Tobias, the most naive man living
The desert west of Sorlost
Fool girl. Bitch. Moment the rumour goes around that he’s still alive after all, her eyes bloody fucking lighting up.
Tobias, man, you’re a bigger fool than she is, for thinking it might go any other way.
One defeat, and she’s going to change her mind about everything? Really?
“I have to go back to him, Tobias. I have to.” Staring out into the desert, like she could see him if she looked hard enough. Half-feared she’d leap up and start to run to him right then.
“The things you said, Thalia, girl…” That was then. Don’t remind her. She looked at him challenging him to think it.
And Lenae, too. “Will you marry me, Lenae? I know I don’t love you, I know you don’t love me, but: a house, a garden, children, normal, peaceful things.”
“Uh… Uh…” Astonished look on her face. Revolted look on her face. Tries to hide revolted look on her face. “Uh… no, Tobias. No offence [No offence? No offence?] but…” Her eyes roll: “I’ve only been widowed a year, Tobias. I’m not that—” Cuts off the word “desperate.” “I just mean…” Her eyes glaze over: “Look! Over there! The Army of Amrath! Glory and fun and loot and glory and fun and loot and loot and more loot!” And that’s not fair. That didn’t… quite happen. And it’s her free choice to do what she wants if it did. It’s just him being bitter about it.
Rumours running all over the bloody world, that Marith Altrersyr isn’t dead, the Army of Amrath isn’t destroyed, who in the world would be stupid enough crazy enough to believe that? “That bloody bastard got what was coming for him, overambitious deluded power-drunk sick fuck cock?” Ahem. Not me. I never said that. Gods, no. I might have… passed on a rumour that tragedy had befallen us, lamented that the joy of the world the wonder of all human hearts is brought low, but, I mean, only as an example of the kind of idiocy some people will believe, some people will believe literally anything, yeah, but me, personally, me, I never believed a word of it. Marith Altrersyr’s dead? How can Marith Altrersyr Ansikanderakesis Amrakane the King of Death be dead? Lies and the liars who tell them. Hurrah hurrah three cheers and all hail the king!
Boy’s like a damned cockroach. Like trying to get rid of a wart on your dick.
When you realize you’re the only optimist left in Irlast, Tobias, man, really might be time to slit your own throat. Or swallow your pride, escort Queen Thalia back to her true love, wish her and everyone else luck.
They had been sitting around a campfire in the cold desert night, when they had learnt that Marith was still alive. Tobias, Thalia, Lenae, Rovi, Naillil. Travelling east towards the city of Pen Amrean along the coast where the Sea of Tears beat against the barren sand of the Nor Desert. Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. But a few people clung on to living, even here. Built shelters of whale bone and driftwood, ate raw fish and seaweed. Swam in the sea until their skin was wrinkled like a newborn baby’s, their hair bleached white by the sun and the salt; sang of far distant countries where men walked the land without fear, tricked by the demons of the earth into thinking the land a blessed thing. They had never heard of rain or rivers: they harvested water from the sea mists that rolled in with the dawn, hanging out great nets of dried seaweed in the evenings, squeezing them out in the morning drop by precious drop. Tobias kept the party well clear of them. But one evening they had heard the jingling of bells, the sound of horses, came over a sand dune to find a group of merchants from Pen Amrean come to trade jars of water for green and yellow pearls. By the light of the merchants’ fire, half-dazed by hearing other men’s speech, they had listened to the story: Marith Altrersyr the demon the King of Death is alive still, he is marching his army on the city of Elarne, his army is destroying everything in its path. Even the fish-eaters are afraid of him now, the merchants said. The corpse of a great sea beast had been washed up on the shore, a red sea dragon four times as long as the largest whale, torn in a thousand places by jagged teeth. The fish-eaters would not touch it, the merchants said; it lay on the barren sand a mountain of meat and fat, its bones would be worth a kingdom, its hide the same, but the fish-eaters had forbidden them to go near it. Brandished clubs of whale bone and sharks’ teeth. It was one of the great god-powers of the sea that gives all life, the fish-eaters said, its destruction is an omen of the ruin the demon will bring.
Thalia nodded her head in agreement at the fish-eaters’ words. Sat, looking up at the stars, after the merchants had finished speaking. Lenae and Naillil watched her, awed. Rovi made a noise that might have been laughing in his dead hollow voice. Thalia asked then begged Lenae to buy horses, water, supplies from the merchants, pay double, triple the asking price, quickly, that she could go back to him. Tobias sat with his head in his hands. Don’t do this. You’re free of him, girl. We’re all free of him.
“I will walk there alone, if I have to,” Thalia said. “I am begging you.” She said, not looking at Tobias, “I will reward you all, when we get back to my army. Gold, jewels, whatever you want.”
“Can you bring Lenae’s baby back to life, then? And her husband?”
Thalia said, “My husband, it would seem, has come back to life, Tobias.”
“That island you were talking about? Sailing away?”
“Don’t be an idiot, Tobias,” Lenae said. Stretched out her arms. “Look at where we are, Tobias. She’s the queen, Tobias,” Lenae said, Naillil clucking in idiot agreement. “She has to go back.”
“We can go on east, we can go back west, we can go north all the way back to Illyr.” Found himself shouting, “We don’t have to go back. You don’t have to go back. We can go away and never bloody well think about him again.”
It cost almost the whole of Lenae’s two thalers, to buy the horses and the supplies. Merchants could see a hard bargain when it was there begging them. “I’ll stay here,” Tobias said. “I’ll go east or west or north. Go home to Immish. Still got some coin of my own, for that.” Then the ride across the desert, Thalia pushing them faster and faster, staring day and night ahead of her towards him, riding east with the sun blinding their eyes in the mornings, burning on their backs in the afternoon. Nightmare memories of the desert the last time, like he was certain that his ruin and his guilt was out there waiting for him. How will you betray her this time, then? Hey, Tobias? Do you remember her face, before, the first few days she was with Marith, how happy she looked? Do you remember, Tobias, how happy Marith looked? You had never seen him look happy before then. Never seen him look happy like that since. Do you remember his face, Tobias, when you destroyed him? And do you remember her face?
I’m going mad, he thought.
Or I was mad back then. That dream I had, so sweet and brief, when I was fighting for him and I believed in him and we were winning everything and it was the most glorious thing in the world because I believed in it so much. But dreams can never come back. “I can’t let you get to Ith, boy. You know that. Can’t let you have power and command. I know what you are. What you’d do.” Ah ha ha ha ha. Laugh so hard you bloody piss yourself. I’ll stop you, boy, I’ll make you so fucking unhappy you want to break the world to shreds, yeah, to stop you breaking the world into shreds.
“Why?” Finally got up the courage to ask her, something like the tenth evening out in the desert, she was brushing sand out of her hair with her fingers. Dry and hot and thirsty. The sand scoured her face, her knuckles were grey and cracked. She would not let them rest. One of the horses looked like it might be dying. He really thought Rovi might be going to die. Naillil and Lenae seemed almost unbothered, “Come on, Tobias, get moving,” Lenae would stress at him, glaring at him as he hauled himself up onto his horse with both his knees ringing out. Infected with the need to get Thalia back home to the king her husband, because that’s… that’s what people did. “I’m coming. Gods.” His knees when he stood up now sounded like a trebuchet missile hitting a wall.
“Why, Thalia, girl?�
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Thalia carried on brushing her hair out. It was so dry out here in the desert that it crackled with sparks.
“Don’t tell me, Thalia, it’s because you want to go back to him.”
She stopped her brushing. Lenae and Rovi and Naillil were listening, and Tobias thought somehow that they somehow knew and understood what she was going to say.
Rovi stank worse than dead, in the desert. A few brief glorious days, by the seashore, he’d been free of the smell of death.
“You’re hurt. Yeah. I can get that. Your life was shite before, in your Temple, and it’s been quite a lot shite since. Four pregnancies in four years. I—” Looked at Lenae. “I can’t imagine how that feels, Thalia, to be honest. You want to punish the world. You want to punish yourself. I think—” Looked at Naillil. “I think I might know a bit about that. You think?”
A smile, almost, on Thalia’s face. “Yes. I think you might know.”
“But you don’t need to do this.”
Thalia said, “I do, Tobias.”
The dying horse died. If Lenae rode with Naillil they were still all right. They travelled mostly at night now, it was getting hotter and hotter, the earth more and more parched. Huddled for shelter in the day from the sun’s merciless relentless hateful heat. No surprise it hated them, going back to the King of Death.
“It can’t be out of love,” Tobias said to Thalia in the morning, as they collapsed down to rest. “And you can’t want power and wealth that much.”
“Why not?” Thalia said. “Why shouldn’t I? I am their queen. I am the richest and most powerful woman in the world. That’s a hard thing to give up.” She sounded so gentle. Reasonable. “What if Lenae found out her husband was alive still? Or Naillil, or Rovi? What would you say, if they went back to find someone they cared for? Or if they didn’t go back?”
“I didn’t go back,” Tobias said. “Ever. I wouldn’t go back to him for anything in the world, if I was you. And you can leave Lenae out of this.”
They had maybe three days’ water left, and Naillil’s horse was very obviously dying. They hadn’t found a stream that day, they hadn’t found a place to put the tent up until well into the day when it was burning hot. Thalia sat in the day’s heat looking at the shrivelled dried-out skin on her hands, the finger joints all grey and cracked.
“You saved my life,” she said to Tobias, “back in the camp, when the horsemen came.”
“I didn’t save your life. You probably saved mine.”
“No.” She laughed, a dry laugh in the dry heat. “You didn’t. Thank you for saying that. But when you didn’t save my life,” she said to Tobias, “why did you do it?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
Thought: because you were there, Thalia, girl. Because you were standing there and I couldn’t bear to see you. Because I feel so fucking fucking guilty because so many things.
“I want you to live, Thalia. Don’t you understand that?”
“Perhaps,” she said, “perhaps I want that, also, Tobias. For myself and for Marith.”
Tried to spit with a rank dry mouth. “Marith doesn’t deserve to live.”
She said, after a long silence, “My child died. My children died. Marith—” Shook her head. “I need to get some rest, before we go on.”
Naillil’s horse died, and they had one day’s water left, and only Thalia was riding still, and they had gone on all night finding nothing no streams no shelter, and now the sun was up again pale pink dawn evil bastard hot hates us, when they reached the camp of the pathetic remnant of the Army of Amrath. Glorious they sailed, a mighty host in golden ships. I alone came back. There, in the distance, you could feel them, sense them, the air was different, a creeping feeling on the back of the neck, eating at you, Tobias felt his heart getting hot beating in his chest.
“Come on, come on,” Thalia had cried, pushing her horse forward. The poor thing was dying, gasping, its mouth all foam, “Come on,” she shouted to it. Then she started in the saddle, and pulled the horse up, and she was dismounting, running across the sand. The city walls looming up in the distance, a metal cliff. She’s running off home? No. No way.
She stopped running. A dark figure, very small, huddled there. Raised its head.
The other four of them went on to the camp. Just about managed it before Thalia’s horse finally gave out. Lenae went running on to join our boys. Wild with excitement, shaking the sand out of her hair, chattering about the gold she’d been promised. “Some of my friends might still be there. I’ll get us some things. Wine, blankets, pillows, horses. Some of the people I know must be there, my friends.”
Naillil watched her go. Started to walk after her. Rovi paused, then limped after Naillil. “It’s familiar, isn’t it?” Rovi wheezed at Tobias. “What else am I going to do?”
“Nothing, Rovi.” Only place in the world you could be at home, death-stink walking-dead-man. King Marith should make you his standard bearer. I’ll ask him to, shall I, Rovi man? He owes me one.
“Someone’s going to be bloody king,” Rovi wheezed. “Aren’t they? Lead the army to murder. Might as well be him.”
Tobias walked on and now the camp was spread out before him, well-ordered, professionally done, and now he was walking through it, and it was slowly swallowing him. Neat rows of tents, horse lines well downwind of the tents, latrine trenches well downwind of everything. “Bloody fucking lying cock-sucking untrustworthy shifty pox-on-him bastard,” one of the blokes digging over the latrine trenches kept shouting. “He bloody well promised me.” Weird place, an army camp. Just ignore the swearing nutters. Old secret sellsword’s wisdom, that. Smell of breakfast drifting over towards the blokes practising sarriss drill in the dawn sunshine. Sarriss—up! Sarris—lower! Sarriss—up! Sarriss—lower! Sarriss—up! Like they were waving at the rising sun. One or two of them moved their heads in the general direction of the breakfast smells. The drill instructor yelled at them. Stop thinking about the bacon, our lads! Sarriss—lower! Sarriss—up! Nice rhythm to it.
Two figures, small and fragile, coming out of the desert. Going very slowly, haltingly. One of them lit up gleaming in the sunlight. One of them dark as night. The whole camp halting. Turning. Knowing. The murmur rising around the camp. “The queen.” “She’s come back to him.” “He will be happy again now.” “She’s come back to us.” Men scrabbled to the horses, grabbed at swords and spears. An honour guard forming, rushing up to greet them. The drill instructor abandoned her soldiers, rode fast towards the approaching figures, shouting behind her to the soldiers to follow with sarriss raised in salute. Cheering cheering cheering.
Yes. Well. Remind me why anyone would put up with a drink- and drug-addled fuckwit like Marith Altrersyr? Cause I haven’t got a clue.
Marith stopped, raised Thalia’s hand in his. The two of them together, hands raised, triumphant. “Your queen has returned!” Marith shouted. His voice was hoarse. “This forthcoming victory shall be in her honour. Soon, she will be seated on the throne of the Sekemleth Emperor as Queen of Sorlost.” He kissed Thalia passionately. Loud cheering. She melted into him, her hair enveloping them both. Whistles and cheers, at that. Gods, felt randy watching. Take a heart of stone to point out the stain on the boy’s crotch where he’d shat himself.
His shit and her sweat from weeks riding a horse through the desert. Nice.
They made their way together to the tent at the very centre of the camp, set up on a hillock so everyone could see it looming over them. Some poor sods probably spent the previous night digging the hillock. The tent was green and red leather, battered-looking, like it had got wet and not dried. Odd runny look to it, also, like someone had tried to colour it all red and it hadn’t worked properly. It was flying a dark red banner that wasn’t human skin because even Marith Altrersyr had some common sense seeing as there was a hole in the tent roof. The happy couple disappeared inside, to violent cheering. At least Marith would now be taking his shit-covered trousers off. The guard Brycha
n stood up straight and stiff (snigger) directly outside the doorcurtain. Blank face that screamed, “I’m listening like no one ever listened before and dear gods it’s good.” Various other chaps hanging around giving him the death-stare, like, “What did he do, what noble achievement, to be overhearing all that?”
Okay, let’s calm down a bit. Probably they’re just having a very thorough wash.
Whichever, give them a couple of hours. She’d missed the boy. Kept saying she was fine, wasn’t heartbroken, would manage fine without him, which she obviously would. But she’d missed him. So sit in the shade a while, find someone here selling fresh bread, shake the worst of the sand out of his hair, wait. Let them have a few hours together first.
“Haven’t finished the sarriss drill, you buggers get back here now, right now,” a good loud voice rang out. “Twice more, we’re going to do it, for the king and the queen.”
Rather less than an hour later, Tobias marched up to Marith’s tent. The guard Brychan held up his sword. Eyes boggling: who in all hells is this chap and how’s he got this far in life with this much of a death wish?
“Brychan.”
The guard Brychan was silent. Looking straight ahead, silent scream on his lips “ignore him, ignore him.”
“I need to see the king.”
Brychan’s eyes went big as bloody cart wheels. Just… ignore him. He might go away. Please? Head moved a bit, looking off to one side, like: “someone help, make this nutter go away.”
“I need to see Marith, Brychan, mate.”
Two servants came trooping up with buckets of water. Gods, warm water smell in the dust… A bath… Tobias took a step closer. Brychan twitched, staring around frantically: I have to let the blokes with the water in so King Marith can wash the shit and cum off but if I let them in this madman will try to get in after them.
Tobias thought about it. Looked at poor Brychan. Not his fault. He’s a guard. He guards the king’s tent. “All right, all right. I’ll leave him in peace a bit longer. I’ll come back in a bit. Tell him an old friend is waiting to see him. Tell him… tell him I’m proud of what he learnt from me about camp hygiene.”
The House of Sacrifice Page 36