Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)

by A. D. Green

  “Should be safe enough long as there is nought the dogs will chew on. Thieving is rare here but you can’t be too careful,” Morten said.

  The dogs were not used to being shut up. Thunder and Maise looked with big sad eyes at Marron.

  “You’ll be alright. I’ll be back to take you out later.” She petted them.

  As for Ash and Snow, they took to howling and Nihm had to scold them to quieten them. Mort disappeared briefly before returning with several large bones and scraps.

  “Yester eves leavings and some bones from the hog roast a few days back,” he explained. The dogs were happy enough after that chewing on their spoils.

  They settled themselves in the inn sharing a large room on the second floor that Vic told them was the best they had. Marron and Nihm had just finished washing and had changed into clean clothes when a bell tolled faintly in the distance ringing out seven times. I’ll be meeting Anders at eight thought Marron, time to eat then.

  They headed down to the public room. Vic was serving behind the bar and gave them a wave, nodding at an empty table towards the back of the room. After serving his customer Vic bustled over to join them expertly carrying a jug of beer and some tankards on a tray, leaving Mort to take his place at the bar.

  “You looked worn when you came into my yard Marron.” He chattered to them. “You look better now, though you could both do with a drink and some food I’ll wager.” He poured them both some frothy brown ale and then one for himself.

  “Thanks, Vic,” Marron said. Viv came then bearing platters of food; cheese, fresh bread and some cold cuts. She was tall and slender with long brown hair streaked with grey and a careworn but friendly face. She sat next to Marron and placed a hand on her arm in greeting. They chatted pleasantly whilst they ate catching up with each other. The inn was quiet given the time of evening and Marron asked about it.

  “Well,” Viv said looking at Vic, “been a difficult year. Truth is folk aren’t so carefree these days. Bin like that since the High Lord banned the Order a couple of years back but it’s getting worse.” She looked at Marron pointedly. “Need to be careful these days Marron what you say and who you say it too. Lots changed since you was ere in the spring.”

  “Thing is Marron, most folk didn’t really bother too much ‘bout the Accords,” Vic took over. “Banning the Order didn’t affect them you see. But then that Red Priest, Mortim, has been causing a right stir. Preaching and telling folk who to worship and how to live.” Vic shook his head. “He burnt Sal and John Huwbret in the spring, in the market place, took their boy too. Called em heretic cause they argued and caused a stir.”

  Viv took over again. “You know what folk are like up here Marron. They believe in what they want whether it be the Soldier, Saint or Traveller. The old gods as well are still followed by many and even some of them heathen gods I can’t recall. Thing is everyone got along fine till that priest started preaching hellfire and the like.”

  Vic sighed. “We all just watched it happen. We did nought. Guards did nought.” Vic looked at Marron, his eyes sad. “Lord Bouchemeax was out at the time and was right mad when he got back. Thought he was gonna kill that priest but he didna. Since then that priest has burnt more folk and Lord Bouchemeax sits in that castle and does nought. Things are bad Marron. I think there'll be trouble. People have had enough.”

  Marron sat back, her worry growing the more she heard. She glanced at Nihm who looked troubled but said nothing. Reaching a decision she told them her news. What Darion and Nihm had found and concluded.

  The innkeeps listened thoughtfully throughout. “Well if it were nought to worry about surely Darion would have caught you up by now. That he's not bodes ill,” Vic said.

  “Da will be alright, you’ll see,” Nihm argued. Marron put her hand on Nihm’s arm.

  “I didna mean to concern you lass,” Vic said. “Just that if’n there was nought to see he'd be back. That he isn’t suggests he's found something, that's all I meant.”

  “It’s okay Vic. We’re both just worried for him that's all,” Marron replied. She moved the conversation on to safer grounds, discussing the best place to sell their wares, and was pleased to hear that good prices were being paid. Lord Bouchemeax was buying up a lot of market goods. A campaign in Westlands was rumoured in the spring.

  The Stenhause’s left after a while to attend to the inn. Mort had been making eyes at the pair of them for a while. The shops and markets had closed at the last bell and a steady influx of people had trickled in seeking food and drink. Marron gave a wry grin as she saw him admonishing his parents.

  It was just before eight when Anders arrived. Marron sent Nihm off to check on the dogs as Anders ordered a tankard of ale and sat down opposite Marron.

  “It’s good to see you Marron. Sorry ‘bout before, at the gate,” Anders said.

  “Don’t mention it Anders. I have more important things to worry about than that lout.”

  Anders leant forward. “You look troubled if you don’t mind my sayin. What can I do?”

  Marron hesitated. Anders had not changed much since she had last seen him; a touch of grey in his brown hair and a few more lines in his face. His look was direct and sincere.

  “First, how are things at Thorsten? I’ve heard worrying news.”

  “What have you heard?” Anders said. He sat back and took a pull on his beer as Marron told him what the innkeeps had said.

  “Aye well, it’s all true enough I’m sorry to say,” Anders replied. “Have to say Lord Bouchemeax ain’t happy with recent changes or the Red Priest. If’n the High Lord had not gainsaid him that priest would have meet his end in the summer. Don’t rightly know why Twyford banned the Order or elevated the red priests. Must’ve promised him something he needs. Twyford ain’t a religious man that’s for sure.” He paused taking another pull on his beer then wiped the froth from his mouth before continuing.

  “Look you know me from old. I’ve known Darion for must be twenty years, back when he scouted for us and Lord Richard weren’t the Black Crow. Even got drunk together a time or two,” Anders smiled at this last.

  Marron nodded. “I know this Anders, why the history lesson? I seem to remember you being more direct.”

  Anders turned serious and leaned forward again. “I’m trying to say I know you; who you are, who you work for, and Thorsten ain’t the safest place for you to be right now.” He glanced around to check if anyone was close. “Think you’d be better off selling your goods and heading back home. Oh and for the Saint’s sake don’t let Darion into Thorsten. Chances are the Black Crow will enlist him for this Westland’s thing.”

  Marron nodded her head. “Thanks for your concern Anders, would that I could go home. Trouble is home isn’t safe anymore.” Marron told Anders all that had happened and what she and Darion had concluded.

  Anders looked shocked by the time she was done. “Urak! I can’t believe it!”

  “That’s the trouble. No one wants to believe it.” Marron was exasperated.

  Anders held his hands up. “Sorry Marron, I do believe you, trust me. It’s just the last thing I was expecting to hear. Let me think a while.” He finished his beer in one long swallow. Marron fetched him another to give him time. When she returned Anders looked up at her as she placed the fresh tankard in front of him.

  “Okay, not sure how to do this. Lord Bouchemeax will likely want to see you but that could be dangerous. I could tell him your tale and show him the arrow but I have to say your evidence is hardly compelling and he’ll want to know where I heard all this. That means you’ll have to go with me. If you’re willing that is?”

  “The people have to know. Lord Bouchemeax needs to know. I can’t compel him to believe me but I have to try,” Marron replied.

  “Still the same Marron I remember,” Anders grinned. “Still, it would be better if Darion were here. No offense but Lord Bouchemeax will remember him still which gives him credence at least and maybe he has more news. We could wait a day but if
what you say is true we may not have the time to waste. I think it best we talk to Lord Bouchemeax now.”

  “I agree,” Marron said. “Let me talk to Vic, I need to make some arrangements for Nihm.” She didn’t speak her concerns but it was in her voice all the same. “Give me an hour.”

  Anders nodded agreement. “I’ll do all I can to protect you both. Make sure nothing happens to you or Nihm.”

  “Thank you Anders, one hour then.” Marron walked away and Anders saw her talk to the innkeeper before they both disappeared into a backroom.

  Chapter 14

  : Black Crow

  The messenger shifted nervously under Zoller’s scrutiny.

  “Of course I would be honoured to meet with Lord Bouchemeax. What time tomorrow did he wish to see me?” Zoller asked.

  “He means to see you now Father. He ordered you return with me,” the messenger said. He spared a glance at the two vicious looking Red Cloaks stood behind the Father.

  “Ordered? Not requested?” Zoller asked, raising his eyebrows. It was late. The bell had already sounded ten. Apparently, the Black Crow was working late tonight.

  “I don’t question Lord Bouchemeax’s orders, Father,” the messenger responded.

  “I see. A moment then,” Zoller said. He faced his two guards and pondered briefly. Holt was big and ugly, Tuko small and cunning. “Tuko, please let Father Mortim know that I will see him in the morning, then join me at the keep. Holt you come with me now.”

  “He said alone Father, sorry,” the messenger interjected.

  “Why didn’t you say? Are you in the habit of delivering only parts of a message? What other parts have you not conveyed?” Zoller asked.

  “That’s all of it Father. My Lord said I was to ask you to meet with him now, that I was to bring you to him alone,” the messenger stammered.

  “Ah very good, a subtle difference then, he asked me to attend, and he ordered you. A different situation entirely,” Zoller smiled at him.

  “I don’t understand Father.”

  “No of course you don’t. Not to worry. Tell me are you a religious man? Do you follow Kildare the Red God?” Zoller asked.

  “I follow the trinity Father, Nihmrodel, Kildare and Ankor like most folk.” The messenger shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot then lapsed into silence head lowered. He felt the Father staring at him, judging him.

  “Holt stay I’ll return soon,” Zoller said.

  It was a short and quiet trip to the keep. The guards didn’t challenge or acknowledge him as he followed the messenger into the castle. Zoller felt a momentary trickle of trepidation as he passed through the gates and beneath the teeth of the portcullis.

  The central keep was immense he sensed its hulking mass towering away into the darkness above as he crossed the courtyard. He had little enough time to take it in properly however, the messenger seemed keen to get him to his destination as quickly as possible and he was soon climbing the steps to the entrance.

  They entered into a central hall busy with servants and soldiers. The messenger gestured and they climbed a stone staircase to the second floor where several guards stood at attention outside large double oak doors.

  Zoller felt their hostile stares and ignored them. Despite himself he was a little anxious and a bead of sweat formed on his brow. The messenger spoke briefly with one of the guards, who nodded, before swinging open one of the doors and ushering them through to a large audience chamber.

  Inside, at the far end of the room, were several people who turned at Zoller’s entrance. One, a man of middling height, with a narrow face and sharp nose under a crop of silver grey hair, stared at him intently. His eyes were a pale blue and piercing. The man spoke softly to his companions then raised a hand signalling him forward.

  “Ah the new Red Priest. I am Lord Richard Bouchemeax. Your name Father?” the Black Crow asked.

  “Zoller, Henrik Zoller my Lord,” Zoller replied. He resisted the urge to dip his head.

  The Black Crow smiled at him and Zoller’s discomfort grew. “Henrik Zoller. Your name is known to me, even out here.”

  “Thank you my Lord, you are spoken of highly in Rivercross,” Zoller said.

  Lord Richard stopped smiling. “There’s no need for idol flattery and lies here Father. I assure you I regard Rivercross in as high esteem as they do me.” The Black Crow paused. “So what’s Tortuga’s protégé doing all the way out here? You must have pissed someone off Father.”

  “Not at all my Lord. Cardinal Tortuga understands you have taken issue with Father Mortim, the Red Priest here.” Zoller emphasized the word Cardinal. “That you feel he has been a little over zealous. I’m here to resolve matters to all our satisfaction,” Zoller replied.

  “So you’re Tortuga’s fixer. Very well let’s see which of us does the fixing eh?” Richard indicated a table to his right abutting the side wall. “Please take refreshment. I have a small matter to attend too before we talk more.”

  Dismissed, Zoller moved to the table and poured himself some wine. He turned in time to see the messenger disappear back out the way they’d come and the door bang shut behind him. He surveyed the room as he sipped from his goblet.

  A large wooden table dominated the centre. On it was a mass of scrolls and a large map of the Rivers and Westlands. To his left the Black Crow sat facing the centre of the room. A young man lounged indolently on the Crow’s right with his back to Zoller. He seemed of a size to the Lord and was obviously familiar, so a councillor. No, he corrected himself, too young and too casual, most likely family; the Black Crow has children so a son.

  He peered at the other two people present. They were stationed slightly to the left of the Black Crow and in direct sight of him. One, a tall blonde haired officer dressed in Black Crow livery was making introductions by the sounds of it. The woman he introduced was interesting. She wore a homely dress, rustic but hardy, not unusual for these parts. The woman herself was of middle years, black hair with just a hint of grey showing through in places. Her face was pleasing to look at, brown eyes and a wide mouth that looked ready to smile.

  She glanced at him as if feeling his eyes on her. There was no fear or nervousness to her and no smile for him. There was steel in her gaze. She appeared tired; her shoulders sloped in weariness. Intrigued, Zoller listened intently.

  “My Lord, this is Marron Castell. She lives up near the edge of the old forest, near the Fossa.” The officer indicated the woman to his side.

  “A pleasure to meet you my lady, please take a seat both of you. We’re all friends here.” Lord Richard indicated some chairs behind them. The officer quickly moved them into position and seated Marron before taking his own.

  “Thank you my Lord,” Marron replied as she sat down.

  The Black Crow fixed the officer with a stare to cower most men. “So Ander’s, what is it that couldn’t wait until the morrow.”

  “My Lord, Marron brings troubling news from the north. Let me start by saying this news comes from Darion Castell and is conveyed here by his wife Marron. I’ve known them both for twenty or more years and they have my trust.”

  “Castell, I thought that name was familiar,” Lord Richard said. “You mean Darion from the lakes campaign, scouted for me when I was still wet behind the ears?”

  “Aye my Lord saved us more than a few times.” Anders looked pointedly at the Red Priest before turning back to his Lord.

  The Black Crow noted Anders’ stare and briefly considered sending the priest to wait outside but decided against it. “Well that is a name from the past and no mistake.”

  Zoller drank from his goblet, intrigued but looking disinterested. The wine really was rather good.

  “My Lord, perhaps Marron could best explain,” Anders said.

  Zoller forgot to drink from his goblet for the next ten minutes as he listened to Marron’s tale. It was unbelievable, urak! They lived in the north, past the Torns Mountains. They’d not been seen or heard of for a hundred years or more. But Zolle
r had a gift, or liked to think he did. He could judge people and tell when they spoke a truth and everything inside him was telling him that she was doing just that. Logic told him otherwise, and he prided himself on his ability to coolly assess things. He felt conflicted. His attention snapped back to the room.

  “Father, this is an incredible tale, but with all due respect urak?” The young man spoke. In his hands he turned over a thick, black shafted arrow. He continued in a reasoning tone. “Look, we have at most a dead bear and a black arrow; purportedly an urak arrow. That is all. We don’t have time to chase old tales. Twyford is calling us in. Any delay will not sit well with him.”

  “High Lord Twyford,” Lord Richard corrected, looking pointedly at his son. “He’s our liege lord; you will show him the proper respect.” He turned to Anders. “I would hear your council.”

  Anders took a deep breath and spared a quick glance at Marron. “There are a lot of ifs in this and most would not give credence to their warning. But I believe Marron and I trust Darion. If it’s true, if there are urak we have to know.”

  “Thank you Anders blunt and to the point as ever.” The Black Crow smiled grimly. He turned to Zoller then. “You priest, pretending not to listen, what would the Red God advise me?”

  Zoller walked over to join them thinking quickly. Do I side with the officer or the son? Clearly the son, but what’s the Black Crow thinking? He has already decided, but what? Zoller glanced at the Black Crow and found him staring back, his eyes predatory. It was unsettling.

  “I feel the woman speaks truth,” Zoller stated. “However, that doesn’t mean her assessment of the threat is correct. No one has actually seen an urak, let alone a horde of them, yes?” The woman Marron glared at him. He ignored her. “Your son is right, you’ve committed to High Lord Twyford and time is short.” He nodded his head at the Crow's son before continuing. “However the good Captain is also correct.” Zoller guessed his rank. “You have to know what’s out there. It’s the basis for all military engagement is it not? Know your enemy.”