Snakewood

by Adrian Selby

  His born colouring, shape of his nose and eyes, give him up as a Virate boy, Corob’s Dicta or the Redwall, far east.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  It was an eastern tongue that gabbed back. Shale leaped over and put a thumb at his eye.

  “Again, you spoke Common well enough yesterday,” he said.

  Lad just didn’t know how to react to this.

  With the thumb pressing in and Shale fair keen to push it into his head the boy opened up proper.

  “Filston’s vineyard.”

  “Is that where we can find him? Alon?” I said.

  “Y-yes, I went up to the house on Lokio’s order, to find out if Filston was at home. He is visiting his vineyard.”

  “Lokio plannin’ on sellin’ us out then was he?” said Shale.

  The boy shook his head.

  Shale let up and sat on the ground near the boy.

  Now the alka was into Ralim’s head fierce. Despite being bare of clothes and lying in his shit he seemed to find something amusing, eyes closed and muttering, a smile playing on his smooth shaved face as the fear he had diminished.

  “Where’s the vineyard, Ralim?” I said.

  “Happy Valley.”

  He was doubling up now, muttering in his own language.

  “Hard to tell if we bin sold or not,” I said.

  “Fuck off, Gant, it’s fuckin’ obvious we ’ave. Least this way we can get to that vineyard on our own terms.” Much as I agreed with him, we soon learned that wasn’t right.

  He leaned over and with a twist broke the boy’s neck.

  “I need a pipe, Gant. How’s the wound?”

  “It’ll do,” I said.

  He packed one and we shared it, bringing the noisies down from our mix.

  “That fucker in the Dens sold us up the river. Once we’ve done Alon I’m goin’ back to sort him out. Four gold coins an’ all.”

  He was smiling, usually happened when he was furious, trying to steady his head and stay thoughtful.

  “We need to go in brewed up,” he said. I nodded. Masks, full rack of mixes. My guts were dreading it and it wouldn’t be pretty on the far side.

  Happy Valley was a day east of us according to some hunters that we come across a few hours later. Forests of silver oak filled the lands about and we led the horses up through some of it the next day to get to the mouth of the valley.

  A dark leather strip of a man, master ’jacker of a settlement of farmers working the oaks and gathering skins about, pointed us to the vineyard itself. I caught a word off him which I took to mean abandoned or dead from my poor Issanaian, along with “river”, which we found later and followed as it worked through the slopes of the steepening hills to the vineyard.

  We left the horses and some coin with the ’jacker but took care to take away and stash all but the saddles. Couldn’t risk anyone finding everything we had if it went wrong and we had to run.

  It was a small vineyard, slopes with wild unkept rows of vines what were all over choked up with other bushes and grasses. The river wound up the east side of the yard and around to the north of it, a natural border. We hid ourselves in the trees over the river, looking across the slopes to the villa beyond.

  Shale juiced his eyes while I prepped the masks and the Honour.

  *Shutters firm, paths clear* signed Shale, and we both thought that odd with the vines in such a mess. There didn’t appear to be any sign of a merchant’s retinue and at that point we should have run.

  We kissed and drank the Honour, strapped and coated each other’s masks, and checked belts, wambas and pads were all fit.

  You can’t prep for a war alone, and if Ralim was true, then Alon and, we had to assume, his Agents and Reds, would be here. A guildmaster that rich wouldn’t have any less than Reds or good mercenaries for a guard. I hoped he was here. It would be easy enough to take out his men, and then he was going to tell us what the Twenty were meant to be dying for.

  Shale give me the nod as his teeth started to go. The rising was flooding through me, moments where I felt I wasn’t stood on the ground at all before my feet took sense of the earth and stones as fine balanced as though I could see with my soles.

  We held our belts over our heads as we pushed across the river, its belly high and fast moving.

  The luta was a mix blended to work with the Honour. Though it was dark, the juice made it seem there was a strong green moon that lit the vine fields and made the stone of the villa flash like emerald in the summer sun.

  We got ourselves in among the vines and stayed low, wondering if anyone was there at this time. I was listening and feeling out for the sentries that would have been posted were the farmhouse full up.

  It was then I felt it and I signed for us to stop. The river I could feel in the earth, the sound of it sparkling and hissing in my ears, but there was other disturbance. In my feet it felt like a mist would look to my eyes were it advancing from the trees, a note sat above the heavier song of the river rolling over the rocks of its bed.

  *Men at villa* signed Shale and we crouched as the crack of bowstrings sent arrows at us. It was like a roar around us; one, three, eight men and more coming across the river from north of us and more yet pouring from the house ahead, glowing bright like fireflies to my eyes with their breathing and scuttling through the tangled bushes. They’d watched us crossing. There were a lot more of them than we’d thought.

  The arrows hit the earth and vines around us and the spore clouds went up. We were juiced with oak sap and snuffed for the poison of the spores, but a choke or cough would reveal us.

  *Agents. Reds. Trying a box. Both flanks* I signed, as I saw them move along the banks.

  *Ten fifteen ahead. Five right. Smoke up and burn* signed Shale.

  We oiled and put out some limebags and shortly the bushes and vines caught and the smoke was up, thick and black for a few yards about us, choking up the runs between the posts. The flames sprung up like fluttering pennants of emerald on this juice. Post Agents took a bilberry mix for night work that would pain the eyes looking on a fire.

  We began tracking to the north away from the villa where we sensed fewer of them. Arrows flew into the vines about us, most loaded with powders. We’d get hit or we wouldn’t, we had to trust the smoke and fire.

  I put arrows out on both flanks, picking off six or seven of them easy as they closed, giving the rest of them pause. The Honour give us the difference between judging where they were moving and knowing it for sure. The world goes slower on the Honour, even the Agents on mixes of their own seemed clumsy. The dying was making a music for my noisies.

  Then the first lot of Post pushed in through the vines at us, a few Agents and some Reds. A sharp exchange of whistles called a halt to their arrows. I shouldered Juletta and got my sword ready.

  Two come in to our right. One went for Shale as he was nearest to them, the other moved to flank him. Shale was fast, his first thrust was parried but the blow forced the Agent off balance. His leg was skewered and the poison had him screaming as it froze him up and killed him. Shale dropped out of the swing of the other Agent and brought his sword up. It bit through the man’s leathers but was enough. He hadn’t hit the ground before Shale broke some sporebags out around us, waiting for the next of them to make their move.

  Another come in from my left, blowpipe up, a dart stuck to my leather. I backed him up and drew him about and off balance as he struggled to counter. I put my sword through him, feeling the blood and his bones give through his weight on my hand and up through my arm. His life shuddered out of him as his body fell back off my sword. I looked up and saw the green shapes of more men approach. I put another oilbag down to help the vines about us that had caught well. The fire had cut some Agents off from the engagement as they beat their way back to look for a new path at us. The fire hurt their aim too, so they switched to their own powders and bags, a number landing all over this side of the vineyard.

  *Powder heavy left. Take right fl
ank* signed Shale, aiming us back to the river and a run for the woods beyond.

  I shot some bags about behind us and we turned and run at some were slowing for a shot at us as we emerged from the cover of the smoke we put about.

  I took a dart in my arm, Shale his shoulder, but it was for nothing. Their moonseed-cut was useless on us and had been for years.

  First lad we got to, just a Red this one, had a bit too much love for the technique of what he learned. You get in close with those boys, stamping and disabling because they think you’ll just play about in the stances like in their training. He went down after I hacked his arm off. Didn’t seem to take much to be a Red or an Agent these days, but I couldn’t expect all of them to be so easy. I guess they weren’t expecting us to be fully prepped. Some choking and yelling went up from where I put the bags earlier as the agave got in their throats and eyes. Three more now were spreading in front of us, one a captain from the looks of his bearing and stance and how he wasn’t breathing so fierce as his boys.

  Shale forced the engagement. He knew I was struggling for agility with my belly sewn. I moved in against the other two, putting some confidence in them that I’d shown too much of it myself. Then there was a crackle in the vines from where I put the powders and a bow loosed an arrow, in flight seeming to draw the world to it as it made the distance like an iron swift.

  “Shale!” I barked as it thumped into his shoulder. It was enough warning that he took the hit and rolled with it, a feint the captain hadn’t reckoned. One of the Agents against me leaped forward to force me back to where the approaching archer was drawing some daggers for me. They got a look of frenzy now, these boys, edging in. They were waiting for the arrow to start bleeding Shale out. Shale just worked with it and he’s smacking the captain about. Shale matched the moves the captain made, and then he’s forced a cut, two cuts and the mix is in the man’s blood. Shale sliced his head clean off to the side as his poison give the captain a moment’s unsteadiness.

  The severed head distracted the one boy who took a moment to figure what Shale was doing. I stepped to him and thrust. His parry forced him off his stance and I caught him swift at the knee, leaving him crying out for the moments he had left, while I rebalanced to face the next.

  His brother moved in and got me a blow across the shoulder. It caught in my pads and give me a cut, pushing me back a step as I tried to shake it out of there.

  Shale threw a knife between us at the archer with the daggers who was wanting to put pressure on me, a spittle of poison wetting our faces as it come spinning through. It punched through the back of his head.

  The boy hesitated now he was alone with us both. He was cut down swift.

  We put more limebags to work on the vines about, renewing some cover for movement. Whistling had started up and the arrows were flying again as they saw the fresh smoke billowing out. Shale cursed as he pulled at the shaft in his shoulder.

  “Dig this fuckin’ thing out,” he hissed, “can’t use me bow.”

  We were crouched and Shale got a bag of agave ready as I sliced out the arrow and put a strong kannab and bistort poultice in the wound.

  More arrows were ripping holes in the vines and posts about. The whistling was closing in.

  *Arm* signed Shale, looking at where I was cut.

  *No time* I signed.

  I gummed some cloth to his shoulder to bury the poultice and keep it tight. They smelled no more than fifteen yards away, leathers folding, less bright through our smoke, but I could see them signing as they stepped out to form a net. It was looking bad for us.

  *Flower* signed Shale, touching his chest where the tin containing his Flower of Fates would be, on the end of a necklace inside his wamba.

  *Been worse* I signed, tapping my own tin for the assurance it seemed to give. He smiled. Eating the Flower of Fates was certain death, it overloads the body, its effect on muscle and bone and blood causing changes too quick and fierce to adapt to. You use it if capture is worse than dying.

  *Caltrops front left* signed Shale, putting thought of the Flower to the side. *I split front, you right for river*. Shale would engage and draw them out to give me a chance to make it.

  The air got shifty then and I dropped as a figure crossed the rows of vines before me. He must’ve been hoping to flank me as I turned to escape. He got sight of me as I jumped at him.

  “Got you now, Gant,” he said, and I recognised him as he come at me, for it was Gilgul.

  “Bit late, you fat fuck, I got me Honour now.”

  He was as strong as I expected and once I pushed a thrust away I threw myself at him to knock him down but he rode it, and I got a smack in my mouth and he stamped my knee quick. I lost my sight a moment as his punch dizzied me and I hopped back on my good leg to bring my sword about but he was quicker, jumping in, swift with his knee, a blast of pain in my belly.

  “Figure I’ll keep you busy while my boys cuts your lover up.”

  He had some advantage, given my gut. I could only parry a moment as I tested my weight on the knee he’d kicked and I tried a few moves, finding his tells. Often the difference between two men good with blades is the read of tells and the training what removes them. One more reason to be grateful for Kailen. He tried to back a bit himself then, buying time while I hears Shale having a tough time of it. I started on him proper then, realising what he was doing, and he was grinning and licking his lips like this was what he wanted, good and aggressive back, finding out what kind of footwork I had on the offensive. He was trying to get me to hit an opening, but the obvious ones were too obvious, for he hadn’t fought anyone like me. I let him go a bit then, took him a few moves before he caught up with me, learned I was waiting him out and saving my strength. I caught him at the moment he tried to adjust, a breath where he went to a stance. I’d seen it as we circled, five or six feints and four of them back to his one stance, always a step if his right foot weren’t forward, to get it in position. I thrust as he did it, to that side, to move him left, and I went in as he brought his sword over to move mine past him, caught him with a knife to his arm, a quick stab to get the poison in. He had a good high reach with his kick, deceptive with him being so heavy-looking, and he caught me square in the chest, sending me back hard and winded. I watched him as he shook his arm out, the numbing starting.

  “In’t none o’ the usual shit your brew protects you from,” I said. “Best come at me while you got use o’ yer arms.”

  He hesitated, as I expected, because he thought I wanted him to come on at me, but what I wanted in truth was his hesitation, and the poison got going quick, because it was straight out of the Commune, fresh and strong. He switched his sword to one hand instead of two, and now it was working on him, making him pant. For Shale’s sake I couldn’t draw it out, much as I wanted it. I went at him fast and he was game for a bit, but without his full range I soon took his dead arm off and put my sword through his middle before taking a leg off. He was gone.

  There was the bang and hiss of steel as Shale was engaging a few of them to let me get out of there. They were hard on him, one back putting darts in him while the others were defensive, dancing out or moving in as he picked which to engage.

  More sporebags come in on arrows then, throwing clouds of it up where they were going at it. Staying in it was going to take them all down but some other captain was playing the odds we’d be pacified.

  Shale was grace itself, the Honour filled out a strength and balance that come natural. I run to him, no doubt it would be with him I’d die. I could see in the milky green of the world their blowing and jumping about as he used the posts and bushes to split their teamwork, putting caltrops about as he did. He was blowing for air too though, the poisons were getting a grip as the cuts sliced into his leathers.

  They started choking as their own spores worked their way in. The fire was picking up fierce too, sweeping our way across the vineyard. The whole place was going up for it was days since the last rains.

  Slowed
by my cuts I was still drawn to get in among them with my noisies up. One turned as I closed from behind him. He whistled something out before trying to blind me with what powders they use. The luta mix would save my eyes but the Honour give me senses enough I closed them as the powders blew out and I followed his lines from the noise, feel and smell of his moves.

  A moment later I saw enough to lure him into a lunge to strike and he hit a post instead. I put my boot into his belly as he tugged at the blade and I jammed my sword into his back as he doubled over.

  My throat was rasping a bit now. Those about Shale, Agents among them, didn’t have the masks as well pasted and were hacking up and struggling to see. They were man enough to fight on for the Red. One of them stepped on a caltrop as he was thrown back by Shale’s attack, which was poison enough to finish him, and the last one on Shale was killed as I joined up and forced him into Shale’s blade. I looked about for more when I heard a horn go up, back near the house itself. Some fighting was going on. Me and Shale looked at each other wondering what the reason of it could be, but the state we were in it was time to get out before any more Agents could find us.

  Flames were sweeping fast around us. A few more whistles passed about. It was hard to see now and we choked up a bit as we covered the yards to the river.

  “You come back. Weren’t the plan,” he hissed as we stripped our belts again and dropped into the water heading for the far bank.

  I hadn’t the strength to talk, my head was throbbing as the noisies dropped. The cut on my arm was aching bad, I could hardly lift my belt, much less use my bow. My belly felt wet, wound must have opened at some point.

  *Arm needs fixing* signed Shale, seeing the blood pouring from me as we staggered out of the river on the far side.

  We stopped a moment and he worked quick, trying to stifle his coughing. Kannab water to his eyes and then my arm, the pads cut off so he could get to the wound. Some powdered bark on the cut and he covered it off with some soaked cotton strips.

  *Split. Two miles. North and east. Horses in two days* he signed.