by James Abbott
Jedral snapped the twig he was holding and looked down.
Landril decided to take a moment away from everyone to make his evening prayers to the Goddess. He would never quite fit in with the other men, and he was fine with that. He would give everyone a chance to settle for the night before going to his own bed in the cabin.
As a spymaster he was used to spending time alone. Whilst others formed bonds on campaigns and shared bread and ale together, Landril’s missions for Cedius had been diplomatic affairs, opulent dinners with strangers at the far end of nations, a life of secrets, different names and faces. He was so used to his disguises and alter egos that at times he wondered who the real Landril was.
But the Goddess knows, of course.
Landril found a quiet old tree to settle next to and fell softly to his knees in prayer – yet his mind drifted with his words.
He had studied the ways of the Goddess all his life. His father had been a preacher of her temple in Stravir City, but despite having followed her teachings Landril did not want to become a theologian. He was too curious about the rest of the world; a secular life would never have suited him. He often wondered whether his father had been disappointed in him, but he had never spoken negatively about the paths Landril had chosen.
Any of them. Even when the old man had caught Landril lying with another man, there was no recrimination, no disapproval or disappointment. His father was the epitome of the Goddess’s writings: a belief in equality, love, sacrifice, peace and honour. Such an outlook made it all the more unendurable for Landril to see those bodies on the roads outside holy settlements – people slaughtered, villages burned. Mardonius seemed to have a particular hatred for the Goddess’s followers, despite their peaceful worship.
All across Stravimon, and well beyond into the eastern and northern duchies, people were being threatened or executed until they left their settlements or joined with Mardonius’s crude campaign to eliminate religion.
As soon as the priests and priestesses of the Goddess began publicly to decry Mardonius’s crimes, there came sightings of daemons in the largest towns, monstrous horrors that picked off worshippers after evensong and dragged them screaming into the darkness. Terrified men talked of walls that bled, of screams coming from nowhere, cold chills and houses that were deserted after apparitions had scared the inhabitants into leaving. Were they rumours or reality? When Landril tried to warn his father in Stravir City, the spymaster was too late. The preacher had disappeared, along with key members of the temple staff. Splatters of blood across the temple door indicated all too well what had happened.
Lupara had been taking her own steps and had commissioned a network of spies to investigate what was going on in Stravir, disturbed at the rumours of unrest which could threaten the peace of Dacianara. And that was how Landril first came into contact with her. It was clear that desperate measures would be needed to prevent Mardonius from destroying a continent, and together they could think of only one thing. One man.
Xavir Argentum.
During Landril’s prayers, a couple of Lupara’s smaller wolves headed past him deeper into the forest. One sniffed his leg on the way past and he smiled at the creature, before it followed the rest of the pack. He rose and turned to walk towards the open grassland.
Something cracked in the distance.
Landril paused and looked behind. He could see nothing but darkness and the glimmer of moonlit leaves. He could feel his pulse pounding in his neck when suddenly the canopy rattled – Landril jumped back as a bloodied carcass slammed down at an angle a few feet in front of him. It was the wolf that had just a moment ago nosed him. He barely recognized it, so mutilated was it.
A deeper, fiercer growl came from up ahead.
That was no wolf.
The forest shook.
Without hesitation, without even taking a second glance, Landril sprinted through the darkness, his pulse thumping in his chest.
Night Fight
Xavir and Lupara were sitting under the light of several candles, their fingers gliding across old maps of the continent. It had been a long time since Xavir had seen a map, but cartography was a language with which he was very familiar, and the pleasure of reading the lines of a land came back to him quickly.
Xavir and the prisoners had already come far from the Silkspire Mountains to Brekkland. Beyond lay Brintassa, but their journey ahead would most likely take them through Burgassia, a strange and ancient country. Beyond that lay Stravimon, which to him looked bigger than he remembered. Under Cedius’s early rule, before Xavir ascended the ranks, Stravimon had swallowed up surrounding land in the south, nearly all of it negotiated in a peaceful manner. The real fighting always took place in the Plains of Mica and beyond, where the barbarian tribes and more aggressive nations from the north would chance their hands at making inroads into Stravimon territory. They seldom succeeded, as the towns on the border were well defended. Now it seemed that Mardonius had taken the battle to the barbarians, evidently pushing the Stravimon border ever northwards.
Xavir tried to work out Mardonius’s military thinking: he had made no real push to the south and west. While Burgassia still had no king and likely never would, Laussland had suffered many attacks, though Mardonius had made no formal invasion on either. Indeed, his military activities had been curious at best: raids on towns by small bands of soldiers, the rough treatment of civilians.
The horses, which had been kept behind the cabin, made a sudden whinny of alarm. Lupara stood up from the table in her cabin. From the look in her eyes Xavir knew something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘The wolves,’ she replied, her senses focused on something beyond what could be seen. ‘Something is happening.’
She strode to her door and called her three immense wolves. As they bounded over, casting glances back at the forest, Xavir slung the Keening Blades across his shoulders and stepped outside into the twilight. The other men, still by the light of the fire, showed only casual interest at their activity.
‘Give me a hand with this,’ Lupara called. Reaching down, she slung leather and metal armour across the backs of the fidgeting wolves. ‘Fix the clasps on the other side. Hurry.’
Xavir did as the queen instructed, pulling the straps under the huge belly of the beasts one at a time whilst Lupara moved the armour into place. The leather reached across the spine and under the belly of the animals, whilst the metal segmented plates hung by their ribcages. All the time Xavir had one wary eye on the wolves’ gaping jaws as they growled at something only they could sense.
Valderon ran up towards Xavir and Lupara. ‘You’re expecting trouble?’
‘I am,’ Lupara replied grimly. ‘Tell your men to equip themselves. Something is amiss in the forest.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘The wolves can feel it,’ she snapped. ‘So I can feel it.’
‘As you command, my lady.’ Valderon gestured for the others to get to their feet. ‘Pick up your weapons, the lot of you,’ he shouted. ‘There’s no rest tonight.’
‘Ugh. We’ve all been on the road for days,’ Davlor said. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘If you want to see the road again, then get up and arm yourselves,’ Valderon demanded. ‘There’s something coming.’
Xavir, Lupara and her three wolves strode out towards the trees.
Valderon brought the other men in tow, and they quickly formed a second line thirty yards behind. ‘What enemy are we expecting?’ he called ahead.
Xavir turned back and shrugged. He unsheathed the Keening Blades anyway and waited for Lupara to give her word. It was good to balance the weapons again, to feel their weight in his hands. Only then did he realize how much he wanted to use them on something.
Valderon cautioned for his men to be quiet, and soon all that was heard was the whisper of boots brushing through the long grass and the trees stirring in the wind.
Then came a squeal, a hundred yards up ahead. Moments later, L
andril came sprinting out of the forest into the clearing, his arms flailing. He caught sight of Lupara’s small force and lurched towards them.
‘There are things in there,’ he yelled, his voice echoing across the glade. ‘Something monstrous. It killed a wolf and threw it through the trees.’
Lupara flinched at the words. Landril joined the other men behind. The spymaster hunched double with his hands over his knees, looking as if he would vomit on the ground, and heaved in his breaths.
A moment later came a sound of snapping branches. Everyone faced the noise, clutching their weapons tighter. A huge form smashed out of the trees, followed by two more.
‘What in the name of the Goddess . . . ?’ Valderon gasped.
All three creatures stood a good ten feet tall. Their misshapen forms were covered in a thick-looking hide, with bulbous heads and gaping, dripping jaws. Their eyes burned red with a mindless violence. They had four legs, each one of slightly different proportions, and two thickset arms with hands claw-tipped and the size of meat plates. One of the abominations gave a guttural roar that sent a shudder through the ground.
The cluster of beasts began to charge.
‘On my word,’ Valderon shouted to the panicked men, ‘scatter for twenty paces, then peel back to attack.’
‘Which direction?’ Jedral muttered, white-faced.
‘Any, just make sure they’re different.’
Xavir smiled inwardly – it was one of the old techniques of the legions, though Valderon had not called out the formal name of the Broken Shoal.
Xavir glanced to Lupara as the monsters lumbered closer and said, ‘Which one will you go for?’
‘Whichever of them gets to me first.’
‘I’ll see to its friends, then,’ he replied.
Xavir identified the path being taken by one of the creatures and darted light-footed into the fringes of the forest. He lunged swiftly out of the trees towards the lumbering beast, dragging one of his blades down across the side of the abomination, opening up a fold of skin and forcing the thing to buckle with a ground-shuddering thump. It screamed maniacally, then turned its attention towards Xavir.
The warrior waited patiently for it to make another move. A heavy, clawed limb came forth and Xavir twirled to his left, cleaving through the outstretched hide with a shriek of his blade.
Another roar exploded from the beast.
When it struck again, Xavir surged towards its jutting maw. He deftly sliced through its face, blinding it, and then rolled away through the grass. Now the creature flailed wildly in the same spot, screaming and scattering its own blood in wide arcs.
Behind Xavir came the sounds of the melee, but he kept his focus on the beast’s movements. On his feet again, he sliced the Keening Blades clean through the thing’s lurching form again and again. Chunk after chunk of thick flesh slopped messily onto the earth, and Xavir ducked under a slow swing to plant both of his blades into the beast’s belly, opening up the flesh and spilling its foul innards onto the moonlit ground.
Xavir stepped back as the creature fell forwards. The warrior finished the fight by cleaving the blade through its throat.
Then he ran back towards the others.
Only one beast remained standing. Amidst the mass of human forms that surrounded it were the lunging forms of Lupara’s huge wolves.
Xavir arrived in time to witness the final monster collapse forwards, the three wolves each mauling a limb with their teeth. Valderon plunged his blade deep down into the thing’s head to silence it once and for all.
In the sudden quiet, everyone looked around at the scene of carnage. They were breathless and caked in ichor. Lupara sent her wolves out to search for any more beasts.
Xavir noticed two men lying in the grass to one side and went to check them. Valderon joined him as he examined their mangled corpses. ‘Barros and Galo,’ Valderon muttered, scanning their mauled forms. ‘One from each of our gangs.’
‘A shame,’ Xavir replied.
‘They fought well, stood their ground,’ Valderon continued, ‘which is all you can really ask for.’
Tylos and some of the others came to observe the fallen men. ‘They knew their way around a fight, but against that . . .’ Tylos shook his head. ‘Why is it that good men die, while people like Davlor, who can barely hold a sword, manage to survive?’
‘Hey!’ Davlor said. ‘I didn’t run away.’
‘You did not strike a blow either, farm boy,’ Jedral replied.
‘So I ain’t as fancy as the rest of you. I stood my ground. Anyway, you’re just a nutcase that likes killing anything that moves.’
‘Must admit I enjoyed that, boys,’ Jedral said, rolling his shoulders. ‘Good to release some tension. Was prepared to take it out on Davlor with all his moaning.’
‘This is not the time for bickering,’ Xavir snapped, rising from the bodies. ‘Our comrades are dead.’
He looked up for Lupara and saw that she, too, was searching the fringes of the forest with her wolves. Other wolves had also been summoned by her, and a dozen smaller shadows rippled through the grass like wraiths towards the trees.
‘Tell you what,’ Davlor muttered, standing alongside Xavir. ‘Wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of one of her wolves. I’ve seen normal wolves take down livestock in the blink of an eye, but those . . . Big buggers, I’ll say. Her and those three took the first one down in no time.’
Xavir nodded, having seen the wolves fight numerous times. He joined Landril, who was studying the fallen creatures closely, prodding them with the tip of his blade.
‘What do you make of them, spymaster?’ Xavir called over. ‘I have not seen anything like them before. I have not even heard of them.’
‘Nor had I until about a year ago,’ he replied. ‘By the Goddess, they’re strange things, aren’t they? They are quite extraordinary. Two main eyes, yes, but there are more set further forward – smaller ones, see? And the teeth are in two rows on the top, three on the bottom. There is nothing in our land even similar.’
‘What are you saying?’ Xavir asked. ‘That they come from another land entirely?’
‘As fanciful as it seems . . .’ Landril nodded. ‘I’ve heard tell of more of these incidents, but this is the furthest south and east that I have known them to be sighted. Admittedly those other incidents feature other strange creatures, not necessarily these. Scholars in a few colleges affiliated with the Goddess were beginning to detail them and categorize them, but that was before Mardonius’s rule grew too mad.’
‘How many of these incidents have there been?’ Xavir asked. The others had begun to group around them now, listening to what Landril had to say.
‘Fewer than a dozen,’ Landril announced. ‘That does not sound many, but they have had a profound impact upon those communities affected. Some creatures have killed livestock. Some have killed people.’
‘It’s just as well they were simple enough to bring down.’
‘Simple?’ Landril almost choked on the word. ‘Simple for you, maybe. I was rooted with fear. I wanted to do something, to land a blow, but I could not get my sword to connect. This is not my skill.’
‘You’re alive and they are dead,’ Xavir muttered. ‘This is how victory works.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’
‘It is. And in the morning I’d like to know more of what you know about them. But everyone here is tired and we have the fallen to see to. Barros followed the Goddess. What about Galo?’
‘Him too,’ Valderon replied.
‘Does anyone here know words of the Goddess?’ Xavir asked the group, but looked towards the spymaster.
‘My father was a priest,’ Landril replied. ‘I know of some suitable words.’
‘You may not be a warrior, but you have other skills, spymaster.’ Xavir told him. ‘See to it that their bodies are treated with respect. They may have been prisoners but they died free men with honour. That’s all any of us can ask for.’
Leavi
ng Jarratox
Elysia had no inclination to look back.
As the sun breached the hills on a chilly, cloudless morning, chasing shadows back across the grassland and dark forests, there was no urge to see Jarratox one last time.
No sentiment for the only home she’d ever known. No twinge of regret at the back of her mind. She had never felt truly settled there. To her it had been a prison that had restricted her freedom just as much as chains would have. She took nothing from the sisterhood apart from resentment and resilience, of a kind.
With her bow slung over her shoulder alongside a leather satchel of meagre belongings, Elysia turned towards the land ahead glowing in the soft light of dawn. She stared at it with eagerness: she was determined never to look back.
Despite Birgitta having initiated their escape, she appeared more disturbed by the act of their leaving. She had not spoken much since they had left and looked constantly behind her – either aware of possible pursuit or a longing for home. To Elysia’s surprise, ten other sisters had accompanied them.
‘I am not the only one who has qualms about the sisterhood’s path,’ Birgitta had explained as Elysia had stared with suspicion at the hooded women.
The escaping sisters planned to part, like seeds scattered in the wind, and establish contact with those who were making a stand against Mardonius. And so twelve sisters had strode in haste across the bridge – blue robes of tutors, grey and red of clan returnees and one other young novice in brown, a year younger than Elysia.
When they finally crossed the bridge, Birgitta and Elysia had made their goodbyes to the others and started north. It wasn’t until they reached the farmland communities with their high stone walls and thick copses of trees that they felt they could slow down the fast pace they’d kept up to throw off any pursuit.
An hour or so later and the sun had finally banked high enough in the sky to reveal their new world, the endless horizon, in all its clarity. No more petty squabbles, chores, facing ridicule over not committing certain lines of text to memory; no more bitter scowls from jaded old women whose life had left them. The concept of fitting in meant different things out here.