***
The fighting had left them exhausted, so much so that even the rough rock of the volcano seemed comfortable to them. Captain Lomans and five soldiers were left. Argbralius was sleeping, curled up. Lombardo, Gramal, and Elgahar had fetched wood for a fire and were now looking for edible prey to roast on the coals. It did not take them long to come out of the foliage with two squirrels each. Gramal was also carrying a rabbit.
“You bloody moron!” said Lomans roughly. “You ought to know better than to use up your mana during a fight!” He was the captain, and his voice would be heard. The young warrior was going to be taught a lesson.
“Aye. I—I’m sorry,” said the soldier, raising his chin high and accepting the scolding. “My master Hakama is going to be disappointed when he learns of my failure. I‘ll need new armor and a new sword. It won’t be easy to come by any time soon. I apologize to you all for my failure.”
Lomans was genuinely surprised by the young warrior’s honesty. He was used to Brutal Fark-Amon being cocky. But here was a Brutal Fark-Amon who was humble.
“And this is why the Empire needs the common, standard, yet versatile and deadly soldier,” said Gramal with self-disgust. “We Brutal Fark-Amon are a powerful weapon. But like most weapons that are too powerful, our potency only lasts for so long.”
Lomans, feeling uncomfortable, waved a hand. “Most people have never fought the animated corpses. I’ve seen my fair share, and it never ceases to disgust and terrify. I have to admit that the enemy host is vast and uncanny. The truth is that we’re all tired. Survival’s the only thing that matters now.”
The sacristan was still sound asleep. “We owe our lives to that strange religious one,” said Gramal. “Never seen the likes of him.”
“Did he wield a sword of red energy?” asked Lomans.
“That’s not what I saw,” said Elgahar. “I simply saw him fighting courageously. He also saved my life. Though I must admit, for a religious man he’s very violent.”
“It seems to me he’s a new kind of religious man,” said Lombardo. “We’re all acquainted with Aryan Vetala, the first evangelist. It’s said that he was a warrior. He, too, fought valiantly to infuse the power of belief. He waged war, much like this young man. I saw something strange, but I can’t trust my senses right now. I’m exhausted. I’ve been a farmer for most of my life. Working in the fields is very difficult. There were times when exhaustion would make me hallucinate. I’d react to things that weren’t there.”
“Perhaps,” said Lomans. Maybe I did imagine it?
It did not matter anymore. The fact was that they were alive, and the religious man had given everything he had in the battle which had saved all their lives. I should be grateful, thought Lomans. The smell of the roasting game made his mouth water.
“All that’s left to do is to skin our feast,” Lombardo said triumphantly, rubbing his hands together. The meat was skewered on wooden sticks. The men gathered together and told small jokes. But the jokes failed to amuse them as much as the silence of the night. They all had a great deal to think about.
Elgahar had never imagined that things could turn out so violent, not even after studying the Empire’s bloody history. Why were those difficult times returning? He heard Strangelus’ voice in his mind, exhorting him to be optimistic and grateful that he was still alive.
Lombardo woke Argbralius. The man of faith woke up with a severe headache, which did not surprise anyone after witnessing those terrible convulsions. He ate in silence. He had never sat around a fire with other men of war. This was entertaining to him as well as having experienced the violence he had unleashed. He was sure he had wielded a sword made of fiery flame but was frustrated at not being able to understand how he had summoned that power. He looked around him and saw contorted faces. These men were his brothers-in-arms! He had had few friends in the past. And certainly not a captain or a Brutal Fark-Amon. He liked this lifestyle more than he did the religious one. He wondered why his mother had pushed him into a religious position when he could easily have become a soldier. He was talented in the acts of war. He liked it. He yearned for it. But why? He was unsure.
“We’re alive because of you, little man,” said Gramal with a hint of resentment.
Argbralius smiled and said with his mouth full, “I think we all did it, together. Blessed be our strength! The Gods guide us to the North.” He smiled, and he was the only one smiling naturally.
Why was the religious man so strange? Lomans’ feeling that something was not altogether right about this man urged caution on him. Who would smile so naturally after so much tragedy and terror? A bloody psychopath, that’s who! But Lomans was a man of war and knew that even psychopaths needed a place in society. That place was either a dungeon or the military. The religious man was obviously in the wrong profession. He could not imagine this lanky, uncanny man saying mass. He chuckled and stayed silent as he studied Argbralius.
“Now what?” Gramal asked as he swallowed the last piece of his share.
Lomans wiped his lips, enjoying the calm around them. “We’ll rest a while; we can afford to do it here. We’ll rest for an hour longer, then go on toward Vásufeld. The duke will give us horses and food there, and we’ll be able to go on to Kathanas without any more trouble.”
“We shouldn’t travel in the dark, Captain,” urged a soldier.
“Shut up, you oaf. If we stay here, this pretty fire will draw an orc’s teeth to your neck. Is that what you want? You bloody fool. We keep going. I’ve no moonstone with me, can’t tell the time accurately. We’ll say this: at my sign, we move on.”
Nobody complained.
***
Leandro and his companions were walking slowly at sunset. After two days of traveling at a trot, the horses had weakened. If only they could find a village, a city, the right place to stop and rest both the horses and themselves; otherwise the lack of food, sleep, and water would end up killing them.
All Leandro could think of was death. The broken and burnt carriage kept coming to his mind, the blood. A host of duj must have devoured them whole; it had not left even a trace of the dog or the horses. In his decades of experience fighting Némaldon, he had never seen demons eat their prey that way. These horrors were new; perhaps the resurrection of the Master had given way to a new era of perfected massacres.
Strangelus, despite his age and limited physical fitness, was showing great vigor and tenacity. He kept his blue pointed hat on his head, although there was a strong wind. The old mage sipped on a potion now and then, perhaps restoring some health to himself or keeping himself as strong as possible in case he needed to conjure words of power.
Tomasa was doing everything possible to keep Savarb’s body on the horse’s back, and the effort was taking its toll. One of the former resistance captain’s arms was purple, and the wound was oozing thick yellow pus, which stank. His face was not so much pale as gray. The two other girls were practically dead by now. They were grey and were tied to the saddle to stay on. The baby in Lulita’s arms was motionless.
Lulita went at the head, very erect with her chin held high. Luchy did not leave her side. Suddenly, her grandmother thought she glimpsed something in the distance: a small hamlet of a few houses and a couple of two-story buildings. The evening shadows made it impossible to read the signs. The road into it was of dirt, unkempt, with weeds growing everywhere. The houses appeared abandoned, although they could hear noises.
Lulita and Leandro looked at each other. They hesitated. The place seemed deserted, although it was not unusual for villagers to go to bed early. Maybe the inhabitants were sheltering from the horrors that must have reached them with the news and the rumors. In what seemed to be the center of the village was a large, well-lit house. There seemed to be movement from inside. It might be the tavern turned brothel.
“I don’t know,” Leandro said. “I don’t feel happy about this place.”
“If you did, I’d have my doubts about you,” Lulita replied with
a smile.
Deathslayer did not return the knowing gesture.
Lulita turned to Leandro and Strangelus. “You can tell you’re from the North. You’re not used to the misery and the conditions of the South. Come on, I’ll deal with this.” She looked at Luchy. “You’d better stay outside with Tomasa. I don’t trust the kind of men we’re going to find in there, and you’re too pretty. The mage had better stay outside too; he might just arouse suspicions.”
“What do you suggest we do here?” Leandro asked defensively.
“Get information,” the grandmother said. She was getting ready to go in.
“What kind of information?”
“Whatever they give us, Leandro. Afterward, we’ll see whether it’s worth exchanging what we have for food. And if all goes well, we might be able to stay here tonight.”
Leandro did not reply.
“Make sure your sword is visible at your side, Leandro. It’s a good way to avoid any attempt to rob you. That money of yours can be sniffed out at a distance. Come on, take off your armor.”
“What?” Leandro was outraged.
“If they work out that you belong to the Northern elite, they’ll jump on you for the coins you haven’t even got with you. You need to look poor, a Deserter who’s only looking for a jug of beer.”
Leandro rolled his eyes.
“All right then! To hell with this shit.” Lulita moved her ax to the front of her thigh and also left the quiver full of arrows visible.
With neither helmet nor armor, his face transfigured by pain, the general looked like either a beggar or a mercenary.
“So what’s the plan?” Strangelus wanted to be sure about this.
“We sit down, order some beer, and pay attention.”
“What are you going to pay with?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lulita said. “There are ways of getting beer without money. And sometimes you do find a good Samaritan. This baby needs a milk-mother as soon as possible.”
When they reached the bar, Lulita went in without hesitation. Leandro followed her. They were greeted by a hellish din, what with music, the shouting of drunkards, and laughter. The minstrel stopped singing and the customers turned to the new arrivals. There were old people and young, even a couple of mercenaries with scars on their faces. They all stared briefly at the couple who had come in, but they were just a beggar and an old woman, so they went on talking, although in lower voices.
Two men who looked like farmers were sitting at the bar; they were talking about the weather with the typical slurring speech brought about by drunkenness. Lulita strained to hear.
“Bloody plants, they don’t wanna grow, y’see, man—”
“Aah! ‘S the bloody gov’ment, takes ev’thing ’way from us.”
Lulita felt the heavy breath of one of them and moved away. To the left, also at the bar, was a mercenary dressed in tanned leather in the company of a whore with large, flaccid breasts, whose fleshy buttocks emerged from her short skirt. With that long curly hair, Lulita thought she looked like a witch. The mercenary was petting her here and there and was very gratified when she returned the touches.
In other words, the atmosphere was the usual one in any bar in the Empire. The baby moved and cooed as the noise woke it. Lulita’s hopes for the newborn’s survival were low. But if only she could find a milk-mother!
Lulita and Leandro sat down at a table; the rest of the party remained outside. The general was nervous, as well as depressed by the tragedy of his family. Like a real Deserter, he looked as though he had lost everything in life. And this helped with the role he needed to play at the moment.
The bartender was quick to come over to them. He was an older man with a long white mustache that looked well cared for, and a barrel-shaped body which was likely the result of drinking too much ale.
“Good evening, my dear customers. What can I fetch you on this fine, fine evening?”
By his voice, Lulita understood that the terror had not reached the area yet.
“Two jugs of your best beer,” she replied. She never drank, but she needed to play her part. “And mother’s milk if you have it,” she added.
“Is that a joke?”
“Look.” Lulita showed him the babe.
“Trafficking a babe to the North then?” asked the bartender.
“You imbecile, it’s my grandson.”
“I can get milk. One of my daughters is breastfeeding, and her breasts are swollen like a cow’s udder! We have to milk her, else they get infected! Two crowns for the milk.”
“I’ll pay four if she feeds him through the night!” said Lulita. “Cares for him, like a mother would, you know.”
The bartender’s eyes shone with greed as the money was offered. “Of course. I’ll take the babe.”
“No. Bring the milk-mother. I’d like to have a word with her.”
The bartender was suspicious but left without hesitation. A moment later, a plump young blonde woman stepped into the bar. The bartender had not been lying. Her breasts were gigantic, and she did not mind the attention they drew.
“That the babe?”
“It is. Would you feed him tonight?”
“Four crowns? I need five,” she said with a smile.
Lulita groaned but gave her the five crowns.
“I’ll take care of this little one. Oh, he’s hungry.” Without caring for her safety, the large woman took a teat out in public and latched the baby on to the dripping nipple. Saluem immediately began to suckle, softly at first, then vigorously.
“Oh my, he’s a hungry one!” And she left the hall.
Luchy looked at the large woman and Lulita and said, “I hope Saluem makes it.” Already she had noticed the eyes of the men in the bar looking at her from head to foot. She felt disgusted, but the presence of the mage and two Wild Woman was enough to stay their hands.
The bartender served them and the man went on talking. “And what brings a couple of fine travelers like you to this little-visited part of the Empire? Heading to the North, maybe?”
“We’re going to Merromer to do some business with some fishermen from across the pond,” Lulita said in her Southern accent with a casual air.
“Ah, I see. They say there’s good trade there in Merromer. But you see now, I’m not moving from here. I’ve lived in towns and cities, and there’s nothing like these little villages for an easy life. Nobody messes with you, see? Not the government, and not the damn politicians either. Here they leave you in peace.” The bartender smiled, proud of his explanation.
“You’re right there,” Lulita went on. “That’s why we’ve come here. Even from a long way off, we could see this being a safe place to spend the night, have something to eat, and rest the horses.”
At the mention of horses, several heads turned. In any part of the Empire, horses were valuable possessions; whoever had one might be carrying something more. Still, Lulita was relaxed. On the one hand, quiver and ax were enough as a means of dissuasion. On the other, men tended to think there were only two types of old women: grandmothers (sweet or embittered) or witches, and Lulita looked more like a witch, capable of tearing out anybody’s throat. And the fact that the bartender was not showing any concern meant it did not look as though a brawl were imminent.
“You’ve come to the right place! This is a family business. My sons will tend to your horses, and my wife and my other daughter will soon have the wild boar stew ready. Room, food, and drink will cost you two crowns apiece. As there’s two of you, that’ll be four crowns.”
“There are actually eight of us. My employees are waiting outside. They’re not worthy to enter this establishment.”
The general’s face twisted at the thought of the esteem he felt for Strangelus.
“Then it’ll be sixteen crowns.”
Lulita replied with a grimace. She did not have that much, but she needed to make a deal so that everyone could get some rest and continue their journey the next day. She had already spent five
crowns on feeding Saluem.
“That’s all right,” she said at last.
The bartender turned to the general. His expression was very serious. “And what’s your story, my friend? Some people deserve to be banished, but from my own experience, I’d say most of them don’t. Damn political games, that’s what I say.”
Leandro raised his eyes, moved by his tone of voice. “My wife and my children are dead—they were everything to me!” And he burst into tears. He crossed his arms on the table and sank his head between them to hide his disconsolate weeping. The bartender laid his hand on his shoulder.
“There are more Deserters here who were unjustly punished, right?”
Three men sitting at another table raised their mugs of beer.
“That’s right. I lost everything over some business I did with a nobleman called Cantus de Aligar. But I swear I’ll have my revenge.”
“It’s true, most of us here share that fate. The government is dirtier than a nest of rats. It’s better to live here than in the big cities. Nobody knows us in this village, nobody checks us, nobody’s interested in us. They leave us alone.”
Leandro listened. He had never stopped to think about the fate of the Deserters of the Empire.
“You said you had children?” the bartender asked him.
“Yes, they were twins. One with blue eyes, the other green.”
Leandro’s emotion spread among the customers at the bar; even Lulita shared his grief.
The minstrel burst into song, His tenor voice was agreeably melancholy:
My love was on an open plain,
weaving a blanket for the freezing rain,
feeling the fear of winter cold
which comes and kills both young and old.
Archangel’s Ascension Page 13