by Adrian Selby
“It satisfied me for a few years to become a wealthy man, to move in those circles. If I had not I would not have had the gift of Araliah’s love. But if I’m honest, Gant, I sought to achieve more than I had with the Twenty. I wanted to do great things, not just win battles, but change the world somehow, see about making it better. The Reeve of Harudan, High Reeve Kilimar, filled in much that I didn’t know about the Post, a power that always fascinated me for how it was able to influence so much of the world. I understand the hate for the Post, how we all believe, as children, wearing the Red means one thing, then we grow up and learn it means another. Everyone knows at least a bit of the Farlsgrad Creed. Now it was that I had time and money and I had, thanks to Kigan I cannot deny, paid out and was still able to do forms. I stayed strong.
“The High Reeve put a message through to The Red, recommending me for a Fieldsman position, avoiding the usual route of becoming an Agent. My achievements, our achievements, were still well enough known, so I became Fieldsman Seventy. In turn then, some five years ago, I became The Red.”
He laughed at my reaction, for I was fair staggered. “Fuck, Kailen, you’re The Red?” And I laughed too, for why would anyone think they could know or meet The Red, yet all the same I should not have been surprised, for no man I knew was more qualified for what the role must require than Kailen. He was a fine military thinker, a leader what inspired me all my life, with him a good drudha and scholar as well. It was like somehow the puzzle made sense, not of the events themselves but that, of course, such a man as he would not settle for the respect only of other soldiers. No king or purse would sing our praises as Miri rightly said. Kailen believed from his academy days on that he could change the world, and there was no better man for making that than The Red. I was glad, and told him so.
I looked up to Laun, who was riding the cart what Kailen had bought us once we were in Lagrad territory. “Bet he’s as hard a master on you as he was on me.”
She nodded. I could almost hear the smile.
“So Mirisham’s comments must’ve cut a bit then,” I said. “We’ve all bitched at the Post.”
“Yes, Gant. The Post is in many ways not the Post that Mirisham remembered. As a boy I recall seeing my first Agent, riding with Reds that had brought into Harud a caravan that had come over the Hiscan Road. White lions were in cages and I saw my first elephant, for they brought a circus at a time when the Ten Clan was in chaos between the rule of the Afagi and Tosak, and the Hiscan Road was as dangerous as it had ever been. The caravan was intact, but many of them, the Agent included, looked like they’d been in a war. They were an impromptu parade, the red of their cloaks and banners lit the whitewashed streets up like fire. They were inspiring, adventurers. Now we are entering a dark age with this warlord Caragula. The Old Kingdoms are ill prepared for it. We have to be inspiring again.”
He stopped himself, took a deep breath and adjusted my blanket. “I should not eat up what time you have talking of what the Post must do, and what I should do for it. Its concerns are far from my mind at the moment.”
“You don’t talk of Araliah,” I said.
He smiled but it was brief and weak. “No. I was away and should not have been, because I had learned the Twenty were being killed. I was away too much, but if I could have known what Kigan was doing, and more what he had become, I would have hidden her away, I would have done something. I became complacent and I’d lost my flint. You had come to the Crag, you answered my call, but I did not know what I was up against, and my plan there had failed. I had to take a mix to fool Kigan that I was dead when it was clear I had greatly underestimated him, but it fooled everyone. I had no way to tell you of my deception without risking its discovery.”
“That bargirl must have known,” I said.
“Of course. She was a Fieldsman, the barman an Agent.” And that too was a surprise where, again, it shouldn’t have been.
“She, Araliah that is, sent yer men after us, to watch over us an’ help us get to Mirisham,” I said, “though we had no idea until we got to that valley where we confronted Kigan an’ his crew. Achi were a great captain, he could have made the Twenty. I wouldn’t be here now but for Araliah an’ yer men what come to help us.”
“Achi was a good man, and perhaps neither of us would be here if not for Araliah, for if Kigan had met me and not Shale, well, I had not the plant to make the fight about technique alone. Her saving you saved my life. She was a strong and brilliant woman.” He took out a flask and we shared a slug of brandy. “I dread going back to the estate. I can think only of her buried there. Yet two hundred men, women and children depend on that estate. I haven’t the heart for it.”
“Add to those two hundred the millions facin’ what is a great war,” I said. “No man is better able to outwit or lead soldiers against that horde than you. The Old Kingdoms needs you, it needs the Post an’ all, an’ it seems from what yer sayin’ that the Red could come to mean somethin’ again by havin’ this horde to set itself against. You were always for a way to test yourself, leave a legacy what would show them silks back home in Harudan what one of its greatest sons could do. You don’t need me to add to what those millions would say if they were in this cart now, but if you owes me anythin’, an’ you don’t, you could start by helpin’ in whatever way would keep me tribe goin’, and me sister alive, an’ do somethin’ for those what helped make your life good with Araliah. Help ’em all get a force an’ match this army in strategy if not numbers.”
“He’s right,” said Laun, and we both laughed at it for she hadn’t said a word all day to that point and no more than a handful since we left that town hall.
“As Shale would put it,” said Kailen, “‘I’m fierce glad’, fierce glad you’re with me today and that I got to see you again after all these years. I’ve got my enemies in the Post, however; it’s as riddled with factions as any kingdom. But enough! Tell me some more of Shale and Valdir. You said there was a promise I had to make regarding his wife and his sister.”
Some days later we come into the camp what my tribe had for the summer months.
My sister Emelt, hair grey as snow gum bark, was there to greet us with her boy Goran. She was now on the council and so, whether they cared or otherwise, run the council for all their sakes. Goran was grown, tall and strong like his grandda, and one what would break hearts too. He was more a man of letters than a man of arms and I was pleased.
Emelt led the council in making welcome an Agent and a Reeve, as we made Kailen out to be, and we left much of the rest out except that I had taken the arrow and had come north to die at home and that Shale also had not made it.
I was bad now, and slept more than I was awake, and in these last days I think Emelt, Kailen and Goran spent much time together.
Kailen give her Kigan’s old recipe book. It was known in the lands about as the Fathin book for the years that its recipes did such good that it had made Mirisham and his people rich and respected again. I reckon Emelt would make a good settlement with Caragula for the book and with it a future for the hast here, as Kailen believed it would in giving it to her.
I can see from this bed, through the open flap of the tent, the vast Ordago plains, the westernmost of Lagrad’s lands. I rode over them as a boy, the thump of my mare’s hooves flying so fast over the wind-pressed grasses my heart was near torn out of my mouth, a searing and wonderful cold whipping at my face. All these memories, of my ma and da, playing with my sister, come back now, mixed with my dreams as I was dying. Nearby, the chatter of our camps hadn’t changed, nor the smells of the pots, or chill in the rain, or children screaming and racing past the tent, mothers after them for want of something, woollens as I recalled what my own mother worried me over.
Shortly, Emelt, Goran and Kailen come in with the men what would undertake the ritual we did for our dying. We all cried a bit and each come up in turn before the men got started. What I said to Emelt and what she said to me I’ll keep. Goran could not speak for crying and I could
only wish him well and to keep on with his letters and stay away from brews and swords and the like.
Kailen come up to me then, as the men prepared the bowls.
“It’s an honour for me that I don’t deserve, that yer here for this,” I said. “I could only wish more for Shale to be here, that would be all I’d need.”
“The honour is mine, Gant. I never fought alongside a finer frontline pair than you and Shale. You were the finest swords I’d ever faced.”
I am about to be washed and fed the Charin by some of the council, what will ease me to death. Then I goes in the earth near my da and I gets to be part of what feeds our people, part of these plains with all my tribe, holding up with our hands our sons and daughters above us.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank those friends who read Snakewood’s early drafts and gave me the encouragement all novices need. I’m looking at you Rhian, Steve Warren, Ceri Llewellyn, Adam Bouskill, Lewis Boughtwood, Becky Sillince, Ian Smyth, Sean Murray, Dave Fillmore, Charly Hulme, Chris Bravery and Ross Stanton.
I’d like to thank my agent Jamie “I don’t love this book” Cowen for his passion, guidance and hard yards getting the manuscript ready for submission.
Jenni Hill and Will Hinton, my editors at Orbit, with input from Tim Holman, have given me fantastic support, doing what great editors do–they shook both me and the manuscript violently out of our comfort zones until Snakewood became significantly better. Also a thank you to Joanna Kramer and everyone else at Orbit who have made Snakewood presentable to the world!
A first novel is more of a life’s journey than any other. Along the way I had an English teacher at Barry Boys, Mr Andrews, who thought my wanting to be a writer was a sound ambition, and so fuelled my love for words. Also, a special thank you to John Singleton, my Creative Writing lecturer at the then Crewe and Alsager College, who took a chance on me after some desperate begging to join his course. He opened my eyes to a wider world of fiction and a deeper scrutiny of my awful prose than I could have hoped for. This book only exists because of his faith.
Finally there’s my mum and dad, who have been inspiring me all my life.
We hope you enjoyed this book.
Wondering what to read next?
Discover other books you might enjoy by signing up for Orbit’s newsletter.
You’ll get the scoop on the latest releases, deals, excerpts, and breaking news delivered straight to your inbox each month.
Sign Up
Or visit us at www.orbitbooks.net/booklink
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
Introductory Notes by Scholar Goran
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Orbit Newsletter
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Adrian Selby
Cover design by Lauren Panepinto
Cover illustration by David Palumbo
Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Map illustration copyright © Tim Paul
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Orbit
Hachette Book Group
1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104
orbitbooks.net
orbitshortfiction.com
First ebook edition: March 2016
Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group.
The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.
ISBN 978-0-316-30232-6
E3