For Deb
Maps
Contents
Cover
Dedication
Maps
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
Glossary
About the Author
Other Books by Bevan McGuiness
Copyright
1
The big cat stared unblinkingly over the snowdrift. Her red eyes narrowed as her prey lifted its head and sniffed the air nervously. It looked around, seeking the source of the unnerving scent. For a moment, the two pairs of eyes met — the brown of the prey and the blue-pupilled red of the hunter — before the rodent sprang away, evading the desperate lunge of the predator, who skidded to a halt in a spray of snow, yowling her frustration. She was a skilled, powerful hunter but her colouring was not suited to this wasteland of snow and wind. Her heavy black coat kept her warm, but together with her bright yellow mane and the similarly coloured crest running the length of her spine, it gave her little chance of stalking her prey effectively. More than once already she had been reduced to sating her hunger on the stinking human bodies left here by their fellows.
She longed for the heat, the humidity, the stillness of her natural habitat, but the rich forests of the south were far away and becoming more so with every passing day. A small whimper of hunger-driven pain escaped her throat. She raised her head to sniff the air. In this hateful wind the tang of ice blotted out most scents, leaving her feeling half lost. Beneath her feet, the snow crunched and each step brought a tiny stab of pain as ice and cold bit into her sensitive flesh.
Everything about this place was wrong. She hated being here, hated the cold, hated the wind, hated the snow, but more than anything, she hated why she was here. But that did not bear thinking about, so she wrenched her mind away and forced herself to focus.
The one scent that she could consistently taste beyond the ice was that of trees.
Trees running thick with sap.
Trees that would shelter her from the wind.
Trees that would keep snow from the ground.
Trees that would harbour prey she could stalk within their dim shadows.
Trees that kept drawing her north through this ice and wind.
They were getting close now. If she pressed on, she could reach their shelter by nightfall. So she pressed on, her big paws padding, her breath steaming, her stomach grumbling in complaint. She pressed on despite the aching need that gnawed at her gut, the need to turn south and bound towards …
The big cat shook her head and growled from her chest. Snow flew from her mane with the sudden movement and was quickly whipped away by the wind. She lowered her great head and kept moving.
Slowly, the scent of trees grew until she could almost taste their rich sap at the back of her throat. She risked raising her head to look and a yowl of pleasure sprang to her mouth. The dark line of vegetation was as unmistakeable as its smell. Summoning more of her rapidly diminishing store of energy, she urged herself into a run.
As she approached the line of trees, the wind started to drop, bringing with it the new scent of carrion. Not quite human, but close. There were a lot of dead bodies at the forest edge. She was choosy, normally reticent to eat such poor fare, but hunger made anything taste better. The humans had a saying, about hunger being a good sauce, but then again, the humans had a saying for everything.
Her pace abated when she crossed the tree line and entered the dim, still forest. Here, the scent of the long dead was thick, the air redolent with decay. Her stomach grumbled, half in anticipation, half in protest, but hunger won out over taste. She loped towards the first bodies.
They were scattered about a large, deep hole and bore the scars of julle. She sniffed at the ground. This had happened a while ago and the julle pack was long gone. One julle would not trouble her, but a full pack would bring her down easily. She had to be wary as she crossed the pack’s hunt home. They, unlike humans, would be immune to her various charms.
She ate her fill before lying down to rest. Her dreams were troubled and disturbing. Images of humans, of swords, of clothes and blood played through her unconscious, making her twitch and snarl as she slept. It was just before she awoke that the image of twin scars crossing a human face made Tatya’s blood run cold.
2
Myrrhini lay on the thin blanket, allowing the grief to wash over her. That many of those now dead had once humiliated and degraded her tempered her anguish somewhat, but there were some who lived at the Place who had treated her kindly. She heard Slave and Hinrik leave, but was in no mood to move herself. Their muttered conversation faded quickly in the wind, leaving her feeling as alone as she ever had. Wrapping the blanket around herself against the cold, she sat up and looked around.
Ever since leaving the comforts of the Place of the Acolytes, Myrrhini had been cold, hungry and afraid. Her need to find the Scarred Man of her vision had driven her south to this point, but now she was confused. How could this quiet, frightening man bring her peace? His terrifying fury at the slavers which led to so much death would stay in her memory as long as she lived. The sounds of his blades as they sliced into bodies, the smell of blood on the air, the sight of ruined bodies falling before him like leaves before a wind would haunt her dreams, she knew it.
The cold of the frozen earth seeped through the blanket, making her hug herself, trying to keep what warmth she still had. The endless plains stretched before her. Who could live in such a vile place? Unconsciously, her eyes sought out the two men as they walked away from her, seeking something to burn.
Hinrik. Even the name made her confused. How could anyone be such an utter bastard? She recalled his gentleness, his kindness. His hands as they caressed her willing body were sure and confident, bringing her such pleasure that she could still feel their touch. His lips on hers. The weight of him on her, so warming and so comforting. Surely not all of it had been a lie?
‘… like coupling with a lizard …’ That was what he had said. A lizard! Cold and fleshless, dead eyes and harsh skin. Myrrhini looked down at her hands — red and chapped with the cold, broken nails, healing wounds, scars that might never fade.
‘Bastard!’ she muttered aloud as she shoved her damaged hands back under her clothes. Coupling with a lizard! ‘Why did you escape? Why couldn’t you have died with the rest?’
Myrrhini pulled the blanket tighter around her, trying to keep the wind out, trying to keep some of her own warmth in. The two men were far enough away that she could not easily distinguish the one from the other. No matter how far away they were, they were both dangerous in their own way and she had to travel with them. How could she do that?
The sound of hoofbeats reached her ears. She stood and looked around. Six horses were galloping straight towards her. For a moment she simply waited, but as they came closer they showed no signs of slowing or turning aside. Fear nagged at her. Should she run? No. She could never outrun
horses, and there was no place to hide. At least get a weapon. Quickly, she stooped and grabbed the knife she had taken from the soldier, which she tucked under her clothes. It was icy against her skin as she faced the oncoming horsemen.
They came at her. It was only at the last moment, as the lead rider leant over in his saddle, that she realised what was happening, but by then it was too late. He grabbed her around the body and heaved her up over his saddle.
She was slammed onto the horn of the saddle, driving the air from her lungs and leaving her almost crying from the pain. Her head crashed hard onto the side of the saddle while her legs flailed wildly. The rider slapped her firmly across the backside as he shouted something, but the pounding of the hooves and her own cries drowned out his words. He slapped her again and left his hand there as if to keep her in place as he drove his horse across the plain.
A loud scream sounded behind them, but she was unable to raise her head enough to see what had happened, and her abductor did not slow his speed so they left it to the wasteland. She quickly forgot it as the pain of her capture became unbearable. The saddle drove mercilessly into her chest and her head frequently hit the horse’s flank, leaving her dazed and bloody, tears of agony streaming from her eyes. With every stride, the metal-shod hooves sent shards of frozen ground spinning up, some of which struck her, leaving tiny cuts in her flesh and clothes.
They rode on, devouring the distance, leaving Slave and Hinrik behind.
Myrrhini was beyond exhausted, beyond agony, barely conscious when they reined in just after sunset. She slid off the horse, to be caught by its rider before she landed.
‘Like the ride?’ he asked cheerfully. When she did not answer, he laughed and carried her to where his colleagues had pitched a tent. Inside, he placed her on a thick fur and sat back on his heels to regard her.
‘You’re a delicate little thing, aren’t you?’ he murmured. ‘And those clothes are most inappropriate.’ He ran his hand down her chest, pausing at her breast. ‘I think we can find something better for you.’
He slipped his knife out of its sheath and started to slice through her dress, cutting downwards from her throat. When he reached her waist, he pulled the dress aside and stared at her chest.
‘Bit skinny, but I don’t mind that,’ he muttered. He reached out his hand to stroke her, but a sudden blast of cold air made him hesitate.
‘Hold fast, Agent!’ a voice barked.
Myrrhini groaned softly and made a feeble effort to pull her dress up to cover herself.
‘Outside!’ the same voice shouted.
The man withdrew, but only after fondling her breasts quickly.
‘Later,’ he whispered.
Myrrhini wrapped the thick, warm fur around her and closed her eyes. Every part of her ached and she felt nauseous from hunger and thirst. All she wanted to do was sleep and wake up to find this had all been a bad dream. But even sleep would not come. The sound of shouting from outside filtered in through the tent, past her veil of semi-consciousness and through her desire to sleep.
‘… the Blindfolded Queen! Do you want to explain to her in person what you were doing?’
The response was mumbled.
‘I did not hear you, Agent!’
‘No, sir,’ came the firm response.
‘You go near her again, look at her again, and you will face summary execution! Do you understand me, Agent?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now get out of my sight before I order you flogged.’
She fell asleep as soon as she heard footsteps walking away, only to be troubled by dreams. She was running, always running, fleeing from a hideous, faceless monster. She ran towards a silver flame that retreated from her as fast as she ran, never allowing her to make ground, always just out of reach. Rising from the silver flame was Slave, or someone like him. He rose like the sun, shining in the darkness, spreading peace, but also bringing chaos. Chains hung from his wrists while blood seeped from his fingers. His silver eye gleamed with its own light, somehow in conflict with the light Slave himself spread. Behind him hovered a black, threatening presence that reached out towards her. It was about to grasp her when a hand shook her shoulder.
‘Lady, we need to move on.’
Myrrhini opened her eyes to see a man kneeling beside her. He was wearing the uniform of the Agents of the Blindfolded Queen and had the tattoo of the crown high on his left cheek. Under his arm he held a helmet and at his side was a sheathed sword. His face was weather-beaten and his eyes suggested intelligence.
‘Why?’ she groaned.
‘We are in C’sobra on official business for the Queen and our orders are to return as soon as we have completed it. We are done, so we are going home.’
Myrrhini tried to sit up, but her chest was too sore. She gasped and lay back down.
‘I am not going anywhere,’ she said.
‘I have my orders, Lady,’ the Agent said. ‘And we are leaving this morning. I will send in some food and water for you and then we will leave.’ He rose as far as the tent would allow before leaving her alone again.
She examined her chest while waiting for the food. It was a mass of bruises from bouncing on the saddle, tender and purple. Her feet, hands and face were bloodied from the shards of ice kicked up by the horse’s hooves and her legs were also bruised. A heavy, warm-looking blue dress, boots, leggings and a fur hat had been left in the tent at some stage while she slept. They looked clean and would probably fit well enough, so she stripped off the dress the first Agent had cut and pulled them on, taking care to hide her knife in an accessible place beneath her dress. Just as she finished, the tent flap was pulled aside and another Agent ducked in carrying a bowl of something hot and steaming together with a waterskin and a spoon.
‘Itxtli says we are leaving soon, so if you could eat outside while we break camp,’ he said. He was young, but looked hardened and competent. Myrrhini accepted the bowl and the waterskin impassively. The Agent gave a small nod before leaving her alone again.
The food was hot and wholesome, if bland, but still the best she had eaten for a while. The water was icy cold and fresh. It all helped to make her feel a little better, almost ready to leave the tent and face the prospect of moving again. She took a deep breath and pushed aside the tent flap.
Outside was the bleak, windswept plain she had come to hate, under a dull, cloud-covered sky. Milling about preparing to leave were only ten men, maybe a few more, all dressed in the blue uniform of the Blindfolded Queen. One noticed she had left the tent and drew the attention of his commander, Itxtli. He walked towards her.
‘Lady,’ he said. ‘I am glad you are feeling better. Can you ride?’
Myrrhini looked down at the frozen ground. ‘A little,’ she said.
‘That will do for now.’ He turned and called to another Agent. ‘Yaotl! Bring Xihuitl’s horse for the Lady.’
The horse was a dappled grey mare with a dirty white mane. ‘Her name is Chicahua,’ Itxtli said. ‘It means strength, or power, in the old tongue. She is ugly, but she is loyal and strong. Your scarred friend killed her previous master, but perhaps she will bring you better luck.’
Myrrhini looked up at the horse with mistrust. Her few experiences with horses had not been entirely positive and she was nervous about spending so much time on one. Her apprehension must have been apparent to Itxtli, as he sighed.
‘We are riding out soon, Lady, and you are coming with us. I have tried to be polite and patient with you, but you are our captive and you will leave this place with us, either willingly on your own mount, or unwillingly. Make your choice.’ He spoke in a level, flat tone that carried the sense of authority and command. He was used to being obeyed, but was capable of taking action — violent action — were he thwarted.
‘I have no choice, then,’ Myrrhini said.
‘No,’ he corrected her. ‘You have a choice, not much of one, but a choice.’
Myrrhini gripped the saddle horn and lifted herself up into
the saddle. Even that exertion hurt her bruised chest, but she was determined not to show how much. She sat straight in the saddle and looked down at Itxtli.
‘Which way are we going?’ she asked.
Itxtli pointed over his shoulder. ‘South.’
‘Why?’
‘I have already told you, Lady. We are under orders from the Blindfolded Queen.’
‘And how do those orders involve me?’
‘You were our task, Lady. We were sent to find you.’
‘Me? How did she know about me?’
‘If you are who we hope you are, she has known of you since the Great Schism.’
‘And if I am not?’
Itxtli shrugged. ‘That is for the Queen to decide, Lady.’
3
Keshik strained against the ropes. At the door, Alberrich stood watching as the six uniformed soldiers of the Blindfolded Queen untied Maida. She too wrestled against her captors, but the soldiers were obdurate. When she was cut loose, she tried to slash at one man with her nails, but he calmly slapped her hand away.
They grabbed her and dragged her to her feet. She screamed, spat, kicked, and tried to claw at them, but there were too many and they were too strong.
‘Keshik!’ she cried. ‘I am sorry!’
Keshik stopped struggling against his bonds and stared at her. Maida stared back for a moment, forgetting all else but his eyes, his face. He held her gaze before nodding slowly. His gesture said everything she needed to know. She lowered her eyes, no longer afraid. When the soldiers urged her towards the door, she went quietly. Alberrich held the door open for them and closed it quietly after they had left.
‘I almost regret handing her over. I think you two would provide endless entertainment were I to keep you together.’ He sighed softly. ‘Almost, but not enough to change anything,’ he went on. One misshapen hand slipped inside his robe and brought out a small leather bag. He tossed it lightly in his hand, listening to the jingle of coins. ‘It’s funny what drives some people,’ he mused. ‘Some live their lives between their legs. Others live by the heart, guided only by their various passions and lusts, while others, like me, live by other, more tangible motives.’ He looked away from the money to stare at Keshik. ‘What are you, I wonder?’
Scarred Man Page 1