Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  Bell scowled. He wasn’t in the mood for their humor, so he chose to ignore them. “Halls,” Bell shouted. “Get over here.”

  Halls looked up, met Bell’s gaze, and sauntered over. “Yeah?” he asked.

  “You know where we are?”

  Halls took off his helm and ran a hand through his hair. He had a deep gash beneath his left eye, as if the corner of his helm’s eyehole had dug into his flesh, and his hand motion did nothing but sweep blood from the wound into his curls. “Aye, we’re gettin’ close ta the city’s center.”

  “How far?”

  “Nine or ten blocks, but I dunno why ya’d want ta be there. There’s another garrison and another wall guardin’ the royal palace. We’d be lucky if we made it another block and even luckier if we made it ta the gate.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to try. The Grand won’t let up until we’ve proven our worth.”

  “Maybe we should be running fer it,” Skibs said. “Sounds like we got a better chance doing that than following her orders.”

  Bell watched as doubt fluttered across Halls’ face. Rich’s nose curled in disgust.

  Bell sighed and pulled on Skibs’ wrist. “A moment please, Skibs.”

  “Wait,” Tel said. “Can I have my helm back, please?” Bell followed her outstretched finger to her helm crooked beneath his arm. He’d been so worried about Kenneth, he had completely forgotten it. He blushed and handed her the helm before leading Skibs aside.

  Skibs shrugged and followed.

  “Look, you were right. Clearly the Grand’s got it in for us, but I’m not going to run for it. I won’t justify her delusions, Skibs.”

  “I think yer mean her certainties,” Skibs chuckled.

  “Can’t you take this seriously?”

  “What? If she thinks yer’ve lost it, clearly her certainties ain’t so certain. If she’s trying ter kill us, we just got-ter stay a step ahead. She said make ther advance, right? Well look around. Look how quiet it is. Sure, if yer want to keep going then let’s keep going, but I don’t see a reason we got-ter be vocal about it.”

  “What are you saying, Skibs?”

  “Well, the way I see it, we’re not getting any support, right? So, what’s the rest of the Legion doing fer us but giving away our position? I say we get some distance between us and them, make our way ter these palace grounds er whatever like she wants, but then we just hunker down out-ter sight till the rest of them show up. I mean, I ain’t no coward, but I’ve done my share of fighting this evening, and it’s not like she can be mad at us fer not taking the palace singlehanded. We’ll just say we got a bit ahead of ourselves.”

  “We’re the advance, Skibs, we can’t leave them without warning.”

  “What? She’s got her a wall of kites to protect her, probably fer when we inevitably die, and right now they’re far sturdier’n us. We ain’t ther advance, Bell, we’re just the elk she’s chased into the clearing but is too lazy ter kill herself.” Skibs bit his lip, his cheeks hunched upward, and his brows curled into his nose, his smile finally fading. “Look, Bell. We stepped in some shit, even if we don’t know how er when, we stepped in it, but I ain’t letting her kill me and I’m damn well not going ter let her kill me wife. Yer know I’m right, and if yer still ain’t convinced, just think of it this way; it ain’t no dereliction of duty, we’ll just be doing a really good job. Too good a job, even.”

  Bell searched his squad’s faces. Tel still leaned on her knees, breathing heavy and gagging, as blood pooled on her chin while Rise held back her hair. Bern rocked side to side, as if woozy despite the fact he leaned all of his weight on his shield. Rich hovered over Halls’ wounded eye, trying to stem the bleeding with a handkerchief, but the eyelid already looked to be swelling shut regardless. Skibs was right, they wouldn’t make it two more blocks if they had to fight the whole way, let alone ten.

  “All right,” Bell said. “Let’s do it.”

  Skibs nearly hopped with joy, his face beaming with a toothy grin. “I knew yer’d see reason. I weren’t proud of this, but I would’ve done it anyway. I ain’t got a problem with dying fer Trellahn, but I got a problem dying fer no reason.”

  Hoisting his shield onto his back, Bell tried to ignore the fact that Skibs had announced his willingness to commit treason. Taking off his helm and tabard, Bell used the cloth to tie his helm to his belt. Aside from being the mark of his station, the helm was a Trellish heirloom belonging to the church, and he refused to leave it behind. Tel rose as he approached, trying to look prepared by forcing her breathing to a near halt, but her flushed face gave away the ruse. Halls glared at him skeptically.

  “We’re leaving,” Bell announced, crossing to the dead guardsmen. “Bern, any sign of the Herald?”

  Bern cocked his head. “Aye, she’s about four streets back, running between the kites and some footmen that look to be holding a breach on their left.”

  Bell nodded affirmation while he lifted the dead guardsman. “Tel, help me with this.”

  “What?”

  “Come hold this.”

  Tel obeyed and Bell slid the man’s brown and white cloak off his shoulders and over his own head, then wrapped it over his shoulder to hang like a shawl as he’d seen the guardsmen wear them. The helm was too small for him, so he offered it to Tel. “Cloaks and helms people, one for each of you. Don’t put them on till we’re a few streets away. Wouldn’t want to confuse anyone on our side, they seem to be confused enough already.”

  Rich mouthed a question, but when the others scurried to comply, he joined them without comment.

  “We’ll stay on the curbs,” Bell continued. “In the full light of those weird pig trough things.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” Tel asked.

  “Only if we run into our own, but they’re all behind us.”

  Bell crossed to another guardsman and held him up for Tel. She pulled off the specified accoutrements and wrapped the cloak under her free arm. She handed him the helm and Bell dropped the man, strolled to the north end of the street, and ducked into the alley with Tel following at his heels. Skibs and Rise arrived, then Bern, and finally Rich and Halls.

  “What’re we doin’?” Halls asked.

  “New plan,” Bell said. “If the Grand wants us to be her probe, then we’ll do it the right way. Skibs, Bern, and Rise, ten feet behind. You’ve seen how the guardsmen patrol. Stay on the sidewalks, in the light of the troughs. Don’t let anyone think we’re hiding something. Dump your tabards now, you can keep your own helm if you like, as I’ve done, but otherwise you should be fine with theirs. Wait another block before you put on the cloak.”

  Bell didn’t give them time to object, instead, he charged back onto the street, heading east. Halls fell in on his left, the cloak and helm bouncing in one arm as he tried to pull off his tabard with the other.

  “This won’ work,” Halls protested, his face buried in fabric. “All the fightin’s behind us, they’re sure to catch on.”

  “Sure it will,” Bell said, though he was about as confident as Halls. “Look, there’s another garrison to the north, right? And yet, they haven’t attacked us from that direction, nor from the palace garrison, so for some reason, they haven’t been alerted yet. If someone stops us, we’ll pretend we’re a patrol from one of those.”

  “But milord, what about the houses?”

  Bell looked at the surrounding buildings; all empty shops beneath second story apartments. He studied the shops and homes as they passed. Every window was dark, the shades drawn and the houses silent despite the ruckus caused by both their fighting and the explosion in the adjacent intersection. It seemed the people of Dekahn were accustomed to looking the other way. Not even a candle had been lit in response to all the noise, and if it had, the heavy curtains and oaken shutters hid any light.

  “Yeah,” Bell asked. “Why’s everyone hiding?”

  “Guard business is Atheist business.” With a tearing sound, Halls finally ripped his tabard off his head,
the force causing him to stumble. He caught himself then frowned at the tabard looped around his shield arm, as if it had caused all his trouble, not the fact that he had tried to remove the thing with one hand curled around his helm and the other strapped to his buckler.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Atheists rile themselves up on occasion,” Halls said. “Migh’ be some new family that’s preachin’ doctrine, or just some day they decide that some fella’s a mage, who they heard from some fella who heard it from another fella. They’re always looking for an excuse, and if ya poke your head into the mess, that excuse is like to be you when all’s said and done.”

  “And the New Guard allows this?”

  “Ha!” Halls laughed. “Usually, it’s them that starts it, but uh…” Halls bowed his head, his buckler arm scratching savagely at his wounded eye. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

  “What?”

  Red crept into the back of Hall’s neck, and when he lifted his face, he didn’t meet Bell’s gaze. “The Grand…” the coloring from his neck flooded his face. “The Grand told us to check the houses…”

  Bell put on his best smile, but he didn’t feel it. A few orders can be ignored now and then, he tried to convince himself. At least those intended to kill us. “Look…” Bell said. He struggled for words, but he put on his best face. “The Grand’s a smart woman, right? And I respect her opinion, but…” Bell’s eyes drifted back to the dark houses. “But the Dekahnians are staying out of this for now, and we’re lucky for it, because we don’t have to go into every house and put down every man with a broom. There isn’t any reason to go kicking any nests we don’t have to.”

  The truth of the statement surprised him, and when Halls nodded, Bell was convinced. The people of Dekahn might be silent now, but if they believed the Trellish were here to ransack their homes, that neutrality would end fast.

  They crossed another intersection and Bell’s attention drifted to the north. “Why do you think the other barracks haven’t rallied?”

  Halls shrugged. “Dealing with the Vandu maybe, but it seems odd. There’s no way they haven’t heard us… It’s almost like they want us ta take the city.”

  Bell chuckled nervously and adjusted the guardsman’s helm; he wasn’t used to the unusual weight caused by the helm’s pointed tip. On the bright side, with its wide eyeholes and single stripped nose guard, the thing didn’t obstruct his vision near as bad as his own helm. If only the fit were right. Bell fell back a few paces to let Halls and Rich lead. He whispered in Bern’s ear.

  “Is Marl watching?”

  Bern glanced over his shoulder, humming while he considered. Any squad of scouts worthy of the title knew their best lookout, and despite his age, Bern had the best eyes out of any of them, especially in the dark. “It’s a bit dark back there, but I think I see that bloodstain of a horse running around.”

  “Towards us?”

  “Nah, back and forth like. I don’t hear any horns, so the Grand must’ve set her to the rounds.”

  “Well, that should buy us some time,” Bell sighed.

  “Yeah, what’re we doing here anyway?”

  “As I said, Bern, we’re scouting ahead.”

  “Well,” Bern scoffed. “That’s a lie, but at least it’s the one I want to hear. You better not be leading me to my death, Bell.”

  Bell smiled. “No promises,” he said.

  “Just like every legionnaire I ever knew.”

  They crossed three more intersections in silence, and as the sounds of fighting fell to a murmur, the city of Dekahn almost seemed peaceful. Bell would have marveled at the intricacy of the woodwork, if not for the fear that someone might jump out at them at any moment. The streets were empty, filled only by the sounds of their shuffling equipment and the crackling coal troughs.

  A door slammed somewhere ahead, and Bell signaled a halt before he fled into the nearest alley. The others shuffled past as Bell pressed himself against the lip of the alley’s mouth. A woman stormed out of a massive building on the corner of the next intersection, the side painted with the mural of a goat-headed man who carried a smithing hammer, and two demonic servants; one with a vulture’s beak for a nose above his curled moustache, and the other a young woman with brown hair and a pig’s face.

  Half a dozen men followed the lead woman, all of them wearing the guardsman’s cloak except for her. The lead woman wore a simple, woolen dress beneath a leather tunic, and an odd smile that stretched near the full length of her face. She stood proud but for her right hand which twisted nervously around her other wrist. One of the guardsmen spoke, a short man with a stocky build and ragged, shoulder length hair.

  “Where to next, Putrescence?” The accent sounded Vandu, and when he stepped forward into the light, Bell saw the tattoo on his neck; an elk’s skull. Beneath the guardsman’s cloak, he wore a Vandu harness.

  “There are three more Chapter Houses in this district,” the woman said, stepping to the curb.

  “More Atheists?” another man asked, this one copper skinned, his accent smooth and flowery. “Can we not find something more worthwhile? Perhaps a mage.”

  “We are here for the Atheists,” the woman warned.

  “But I have heard of many defectors who flee to this land. They should not escape the Butcher’s wrath, and it has been very long since I have felt the Call…”

  The woman looked remorseful as she stepped to the man and put her hand on his cheek. “I would love to, Avign, but we do not know where they hide. For now, the Atheists must do.” She cocked her head and kissed the man. “Besides, you would not want to fail your masters, would you?”

  The man straightened, pulling away from her embrace. The kiss did not seem to soothe him, in fact, it seemed to do the opposite. “Butcher is God,” he said in a shaky voice. “And his Rightful have spoken. I can do nothing but obey.”

  “That is good, Avign,” the woman said. She walked to the curb, tore the lattice off a trough, and dipped her hand into the fire. “That is good. We would not want your name listed amongst the deserters.” Removing her hand, she clenched a burning coal between her bare fingers. She turned to Avign and pressed the coal to his cheek. The man moaned, low and sexual, as his eyes closed and his cheeks relaxed. “It would be a pity if you were absent from the Return.”

  Bell ducked his head behind the corner. Gods, he mouthed. What is wrong with these people? Skibs stood before him, smiling, and struggling to stifle a laugh. On Bell’s right, Rise’s face was stark white. Her eyes stared a violent threat, as if to promise that she would kill Skibs herself if he laughed and gave them away. Bell suspected Rise’s fear was warranted; he doubted these guardsmen would be happy to meet more of their kind.

  “Come,” the woman said. “We must make it clear that the Atheists are unwelcome, even in Dekahn.” She crossed to the mural, pulling Avign behind her. Noticing the young woman with the brown hair, she sneered, and turning to Avign, cupped his chin as she scraped the burned flesh from his cheek into her palm. Bell heard the coal split as she smeared her hand across the pig-woman’s face.

  The paint of the mural shimmered, suddenly lit by an unseen source, and the central figure glowed, his goat head vanishing to be replaced by the silhouette of a burly man wearing a red, pointed hood that shrouded his eyes. Ash devoured the vulture’s face and the figure bowed, his head drooping onto an anvil inscribed with the eight-armed Betrayer’s Mark. The goat’s head reappeared as the smithing hammer engorged to become a horned and bucktoothed mace that threatened the vulture’s head resting on the anvil. A throne appeared beneath the pig-nosed woman and a crown upon her brow. When the guardsman pulled her hand away, the pig-woman’s hair had changed to black and the figure wore the guardsman’s face instead of the pig’s. A message appeared beneath it all, as if seared onto the paint by a branding iron. An ominous proclamation: He Returns.

  The woman stepped away and left without another word. Her cohorts followed, a mixture of determination and fear scr
awled upon their faces.

  Bell motioned everyone forward and crossed the intersection – careful to make sure the woman was long gone – and up to the mural.

  “Cultists,” Halls spat.

  “Who?” Tel asked.

  “Those guardsmen. I’m willing ta bet every one of them’s from Atherahn. They’re Butcher’s Cult, probably sent by the Rightful.”

  “Guess we know what the missing Vandu are up to,” Rise said.

  “Aye,” Bern said. “Just like the Grand said.” Bern rubbed his nose as he spoke, as if something was stuck in his nostril, but Bell was willing to bet the gesture was just an excuse not to look at the mural.

  “What are ya talkin’ about?” Halls asked.

  Bern dropped his hand and nodded to Bell. “We heard her say something about the Vandu getting mixed up with the Atherahnians and their cult. Guess this is what she meant.”

  “It can’t be,” Rich said. “The Vandu hate anything to do with the gods. You saw how that one argued with the Grand.”

  “Well, I’m not going to defend it. I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  “Bell?”

  Bell shrugged. “That’s what she said, but clearly their focus is the Atheists. We just need to stay out of their way.” They all nodded, and each of them fell silent.

  “Am I ther only one aroused right now?”

  Rise’s face darkened. “Skibs!”

  “What? That were some freaky shit, I can’t help it. Did yer see what she did with that coal?”

  Rise shrugged, ceding his point, her smile suddenly mischievous. “I can work it in,” she said. “But I won’t be starting with your face.”

  Skibs paled. “On second thought…”

  “Both of you, stop,” Bell warned. He crossed to the Chapter House’s doors and peeked in. The room was dark, but he could see the impression of pews lined along the aisle. It looked rather like the sermon hall of a Trellish temple. The air was rank, smelling of shit and sweat and blood. He took a step forward and a hand grabbed his shoulder.