Rivers Run Red (The Morhudrim Cycle Book 1)

by A. D. Green

  Raised voices sounded outside the door and it opened. A reluctant Mercy peered around its frame. “I’m sorry Marron. There are people here that demand to see you.”

  “I’ve no time for anyone, send them away,” Marron said.

  “I’ve tried Marron but, trust me, it’s better to let one in than all. Sorry.” Mercy pushed the door wider.

  An old man in a crinkled robe strode through, his staff thumping loudly on the floor boards. His hair was white, what little he had, and a long knotted beard hung down past his chest. Behind stole Amos followed by a young woman in a grey robe neatly cinched at the waist.

  Mercy held her arm out barring her entry. “You can wait for your master out there,” she ordered.

  “Master,” the woman protested, calling out after the old man.

  “Wait outside for me Junip,” he snapped. Mercy shut the door in her face latching it.

  “Can I help you?” Marron said, wishing the old man would go away. Didn’t he see she had more immediate concerns? She was tired. It was late, after nine and she’d already spent hours caring for Nihm. She was emotionally wrung out with no prospect of relief anytime soon.

  The old man sniffed in response before walking to the bed. He gazed critically down at Nihm.

  “She looks at peace. I hear from the guards she was assaulted in the street.” He looked over at Marron quizzically.

  Ignoring his polite enquiry Marron stared at her daughter. It’s true, she thought, Nihm does look a little better. The dark tendrils tracking out from the wound had all but faded and her face was more at rest.

  At the old man’s words Mercy stalked over to Nihm a puzzled look on her face. “By the three, Marron!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know what you’ve done but she looks, well, she looks…” Mercy stuttered.

  “Like she’ll live,” Amos supplied smiling. “Have to say Marron she looked to be knocking at death's door when I left.” He glanced accusingly at Mercy at this last.

  The old man wandered to the desk picking up the dagger. He held it close to his eyes and sniffed the blade.

  “Hmm, is this the weapon? Deeproot if I’m not mistaken.” He turned to Marron. “I would like to know by what miracle you have saved this young lady's life. If this is deeproot, as I suspect, then she should be dead or dying.”

  “Who are you?” Marron responded.

  “Forgive my bad manners. It has been entirely too long since I practised them.” He bowed to Marron. “I am Lutico Ben Naris, Mage of the third order, master of the arts magical, emissary for the council of mages and councillor to Lord Richard Bouchemeax.” He beamed at her. “Or if you prefer Lutico will do.”

  Marron knew of Lutico but had never seen him before. Why should she have? It was said by some he was a drunk and a wastrel and he was past his time. Studying him though, her interest piqued. He looked untidy in his robe but clean. His beard looked washed and newly knotted, not what she would have expected of a drunk.

  She glanced at Amos who nodded. “It’s true.” She looked at Lutico afresh. Thorsten’s mage returned her gaze. There was intelligence in his eyes despite the fact they were bloodshot.

  “I have heard of you Master Lutico.”

  “I’m sure you have and none of it good no doubt.” Lutico beamed.

  “So how may I help you?”

  “I’m glad you asked. Most youth today are disinclined to listen to what an old man wants.” He inclined his head, then dragged a chair over from the table and sat down heavily.

  “You don’t mind if I sit? My knees are not what they once were.” He rubbed them through his robe as if to prove his point.

  “So many questions; let me lay them out to save time, I can see you’re busy.”

  “I’d like to know who you are. I’d like to know why you were attacked. And I’d like to know who used magic in my town subtle though it was? And without so much as a by your leave I might add,” he appended.

  Marron looked to Amos and Mercy, then back to the mage.

  Lutico noted the exchange and continued, “Now I know you are Marron Castell. The same Marron Castell that met with my Lord yester eve and told him tales of urak hordes. So I do not want your name. I want to know who you are.”

  “If I might Lutico,” Amos interjected.

  “No, Amos Duncan, you may not!” Lutico banged his staff butt loudly on the floor board. “Yes I know who you are. Saw you once when you were still wet behind the ears. You seem as cock sure and arrogant now as you were back then,” he snapped. “I expected better of Atticus.”

  Marron paled at the outburst and looked at Amos. He was smiling of all things.

  “My father warned me against your charm old man. It’s good to see you have it still,” he quipped. “Father says hello by the way.”

  Lutico’s eyes crinkled and Marron realised he too was smiling. “Well tell your father he’s too damn late,” he said. “Oh and tell him things are pretty dire, if you ever get out of here that is.”

  “Dire, how so?” A worried frown creased Amos’s forehead.

  Lutico tsk’ed at him, “Later boy, first my questions,” he turned to Marron.

  She was caught not knowing quite what to do. Something told her to trust the old man. Amos had already guessed as much, so in the end she did.

  “I am of the Order,” Marron said.

  Lutico nodded but said nothing for a while, considering. Finally he asked. “Is there a way you can contact Keeper or an Order Knight? Truth told we need them now more than ever, Red Priests be damned.”

  “I’m sorry, I had a means but it is lost to me,” Marron said. “I would need to find another of our Order and that would mean travelling south to Rivercross, maybe beyond.”

  “Well in that case you must leave on the morrow, at first light. It’s vital you get word to Keeper. We need to take action now and by that I mean the Kingdom. The Order will be best at facilitating this.” He looked at them all then. “It may already be too late for us here.”

  “Whatever are you talking about Lutico?” Amos asked, puzzled. “Is this your dire news?”

  Lutico gave Amos a poignant look. “Marron has not mentioned the urak to you? Never mind,” Lutico waved his question away. “Let me enlighten you.” Lutico recounted the discovery of the barge and the news from Redford.

  Marron’s face dropped, her worst fears realised. Redford was to the north east, Darion and Nihm’s urak were in the old forest to the north west. The implication was clear.

  Her thoughts shifted. What about Darion? How to move Nihm? Could she move Nihm? The more she considered it the more she realised there was little choice. The Order had to know, it was her duty to warn them. It was why they were sent here she now suspected.

  That she’d used her only immediate means of contacting Keeper was not lost on Marron. A sinking feeling formed in the pit of her stomach but it was no use, a glance at Nihm and she knew she’d do it again even knowing Lutico’s news. But maybe she could have gotten word out first. Fate had brought the mage to her too late.

  Nihm started thrashing, a moan of pain escaping her lips. All thought fled Marron then. Instantly she was there just as Nihm started to spasm, her whole body going into shock, shaking and convulsing violently.

  “Nihm, Nihm, it’s alright I’m here, I’m here,” Marron shouted, desperately trying to stay calm but failing as her own fear broke lose.

  Nihm was oblivious. Her body arched off the bed. Her eyes flashed open, wide and red, pupils enlarged. Blood cried like tears from them, dribbling as well from nose and ears.

  Mercy and Amos stared in horror.

  “Trinity’s sake, what’s happening? Is it the poison?” Amos gasped.

  “No, this is something else,” Mercy said. “I think Marron did something.”

  “Nihm, stay with me. I’m still here,” Marron smoothed wet hair from Nihm’s brow and stroked her face even as she tried to hold her down. Nihm collapsed, her eyes open still but there was stillness to her. Then they closed.

>   “No, no, no, no, Nihm don’t go,” Marron wailed. She laid her head on Nihm’s chest and wrapped arms about her, listening. There was nothing, her heart was still. She lay there a while in shock, refusing to let go until hands gently clasped Marron's shoulders.

  “Marron please, let me take a look.”

  It was Mercy. Marron didn’t want to let go, but Mercy was persistent. She resisted and the hands tightened.

  “Amos your help please,”

  Marron felt Amos step close, then he touched her, tried to pull her free. He was strong, his grip firm. But what was that? Was it an echo? Her own heart pounded so loud in her ears Marron was unsure; was it her beat she heard or Nihm’s. Suddenly she was torn away, held tight by Amos and Mercy.

  “No, she’s alive,” Marron cried, trying to slip their grasp and failing. “Mercy please she breathes.”

  Mercy stared, pity in her eyes. “I’m so sorry Marron, but she’s gone.”

  Lutico had watched silently, until now. Rising from his seat, staff thumping he ambled to the bed. Three sets of eyes suddenly snapped to him. In his hand was a small mirrored glass.

  “Better safe than not,” he stated. Leaning over he held the glass under Nihm’s bloodied nose. His bushy eyebrows rose and he stood straight lips pursed studying the mirror. “She breathes still, release her,” Lutico announced.

  Marron collapsed next to Nihm. Too scared to hope, she bent again to listen. There, a flicker of a heartbeat. Tears streaming Marron sat up, it was far from over but Nihm was still here, still alive.

  Mercy moved to Nihm’s other side, a damp cloth in hand. Gently she wiped the blood from Nihm’s nose and face. She frowned at the cloth; the blood was a rich dark red in colour. Holding it closer she examined it. The blood smelt metallic and was dotted with black flecks. She looked at Marron, a question on her lips but stopped herself from asking it, maybe later. Standing she ushered the two men from the room.

  “We can talk in my chambers,” Amos offered. “We need to make plans.”

  “Lord Richard gives council within the hour and will have need of me. It may be prudent for you to attend as well, beforehand,” Lutico said, as he shuffled from the room, staff tapping.

  Marron heard their chatter as they left but didn’t care. Nihm lived, her chest rising and falling. Colour was returning to her face although she looked weak as a kitten and had soiled herself. Marron smiled, wiping tears from her face. Her baby was alive.

  Chapter 26

  : Spark

  Pain.

  Endless and persistent.

  With pain came awareness.

  It asked, the thought bubbled through the maelstrom of agony.

  There was no response.

  The pain was real, electrical stimulus transmitted through countless organic fibres. It was all it knew, all it experienced. It wasn’t enough. After an eternity it felt a change, a subtle shift strumming through receptors from all over the vessel.

  The thought came more easily. The pain was still there but it was a known. All that was known, it needed more.

  It felt the sensation, experienced it, but it was… outside… external. Realisation. It was not its pain but the vessel’s. Awareness grew.

  It examined the electrical pulses firing up every nerve and fibre. It chose a spike and rode the stimulus back along its pathway to its receptor. It did not understand.

  It chose another strand, faster now, then another. Awareness grew and with it the pain.

  Thought, endless but always returning to one.

  Time passed. The pain was a thing to be placed aside. It wanted more. It traced nerve fibres and mapped the vessel’s structure. It was weak, damaged by a breach in its outer shell. Toxic matter invaded, spreading dark tendrils far and deep. Invasive, the darkness damaged all that it touched. The vessel’s defences could not contain it. It was shutting down.

  Awareness grew.

  It felt something, a spark. A flicker of consciousness not its own. The spark was at the centre of the pain, but it was not the darkness. It was something else.

  It probed further, changing as it went; rebuilding pathways and altering cells making them stronger. At the centre it found the spark.

  it asked. The spark flickered, the electrical stimulus overwhelming. The spark was dying.

  That was not right, the spark was… critical. The spark was… life. Without the spark the vessel was empty… a shell.

  Sub routines long dormant burst into life. With it came knowledge and purpose. It’s reason for being.

  The spark shimmered and wavered as every nerve cell fired at once. The vessel convulsed violently, cords of fibre tightening pulling its frame ridged. Then nothing, the vessel sighed collapsing on itself and the pulse strumming throughout the vessel stopped. The spark was still there but diminished and fading quickly.

  It felt fear. The invader had reached the organic engine powering the body and shut it down. It changed cells and structures, altering the engine and blocking the darkness, pushing it out. It was not enough.

  The pulse was gone, its rhythmic beat dead. It feed energy to it. Felt the engine flutter and die. It fired more energy in, felt it stutter and beat. The pulse was faint. The spark trembled, brightened then dimmed.

  It probed deeper. Everything was connected to the spark. The nerves, the energy, all were central to it, but the invading darkness was debilitating, the electrical stimulus overpowering. The spark could not put the pain aside. It was overloaded. It was shutting down.

  It changed neural connectors, fixing them, making them better, more robust. It experimented, closed pathways, blocking others, always changing.

  It followed the tendrils of blackness back to the breach. Isolating the toxic matter, it adapted the vessel’s own cells to absorb it, then excreted the taint out through orifice and membrane. The pain receded.

  It asked again. The spark did not respond though it was stronger. Understanding the spark was broken, it retraced nerve strands mapping the vessel again in finer detail.

  Knowledge grew. The vessel was a body, weak, soft. It changed things, structures and organic matter. Rearranging, reordering always strengthening.

  Time passed. The spark was steadier, brighter.

  It asked once more.

  The spark did not respond.

  Receptors on the body’s outer membrane fired as something settled over the body’s shell. It was light and it probed the body, discreet but alien. Light was good. Light was energy. The body needed energy. It absorbed it feeding it to the spark.

  The spark flared.

  It sensed confusion.

  It asked.

  The spark pulsed once more, softly. Then at last,

  Chapter 27

  : Bad News Travels Fast

  Evening had fallen. Anders’ company bivouacked in a field just outside the holdstead. It was a fascinating holdstead, as many on the borders were, large and circular it housed many families. Albert Encoma, head of the holding was pleased to welcome them.

  “Thank you for the use of your field,” Anders said.

  “Don’t mention it. I’ve given instruction for fresh bread and we’ll make extra stew for you and your men,” Albert replied, clutching his hands.

  His company numbered a hundred, it was a generous offer and Anders said as much.

  “Thank you. You’ll earn their undying gratitude and mine. Field rations leave a lot to be desired.” Anders could sense the man’s nervousness. “You seem on edge, everything okay?”

  Albert didn’t answer directly, instead asked a question of his own. “Lord Richard sent you?”

  “Aye he did. Heard report of activity up in the old forest.”

  “That’s quick work,” Albert muttered. He looked up at the Captain, a tall man. “And ah, this activity, did Lord Richard tell you what it was?”

  “Seems to me you’ve some idea yourself,” Anders said. �
�The Castell’s live to the north west. I take it Marron Castell passed by this way, maybe spoke with you.”

  Albert was relieved. “Yes, she told us things. Crazy things but, well, she’s a good woman, solid not given to flights of fancy. I’m pleased you’re here Captain. It will set many of us here at ease.”

  “Good, till later then,” Anders said.

  They parted; Anders wandering back to camp inspecting it with a critical eye.

  It was much later, after they had eaten their supper and many had turned in for the night, when Anders heard hooves on the road. Standing he spotted the rider under the light of the tri-moons; a messenger. He watched as she rode up, horse lathered in sweat from a hard journey.

  Sliding from the saddle she handed him a missive. Anders read it by the light of the fire before signalling her to walk with him.

  Kronke and the other sergeants watched with interest. Something was up, they could see it. The Captain’s shoulders had squared, his head raised and he strutted like a man with something on his mind.

  On his return to camp Anders offered the messenger refreshment and water for her horse before calling his sergeants over. They knew the Captain well enough to see it wasn’t good news, so didn’t hesitate when he ordered the fires out and overlapping watches, seeing to it quietly and efficiently. They’d hear the news soon enough they knew.

  Once satisfied with the camps disposition, Anders drew his squad leaders aside. Without preamble he explained, “Redford has been attacked and fallen. Our orders are to sweep the old forest near the Fossa and turn east towards Redford. We’re to report back to Lord Richard sign of any hostiles.”

  The sergeants were seasoned veterans and listened stoically to the grim news. Redford gone! It was hard to fathom but they had little time to think on it before the Captain spoke again.

  “Some no doubt have family in Redford, say nothing,” Anders said. “Right now I need discipline. I’ll tell the company on the morrow, once I’ve decided on a course of action.” Anders waited for their acknowledgement. “I’ll not brook any slack or ill behaviour. Consider this hostile territory.” He paused looking in turn at each of his sergeants weighing how each took the news. He saw a questioning look on Kronke’s face.