’s right, Sitain.’
‘Foren,’ he said with a formal little nod. ‘Company steward, of sorts anyway. Little advice for you, girly. This caravan’s Anatin’s bedroom and office come evening. Anything you want out of it, you move quickly ’cos once I turn it down it’s off limits.’
‘Turn it down?’
He pointed towards the rear of the caravan and edged past her. With shelves and cupboards lining the wooden walls for most of the length, there wasn’t much room to pass towards the back, where a high bed-sized shelf went across the rear. With practised movements, Foren jerked the shelf towards him. He slid it off its runners and manoeuvred it around so he could stand it on end and drag it out of the caravan.
At the door two mercenaries were waiting to take it and Sitain guessed it would double as a table to eat at. As though to confirm the idea, Foren retrieved a folded leg frame from the roof of the caravan and passed that out next. In the space underneath was bedding all ready for use, while beside it a cupboard opened out to reveal a desk with a bank of drawers behind. Opposite that Sitain noticed a tiny iron stove was built into an alcove of glazed tiles, red, yellow and blue.
‘Out now,’ Foren urged, giving her a prod in the shoulder, ‘You keep clear of Anatin’s stuff or you’ll not make it to the next town, understand?’
His tone of voice had hardened and Sitain realised the steward took his duties very seriously. She gathered up her bag and backed down the steps, quickly searching out Kas. The woman was in the process of erecting her tent and Sitain lingered for a few minutes, following instructions until it was done and she could abandon her bag there to find Lynx again.
She found him hovering at the side of one fire, a white-haired woman in a blue shawl warming a pan of fried leeks and potatoes over it. The tantalising aroma of fat was rising up in the air as dusk began to descend, and soon Sitain and Lynx had a stick of bread filled with the mixture to carry to their assigned flank of the camp.
Guarding the opposite side she saw the officer called Teshen along with a young recruit. Clearly Teshen’s status wasn’t enough to keep him off their commander’s shit-list. Sitain ate her half of the bread as fast as she could, watching Anatin stamp up the steps of his caravan until Lynx gave her a nudge and pointed out to the darkening landscape beyond.
My commander now? she wondered as she finished up and handed the other half of the makeshift meal to Lynx. If only for a few weeks? Do mercenaries let you leave when you want? Or am I just some camp follower and it’s only the soldiers they care about? Gods, they don’t expect me to fight, do they? Kill people?
Her thoughts were broken by Kas sauntering over, jacket unbuttoned to a scandalous level. As both Sitain and Lynx blinked at her, Kas grinned and offered a sheathed dagger the length of her forearm to Sitain.
‘For you, courtesy of your friends the Charnelers.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re on guard duty, girl. Best you have some sort of a weapon and we’re not giving you a loaded bloody mage-gun to wave around while we sleep!’
Sitain blushed, feeling stupid for even having asked, and buckled the knife-belt around her waist. Lynx finished his food and pulled his mage-gun out of the long leather sheath across his back. He thumbed the breech open, slipped a bolt inside and closed it up again, settling himself into some sort of long-practised pose, his arms almost folded and the gun resting on top.
‘Thanks,’ said Sitain as Kas made to return.
Kas waved it off. ‘If I were you, I’d ask for some of the plunder too. Bastards stole you, after all, least you can do is steal something back.’
An image of demanding money from the dead-eyed Teshen appeared in her mind and her guts went cold. ‘No, it’s fine,’ Sitain muttered.
‘As you like.’ Kas laughed. ‘Enjoy guard duty, you two. I’m for a sleep.’
Still chuckling, she headed back into the camp and was soon swallowed by the hubbub of the mercenaries as they finished eating and some sort of card game was announced. Lynx and Sitain kept outside the perimeter of tents, not straying far into the gloom but staying well clear of the fire lights and lanterns which had been hung from brackets on the wagons.
Sitain couldn’t help but look at the gun in Lynx’s hands as the man gazed off into the dark. It was an unassuming shape, without decoration, and the barrel was almost as thick as her little sister’s wrist. The wood of its stock was stained and scratched, the grey metal scored in several places. She tried to imagine the battles it had seen until he caught her looking and shifted the gun’s position.
‘So tell me about the magic, then,’ Lynx said abruptly.
She blinked at him. ‘Why?’
‘’Cos I’m curious. Don’t know anything about your lot. Night mages, I mean. Certainly never met one.’
She scowled. ‘It’s not like anyone’s taught me about it, I’ve only barely worked out what I’m doing at all.’
‘Okay, let’s try an easy one,’ he said, unconcerned by her snappishness. ‘What can you do? Put folk to sleep, like Himbel said?’
‘Pretty much. Mebbe calm thoughts to help you sleep, or put you down if I’ve got the burst ready to hit you.’
‘Burst?’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘That’s what I call it, anyway. The magic comes from somewhere inside me, I need to drag it all together to use it in a burst like that. Like, ah, it’s like drawing a deep breath, sort of – your body just knows how to do it because it was made that way. But here I’m drawing from every part of my body. I get a tingle under the skin and in the bones that I never noticed before I started to draw on it.’
‘Sleep, eh?’ Lynx mused. ‘Calming thoughts. That could be useful to Himbel in more ways than he realises.’
‘Why?’
‘Company surgeon. If you can calm a man’s thoughts to the point of him blacking out, that’d be useful to a doctor trying to treat the wounded. Pain’ll kill some before you can do anything for �
��em.’
Sitain shook her head. ‘I don’t have that much control over it. I wouldn’t dare.’
‘Maybe you need more practice first,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Though for some, anything’d be a mercy once they’re wounded. You practising ain’t going to cause any more pain. Always takes me a while to go to sleep if I’ve taken the first watch. Someone who could put me straight out and get me a half-hour more sleep might be a useful friend.’
She gaped at him. ‘Are you mad? You’d happily let me practise something like that on you?’
He paused. ‘Good point. We’ll try it on Deern first, just in case something goes wrong. What about cartridges?’
‘What about them?’ The lurch in subject matter threw her completely and Sitain had to remind herself not to snap at him. She knew this stranger was the best friend she had now, her patron inside the mercenary company and her best chance to remain free from the Charnelers, so she had to put up with him.
‘Can you make ’em? Night-bolts – bullets that mebbe put a man out rather than kill him? A gunsmith told me once that it was the magic that killed; they use porcelain balls ’cos they shatter into dust straight away and help carry the magic at speed. That means a night-bolt might knock ’em down without killing.’
‘Well, perhaps,’ she hazarded, ‘so long as you have someone to teach me and the materials to manufacture the cartridges. Oh, and of course a fragment of some god’s shattered mortal form to focus my magic and store it in the charge-glass!’
He nodded. ‘Good point, I forgot about the god-fragments part. Ah well, it was a nice idea, I guess.’
Lynx nodded with his head towards the tall silver birch that marked the southern tip of their small camp. In the dull glow of the Skyriver the tree’s bark shone like a ghost, where it wasn’t shaded. Following his lead Sitain walked with him in that direction, the slow amble of people with no real destination. The moon had not yet risen so the Skyriver was still the brightest thing in the sky. Graduating strata of silvery-grey cut across the southern half of the sky, gauzy and insubstantial for the main but studded with small discs that made it easy to follow the slow spin of the Skyriver around the world.