Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)

by A. D. Green

  “I don’t know father,” Jacob said, distressed. His father had never looked so grim. He’d always shown him patience, but not now.

  Sighing Richard reached out, placing a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “Neither do I. Move the men inside the walls.”

  “Yes father.” Jacob paused clearly not finished.

  “Never fear to talk to me boy,” Richard said.

  “What about the villages and holdings?” Jacob said. “We can’t leave them out there with no warning. And what about Captain Forstandt?”

  “You’re right, although Sir Anders moves towards the Fossa not the Oust.” Richard paused in thought. “Send a messenger to Anders. Tell him what we know and ask him to order any and all to Thorsten. Then, he’s to try and find the urak. He’s our best asset in the field and I need to know if we face enemies on more than one front.” He muttered this last.

  “Right Father, I’ll see to it. I’d like to send messengers to all the villages and homesteads as well if I may.”

  Richard agreed. “Of course, but make no mention of urak. Call them a hostile force, we don’t want total panic. Now hurry, time is not our ally.”

  Jacob left. Richard saw two of his personal guard fall in behind him. There was a cough.

  “Lord Richard, I’ll contact the council. Inform them of this development,” Lutico said.

  “You do that, for all the good it’ll do us.”

  “My Lord, this may be but a probe. If we face a full scale invasion this affects all Nine Provinces, not just the Rivers,” Lutico continued. “We may just be the first rock they break upon.”

  “My brother is not a fucking rock old man! Redford is not a rock!” Richard's blood seethed.

  “I’m sorry for your loss Richard. I feel it as well. Did I not teach you both when you were boys?” Lutico watched calmly as anger and grief warred across his Lord’s face. “With all due respect the rock I speak of is the Rivers. Would that the Order still had a presence here; we have need of them and their council,” he said.

  Richard’s head sunk to his chest. So stupid letting his anger rule him. Taking several deep breaths he calmed himself. “I’m sorry Lutico. You’re right, you look to the kingdom whilst I look to us.”

  Lutico sighed. “I’m with you wherever this ends. Besides, as you well know, my stock with the Council of Mages is not what it was. I fear they’ll not react quickly to this threat.”

  Richard smiled at that. “Ah my old friend and master of understatement! Still I may have a lead on the Order if my thinking is correct.” He gazed at his old mentor as if he’d not seen him in a long time. Lutico stood in dirty robes, with wizened face and wild hair, holding his staff, the only object of any worth to him. “It’s good to have you back old man.”

  “Impertinent scoundrel,” grumped the mage. Sniffing he wandered off towards the docks, staff tapping away. “Junip, stop skulking around the back there and help me up. Then I need a drink!”

  Chapter 22

  : Oust Bridge

  Father Zoller looked down at the boat. He stood on Oust Bridge, Mortim by his side. Word had reached him shortly after the boat's arrival, Father Mortim grudgingly bringing him the news.

  Mortim had a limited intelligence network as far as Zoller could ascertain; certainly it wasn’t adequate for a town this size. Still, his rival didn’t have the intellect or guile to run anything more elaborate, not successfully anyway. Luckily for him, Thorsten was a backwater on the edge of the wilds. Not much happened. So when the boat from Redford was seen, beat up and full of dead, it was enough for the news to filter through to Mortim.

  Zoller had Holt prepare his carriage and together with an insistent Mortim, had gone to see for himself. It was an unpleasant journey, sat listening to Mortim’s pompous self-righteous drivel and forcing himself to be cordial. Zoller had decided he needed the priest in his game with the cardinal. That Mortim hated him with a passion only made the challenge greater. Thankfully the journey to Riversgate was short.

  By the time they arrived access to the bridge was restricted by order of Sir Stenson, Captain of the Black Crow’s personal guard. Mortim, fool that he was, had blustered and threatened them forcing Zoller to take him aside.

  “Father Mortim, the soldiers are under orders from their Captain. A captain they respect and obey. If they don’t they are punished,” Zoller cajoled.

  “They show no respect for my office,” Mortim hissed back.

  “Yes, yes you’re quite right, and the Red God watches,” Zoller mollified. “A more subtle way is needed though. Soldiers are simple. If you push and threaten they will hold together and simply pass the decision up the chain of command. Yes?”

  Mortim glared back before finally conceding, grudgingly. “Their lack of zeal and respect for our Lord Kildare angers me.”

  “I share your anger Father,” Zoller said. “Please let me talk to them.” And he had. Ten minutes of cajoling and manipulation and they were finally allowed onto the bridge. Holt stayed with the carriage as agreed with the sergeant, a man who followed the trinity but favoured Kildare.

  They had observed the battered condition of the boat on their ride down from the gate; now up close the details were stark. Arrows studded the vessel telling a tale of violence. They’d arrived at an opportune moment as an old man in crumpled looking robes spoke with the Black Crow. Zoller asked who he was.

  “That is the old drunk Lutico, court mage and councillor. Surprised to see he’s sober enough to stand. The man is a disgrace and a heretic,” Mortim offered.

  Zoller could smell something unpleasant but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for the mass of bodies revealed when Lord Richard drew the covers back. He was shocked at the pile of dead but it was the large, squat, grey skinned remains of several bodies that caught his eye. Set apart he couldn’t see them in detail but clearly they were not of man.

  “Kildare’s glory! What are they?” Mortim hissed pointing.

  “Please don’t point Father,” Zoller said, resting a hand on Mortim’s arm. He thought about the woman, Marron, and her tale to the Black Crow of urak. He’d believed her, but there was something to be said for seeing a thing with your own eyes. “They’re urak I believe and we’re at war with them it seems.”

  It had been a longer journey back fending off Mortim’s simplistic questions. Questions he had no time for. He had too many of his own, foremost of which was how to get out of Thorsten and back to Rivercross. He’d been banished to the fringes of civilisation. Up here he was effectively out of the game. Well his competition had misjudged if they thought him out of the picture.

  No, his plans all revolved around manoeuvring his way south again, to Rivercross. His suspicion that the woman, Marron, was of the Order was central to that plan. If he could return with her in hand and a confession he could have the Black Crow’s head on a spike. Or not, the possibilities would open up. Maybe he could manufacture a better use for the Black Crow.

  He thought back to the bridge and what he’d seen. A sliver of ice struck him, premonition or intuition. The urak were a game changer. He’d no intention of being caught in this shithole when they came calling. He would have to advance his plans immediately. Time was the enemy now.

  Chapter 23

  : Into Darkness

  “Yes okay, okay, I’m happy to see you too,” Nihm said, ruffling the dogs playfully as they cavorted around her.

  “Go on away with you,” she scolded as Ash and Snow jumped up. “These clothes are new, it’s too soon to be having your dog slobber on,” She chided, dusting down her tunic.

  All four dogs obediently sat, tails wagging. Maise and Thunder had nudged up against her in greeting when she first entered the stables but Ash and Snow’s exuberance was overpowering and the two older dogs had no time for it. Now though they could smell the bones in the sack and knew what was coming like the old campaigners they were. Nihm smiled at them.

  “No fooling you two is there?” Nihm said to the older dogs. “No. St
ay,” she commanded as Ash and Snow sniffed the sack. Reluctantly they stilled shivering in anticipation.

  Reaching into the bag Nihm picked out the two largest bones and laid them before Maise and Thunder. As the older dogs it was right they get the better choice of meat and bone. She placed the remaining bones before Ash and Snow. They sat drooling but other than a furtive glance at their treats they never took their eyes from her.

  Nihm gestured and the dogs fell on the bones with gusto. Maise and Thunder picked theirs up almost delicately and padded over to their beds of hay before lying down and crunching on them as Nihm closed the stable door.

  “Are they wolves? They look like wolves,” a voice came from above. The dirty face of a little girl peered down from the loft.

  “They’re wolfdogs,” Nihm replied smiling up at her. “They have wolf in them, and they’re big as wolves but that’s as much as I know.”

  “They love you. You’re very good with them,” the girl said. “How’d you make them sit there for the bones?”

  “Well you have to train them,” Nihm said.

  “How do you train a dog?”

  “Same way as you and me were taught I guess.” Nihm grinned. “Do you sit in a chair when you eat?”

  “Yeah sometimes and Ma makes us wash our hands as well and on every ten day we have to put on our best clothes,” said the girl.

  “Well your Ma will have taught you how to wash your hands and how to sit at the table. You probably can’t remember now but it’s true,” Nihm said. “It's the same with dogs. You teach what you want them to do and when they get it right you praise and reward them so they know.”

  “Are you Mort’s girl?” she said abruptly, sitting up from her hiding place and gazing down with big wide eyes.

  Nihm coloured at the sudden shift in topic, uncomfortable with the question and unsure why. “Morten’s my friend but no I’m not his girl, nor anyone’s for that matter,” she stated.

  “Good,” the girl declared. “Because we’re going to be bonded when I’m old enough,”

  Nihm grinned, “Does Morten know?”

  “No, it’s a surprise,” she said seriously. “I’m Annabelle. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Nihm. I’m very pleased to meet you Annabelle.” Nihm bowed.

  Annabelle beamed back. “You wanna know a secret?”

  “Oh that sounds mysterious, what secret is that?” Nihm said.

  “There’s a bad man watching the inn,” Annabelle whispered.

  “How’d you know? Why’s he a bad man?” Nihm was immediately anxious as all of Marron’s warnings sprung to mind.

  “He’s hiding. Told Jimmy to fuck off and he had a knife.”

  “And he’s watching the inn?” Nihm said.

  “Ain’t nothin’ else to see from that alley next to Mr Shins. Been there since you got back, after them others turned up,” Annabelle said.

  “Where is Mr Shin’s?”

  “Out-front silly, it’s got his name on it,” Annabelle said. “Mr Shin isn’t here though. He’s away, been gone a ten day or more.”

  “Well thank you Annabelle. I need to go in but you stay away from Mr Shin’s won’t you?”

  “Annabelle is that you up there girl?” Morten called out sternly. “What’ve I told ya ‘bout playin’ here. Go on scoot afore my Da finds you and gives you a tanning.”

  Nihm turned as Morten strode into the stable block but bit her tongue at the rebuke ready on her lips. He had an expression of outrage on his face but she could see it was feigned. His stance was too relaxed and there was a playful twist to his mouth. There was a clatter and Nihm turned in time to see Annabelle’s scrawny body descend the loft ladder. She stuck her tongue out at Morten and ran giggling as he cried in outrage and chased her out the back of the stables.

  He returned a moment later laughing. “She is a scamp that one, quick as a fox too.”

  “She was just playing Mort you didn’t have to scare her off like that,” Nihm chided.

  “Ah it’s fer her own good. The kids are always finding excuses ta hide and play in here. Better I chase them off than my Da,” he said.

  “Your Da wouldn’t hurt them would he?”

  Morten laughed. “No not really, but he’s not as quick as he used ta be and it would wound his pride ta realise he’s too slow ta catch ‘em.”

  Nihm laughed. She liked Morten and the sudden thought made her realise she didn’t really have any friends.

  “I need to go in and see Marron,” she said curtly.

  “Of course, I was just coming ta see if ya needed a hand,” Morten stammered, puzzled at her shift in mood. Nihm brushed by heading to the inn leaving him to follow.

  Nihm opened the door to the common room, noise and laughter rushing out to greet her. It was busier than the night before. Vic waved as she passed him at the bar and she returned it. Ducking around a barmaid, busy serving tankards from a tray balanced precariously in one hand, Nihm headed for Marron’s table.

  Her Ma had chosen one in a back corner but as Nihm slipped past the patrons saw she was not alone. Amos, the mercenary captain from earlier, sat talking to her and alongside him was the woman, Mercy. The rest of his crew were drinking at the adjoining table. Feeling self-conscious Nihm squeezed between the tables, sliding into the chair next to Marron.

  “Ah Nihm, I wanted to thank you for your recommendation. A fine inn indeed,” Amos beamed. A goblet of wine sat next to his right hand and he raised it in toast.

  Nihm glanced at her mother who looked amused more than anything else.

  “You're welcome, I guess.” Nihm stole a look at the woman. Up close her scar was livid and red. Mercy caught her stare with a raised eye brow. It made Nihm uncomfortable and guilty all at the same time, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Mercy still wore her leather cuirass and Nihm stammered, “Isn’t that uncomfortable to wear all the time?”

  “Is that really what you wanted to ask me?” Mercy replied. “I thought for a minute you’d be bold and ask me about this.” She traced a finger along her scar.

  Amos laughed. “Now it’s you with the scary face. Ignore her Nihm she’s playing.”

  Drink obviously agreed with Amos. He was certainly more jovial than when they’d first met. Laughter and clapping erupted from the table next to them and as one they turned to look.

  One of Amos’s men, slight with dark hair and a moustache curling around his mouth, played with a knife. As Nihm watched he twirled it expertly, spinning it so fast it was hard to tell blade from handle as they blurred into one. He moved the blade from one hand to the next and ended with a flourish by flicking it high up into the rafters. He placed his hands flat on the table, fore fingers and thumbs pressed together to make a triangle. He winked at Nihm as a moment later the knife thudded into the centre of the triangle. It was impressive and Nihm clapped in amazement.

  “That was incredible,” Nihm gasped.

  “Why thank you good lady.” He bowed, beaming at the praise.

  The man next to him thumped his arm. “Ah ignore Jobe. He’s one trick, that’s all. And he ain’t much good at that neither,” he joked, pointing at Jobes right hand where a tiny dribble of blood ran.

  Jobe laughed along. “Aye you’ve the right of it,” he said agreeably working his knife loose. “Now let’s see you do it you great ox.” Gripping the tip of his knife Jobe laid the blade over his forearm handle towards the ox.

  “Keep your knife my friend, my trick is this.” Raising a tankard he downed the contents in one long pull. He slammed it on the table when he was done letting out the longest, loudest belch Nihm had ever heard. The table full of mercenaries were in high spirits and this set them all off and Nihm found herself joining them.

  “Forgive my crass friend,” Jobe said. “Let me make the introductions since the boss ain’t been so inclined.”

  Amos having already turned away was deep in discussion with Marron and didn’t hear Jobe's dig at him. That didn’t faze Jobe who ho
oked a thumb at the man next to him.

  “This big ox here is Lucson, although everyone calls him Lucky.” He grinned. “I know right, how can a man with a face that ugly be called Lucky.” This drew a fresh round of laughter from around the table, only Lucky looked like he wasn’t sure whether to join in or not.

  Nihm nodded at him and Lucky smiled back. He was a big man, broad of shoulder and with a gentle face despite the fact it hadn’t seen a razor in a ten day.

  “The blonde on the end there is Jerkze. Next to him you got Stama, he don’t talk much but he’s alright. Then the old looking fella with grey hair there is Silver. He ain’t much older than me, must abin some hard living when he was young, eh Silver.”

  Silver made a rude sign in response, “Ignore him lass, he’s all mouth. That and his knife is all he’s good fer.”

  “Finally you got Seb here. He’s the youngest.” Jobe finished.

  Seb stared back. He didn’t look much older than Mort, could have been his brother with that shock of red hair. His face was serious, his gaze intent. It made Nihm uncomfortable.

  Silver nudged Seb with an elbow. “Stop staring at the lass. It’s rude and by the looks not wanted.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean nought by it,” Seb muttered.

  Nihm felt Marron’s touch on her shoulder and turned, grateful to escape the sudden attention.

  “Everything alright?” Marron asked.

  Nihm glanced at Amos, reclined in his seat and drinking from his goblet, then at Marron wondering what to say. Thinking on it now Annabelle’s warning sounded a little childish. But Nihm believed her and with all that had happened she had to say something. Talking in a hushed tone so as not to be overheard, she told Annabelle’s tale.