by A J Dalton
Confused, and not knowing whether to fight or flee, Kate dug her heels into the sides of her unsuspecting horse. It screamed and reared up, its hoofs coming perilously close to Saltar's head. Then the horse's feet slammed back down and she was charging to get clear of the open, mass grave that the palace precinct had become.
She wanted life! She would not let them drag her down into the bowels of the earth, where they would suffocate her and make her one of them. She felt panic clawing at her throat, trying to find sufficient purchase to throttle her. She crouched low in the saddle and pushed her frightened mount onto greater speed in an irrational attempt to outdistance death. They careered across the smooth cobblestones of the precinct and helter-skelter down a narrow street. Only Kate's instinctive shifting of weight in the saddle allowed them to make it round corners and avoid slamming into any of the walls that rushed up to them.
Horse shoes kicked sparks from the stone as they went barrelling down through Accros. They left the faint smell of ozone in their wake as they were a part of Shakri's own wild herd running before a storm. They were harbingers of the tempest, and death and destruction came in their wake.
Suddenly they were on the bridge that led out of the city. The gate was open and the eighty-nine were mounted and waiting for her. Commands were shouted amongst the milling cavalry and they managed to pull to either side of the road just in time to avoid the collision. Then, miraculously, they fell in behind her and formed a deafening thunderhead that echoed off the horizon until it seemed to rival the very forces of nature.
Kate had never felt so alive. She screamed at the sky in ecstatic abandon. Her usually tied back hair had come loose and streamed with her horse's mane like a black pennon. A column of steel-eyed men rode at her heels as an unstoppable spear that would split the heart of Dur Memnos in two.
And she was the irreducible point of the spear, pristine and adamantine. For these brief but glorious moments, she was omnipotent. This must be how it felt to be a god! To need fear nothing in heaven, earth and the nether realms. To be untouchable! To be so blessed in being. To be so essential, to have such a concentrated existence, that all else was squeezed out and only pure, uncorrupted... unspoilt... wonder was left. No taint of disease, no shadow of doom, no bruise of frailty, no grime of human need, no filth of mortal fulfilment, no mire of worldly ambition and concern.
The sides of her steed blew in and out, the iron bellow of it lungs pushed to their limit and straining for impossible capacity. Foam flew from its mouth and spattered her elbows. Its coat was already lathered, and soaked her leathered thews. The drama and intensity of its physicality slowly brought her back to the here and now. They could not ride at this breakneck speed for more than a few more minutes, not without having half their mounts collapse under them.
She raised her hand to signal a slowing down to those behind her, and went from a gallop, to a canter, to a trot. A captain pulled level with her, the scars on his face gifting him with a smile on one side and a sneer on the other. The brass buttons on his uniform were tarnished and the number of mended rents in his jacket made it clear he was a veteran of numerous battles. He regarded her with clear, blue eyes that were the only things to say he'd ever been young.
'We were eager to get going as well!' he called over the drumming hoof beats. 'Few of us have been able to sleep, what with all the animees creeping into the city during the night. I don't think young Tollen's hair will ever lay flat again. I'm Vallus, by the way. I take it the General and your companions are not far behind, with the... the...'
'The followers, yes. I am Kate, a King's Guardian. None of this sits well with me.'
Captain Vallus spat. 'Nor me. But then I never thought I'd see the day when I was riding with Memnosians either. You people killed my younger brother, and his wife died of a broken heart.'
Kate hawked and spat just as deliberately as the Accritanian had. She met his bright gaze with a clouded, dark look. 'People on both sides have lost families. If you come across the ruined body of your brother trailing along behind us and find you cannot cope with the sight, then remember it was that sick son-of-a-bitch you Accritanians call your Head Necromancer who was responsible for raising him. Just think yourself lucky you're not likely to end up on the opposite side to your dead brother. Imagine having to hack his already mutilated body into smaller pieces. Even then, his decapitated head would continue to stare at you accusingly. I take it he's got blue eyes like yours? What would you do with the head, Vallus? Put its eyes out? Put it in a sack with some stones and throw it in the river? But then you'd be troubled by the thought of it still animated at the bottom of the river. Would you find you couldn't sleep and then creep from your bed to retrieve it? Would you then crack open the skull...'
'Enough! Are you well?'
She had acid in her mouth. She swallowed it and reined in her irrational desire to kill and destroy. Amidst it all, there were things that needed saving or she would only be doing Voltar's or Lacrimos's work for them. 'You must understand, Vallus, that it's important where we see blame and responsibility as lying. Dur Memnos has become a charnel house not just for Accritanians but also Memnosians. We suffer like you. See past your personal suffering, Vallus, or you will be blind to the subtle, non-immediate causes of the war. If we allow ourselves to be blinded, we will never end this war that blights the existence of all mankind, from newly born to aged peon.'
'And what are these subtle causes you speak of?'
'They are not swords, lines of battle and heroic deeds, Vallus, I think you know this. They are not friendships, alliances and codes of honour. They are not opposing cities, kingdoms and armies. If it were as simple as Accritania fighting Dur Memnos, the war would have been over within a handful of years. Instead, the war has spanned generations. It has overtaken history. Children are born to the war and die for the war. The war seeks to define our entire lives, the very existence of we mortals.'
'But what else is there?' Vallus asked in genuine mystification.
'Precisely!'
'I don't understand.'
'What else is there? What do we fight to save, Vallus? Forget what we fight to destroy, man, for we have all but achieved that destruction. What's left? Forget the lies of honour, pride and patriotism, for they do not feed and clothe the people! What's left that is concrete and will survive this war?'
'I-I... there will be some people left, I hope,' Vallus said quietly. 'My brother and parents are dead, but I think I had a nephew once. Perhaps he lives still.'
Kate nodded. 'We do not fight for the idea of the Kingdom of Accritania or the Kingdom of Dur Memnos. We fight for the continued existence of humanity. This war is close to making us all extinct. We are the last few, Captain. The dead far outnumber the living. Armies of putrefying corpses walk the land. The Kingdom of Shakri is but days from collapse.'
Vallus covered his eyes and nodded. 'I hear the truth in what you say. I have always known it somehow, but it remained like something half-remembered to me. It was like a dream. Now, I feel I am truly awake for the first time in my life!' A look of joy transformed the Accritanian's face and he looked boyish. 'I thank you, Kate. I see the horror around me at last, where I was blinded by it before. It appals me, especially when I think I may have helped bring it about. I have come to my sense finally and will do all I can to change things. I pray it is not too late.'
Kate smiled at him. 'Time is indeed short.'
'Is it Lacrimos we fight then? How can we fight the gods themselves? How is it we ride on Dur Memnos if we hope to end the killing?'
'It is Voltar who must be destroyed, not the people of Dur Memnos. It is Voltar who perpetuates this war, with some necromatic item known as the Heart. He uses the Heart to resurrect his armies again and again. I know not if he is actually in league with Lacrimos, or whether he vies with the gods themselves.'
'If he is powerful enough to challenge the gods, then what hope do we have?'
'There you are!' the Scourge shouted angrily as his
destrier finally caught up with them, closely followed by Young Strap and General Constantus, the latter seeming as winded as his own horse.
Captain Vallus saluted the General smartly, while Kate merely nodded to the commander of the King's Guardians. The Scourge narrowed his eyes and Kate prepared herself to be shouted at. Instead of the expected upbraiding or barrage of abuse, however, he allowed only understanding to show from his face. No! He was not supposed to be able to see her like this! She would break against the black diamonds of his eyes! Suddenly, she was painfully aware of who she was, of her aborted hopes and dreams, all she had suffered and lost. She couldn't face him and pulled her horse back down the line. He turned away from her and took his place at the head of the column.
She found herself next to Young Strap. 'Hello!' he said with strangely muted enthusiasm. 'I know it's the end of the world and all that, but it doesn't help matters if we can't get the army out of the city in an orderly fashion.'
'Does he even have a plan?'
Young Strap chuckled good-naturedly. 'I asked him that. He growled and grouched like an old hound whose bones are aching because of the cold weather. He wants to stay in his accustomed place by the hearth, but cannot deny his nature and will always go out for the hunt. He'll stand stiff-legged for a while, but as soon as there's the scent or glimpse of the prey, he'll be off and leading the pack. Where the young and inexperienced hounds will waste themselves on excited baying and scrabbling overexuberance, he'll follow the path with silent intensity and deadly economy. He'll be first to the kill and, once satisfied with himself, will leave the carcass for the others to fight over.'
'A simple yes or no would have sufficed. I take it he changed the subject when you asked?'
Young Strap nodded glumly.
Kate took pity on him, remembering her own discomfort of just having met the Scourge. Gently, she asked, 'Strap, what do you know of love?'
She didn't know what she'd expected by way of an answer, especially from one so young, but she had no one else she felt she could ask. Besides, he was old enough to have killed any number of men. Surely he was old enough to have loved too. Young Strap looked at her briefly, to judge how serious her question was, and then looked down at his hands as he considered his response. Finally, he said, 'Sometimes I think I know everything and other times I think I know nothing. For what it's worth, in my experience it's always easiest at the beginning. Then it seems to get harder than it was at first. And it keeps on getting harder. The more it consumes you, the less you have to give, until finally there's nothing left. And when you have nothing left, it's a kind of despair, so perhaps it's always best to keep something back. I can tell you, though, that it's always worth it, no matter how hard it gets.'
Kate found her heart hurt. 'I haven't known you long. But I feel you're a different man to the one I first met on the road.'
A lopsided grin answered her. 'The end of the world does that to you. Oh! Where are you going?'
'To find my love amongst the dead. I'm proud to know you, Strap!' she said as she turned her horse's head to face the large shadow advancing behind them.'
***
The living ranks of the Accritanian army made good time, partly because they wanted to make sure they stayed well ahead of their undead countrymen. They made all the noise of troops in good spirits, but the Scourge couldn't help notice that smiles were kept on faces a fraction longer than was normal, eye contact was kept a fraction shorter than normal, and that the weakest of jests was met with unrestrained laughter. And these Accritanians were hard men. The youngest and rawest of them would have seemed a hard-bitten veteran in any other army. Such men were not meant to jest loudly, break into song or ride in such close formation that they were all but in each other's pockets. He had not seen a single one of them look back over their shoulder. He realised these men were unnerved by the dead marching in their wake, and he feared how they would cope when battle was joined. Who knew what horrors Voltar had at his command!
Perhaps sensing his unease, Constantus rode closer to him and spoke so that they could not be overheard by Young Strap or Captain Vallus: 'These are good men, Scourge. In battle, each of them is worth a dozen of the enemy. There have been times when I doubted my own senses, for I have seen each of them tower twelve feet tall once the battle fever is upon them. You would not recognise them. They have fought Lacrimos when all seemed lost and not been found wanting. The fact that they are here now, marching towards their doom, is all any man could ask of another. But, in being here, they ask something of you and I, Guardian. They ask us to lead and guide them, to have faith in them. They look to us, and if we do not show confidence in them, then they will begin to doubt themselves. We must believe in them.'
The Scourge felt momentarily humbled. 'I hear you, Constantus, and the ring of truth in your words. This old hound is more used to hunting alone than with others. Now that I am slowing down, I have taken on Young Strap, but I cannot say I am comfortable with it. I am worried that his lack of experience endangers both him and me.'
Constantus smiled obliquely. 'I can see you have never been a father, Scourge. If you try to protect him too much, you will stop him from gaining the very experience he needs. If you are intolerant of his youth and innocence, seeing them as a weakness to be driven out, then you will only succeed in creating a monster, a monster who will ultimately turn on you.'
'What should I do then?'
Another haunted smile. 'Stop trying to do anything. Be more accepting and forgiving. It is more important to be than to do.'
'You sound like a priest I knew once,' the Scourge observed.
'My son said something similar to me once. I miss him greatly. But I am sure Shakri keeps him now. He was so full of life.'
The Scourge ducked his head. 'I'm sorry. I should have thought.'
'No, man, there is no need for sorries and sadness! I felt lucky to have known him. What man could have asked for a better son? He taught me much, and helped me become a better man than I would have been otherwise. I grieved at his passing, but to grieve too much or too long would have been to start destroying a second life – my own. Go too far down that path and a part of you, the bit that has the instinct for survival, begins to resent the dearly departed for ever having existed. I will not do my son's memory that disservice, particularly when I feel he lives on in what I have become.'
The Scourge lapsed into silence, brooding on the General's words. He thought about his parents of so long ago. He could see their faces staring back at him as clearly as if it had only been mere moments ago that he had been forced to cut them down. He'd never managed to track down the necromancer responsible. Had he grieved too long and let it destroy his own life? He couldn't believe that. He refused to believe that. The only way to be sure that the necromancer responsible was finally dead was to kill them all. They must all die, including Savantus, Mordius and Voltar, his King.
The column rode on. It passed through a small hamlet called Huntsman's Hollow, where everything was still and closed up. It didn't feel dead or abandoned particularly, more like it was waiting for some terrible event or it was anticipating something with a hunger of sorts. The way the soldiers continually looked for signs of movement at door and window, the Scourge knew they felt as watched as he did. The hairs had risen on the back of his neck and it was all he could do to still a reflexive shiver. No one suggested that they stop even to water the horses.
They passed through Huntsman's Hollow as quickly as they could, creating as little disturbance as possible. There were some things under heaven and earth best left well alone, best not even discussed.
They pressed on, the road beginning to pass through fields of snow and ice and incline upwards. They were reaching the foothills of the Needle Mountains. The sun was close to dipping below the horizon and the temperature was beginning to drop, what with the increased altitude and onset of night, but still no one mentioned stopping for the night. They were of course reluctant to stop and have the dead catch up
with them.
The Scourge recognised the landscape and knew that if they went much further, they would be forced to set up came near the Accritanian guard post at the entrance to Worm Pass. Even if all the dead bodies there had since been covered over by snow, their shapes would be recognisable. He realised he couldn't ask his soldiers to lay down in a graveyard, and finally called a halt.
That night, the soldiers built their cook-fires higher than they probably should have, given their limited supplies of fuel and the fact that they were an invading army that wanted to avoid the watchful eyes of Dur Memnos. But the Scourge couldn't find it in his heart to begrudge the men any light and warmth on this march.
'I've posted six guards for the camp,' Constantus told the Scourge once they'd rubbed down and picketed their horses.
'Better post a few on Savantus too. At the first sign of any of his necromancers moving to overrun us, they should cut his throat. Agreed?'
'Absolutely. What of Saltar, though? He watches Savantus, does he not?'
'I'd sleep more easily knowing that loyal men with hot blood in their veins were protecting us from these necromancers and their ilk.'
'Yes, perhaps its safer not to trust this Saltar. I forget sometimes that he is an animee controlled by Mordius. Who can say what Mordius schemes, with or without Savantus? Yet Saltar seems so... alive, if that's the right word! Your Guardian, Kate, certainly seems taken with him.'
The Scourge didn't know whether to spit or sigh. 'There's no telling her. Believe me, I've tried! And there's nothing I can really do about it. By Lacrimos's eternally flaccid member, her own King is a necromancer and we march with an army of the dead! Added to that, it sounds like half of Dur Memnos lives only because it has been resurrected by Voltar. Saltar, or Balthagar as he used to be known, has lived for centuries and been brought back time and again. And the realms of the living and the dead are collapsing one into the other. In such a world, how can I forbid Kate from loving Saltar, whether I'm her commander or not? How can I forbid her the few moments of happiness she might grab before the end of all we know? To be sure, I'm not sure I even am her commander anymore.'