Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)

by A. D. Green

  After making his way back to his room at the Chapter house, Zoller turned just outside his door.

  “Go get some food Holt,” Zoller waited whilst the ugly giant acknowledged his order and wandered out of earshot before ushering Tuko into his room.

  Zoller pondered as he crossed the room, sitting in the only chair. Last night Tuko had trailed the woman Marron to an inn on the north side of town. Some niggle about her gnawed at him still.

  “Tuko, you’re sure you weren’t spotted last night trailing the woman?”

  Tuko looked at the priest deadpan but gave no reply, a single raised eyebrow the only sign he’d heard the question.

  Zoller stared back. There was nothing nice about the swarthy little man. There was evil in him that shone through his eyes but every man has his uses. He smiled benignly at Tuko. “Very well, I want you to keep an eye on her. Report anything unusual to me. Oh and Tuko. Under no circumstances let her discover your interest, yes?”

  The little man scowled. “Whatever you say Father. Is that all?”

  “No, that is not all, but it will do for now,” Zoller snapped. His eyes tightening in irritation as Tuko left the room. The little shit left the door ajar on purpose he thought rising from his seat to close it. On his way back to his chair he stopped, picking up a scroll from his bedside. Thinking on its contents he considered Cardinal Maxim Tortuga. The fat bastard had a perverse sense of humour. Zoller unrolled Father Mortim’s scroll. That he had broken the seal and read its contents was a danger. If discovered he would face sanction, excommunication or worse, death.

  Zoller had kept Mortim’s scroll and had Tuko replace the seal on it, another of his many skills. He’d made a copy of the cardinal’s seal for just such an occasion. Being Tortuga’s understudy it had been easy enough to arrange, but this was the first occasion he’d had cause to use it.

  It was his own copy of the scroll that he had handed to Father Mortim, a scroll that matched what had been discussed at Rivercross between him and the treacherous cardinal. He grimaced as he read Mortim’s scroll again.

  Father Mortim,

  I have read with interest your reports and of the good work you are doing at Thorsten. The church has made much progress in the last year and much of the credit for this must go to the priests that carry Kildare’s words to the people of which you are most eminent among.

  I have received word from High Lord Twyford that Lord Bouchemeax is not so pleased with your good work. I would urge you to steer a true but steady course. We must follow the teachings of Kildare without bias or compromise. These are however difficult times we live in and I have sent Father Zoller to assist you. Father Zoller is an intelligent man and I would urge you to heed his council but follow your own. True heart. True faith.

  It is with regret I disclose some reservation in regards to Father Zoller. This past year he has become manipulative and I am not unconvinced he puts his ambition above the will of Kildare. There are many of the Bishops and Fathers who he has influence over and I fear he covets my own seat should something befall me.

  I am a forgiving man and Father Zoller has done much for the church we must acknowledge. I have no proof, only my own doubts of which I have confessed to no one but you Father Mortim.

  You know Father Zoller well, were initiates together. I know you to be a pious man, a good and faithful servant of our Lord Kildare. I would ask of you a service for the church.

  To watch Father Zoller, observe him as if the eyes of our Lord were judging. My fear is he will try to subvert you. You were initiates together and he must know your worth. I know you are strong enough to resist his temptations and his clever words but take care. I fear he may try to usurp your position at Thorsten if he does not gain you’re allegiance.

  I ask that you judge his actions carefully and act as Kildare would if he has treacherous intent. No man is above our Lord. I pray that I am mistaken in which case I will seek Kildare’s forgiveness. If not then let our Lord be his witness and bear his testimony.

  Yours in faith

  The Most holy

  Cardinal Maxim Tortuga

  The Cardinal’s bold signature was etched above his name. It bore no resemblance to his scroll, the one he had presented to Mortim. He praised the natural survival instincts that had made him break the sanctity of the seal.

  Leaning over the small table in his room he touched the edge of the scroll to a candle. The vellum burned slowly. Dropping it into his empty chamber pot Zoller watched as it flared and burnt to ash, resolving to piss on it later. Ruefully he thought on his situation. Any which way he looked at it he was fucked.

  Chapter 19

  : The Flow

  Renco liked horses. They were temperamental and quirky, each with their own personalities. They didn’t judge or try to engage him in small talk. They liked things simple and he liked that about them. It’s a shame he reflected that they didn’t have any on hand, both for the quiet company they gave and because then he would not have to endlessly lug his travel pack.

  He looked back to his Master and Maohong ambling along behind. Maohong led a mule, the closest thing to a horse they had and Renco was grateful enough for that. At least it lightened his burden, carrying the weapons chest and other assorted baggage.

  The mule was called Happy, so named by Maohong because it was an irritable and cantankerous beast. He guessed it was Mao’s attempt at humour. The bloody thing had tried to nip him on more than one occasion. The Mule and Mao are well matched Renco found himself grinning at the thought.

  “Master are you sure the boy is not a bit simple?” Maohong asked. “He has that stupid look on his face again.”

  Hiro looked up from his contemplations and winked at Renco before turning to Maohong. “That is called a smile Mao, you should try it. It might give you a more positive outlook on the world.”

  Maohong looked outraged. “Hmm Mao dragged from town to village, here and there. Mao do this, Mao do that. Yes, I see your wisdom Master, Mao should smile,” he retorted.

  “Ah, very good, I sense happiness might find you yet,” Hiro said his eyes full of mirth.

  Renco faced front and marched on, his grin growing ever larger as he enjoyed the familiar banter behind. He set a good pace and the two old men had no trouble keeping it. Master was the fittest man he knew but ancient Mao was pretty spry as well considering.

  They had passed a junction in the road a league back with a sign for Appleby on it. Maohong had grumbled saying it was renowned for the best cider in the kingdom and bemoaned the fact that they had instead slept under the stars. Renco regretted that they’d not taken the chance to visit too, he liked new places and it would have been nice to try the finest cider in the kingdom.

  As they walked Renco saw fishers gliding over the river and hawks circling the fields to the east. Game birds sounded a plenty, calling out to each other. He had even seen deer when he carried out his morning exercises. Moving through his forms he was aware of them off in the early morning mist. They watched him briefly before bounding into a nearby thicket.

  His leg had ached a little at first light from the crack he received from Master the previous evening but the bruise and welt had gone and the ache had faded as he walked.

  The occasional farms and fields they passed quickly gave way to shrub and bush. The road ahead turned sharply away from the river and up a rise with tall trees bracing the road.

  As Renco climbed the hill and passed into the wooded avenue he tuned out Mao and his Master and focussed on his senses; a lesson he’d been taught by both old men over many years.

  “Life has a flow,” his Master had said. “If you concentrate and use your mind you can see this flow.” He’d been young and not understood at first and had said so. Master had explained and demonstrated it again and again. But much to Renco’s frustration once he began to understand the concept he struggled to practise it, to see it and feel it.

  “You seek to understand the flow of life Renco, until you understand you’re
part of this flow you’ll never fully grasp it,” Master uttered cryptically, another of his Master's annoying habits. He smiled to himself at the memory.

  Now as he watched, observing his surroundings, he extended his sense of the flow outwards and saw the bright myriad colours of life in his mind. It was beautiful and never failed to amaze him. It was then that he felt a shift, a change in the balance. He stopped and looked to the trees whilst he waited for his master to catch him up. Was that a faint smell of horse? He’d been thinking of horses, maybe it was his imagination. Mao would tell him so but Renco knew to trust his instincts and his senses.

  Master passed him by on his left side and Mao the right. They weren’t talking or arguing now. ”

  “Yes, yes, Renco, what is your advice?” Hiro said impatiently. Renco fell into step behind the old men keeping pace with them.

  ” That was what Mao always told him and Master had never gainsaid him.

  “What kind of trouble is it we face, hmm?” Hiro replied.

  Renco said.

  “Sometimes to go forward one must confront their troubles,” his master said. “We avoided this trouble yesterday, yet here it is again. It will follow us.”

  Renco made no response. The day before Master had sensed the horsemen approaching from behind and asked for his council. They’d hidden then in a copse to avoid detection, now though that was not an option. The men were waiting for them.

  “It’s good to avoid conflict whenever you can Renco,” Hiro continued. “But sometimes conflict comes whether you will it or not.” He turned to face his student. “When it’s necessary you must not fear it.”

  Renco bristled, did he not train hard? He’d fought Master many times. Why did Master think him afraid? Hiro smiled and Renco coloured, it was like Master could read his thoughts.

  “Come Renco lead on. Let us see where this path takes us, neh?” Hiro said.

  Maohong looked at the pair of them. “Why not have talk before?” he groused. “Then Mao drink cider and rest weary bones in soft bed.”

  Ignoring Mao, Renco strode past them both. His ire was still up but he calmed himself using a mental technique Master had taught him. Refocusing his senses he walked on deeper into the wood.

  He could feel their presence, read the subtle shifting of the life flow of the wood. Like a rock in a stream, knuckling and diverting water as it rushed over it, so Renco could see the distorted colours of the men hidden in its depth’s. The deeper into the wood he passed the clearer they became.

  In his heightened state of awareness Renco could almost taste the moment of the attack. It was sudden and abrupt when it came. Arrows flew.

  Dropping his pack to the ground Renco stepped forward, heart beat slowing as he snapped. Time dilated.

  He sensed three arrows; two aimed at him the third at Mao. The first was poorly aimed and would pass him wide, the second he moved from, twisting and watching as it passed where his chest had been a moment before.

  A muted cry and the thud of a body hitting the ground came from behind. Mao was down.

  Five men leapt from behind trees and onto the path ahead. He sensed two more behind blocking any retreat. Renco moved to meet the five.

  They cried out as they charged him, swords brandished. He assessed them as he waited, the front two were smaller and faster, both right handed, the left most one almost skipped favouring his right leg. The third was big and had a wild look about him, holding a bastard sword aloft as he ran screaming towards him. The last two were cannier spreading out wider to come at him from different sides.

  Renco spun his staff as they closed on him. Surging forward he thrust the staff’s butt out and the first man ran right onto its end. It struck him between the eyes and he crumpled, his momentum carrying his body forward even as his head snapped back. He bounced as he hit the ground and didn’t move.

  Renco was turning the instant of contact, ducking and spinning to his left. A blade passed over his head missing him by a good hand; his staff swept round as he turned and cracked into the right knee of the second assailant shattering it. The man crashed down next to his fallen comrade screaming and clutching his leg in agony, sword forgotten.

  Renco continued his spin gliding further to his left just as the big man charged in swinging wildly at him. Moving with the sword stroke Renco deflected it with the steel cap of his staff and, off balance the man stumbled. The sword’s tip dipped, punching into the howling man and silencing him.

  Renco, in the flow now, spun back the other way, his staff connecting with the back of the head. The big man collapsed in a heap on the ground.

  Renco's blood was singing. He felt in total control as he sensed one of the two remaining bandits moving in to strike his unprotected back. Dropping to the ground one leg extended behind Renco thrust his staff straight back. It thumped into the gut and an explosion of breath and blood erupted from the man’s mouth. He sank to his knees in agony before toppling onto his side. Renco’s senses were so elevated he could see the flow around the man and the tear inside his body. He was dead; he just didn’t know it yet.

  Rising slowly to his feet Renco faced the fifth attacker. More wary than the others and seeing his fallen comrades the man quickly backed away in fear. Renco watched him go. When the man judged himself far enough away he turned tail and ran.

  “Finish him Renco,” Hiro said, walking up and standing beside his student, but Renco didn’t react immediately.

  Hiro took one step forward and flicked his wrist. A knife struck the bandit in the middle of his back. It seemed to take him a step or two to realise he’d been hit before his legs gave way and, with a cry, he tumbled to the ground.

  “Hmmmm,” Hiro grunted but said nothing more.

  The fight was over. It had lasted no more than ten seconds but it had seemed to stretch much longer than that to Renco. Recalling Mao, he turned in concern only to find the old man on his feet and dusting himself down and grumbling. Renco smiled in relief.

  “No need to push Mao. No need at all.” He glared at Hiro who ignored him completely.

  Behind Mao, Renco saw the bodies of two men lay in a heap unmoving. Focusing his sense Renco saw there was no life in them. Turning he surveyed the battle’s aftermath. It was ugly. There was moaning from the ruptured man to his left; sobs of pain from the one that had run; and silence from the three lying in a heap together. The three were unmoving and only the big one had any life left in him. The smell was awful and Renco quickly tuned out the acrid scent of blood and ruptured bowels.

  Hiro moved to the three and dragged the big man off the other two. “You hit him pretty hard Renco, I think his skull is fractured,” his Master said, as he casually inspected him. He sniffed. “I don’t think he’ll wake.”

  Renco bent and examined one of the dead men as something caught his eye. It was a neck chain. Pulling it out revealed a symbol, the Red Moon and within the moon a sword laid over a book. He wrenched it snapping the chain and showed it to Master Hiro.

  “Red Cloaks dressed as bandits,” Hiro said, turning back to Mao. “See what you can find out. Then ease them into their next life.”

  Mao nodded and moved to Happy, where he rummaged in one of the packs. Renco and his Master checked the other men and found and removed their Red God tokens. They moved the dead, carrying them deeper into the wood and laying them in a hollow out of sight of the road. Hiro relieved them of their purses.

  “They’ll have no need of these now,” he said as he pocketed the coin. “If they’re discovered they will look like the bandits they are, robbed and murdered by their own.”

  By the time they had finished and returned Mao had completed his work. Renco knew he had administered oil of Black Janus. The three remaining Red Guard were still and lifeless. Black Janus he knew would numb their minds before stilling their hearts. It was as painless as it was effective and a better passing than they deserved.

  They set about moving the remaining dead whilst
Maohong disappeared into the woods, leaving Happy silent and alone in the middle of the road. The mule appeared totally unfazed by recent events.

  After disposing of the dead Renco snapped out of the flow. A sudden, immense weariness overcame him. It was hard to lift his feet and he felt nauseous. The enormity of the fight suddenly hit him and Renco gagged and threw up. Falling to his knees he heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach. His brow damp with sweat Renco looked at his Master’s retreating back, unconcerned it seemed at his affliction.

  Hiro smiled to himself. Finally Renco had broken that barrier, given himself completely to the flow and embraced it. It had been glorious to watch. What Renco had done was instinctive he knew, but not everyone could take that final step. It was the first time Renco had taken a life and there had been no hesitation. He frowned, apart from that last one. Still overall he’d done well and Hiro was satisfied.

  Once he’d finished emptying his guts, Renco clambered to his feet. His mouth was acrid with bile and he spat to clear the taste as he trailed after his Master. He’d just joined him on the road near Happy when they heard Mao.

  Looking into the trees they watched as he led a string of horses towards them. He was whistling as he came and Renco grinned. As tired as he felt at least he would not have to walk, they had horses now.

  Chapter 20

  : The Red River

  Thorsten was built on a rise half a league from the banks of the River Oust. The high ground protected the town from the infrequent flooding, caused when the spring snows melted too quickly in the Torns Mountains to the north. The added elevation afforded the eastern walls and guard towers excellent views of the river as it wound its way south to the Emerald Lake.

  Mathew Lebraun had been on duty since the early hours of the morning and he was weary. He was stationed in the Riversgate tower overlooking Oust Bridge and the surrounding fields and countryside.