by James Abbott
‘A good question,’ Xavir replied. ‘I assume you know about Mardonius and his destruction of his own people?’
‘It had touched even the sisterhood,’ she said. ‘As Birgitta said last night, it’s why we left.’
‘With my help, Valderon, Lupara and the spymaster, Landril – we shall raise an army to take down the king. I, personally, will kill him for what he’s done to me. Though I would have had it otherwise, they will need magic – which is presumably where you and Birgitta will come in.’
‘Will we sisters be joining your army?’
‘If it’s as Birgitta says, then Mardonius will undoubtedly have witches to help his own forces. Birgitta will think it a grave mission, but she will accept, because she is old friends with Lupara.’
‘She will,’ Elysia said. ‘If you were once the commander of the king’s forces, why aren’t you leading?’
‘I don’t lead armies any more.’ Xavir regarded the distance, his eyes tightening. ‘I will help in my own way. The people I am seeking will have resources that will help pay for an army and materials. It will take weeks, months even, to build up enough of a force. In the end Valderon will lead it. He is a man of honour.’
‘And you are not?’ Elysia questioned.
Xavir shook his head grimly. ‘I don’t know what I am any more.’
*
The two walked slowly back to the camp. Elysia went to Birgitta, while Xavir spotted Valderon perched on a large rock a little further up the shore, sharpening his blade with a stone. He walked over and sat down next to him, and for a while continued the silence while he stared out across the tranquil lake, inhaling the fresh air and basking in the sunlight.
‘These swords are not pretty,’ Valderon said eventually. ‘We could do with better weapons.’
‘So long as they kill,’ Xavir said.
‘Speaks a man with fine weapons indeed. Tell me, how did it go?’
‘I am not prepared to be a father.’ Xavir sighed. ‘Whatever that involves. It was awkward.’
‘These things do not come overnight,’ Valderon said. ‘You need to work at them, hone them like I am doing with this blade. It takes time to get the perfect edge.’
‘And yet in your case,’ Xavir said, ‘you’ll still not be happy with the weapon.’
‘That’s family for you.’ Valderon grinned. ‘So when do we leave?’
‘When I spoke to Lupara, she needed to confirm that these two witches would join our party. I have seen what the young one can do, and it will come in useful. Then we will continue on our way. I am just a few days away from our first victim . . .’
‘You thirst for blood, friend?’ Valderon shook his head, chuckling. ‘Unhealthy desires . . .’
‘In a manner, but are you not keen to see how this rabble perform?’ Xavir tilted his chin towards the other freedmen, who were japing around further up the shore. He could hear their laughter echoing for some distance.
‘Some of them will be good fighters. Maybe not Davlor. Tylos knows his way around a sword. Jedral seems to have a lot of skills too. He was a mercenary for a short while, so he tells me.’
‘Despite being born into a good clan, he’d fallen on hard times,’ Xavir replied. ‘He had to make ends meet by putting his skills and connections to use out in the wider world.’
‘But that gives a man certain characteristics that will prove useful. The others, despite their upbringing, are barely more than thugs, but we need thugs too.’ Valderon finished sharpening his sword, placed his tools down to one side and drew his knees to his chest. ‘I’m not concerned about their abilities. They need daily practice, more of being involved in a planned attack and, if you’ll permit them to help, your first raid will provide it.’
‘I’ll not decline their company.’ Xavir leaned back on his palms. ‘Though we must see what we are up against when we arrive.’
‘If I’m concerned at all, it is for what lies ahead in Stravimon,’ Valderon said. ‘We’ve seen very few travellers on the road. That’s strange enough, don’t you think? I know we’ve taken the greenways for the most part, but some of these roads used to be filled with travellers, tradesmen and troubadours. Where is everyone?’
*
The witches had agreed to accompany the travellers on their way, so without much fuss they were back on the road within the hour.
Lupara offered one of her wolves to the two sisters who had ventured so far on foot and declared that she would share a steed with Valderon. Xavir’s former gang rival tried his best not to show his uneasiness at the gesture and asked if it would be better if the other wolves acted as mounts so that Lupara would not suffer discomfort. Lupara declined. The other wolves were scouts, she said, and would patrol far ahead.
Xavir could only chuckle, thinking that Valderon had better chances at defeating an army single-handed than escaping Lupara’s attentions.
Birgitta was not entirely suited to riding a wolf. Despite there being a fitted leather saddle, it took her a good couple of minutes to mount the beast. Elysia hunched over in laughter at the sight of her mentor going headfirst over the other side.
Eventually the group departed the region around the Silent Lake; they headed through the ancient landscape of Burgassia, into more lush vegetation, undulating hills and eventually thick forests. Xavir felt a keenness and anxiety, a welcome tightness in his chest. It was the same feeling he had experienced on the eve of every battle. He knew that soon he would be facing those who had caused his downfall, betrayed their king, killed his brothers and had him incarcerated in Hell’s Keep. It was time for them to pay.
Time to Attack
‘He’s got scouts patrolling at the moment. About a dozen. No more.’
Tylos had returned from surveying the hilltop on the border of Stravimon, near the fortified estate of General Havinir. His usual insouciant manner indicated there was no threat. Xavir liked the man’s calming, even charming, influence out here. Nothing seemed too much trouble for him. He could talk on just about any subject. Whenever the men complained about something, he would have a positive response. And recently, during quiet times around the campfire, Tylos recited poetry from Chambrek, imbuing the drizzle-filled night air with images from a more exotic land. Xavir thought he would have been a good man to have on one of his long campaigns of old.
Tylos sat down, having made his observations. ‘Why so glum, Davlor? You don’t look that excited. Does the prospect of finally spilling blood make you feel faint?’
Davlor sat a little taller and puffed out his chest. ‘Love it. It’s just that, uh, well . . . I didn’t have to think about fighting before. It just sort of happened, didn’t it? Things just attacked us and there was none of this sitting around waiting for it to come. I’m not one for thinking too much. Back on the farm we just did what we did and accepted whatever the seasons brought.’
‘Thinking can be torture, can it not?’ Tylos said. ’Just take heart from the fact that there are not that many men for us to kill.’
‘Tylos is right,’ Valderon said. ‘It will be over before you realize.’
‘Then you can go back to sucking your mother’s teat,’ Jedral replied, nudging him in the ribs with his boot.
‘Fuck off,’ Davlor muttered. ‘I can hold my own.’
‘Hold your own what – cock?’
‘Least I’ve got one.’
‘Play nice,’ Tylos said.
There was no fire tonight, not this close to their target. Everyone threw a blanket around themselves to remain warm. Lupara nestled herself against one of her wolves, whilst the witches did the same with another.
‘Some time before dawn,’ Xavir announced, ‘when the moon touches that hilltop, we will make our move. The wind will be stronger by then, and its noise will work in our favour. Elysia –’ he indicated his daughter – ‘will accompany me. Birgitta will come with us as well. I anticipate that what is lacking in a military defence around the manse will be made up for in magical wards. The others should wai
t behind. Here. With Valderon.’
Elysia looked startled at the suggestion. The surprise was shared by others.
‘Valderon and Lupara will guide the rest of you, if you are required. But you are merely to come after us if we don’t return. The smaller the force, the better in a situation like this. Our mission will be one of investigation, picking off soldiers, and if there is an opportunity then we will go it alone. The rest of you can relax. Even you, Davlor.’
Harrand stood up, his face screwed up, and faced Xavir. ‘You’d have these women follow you, but not us? Not after all we’ve done to help get your noble arse out of prison?’
Someone gave a sharp intake of breath. Xavir’s gaze met Harrand’s suddenly regretful eyes.
The man turned away with the wave of his hand. ‘Ah, forget it. I’m tired and I’m itching to kill someone.’
Davlor muttered, ‘You could start with yourself.’
Harrand lurched towards the lad.
Valderon stood up and thumped the top of Harrand’s chest with the heel of his palm, sending him reeling backwards into the dark grass. Davlor appeared dumbfounded by the sudden movement.
‘We do not fight amongst ourselves,’ Valderon hissed. ‘Especially not on the doorsteps of our enemy. If you want to get yourselves killed, fine, but don’t get us killed for your folly!’
Harrand rubbed his wrist lightly, checking for damage from the backward fall. His face was full of rage.
Xavir glanced to Landril, who shook his head and pressed his palms to his face. ‘Spymaster,’ Xavir continued, ‘I will likely need you as well.’
‘I am no fighter,’ Landril said. ‘If you’d prefer a fighter, then surely—’
‘I don’t expect you to fight.’
‘What do you need me for?’
‘Answers,’ Xavir replied, then added softly, ‘my techniques with Havinir are likely to be blunt. Yours are more subtle.’
‘As you wish,’ Landril replied.
*
‘There is barely any magic here,’ Birgitta said, sniffing the chill air. An owl made a noise in the distance as it glided towards some unsuspecting mammal.
The two sisters, Xavir and Landril were standing in the cloak of darkness that Birgitta had cast with her staff.
So far they had seen no threat. The manse was constructed of dull grey stone and could be seen behind thick clumps of trees, with an unkempt lawn stretching out before one side.
‘How so?’ Xavir whispered.
‘Sisters can sense magic from afar. There is none here, save what is coming from my own staff.’
‘This is not necessarily odd,’ Landril offered. ‘He may simply have no witch attached to his clan. He may even feel no need for one.’
‘Unlikely,’ Xavir said. ‘I remember Havinir well. He always deployed magic in battle. The witchstones were crucial to his tactics and he was ever curious as to the ways of the sisterhood. He lobbied Cedius to influence the sisterhood so that he had the powerful witches with powerful witchstones at his side. There ought to be good reason that there is no magic around . . .’
Xavir paused, held up his hand, then pointed with his other through the trees. ‘A guard up ahead. He wears no helm. Elysia, release an arrow – aim for his head.’
The young woman showed every sign of hesitation and uncertainty, though she did not speak of it. Without looking to her mentor for guidance, she fumbled nervously for an arrow and raised her bow.
We shall see what this daughter of mine is really made of, Xavir thought.
Elysia released it with a quiet gasp. Xavir didn’t bother to look at the man, who now fell to the ground in the undergrowth. He stared at his daughter, who had just killed her first human. Her breathing had increased and she knelt down on the damp earth.
Xavir crouched beside her and placed a hand on her back, trying to get eye contact with her. ‘It was quick and painless for him,’ he whispered, lifting her up. ‘He was a soldier and he had prepared to die. What you did was difficult and you will remember it. Think of him like a stag in the forest. Soldiers out here are wild game, just like them. You will be fine. But I’ll need more of your arrows.’
Elysia nodded and Xavir turned back. Birgitta placed an arm around her young student and steered her forwards.
‘He’s right,’ she whispered, ‘and, sadly, it will get easier.’
They continued around the edge of the grounds, taking down five more soldiers in the process, each kill unseen and quick, by arrow or by blade.
Progress is too easy, Xavir thought.
Havinir’s residence was a large rectangular building, constructed more for luxury than for withstanding a siege. There were crenellations at the top, and large, arched windows on every side. A moat ran around the immediate building on its eastern flank, and the wooden drawbridge had been withdrawn. At the sentry post by the formal entrance there were two more guards, so the group moved across to the rear of the manse and stood on the edge of the moat’s bank. There was at least a twenty-foot gap to the other side.
‘Now what?’ Landril said.
‘She knows earthcraft.’ Xavir gestured to Birgitta, whilst taking a step back to see if there were any guards on the battlements. She altered the ground previously, so she can do it again.’
‘She has a name, you ignorant oaf,’ grumbled Birgitta. ‘Fine, but I’ll have to make us appear momentarily, so try not to get yourself shot.’ Birgitta set down her staff, pulled out a brown witchstone from her satchel and began chanting.
The ground vibrated. The bank of the moat began to stir and morph, and from out of it sprouted a wide offshoot. Mud and roots twisted outwards, creaking like old floorboards until it punched into the opposite bank and soon there was silence.
‘Elysia!’ Xavir pointed towards the left and right, where two guards were approaching. ‘Hurry.’
She fired twice, in quick succession. One man tried to roll to one side. The arrow curved and followed his lurching movement; he collapsed, sliding dead into the water. The other man’s face shattered strangely, and the resulting a plume of blood sprayed back across the wall of the manse.
‘Oh, I used one of the witchstone shafts by mistake,’ Elysia whispered, cringing at her deed. ‘I only needed to will the bowstone on a normal arrow.’
Everyone watched as the headless form fell to his knees a few moments later.
‘The effect was dramatic . . . to say the least,’ Landril observed. ‘But still, by the Goddess, I’ve never seen shots like that.’
Swift-footed, Xavir strode first across the earthen bridge, which remained sticky underfoot. Reaching the side of the building, they followed his lead and pressed themselves flat against the wall. The sky had not yet purpled into dawn. Stars still defined the position of the surrounding hills. There was a sharp tang to the air.
Birgitta used her staff to cloak them all in darkness once again, and they advanced, making progress to the front of the building.
Two guards stood in partial slumber by the sentry box porch at the main entrance, which was a large, arched double door at the top of five stone steps.
In a move known as Akero descends, his arms spread wide, Xavir drew the tip of a Keening Blade across each man’s throat; they fell silently down and across the entrance before they could reach for their own weapons.
The door was closed. Xavir thought it likely there was another guard, maybe even more, waiting behind. The group stepped back out of earshot, just a few paces away, no more.
‘Can you use black arts?’ Xavir whispered to Birgitta, and gestured to the corpses.
‘Necromancy?’
‘Of course.’ Xavir furrowed his brow.
‘Certainly not.’ Birgitta folded her arms and scowled at him.
‘Animate one of these two. Get them to mutter a password to whoever’s behind the door.’
‘By the source, I’ll not listen to such nonsense.’ Birgitta shook her head. ‘It is forbidden. Not to mention rather tricky in practical terms.’
‘Not this one,’ Landril observed. ‘It’s probably just locked. I can see a mechanism.’
‘Well, there you go then,’ Birgitta said. ‘I’ll just melt the mechanism. No need for such dark barbarity.’
The old witch rooted around in her bag and drew out a red-hued witchstone. She wedged one end of it in the lock, then began to whisper to it. The lock began to glow to amber, then brighter. Something snapped inside.
‘There you go,’ Birgitta said, rising proudly.
Xavir eased the door back, then suddenly shoved it back the final three quarters. Poking his head inside, under the cloak of Birgitta’s magic, he glanced either side into the darkness.
‘No one here,’ Xavir whispered behind. ‘There were ten soldiers outside. Tylos counted a dozen, though there may be more. The remainders have probably not come on shift and are inside somewhere. They need eliminating first.’
Xavir led the group around the dreary stone corridors of Havinir’s manse. The place had an odd air about it; it seemed as if many parts were disused or neglected, even though there were plenty of people around. Military items decorated the walls: ancient helms and shields, banners from old campaigns emblazoned with iconography, crossed swords and maces. There was a mustiness, though. The aroma of decay. Rats scurried further away, their noise causing Xavir to pause. Eventually he could hear the chatter of men from a chamber up ahead. A warm light glowed underneath a closed door.
With a lightness of foot, Xavir moved towards it and pressed his ear against the wood. On the other side was barrack talk, the idle chatter of men who had nothing to kill but time.
Xavir stepped away and whispered to the others, ‘Five men, I think. I will go in, alone, and keep one of them alive for questioning.’
Xavir calmed his mind and breath – then shoved back the door. Four men started to rise from a table, another stood with his arms unfolding to one side, and behind him were several church candles. Xavir cut down two men before they could fully leave their chairs and sent them buckling backwards over the backrest in gouts of blood. The man with his arms folded collapsed as Xavir drew a blade across his thigh. The other two stood facing him and in a flurry of blades they, too, lay dead across the table.