Reaver's Wail

by Corey Pemberton

  “It can be. It can also lead to hallucinations, delirium, and other diseases of the mind. Once you start seeking, Argus, truly seeking, sometimes you won't enjoy what you find.” Willow looked into the sea. She wore a long white dress embroidered with silver thread—something she'd picked up on the Cradle—and her eyes burned the color of moss.

  She was the only thing that could draw his attention away from the books.

  “I see it now that you won't turn back. It is your destiny. To pursue it, you must study the branches and powers within them in order. Hearing and seeing come first, like a newborn. Then smell and taste. Only then will you be ready for the fifth branch: touch.”

  Argus shook his head. “You aren't telling me everything.”

  “I've told you everything you need to—”

  “There's another branch. A sixth.”

  Willow's eyes narrowed. “Who told you such things?”

  Got her, he thought. She might be a sorceress, but she's a terrible liar.

  “Very well,” she said. “Since you're determined to see this through. The sixth branch is also the most powerful.”

  “The power of thought.” He'd heard it years ago from a sociable scholar who worked at the university in Azmar. Plying him with a few bottles of wine had helped.

  “The power of thought,” said Willow, “is not to be trifled with. Most of those who follow the path go mad by the time they reach the second or third branch. If they keep going, they often beg for someone to end their lives—some of them do it themselves. But the sixth branch?”

  Argus leaned forward.

  “There's a reason why the first five are slim tomes, and half the Library of Man is full of treatises devoted to the sixth. There hasn't been a competent thought sorcerer or sorceress in…” Her eyes fluttered, calculating. “Not since Josephine. That must have been four hundred years ago.”

  “What happened with her?”

  “The sixth branch took its price. Josephine paid with her life. One moment she was smiling at supper. The next she was dead. Jumped right off the Cradle and fell all the way into the Rona Desert.”

  Argus winced. But he didn't overlook the meaningful look in the woman's eyes. “You're on that path right now yourself.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip and shifted back and forth, creaking on the deck. “Those books I went back for are the first steps.”

  “It took you long enough to get started.”

  “There's good reason why I avoided them for so long. Even now just opening those pages fills my heart with dread. Yet with the rest of the Eld gone it might be my only hope to turn back the Blight.”

  Argus wondered if he would make the same choice. If I even make it that far, he thought.

  “The only certainty with magic is that once you start there's no going back.”

  “Fine. My life isn't exactly befit for a nobleman at the moment.”

  Willow nodded. “You've been searching your entire life. Ever since you were a babe there's been a hole in you—one that most others don't feel. But I can feel it in you. That gnawing hunger, that thirst for secret knowledge. You've tried to fill that hole with fighting and powders and women, but none of those quite fit… until now.”

  Argus let his fingers glide across the cover of the Hearing Branch. He couldn't deny it.

  “Will it be a boon or a curse?” she wondered. “Only time will tell.”

  With that, she left him alone in his cabin.

  Argus cracked open the book again and re-read the first paragraph, twisting his mind to unravel its mysteries.

  A boon or a curse?

  He was going to find out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “You should stay far away from that,” Harun said.

  Argus slammed his book shut and whirled. “Since when have you been concerned about my well-being, Harun? We've fought shoulder to shoulder outnumbered ten to one.”

  “Twenty,” said Harun, smiling.

  “Fine. Twenty. My point is that we're mercenaries, not shepherds or shy maidens. Personal safety isn't exactly at the top of our priorities.”

  “It would be one thing if it were a man with a sword. This enemy is different, my friend. One you cannot see or touch. The most dangerous enemies of all are the creeping kinds. If you don't stop now, by the time you realize what happened it will already be too late.”

  “I'm fine. Now if you don't mind, I have some reading to do.”

  The Tokati shrugged. “We already crossed into Garvahn a few hours ago. Don't make me come back down here and pull you out of your cabin.”

  Argus laughed. “I'd like to see you try!”

  But Harun wasn't laughing. He took one more suspicious glance at the book, then turned away and left Argus alone in the cabin.

  Gods, Argus thought. His head hadn't hurt this badly since the morning after a particularly festive Tokati wedding a few years earlier. The pain drove through his temples like an awl. He read the first passage in the book again, but the words made even less sense than before.

  “Bugger all these riddles,” he said. He shut the book and for a moment considered hurling it across the cabin. Having resolved to read the passage again later, Argus swore and packed up his things. Soon his cabin was empty.

  He climbed above deck. All the others were waiting. They stood on the port side, studying Garvahn's rugged coastline closely.

  “The cliffs ease up a bit just around that cape,” he said, and pointed. “We should be able to find a spot to drop anchor there.”

  The others nodded and talked among themselves. They kept their voices low, though their eyes lingered on Argus until he was well past uncomfortable. The way they looked at him was akin to the way he'd seen farmers look at a newborn calf, sickly and premature. Watching. Waiting. Wondering if he would make it until tomorrow.

  “The Calladonians will land north of here,” said Willow. “Probably in that cove we passed.” She shut her eyes. “I can see it.”

  “So why not sail all the way around the cape to Sorbas?” asked Argus.

  She opened her eyes and gave him a pointed look. “Because I may be wrong. If he crosses south of here and heads us off before we reach Sorbas, he'll sink this ship before we even get close.”

  “Now that's reassuring. What are we supposed to do?”

  Willow shrugged. “All we know for certain is he isn't between us and that shoreline right there.” She pointed. “We land there. I don't see any other choice.”

  “Lovely,” said Argus, pointing at the formidable limestone cliffs. “Then how do we get up those?”

  “The same way goats do on the Comet Tail,” said Nasira. “We climb.”

  Argus looked around the group for a sign this was a joke, but found none. By the time he said, “Oh, you're serious,” Willow had grabbed the wheel and told them to hang on.

  The sails filled with a strong wind. A gale, stronger than any she'd ever created. It stung his eyes, picked him up and carried him from one side of the deck to the other. He screamed for her to stop. That just spurred her on to sail even faster.

  The bow heaved out of the sea as they rushed straight for the cliffs.

  Crawling to avoid the brunt of the wind, Argus eked his way to the port side where the others huddled. He yelled at them. Their mouths were open too. The only thing he heard was a cacophony of rushing air.

  They crowded together, scrambling for handholds. They kept their heads down.

  All the while, those cliffs came racing toward them.

  Argus pressed his face into Siggi's half-beard and screamed, “What the blazes is she doing?”

  He shook his head.

  Argus swore. The cliffs loomed, taller than they looked out at sea, with a host of jagged edges. They were pocked with depressions that might serve as makeshift handholds…

  If they were lucky.

  Willow shuffled toward the bow. She turned as she went, slithering around the wind currents. When she reached the bow—which was still jutting out of
the water—she screamed for them to join her.

  They scrambled over there, eyes on the cliffs. The wind thumped them against the deck, buffeted them to their knees, and threw an entire quiver of Nasira's arrows overboard. But they got up and kept on. Those cliffs wouldn't wait.

  One vicious gust sent them skittering into the bow.

  Argus caught a glimpse of the raging sea below. He held on with the others as the boat bucked right through it and the bow reached for the cliff face like a long tongue.

  “Now!” screamed Willow. “Jump!”

  Argus shut his eyes and felt the bow lifting even higher. He jumped. Everyone sprang from the railing in a single, connected mass. Hands out, reaching, they jumped…

  And slapped against the cliff face just as their boat exploded into a thousand splinters. That crackle echoed. A brutal snapping sound not unlike the sound the jailer's neck had made when Brenn got his paws on him.

  He heard groans from above.

  Argus opened his eyes and somehow found himself attached to the cliff. He squeezed a pair of overhanging rocks. His toes had slipped into a mossy recess. Willow and Harun were above him, Brenn and Nasira and Siggi below. Siggi shook his head as he pulled his round belly up the rocks.

  “You bitch!” screamed the Rivannan. “Are you trying to kill us?”

  Above them all, Willow shook her head. “It's the only way we would have made it this close with those strong currents. Everyone in one piece?”

  Argus looked around, then examined his body carefully. Everyone was covered in cuts and bruises, but there were no major injuries. He contemplated whether that made them lucky or cursed. Willow had prolonged their lives. Yet more torture would surely follow.

  “I can't climb this!” Nasira shrieked. “I'm not strong en—”

  “Nonsense,” said Willow. She looked down at them. Only then did Argus realize she was managing to hold on without using her hands.

  “You don't even need to use strength if you find the right foot holes. This cliff shies away from the water, see? Just lean in.”

  They grumbled and cursed her again, but gradually grew more comfortable. Their words trailed off as they focused on scaling the cliff, searching for holds, testing for loose rocks.

  “Here,” Willow said. “Follow my path.”

  Argus looked up and found a trail of white prints where her hands and feet had been. They looked like they'd been painted on with flour. He did everything in his power to follow them. He glanced down a few times, shuddered, and forced his eyes away. The wreckage was already disappearing in the sea foam.

  One by one they went.

  All of them stumbled. Siggi nearly fell twice. Yet somehow they managed to pull themselves over the edge without incident. Argus collapsed on the scrub grass with the others, panting, not moving despite a few stinging burrs.

  His pack lay beside him, and that was all that mattered.

  The Five Branches were safe.

  When the group had gathered their breaths, they cursed Willow again until they ran out of words. She bore them without a hint of emotion. Her eyes were elsewhere: on the grassland stretched before them.

  “Well,” said Siggi, “that's one way to get ashore.”

  “We should have just sailed on to Sorbas,” Harun said.

  Willow glared at him. “Enough. Besides, we need more soldiers to help us. Soldiers like those…”

  Shit. Argus jumped up and looked for somewhere to hide. With the cliff right behind them and nothing but sparse grassland in front, his search turned up empty. The only option was to listen to the horses approach—and hope the people riding them were friendly.

  Moments later, a column of riders crested a small hill. Where the ground leveled, that column spread across the road that cut through the grassland. They filled the entire road and then some, riding six abreast. At the head of the column, banners rustled in the breeze. White wolves with their heads thrown back and fangs bared, running rampant on fields of gray.

  The ground trembled.

  Sunlight glinted on silver breastplates. Every suit of armor was perfectly polished, every link of mail pristine. With their eager march and professional demeanor, they looked little like a vicious mercenary company—but he knew better.

  “The Night Wolves,” Harun said.

  Brenn whistled. “I'll be damned.”

  “Is that really them?” asked Nasira.

  “That's them, all right,” Argus said. They thundered down the road beneath a cloud of dust. While the others shifted and glanced all around, Willow strode right into the middle of the road and waited for the column to approach.

  Argus's heart pounded. The Night Wolves made no effort to slow down. Their horses bore down on Willow, kicking up a trail of sod behind them.

  They'll search us, he thought. They'll find the Five Branches.

  Willow lifted a hand. The sunlight caught the gems she wore, casting a prism of multicolored light in every direction. She didn't move.

  Finally, just when the riders were about to run her down, a stern voice slowed the column. The first few ranks rumbled past them, then pulled to a stop. Soon they were surrounded in a swath of armor and drawn steel.

  The commander, a ruddy-faced woman with blonde braids, dismounted. Her riding boots squeaked as she walked toward them, eying them closely.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Clearly you aren't from these parts. What's your business in Garvahn?”

  Everyone turned to Willow. She didn't answer.

  A few soldiers behind the commander, who were still mounted, sneered. “I wager they're spies, my lady,” one man said. “Caught ourselves a few rats. They must be rats if they scurried right up those cliffs.”

  The commander glared at him. “The Night Wolves don't wager, Dorian. Even if we did, do you really think Eamon would be stupid enough to send his spies right into the heart of Garvahn? When it's crawling with mercenary companies such as ourselves?” She sighed. “Come on. Use your head.”

  “To be fair,” said a young woman who looked about the same age as Nasira, “Emperor Eamon is a fool if he intends to tilt with the Wolves.”

  The column erupted into cheers, which withered away quickly after the commander yelled at them. “You aren't spies,” she said, “but you still haven't answered my questions.”

  “We're the Legion of the Wind,” Argus said with a grin.

  A few of the soldiers snickered.

  “Is that so?” the commander asked. “Just the six of you? Even though the legion was decimated in Harlock a few years ago?”

  Argus shrugged. “We're what's left of it, lady commander. And we've just decided to re-form. Even the mightiest oak begins as a humble acorn.”

  Willow laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Keep running your mouth like that and you'll get us all killed.”

  “It's gotten me this far,” he muttered. But he backed away after he saw the look on the commander's face.

  “We aren't spies,” said Willow, “but we do have information. That fool you were talking about?” She glanced at the man who'd made the joke. “He's on his way to Garvahn as we speak, with half a dozen ships and probably a thousand men.”

  The commander winced. “How do you know that?”

  “We spotted his fleet out at sea. On our voyage south from Azmar.”

  Murmurs traveled through the crowd, and then the Night Wolves fell silent. Their commander peered over the cliff's edge and into the sea. “You're the first we've heard this from. We make haste for Sorbas. Join us.” She twisted those last two words like a dagger. A command—one that brooked no argument.

  Argus and other members of the newly-formed Legion of the Wind looked at Willow.

  “Who among you commands?” the young woman asked. “Every mercenary company needs a leader.”

  “Easy, commander,” said the man who'd made the joke. “They're still green. A humble acorn mustn't be trampled.” More laughter rippled around the crowd.

  “Shut up, Dorian.
One more outburst, and I'll have your tongue in my stew for supper.”

  When the column was quiet, she turned to Argus. “Your company is welcome to ride with us. There are spare horses at the end of our column. We make for Sorbas. There, the defense guild can weigh the tale you've told.”

  Argus, knowing to quit a game when he was ahead, thanked her.

  “Don't thank me yet. The minister might not give a falcon's tail about your story. He may call you liars, trespassers in a time of war.” She swung a long leg gracefully into her saddle and mounted the black gelding waiting for her. Reins in hand, she was just about to set the column riding again when she snapped her fingers.

  “What happened to your ship?” she asked.

  Willow told her it had crashed into the tall cliffs, sucked in by a vicious current and swirling winds.

  “Aye,” she said, nodding. “The sea is a bastard. Never trusted it myself, though I don't suspect where we're headed will be any less dangerous. My name is Danielle. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  She raised a fist and thrust it forward. That set the hooves trampling again. They had just enough time to dive out of the road before the column bowled them over. The commander's welcome was cordial enough. Judging by the glares they received from the other riders, her company was leery.

  Finally, when the end of the column came into sight, a veteran with a gray beard and a spear pointed out some spare horses. They were the worst of the lot. Small things, elderly mares on their last legs.

  There was nothing to do but mount up and hope they survived the trip to Sorbas.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  After a few hours of Argus's prodding, the lithe woman who rode beside them at the end of the column gave up and offered her name.

  “I'm Cassie.”

  “Is that your real name? Or just an alias for your time in the Night Wolves?”

  She sighed and swatted a shock of black hair away from her face. “Are you always this incorrigible?”

  “Yes,” Siggi chimed in. “He is.”

  “Cassie is the name my mother gave me,” she said, straightening in her saddle. “Unlike you other mercenaries, no one who joins the Wolves gets to escape the past.”