by Anthony Ryan
He pointed to a mark on the brickwork an inch from the floor. It was small but neatly chiselled into the stone, a rectangular symbol inset with two dots. “Is that..?” Elera began, leaning down and squinting at the marking.
“Far Western script,” Sollis said. “I believe it means ‘book’.”
“You can read Far Western script, brother?”
Sollis chose not to take offence at the keen surprise in her voice. Why would a brother of the Sixth know such things, after all? “Not in its entirety, no,” he admitted. “But I’ve had occasion to fight smugglers and pirates, some of Far Western origin. They tend to mark their hiding places with symbols such as these, believing, not without good reason, that easterners are too ignorant to recognise them as anything but a meaningless scrawl.”
“So, you think Lord Morvil learned the same trick?”
“The accounts of his life are colourful, full of unlikely tales of adventures in far-off lands. Perhaps some of it was actually true.”
Elera let out a small laugh, shuffling closer to run her fingers over the symbol. Sollis made a conscious effort not to notice the soft caress of her hair on his neck as she did so. “It occurs to me your knowledge and intellect might have been better employed in the Third Order,” she murmured.
“I doubt it.” Sollis drew the hunting knife from his belt and worked the tip of the blade into the mortar that bound the marked brick in place. “This might take some time,” he said, handing her the torch. “If you would care to guard the door.”
“Of course.”
It took close on an hour’s labour to loosen the brick, Sollis doggedly scraping away the mortar until he had sufficient room to work his fingers into the gap and lever the stone free. “The torch, sister,” he said, extending his hand as he lowered himself to peer into the small space. He gave a small grunt of satisfaction as the torchlight revealed the dim gleam of a leather binding. Reaching in, he extracted a small volume, the cover and spine lacking any inscription. The leather that bound it was dry and cracked with age, flaking into powder as Sollis ran his fingers over it.
“I think this calls for gentler hands,” he said, handing the book to Elera.
The sister carefully opened the book, revealing pages of yellow parchment inscribed in a flowing, elegant script. Despite the precision of the penmanship Sollis found he couldn’t read a word of it. “That’s not Realm Tongue,” he said.
“‘The Conquest of the Northern Mountains and the Subjugation of the Wolf Men’,” Elera read, her finger tracing across the words inscribed at the top of the first page. “‘Being a true and honest account by Baron Valeric Morvil, Knight of Renfael.’” She raised a caustic eyebrow. “Clearly a fellow not lacking in self-regard.” She smiled at Sollis’s puzzled frown. “It’s ancient Volarian, brother. At one time all scholarly works in the four fiefs were written in this script. In fact, it remained a common practice amongst the more pretentious scholars until King Janus banned its use during the first year of his reign.”
“And yet, you can read it,” Sollis observed.
“My…” she began then paused, Sollis recognising the familiar expression of a servant of the Faith reminding themselves that mention of one’s previous life was frowned upon. “I learned a great deal before I entered the Order,” she added, returning her attention to the book. “The first few pages relate his preparations for the campaign, buying of provisions, hiring of men and so on.” She thumbed ahead, grimacing in consternation. “It seems the Baron’s self-regard is matched only by her verbosity. It will take several hours to fully examine this for mention of the weed.”
“Very well.” Sollis moved to the door. “Best find a quiet corner to do so. I’d prefer the Lonak not see you with it.”
“They object to books?”
“No, they love them, or rather their Mahlessa does. When they raid the only booty they prize more than horses are books. Apparently, the Mountain provides great rewards for any warrior who comes to offer books in tribute. If they see you with that, they’ll almost certainly try to take it.”
Elera nodded and consigned the book to the inner folds of her robe. “Do you believe her?” she asked. “That whatever or whoever destroyed that village is still out there.”
“I do. In fact, I suspect it’s why we’re still alive. The Mahlessa has ordered it, at least as long as the threat to her people persists.”
“A threat she saw in some Dark vision?” Elera shook her head. “I find it hard to credit mere superstition for our predicament, brother.”
“What is superstition to us is real to them. The Mahlessa believes, and therefore so do they, that we have a role to play in ending the evil infesting these mountains. Even should we find the weed, I doubt we’ll be going anywhere until this vision has come to pass. We are expected to spring a trap, and those children downstairs are but bait.”
“And therefore deserving of our protection, wouldn’t you say?”
Sollis saw a glint of wary appraisal in her gaze then, as if her question were a test and she feared he might fail it. “Rest assured, sister,” he said. “I’ll defend them as I would any child, Realm born, Faithful or not.”
She gave a tight smile, stepping forward to place a hand on his, her flesh warm despite the chill that pervaded the fortress. “I must confess to always having harboured a certain… discomfort with the need for your Order,” she said. “Why should a Faith that celebrates life require servants so skilled in the ways of death? I see now, my questions were misplaced…”
She fell silent as he raised a hand, his gaze drawn upwards by a new sound, a faint and plaintive call drifting through the part destroyed roof of the tower. “What is that?” Elera asked.
“Hawk,” Sollis said, handing her the torch. “Make your way back down, sister. I’ll be there shortly.”
The faint moonlight enabled him to navigate to the tower’s roof without undue difficulty where he found Verkehla waiting, head tilted at an expectant angle. “You and the sister spent a good deal of time alone, brother,” she observed. “What could you have been doing?”
“Discussing the finer points of the Catechism of Truth,” Sollis replied, ascending the last few steps onto the patchy stonework that formed the tower’s summit. The thick beams that supported the wall could be seen through gaps in the floor, like the exposed ribs of a massive rotting corpse. The top was ringed by a low crenellated wall which remained weathered but intact. Sollis moved to it, eyes raised to the partly clouded sky and ears alive for the hawk’s call.
“So you heard it too?” Verkehla asked. “A cry in the night from a bird that never flies in darkness.”
“Not just tonight,” he said. “I’ve heard it three times now, once not long before we were attacked by the snow-daggers.”
“Information you might have shared with me earlier.”
Sollis glanced at her judgmental frown and gave a faint shrug. “And have you shared all your pertinent information with me?”
Her face took on an impassive aspect that told of another refusal to answer so he returned his gaze to the sky. “No sign of it,” he murmured.
“It’s there. Whatever commands it will make sure it keeps watch on us.”
“Commands it?”
Evidently his skepticism showed in his voice for her tone was curt when she replied, “You are quite willing to believe the ghosts of the dead gather together in some mystical, invisible realm, and yet you shun evidence of what you call the Dark when it stares you in the face.”
“Your people shun it, do they not?”
“Yes, because they have the wit to recognise the danger it poses. Your people hide behind scorn or choose to blame the Dark on those who deny the Faith, a Faith that preaches peace yet is quite happy to cage heretics and hang them from a gibbet to starve. Ever had to do that, brother?”
Sollis had as yet been spared the duty of accompanying the Third Order on their Denier hunting expeditions. Even so, there were many stories from brothers who had, and
they were far from edifying. “No,” he said.
“But you would,” she persisted. “If your Order commanded it, you would.”
“The Faith requires all we have. As your Mahlessa, I’m sure, requires all of you.”
She began to answer but halted as a harsh scream cut through the night air beyond the battlement, quickly followed by the shouts and snapping bowstrings that told of combat. Sollis immediately unslung his bow, notching an arrow as he moved to the wall, eyes peering into the darkness. He could see only vague shapes in the gloom below, shadowed figures whirling in a chaotic dance as the tumult of battle continued, Sollis recognising the screams now. Rock apes!
He spied a loping shadow beneath, long arms and shorter legs propelling across the ground faster than any man. Sollis drew his bow until the arrow’s fletching brushed his ear, centring the vertical line of the arrowhead on the running ape. Before he could loose, a loud, snarling bark of challenge erupted to his right. He spun, seeing Verkehla reeling back from the wall, a fur covered, dog-faced shape vaulting the battlement in pursuit. Drool flew from the ape’s bared teeth and clawed hands reached out to dig into the woman’s shoulders, its massive weight bearing her down as its jaws snapped at her throat.
7
Sollis’s arrow took the ape just behind the head. At such close range the shaft possessed sufficient force to pierce the creature’s neck all the way through. It convulsed in shock, letting out a choked, rasping howl, blood colouring the drool flowing from its mouth as it whirled to face him, too slow to avoid the sword stroke that cleaved its skull. The edge of the blade cut through flesh and bone to find the brain beneath. Sollis grunted with the effort of tugging it free before finishing the twitching animal with an expertly placed slash to open the veins in its throat.
He turned his attention to Verkehla, intending to check her wounds, but stopped at the sight of her hard, implacable features, eyes focused on something over his shoulder. Sollis ducked and rolled clear, feeling the rush of air as a claw slashed close to his head. His roll brought him to the edge of a gap in the roof. He crouched, sword held low as he regarded the second ape. This one was larger than the first with an extensive mane of fur covering its neck and shoulders, marking it out as a full grown male, possibly a pack leader. Meeting his gaze the male ape growled, sinking lower and tensing for a lunge. In such a constricted space Sollis knew he would have only one chance of a kill and decided to improve his odds, using his free hand to reach for a throwing knife. It was then that the stones beneath his feet gave way.
He arrested his fall by clamping a hand onto the edge of a roof beam, the impact jarring the sword loose from his grip, the blade whirling away into the gloom beneath his dangling feet. Seeing the ape’s gaping jaws loom above, Sollis prepared to follow his sword into the depths, finding the fall preferable to the teeth. Before he could do so the ape came to an abrupt halt, jaws slackening as it shook its head, huffing in confusion. It then went into an sudden, violent spasm, head jerking back and a scream of pain escaping its maw. Sollis saw blood seeping from its eyes, nose and mouth in thick torrents. It then seemed to collapse from within, deflating like a pierced bellows as its life blood flowed out of every orifice until it was nothing more than an immobile sack of fur and bones.
Sollis watched the tide of blood wash over the roof and the part collapsed stone above, trickling down to cover the beam he clung to with both hands. Realising his grip was about to be loosened, Sollis began to haul himself up. The bloody torrent was too thick, however, and he let out a frustrated grunt as his left hand lost purchase on the beam. It flailed in the air for a second before another hand reached down to grasp his wrist. Sollis looked up to see Verkehla’s face above, pale in the dim moonlight with dark stains beneath her nose and around her eyes. It appeared she had bled aplenty too.
“You’re not supposed to die yet,” she told him, groaning with the effort of hauling him upwards.
* * *
The four bodies lay in the courtyard, the features of the slain Lonak warriors marred by deep claw marks that had ripped away eyes, noses and jaws. One had clearly been overwhelmed by several attackers at once, his corpse lacking a stomach as well as a face. They had been dragged into the fortress by their fellow Lonak whilst Oskin and Smentil stood in the gate, theirs bows cutting down a half-dozen pursuing apes. Upon descending from the tower, Sollis had conveyed the bleeding form of Verkehla to Sister Elera’s care before rushing to join his brothers. However, by then the apes had retreated into the gloom. The rest of the night passed without incident, though none of the Reach’s occupants managed a moment’s sleep.
“Must’ve been near forty of the buggers, brother,” Oskin said, face grim. He turned to deliver a kick to corpse of an ape that had made it over the walls to claw a warrior to death before falling victim to a dozen or more arrows.
Closer to fifty, Smentil signed. Approached in silence from the north. The southerly wind meant Red Ears didn’t catch their scent until they were almost on us.
“It’s a miracle they only claimed four,” Oskin said. “If we hadn’t had these walls to retreat behind…” He trailed off and shook his head, face tense with a reluctant conclusion. “First the snow-daggers now this. A Dark business indeed.”
Sollis turned as an angry shout came from the base of the tower. “Ouch! You vicious bitch!”
“Keep your hound walking the parapet,” Sollis told Oskin, making for the tower. “See if his nose has any better luck in daylight. Smentil, take position atop the tower and keep watch. I’ll join you shortly.”
Inside the tower he found Elera crouched at Verkehla’s side. The shaman winced continually as the sister worked a needle and suture through her skin to seal the wound in her shoulder. “She’s deliberately taking too long,” she groused at Sollis. “I can tell. And she tortured me with some vile concoction first.”
“Corr tree oil to stop it festering,” Elera murmured, apparently unperturbed as she kept her attention focused on her work. Sollis assumed this was far from the first difficult patient she had treated. “And you refused redflower to dull the pain,” the sister added, tying off the last stitch with a swift, practiced flourish.
“The Mahlessa has decreed we shun Merim Her drugs,” Verkehla replied, teeth gritted as Elera swabbed the completed stitches with more corr tree oil. “Lest our wits become as dull as yours.”
Whilst Elera fixed a bandage over the wound Verkehla let out a slow calming breath. “How many did we lose?” she asked Sollis, slipping into Lonak.
“Four. No wounded, which is strange.”
“Apes rarely leave their foes alive. There’s a reason my people never hunt them.”
“We estimate their numbers at fifty. My brothers killed a dozen or so…”
“There’ll be more,” Verkehla broke in. “And not just apes. Whatever’s out there isn’t done with us.”
Sollis stepped closer, lowering his voice a notch. “What happened up there?” he said, flicking his eyes towards the top of the tower. “I’ve never seen a beast, nor a man, die like that.”
“It’s a very big world, brother,” she told him with an empty smile. “I imagine there are methods of killing even beyond your extensive experience.” She paused to cast a caustic glance around the gloomy interior of the tower. When she spoke again she switched back to Realm Tongue. “The Lonak fight in the open. Castles and sieges are foreign to us. But I imagine it’s something you know a great deal about.”
“I know how to defend a stronghold, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good.” She turned and called to a group of warriors waiting near the entrance, beckoning them closer. “The Blue Cloak will show you how to prepare this place,” she told them in Lonak. “You will follow his word as you follow mine.”
From the set, rigid faces the warriors turned on Sollis at that moment, he found himself wondering if their desire for the Mahlessa’s favour was as absolute as Verkehla claimed it to be. However, none of them spoke up to protest, ins
tead continuing to stare at him in expectant if resentful silence.
Knowing any words of conciliation would be wasted Sollis nodded and started towards the courtyard. “Follow and listen well,” he told them. “We have much to do.”
* * *
“Won’t work.”
The Lonak’s name was Fehl-ahkim, which translated as ‘man of stone’, or ‘builder’ depending on the inflection. He was a both older and taller than most of the Banished Blades, his arms thick with muscle that flexed impressively as he crossed them, eying the ruins of the gate with an expert’s disdain. Before his disgrace, which apparently involved a fatal dispute with a neighbour over the ownership of a prized pony, he had been renowned for his skill in building huts and maintaining the defensive wall of his clan’s stronghold.
“Rust and rot,” he told Sollis, shaking his head. “Can’t build with that.”
“We need to close this gate,” Sollis insisted.
Fehl-ahkim shot him a sour look, jaws bunching as he sighed and cast his gaze around the innards of Morvil’s Reach. “There,” he said, nodding at a row of roofless stone enclosures that had once been the fortress’s storehouses. “Wasted stone. We could tear it down, use it to seal the portal.” He moved closer to the ruins of the gate, stroking his chin in contemplation as he touched a booted toe to one of the rusted iron brackets. “Nothing around to use for mortar, but we can buttress with these. Still some strength here, despite the rust.”
“Very well.” Sollis unbuckled his sword belt before removing his cloak, setting them aside and starting towards the storehouses. “Then we’d best be at it.”
Under Fehl-ahkim’s guidance the Lonak used their knives and war clubs to chip away the old mortar binding the stones at the base of the storehouse walls. Once they were sufficiently loosened he had them fix ropes around the top of the walls to haul them down. Within a few hours they were rewarded with a decent sized pile of building materials which the builder had begun to form into a stone and iron barrier some two feet thick at the base.