Snakewood

by Adrian Selby

  “You should see this yerself, Gant.”

  I got a flake of the luta leaf pasted up and with his help slipped it under my eyelids. I never got on with it, like sand over the balls of my eyes till the leaf melted in. The light gets unbearable, like the sun moves closer in to reveal the secrets of every blade of grass, the channels and ridges of bark on trees hundreds of yards away. But beyond that, a sight that give the source to a sound I hadn’t otherwise noticed. Six or seven leagues off, on the plain below us and north of us, the land itself seemed to move, a river’s shiver under a gust of wind.

  “How many of ’em yer reckon?”

  “I can scarce believe it’s an army.” As I stared it got clearer, catapults and carts muddied the shimmer of arms on close marching men. The closest I ever saw to this was what the both sides mustered in full when last the Ten Clan and the Red Hills tried to end each other, and that was fifty thousand added together.

  “We needs to find that statue,” he said.

  We were looking for something less obvious than what we found, looking too much at the bare rock of the near cliffs and gorges. Course, what you see on luta that looks close is probably a league on if you could see it with plain eyes, but the statue itself was away from the near hill a few hundred yards, not at the mouth to a pass.

  The scene was carved in relief on a stone some ten feet at its widest and the height of a man. Sillindar the magist was taller here. I saw him once before, the subject of a Juan artist, a portrait of his what hung back at the Academy’s main hall. There, of course, a bit more Juan was painted into him. I preferred this rendition, a fur coat and a mandolin, a mass of duts playing about his feet and crawling over heavy fur-lined boots.

  Looking over it to the mountains we saw a steep, muddy slope to the treeline.

  There were two natural gorges, with one only that we could follow.

  Here we let the horse go and took only a small amount of food. Little need now for more with what was coming behind us and to the east. It was here too I left Juletta and my quiver. I couldn’t draw her true no more and the climb would be hard enough. I could barely do it I loved that bow so much.

  Going was hard initially, I had to stop for breaks and holler him back. My guts were a bag of broken glass. After a few hours we were on a stone ridge and had breached the main skirt of trees that filled the gorge and the high slopes out to the plain we come from. The horse was grazing far below us, how an ant would now look at my feet. The going was less steep here but the stones were slick with frost like white stubble and treacherous underfoot.

  Just as the ledge narrowed to nothing, we shook our heads for a moment fearing this was not the path. We saw another ridge above us, a short climb up the rock face. Shale give me a lift to get a hold and with a bellow I managed to get up there, a path barely a foot wide against the sheer rock. Shale climbed up swiftly and took the lead again but we were more pressed here, wind trying to pluck us away from the rock face and tip us down.

  “Havin’ fun, Gant?” he said with a chuckle. He knew I hated heights. The luta wasn’t a help neither, for anything you looks at up close is just blurred-out shapes. We were away from the east side of the peaks now, our view being the immense ranges west to Mount Hope, a blue sky painful to look at, almost as fierce as the sun itself.

  There were points where we turned into the rock face and just spread our arms to better keep on the broken lips of stone that had wore away with time. He kept telling me to calm my breathing, for I was panting like a dog in a desert. It grew wider again as it rose to and past a cave, a crack in the rock little bigger than a man. Shale had put a few torches together at the farmstead and lit one and threw it in. The gap was tight and it didn’t go far but showed signs of being worked, a smaller hole further in with barely the gap to fit your body.

  To get in the crack we needed to bend backwards and shuffle sideways. It was only eight yards but a struggle, the ridge of rock grazing our backs was cutting into my wamba as I squeezed along its edge. We couldn’t fit with belts and such on so had to tie them to our legs and drag them behind us.

  There was the sharp smell of bat shit and a rustling above my head as I dropped onto my hands and knees, up to my wrists in it and the roaches that lived on it. We put our belts back on and started crawling. It was warmer and dry further in, nothing about but whatever things brushed over my hands as I followed Shale.

  Shale cussed a bit as he went, wondering when we’d get out, for the black of it was so much that, perhaps with all the luta we’d used, my eyes seemed to see shapes, the palest things dancing before me. It was hard then to know if it was real light ahead. Then we come to forks in the passageways and we cussed, for Valdir must’ve thought he’d be here to tell us this, having only told us how to get here.

  More than a few times we didn’t know if we’d make it out–easy to lose your way, go down the wrong path and die in the dark. Men on less plant wouldn’t have made it, but we had a day brew that give us sense enough to taste the sweet air showing us one path or the other. We were some long hours in when Shale confirmed proper light, marking out a doorframe. There was cooler air now and the growing noise of winds beyond.

  The door give with a modest tug and, battered by a far colder and stronger wind than was afflicting us earlier, we looked out and took in a view north and east. Ahead of us was an exposed ridge, to the right of us we could see Caragula’s army on the plains below, a carpet of locusts blackening the ground, a smaller stream of which was going south to the lake by the looks of it.

  “We got to move swift now, Gant. If Miri’s town is ahead, that army’ll be there and on ’em before we gets a chance to see ’im.”

  “If he’s still there o’ course.”

  “Aye, well, if he in’t then we get out this way an’ all an’ figure out what’s next, but if Valdir spoke true about it bein’ his home, he in’t goin’ anywhere.”

  “He betrayed Valdir. How do we know he in’t goin’ to betray us anyway?” I said.

  “We’re doin’ this fer Kailen, an’ because Mirisham was as good to us as any in the Twenty, one we looked up to. He wronged Valdir for sure, but much as we looked out for that shit Bense, and for the same reason Valdir come along despite what happened wi’ Mirisham, we owe Kailen, above it all. I don’t need no more reason than that. Would’ve bin good to have this chat down on the plain though, eh, Gant?”

  I laughed and threw him a punch.

  “Worth it all fer this view,” I said.

  It was getting dark now. We pushed along the ridge, five hundred yards I’ve tried my best to put from my mind. There was a doorway the other end. I guess that either door were not visible to anyone but birds given how they were situated, and they protected the runs thus from the worst of storms.

  The descent was steep enough that we needed Shale’s torches to keep moving at a good pace and not fall over the stones and ridges that marked the work that was the least Mirisham’s labourers could get away with.

  At the bottom, a few hours later, it levelled out to a short but much wider passage ending in another door. It was blocked on the other side, moving a few inches before hitting what looked like some crates. Shale started banging the door itself against them, hard enough in the end they toppled in. We were in a basement room, the mortar was damp, the flagstones mossy. Around us were crates and a few steps up to a door which was locked. Someone’s cellar, it must have been. From beyond we heard the sounds of shouting. The army must have begun an assault on the town.

  We found a spade and Shale smashed open the door into a workshop, a big shop for carpenters. The shutters made it hard to see but now the screams were louder, chaos outside. There was a thump as a fireball hit a building nearby. The trebucks were finding their range. This was going to get ugly if they were after scorching the town flat.

  “A carpenters’s in’t a good place ta be if another one lands on it,” said Shale. “You ready?”

  I nodded and Shale smashed at the lock, opening the doo
r out to an alley. To our left there were people running our way from the fire what were roaring out of the row of houses nearby.

  “Who the fuck are you?” A group of boys, no more than eighteen, twenty summers, is stood with jugs of ale and each armed with some sorry-looking blades and clubs. The tavern across from us was noisy with shouting; someone giving orders we couldn’t see. A boy stepped up, his mates going quiet. “I said who are you?” The boys dropped their jugs and readied their weapons.

  “We’re mercs lad, Mirisham hired us. You know where he is?” asked Shale.

  “Yer lying,” said another. “Let’s take them, lads.” They were hesitating, our colour was obvious.

  “Where’d you come from? There more of you?” said the first.

  “A passage down in that cellar, and no. If you’d seen the fifty thousand about to break down your walls you’d get out now,” I said.

  “He’s full of shit,” said another lad as the mood turned against us, “and besides, this is our home, and we’ll fight to our last with the mayor.”

  “Then you got more to worry about than two old men,” I said, pointing up.

  There were more fireballs coming over, each making a high and sort of peaceful arc, deceptively slow. It was like twenty stars falling.

  We broke left from the workshop before the lads knew what to do and rounded a corner to where the first fireball hit. The smoke was thick about us. People were forming a line, I guess a well was near. More of the fireballs landed about. Pigs started screaming as one hit their sty, throwing its oil over them and the stable what were adjacent. We headed down the street, past the line of people waiting for the water buckets. Some woman was shouting for her girl and her husband what were trapped in one house as the thatch caught, another girl was crying for her da to get in for their dog, a moment before the roof give. I didn’t give them more than a few moments such was the fire.

  As we come to the end of that row of houses, I saw the well and some stalls in an open bit of road ahead, then I heard the roar of a fireball just as it hit the roof of a lumber shed to our right. I yelled at Shale, who dived in the door of the nearest house, kicking it shut as the oil from the ball exploded over the street about. Some people were caught and the smell of skin burning come indecently quick to us. A number of those trying to save their homes had been hit.

  An old man and his daughter were crouched against the wall opposite us. She had a poker in her hand, her da a carving knife. He must’ve been a tanner by the smell of the place.

  “Where’s Mirisham?” asked Shale.

  “Don’t tell ’em,” he said to her.

  “We in’t the enemy, they won’t need to ask when they gets in,” I said.

  “Shush, fad,” she said to him. “He’s at the town hall most like. You help him, he’s a good man.” She pointed in the direction we needed as she said it.

  I walked past her to open the door that was opposite to the one we entered, a stables ahead of us across the way, part of an inn and run where the animals were wildly smashing themselves at their fence to get away from the burning pitch. I heard a couple of men trying to get the horses out into the paddock, them kicking at the boards of the stables as its roof caught.

  I stepped out, well was right of us, people arguing over where the next bucket went that was being hauled up by two men. “Head over past the well,” I said, but Shale give me a shove. I stumbled forward and the feathers of an arrow whipped past my ear. I flapped my hands at where my bow should’ve been as I tried to rebalance and Shale was there, bow drawn, facing back down this row of houses. He loosed an arrow and I saw Kigan some forty yards off. He moved fierce quick, twisting his body to let the arrow fly past him. I wouldn’t make the cover of the stable.

  “Took yer time!” shouted Shale.

  Shale and Kigan both had arrows drawn and ready. As Shale shot I made a move and Kigan let fly at me, dropping to his knee as Shale’s arrow come in at him, passing over his shoulder. I weren’t so fast, no brew in me. I buckled as his arrow hit me shoulder. Shale shot again, again Kigan was too fast. As he nocked again to finish me off he was hit by something, a puff of smoke about his face. Then a man jumped from a roof near him I hadn’t seen, strange straw hat and a gown, something that looked like a staff. A woman then come up behind us, a scimitar in her hand, dressed in a Post uniform I hadn’t seen before, blood-red and dark blue jerkin, baggy cotton leggings and fully masked and brewed up.

  “With me!” she said.

  “Who are you?” said Shale as she pushed us out of the street, leading us to behind the stables. We saw briefly that Kigan and the other man with the staff were fully engaged, Kigan being given a tough time.

  “Doesn’t matter who I am, I just have to get you to Mirisham.” She got the arrow out of me quick and slapped me about for the fuss I was making. All the while Shale was watching the other as he fought Kigan.

  “You’re Fieldsmen,” he said. “Sillindar knows what Fieldsmen are doin’ here. We’re goin’ to need the Honour, Gant. We should go after Kigan then, three of us, if yer as good as yer friend there.” I swigged the Honour and Shale also took a slug. The woman with us tore off the shoulder of my wamba and jammed guaia in. Shale shooed her off and took over strapping my wamba back up.

  “Orders are clear, we go to Mirisham.”

  The poison and the Honour hit me together. I must have passed out for a moment. I come to and both she and Shale are dragging me along the ground.

  “Get me up!” I yelled. I was sick of feeling useless but the Honour was starting up and I was dreading what it would later do. At least it give me some strength.

  They hauled me to my feet. My left arm was numb, useless.

  We headed to the side of the inn, opposite the paddock.

  “What’s wrong with him, his stomach?”

  “He’s dyin’,” said Shale. “Wound a few months back. It in’t no good. Though it would be good to know yer name, as yer help is most welcome.”

  She hesitated for a split second. “Laun.” Shale nodded and we clasped forearms with her.

  I was on the rise now, nothing could withstand it. Shale’s teeth were rattling, like he was freezing, all of us looking about for Kigan or the other one what went at him. There was a run of alleys ahead, across the street from us and going in the right direction to where the hall ought to be. A deep thump echoed over the houses as a ram went at the town’s gates. The noise of the infantry beyond it grew with each run the ram made. At the same time then we heard it, felt the air, a hiss like a snake rearing up.

  “Arrows! Get inside!” bellowed Shale at the people out in the streets, cruel advice given how Caragula had ordered the assault to burn the houses first. There was a slow recognition on those about us as we ran over the street, pointing them to stand against walls as we headed to the nearest alley and into another house, barely noticing the woman in there who give a scream as we did. The volley was vast and as it landed on the roofs and against the stone it sounded like the sea itself come crashing down on the town. Some weren’t quick enough from the wailing we heard. They were quickly drowned out by the sound of the attack. The horns went up, filling the sky. The walls were being rushed.

  “We need to get to the town hall,” said Laun to the woman, stood in front of two children. “Quickest way?”

  She took a breath, must’ve thought we were going to do for them. “You head up the alley, past the runs of the butcher there and you see the square. It’s there.”

  A big cheer at the gate told us they were through with the ram, there could’ve been little resistance left.

  Shale nodded he was ready so we opened the door and I stepped out, facing back to where Kigan had been.

  The arrows were so thick on the ground our boots were cracking on them, a carpet of sticks across the mud.

  As we moved out there was a shout ahead, militia were taking up positions near what looked like a mill, beyond the alley. We were spotted. Shale wasn’t thinking, he just started shooting;
they were in the way and we couldn’t see Kigan, far the worse threat. Laun also started shooting. I put my mask on and put some bags out in the alley behind us as cover, giving them word to mask up. A few of the militia dropped, others were shooting back. They weren’t trained, no brew, most of the arrows missed anyway. Now the smoke was about us from the limebags and the powders’ll give Kigan pause. We ran at these men, though to say I was running would be to stretch it, and we could see the town square in the gap between the mill and the butchers, hundred or so yards off. There were about eight men, they charged in, it was dark enough I guess they didn’t see our colour. As Shale leaped at them an arrow come from behind me and into the eye of Shale’s target. I grabbed the nearest man as he come in, disarmed him and spun him. He took the second arrow for me. Another come in and grazed Laun, though her movement made it obvious she was trained thorough. Shale didn’t need a warning after the first shot. He turned about, risen. In’t no fear in him when he was risen.

  Shale dodged the next arrow. Two more militia fell but the alley was thick with my smoke, these shots were coming out of nothing it seemed. The rest of them lost their flint as they saw their mates get cut down and they retreated into the mill.

  Kigan walked out of the smoke, lowering his bow. Managed a good look at him now, only the one belt slung across his chest and over a shoulder, but he had the pockets and pouches about his tunic, travelling light for a drudha. He was wearing only cloth armour of some sort, or a fine enough leather it looked it. He’d shaved his head, like us, just a few lines of white stubble under which was a rich blue and red, not seen colouring the like: vivid, summer colours. His eyes were yellow, lit up by the fires about us, even through the wax he had over his face and mask. Whatever mix he was on, it grew him a fair bit, veins popping out on his neck and bare arms, again waxed with something that helped give him such colour, and patches of bark here and there what had grown into his skin, repairs for old wounds. He was fierce lean, like he was still twenty summers, trembling like a plucked lute string.