Reaver's Wail

by Corey Pemberton

  Tovar shook his head. “In times of peace and war, we have a rigid structure we're bound to follow. I'll see that your message gets delivered through the proper channels.”

  Willow spun away. “Fine. Let's go.”

  They started to back out of the office when Tovar sprang from his seat and wobbled over to her. “My lady? Just one more thing. If I could get my quill…”

  She threw it at him and stomped out of the guild hall with the others at her heels.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Fool,” said Willow. “Not just him—Tovar. All of these guild masters and premieres. Their wealth has made them weak.”

  She led them back over the drawbridge toward the tent city. She had cursed the premiere of the treasury since the second they stepped out of the guild hall, and showed no signs of slowing down.

  “Prosperity makes fools of us all,” Argus said.

  “He's wasting time he doesn't have. If the mercenaries don't know who's coming—if Sorbas isn't ready…” Her voice trailed off. She didn't speak again until they reached the edge of the swelling tent city. After shooing away a few stray dogs, they decided to make camp next to the Night Wolves, which was the most amenable to outsiders. They returned the horses to Danielle and tried—and failed—to barter for their own.

  “I guess it's just us and the Deathmaidens as the infantry then,” said Argus. The all-female unit was known for two things above all else: their prowess in battle and their refusal to use horses. Every day was another opportunity to prove they needed the support of neither men nor beasts.

  Harun grimaced. “I want nothing to do with those women. Savages, all of them. With curt tongues.”

  “Irresistible,” said Siggi, smiling.

  They set up camp near the edge of the Wolves, whose soldiers chuckled when they told them how much they were to be paid.

  “Tovar,” a brunette woman scoffed. “A pox on Tovar.”

  “I bet his arse is clenched in the shape of a dragon piece,” a man chimed in. The others laughed. Even Siggi and Nasira. But Argus's mind was elsewhere.

  It was impossible to believe the fat premiere with the pipe was one of the wealthiest men in all of Garvahn. But war did funny things to a man; it showed the wealthy just how beggarly and vulnerable they truly were. Argus had been rich once. That was before the Builders Bank was plundered. Now he was fighting for hardly anything at all.

  Afternoon turned to evening, and soon it was time to think about a fire. Not that they had anything to cook over it. After their money disappeared from Davos, all they had left was whatever remained in their pockets. Brenn started complaining about food, but Willow was too preoccupied with the emperor to answer.

  “We should go after him ourselves,” she said. “Anything's better than just waiting for them to come down that pass and ambush us.”

  Argus swore. “How are we supposed to get to Eamon if he's surrounded by soldiers?”

  Willow's green eyes bore into him. Don't ask questions, they said, unless you truly want to know the answers…

  “We surprise them,” said Harun. “Wait until they're asleep and try to keep it quiet.”

  Brenn grunted.

  “What?” said the Tokati. “You prefer we just run up and engage them in pitched battle?”

  “In an ideal world.”

  “Yeah,” said Siggi, “but we aren't killing anyone if we don't get something to eat first.” He turned to Willow. “You know I'm right, lady. And we only get one chance at this.”

  They argued some more. Finally, when the sun fell beneath the horizon, Argus got up and said, “I can't take this anymore. I'll get us something to eat.”

  “How?” said Willow. “Don't do anything stupid, Argus.”

  He shrugged. “It's all completely above board. I just happen to know my way around a game of king's folly.”

  With that he was gone. Harun trailed after him. They wandered through the mercenary city until they reached the dark purple tents of the Reaper Battalion. The noise was loudest here, and Argus forced past braised pork ribs and roasting chicken. His mouth was still watering when he and Harun sat down at a table full of drunk Reapers, a pair of surly Silent Company men, and a woman from the Deathmaidens with a stack of chips larger than all the others.

  “Who are you with?” asked one of the Reapers, a Pellmerean with flushed cheeks and thinning blond hair.

  “The Legion of the Wind,” Argus said.

  Raucous laughter.

  “Don't take the piss out of us,” the Reaper said. “I'm hardly older than a boy, and even I know the Legion disbanded five years past.” The others voiced their agreement.

  “We would know,” Harun said, then threw the last of his dragons into the pot. “We served in it together. We were there when it disbanded in Harlock, and there again when we decided to re-form it.”

  The players eyed them suspiciously from behind their cards. “I don't believe you,” said the Deathmaiden. “I thought all the Legion were dead. You wouldn't be the first mercenary I met who likes to stretch the truth.”

  Argus shrugged. “Don't believe us, then. Just deal us in and let us take your dragons instead.”

  The mercenaries looked at each other and sneered.

  It didn't take long for Argus and Harun to make those sneers disappear.

  It's better this way, he thought. If no one believed they'd fought under the Legion's banner, they'd ask fewer questions. Maybe they wouldn't find out about the bounty…

  He watched his stack of chips grow. King's folly always cleared his mind. He could read a man's face and know what to do a second later. It wasn't anything like the torture of reading magic spells—trying to make them his.

  By the time they left the table, they'd been called cheats and bastards, low-lives and even sorcerers. The pair of Silent Company men hopped up and demanded they empty their sleeves.

  Harun shook his head. “Best not to go there, friends. Sit down and have another ale. Don't ruin your evening.”

  One man grabbed Harun's sleeve with a grimace. “Show us what's under that sleev—argh!” He screamed even louder as his hand, now detached from his wrist, sailed through the air and landed on the game table, spurting blood all over the players and cards.

  Harun pointed a curved dagger at the one-handed man and said, “Now you see what's under my sleeve. Satisfied?”

  He fell to his knees, scrambling for his missing hand. The others cowered behind the table and slung apologies and curses.

  “What's taking you two so long?” boomed a voice somewhere in the Reaper camp.

  Argus pocketed his share of the winnings and looked for it.

  “Is that Brenndall the Bold?” asked the Deathmaiden.

  It was. He ambled over to Argus and Harun, stepped over the dismembered man without a second look. “Let's go. I'm starving.”

  Voices bubbled all around, incredulous.

  “I thought he died in Tokat.”

  “I heard Syrio was keeping him in Azmar as his personal slave.”

  “Who's that beside him? The tall one with the dark hair? Wasn't he the one who killed that king from Leith?”

  They left them arguing amongst themselves. Brenn made short work of the dragons they'd won. As they tramped across the Reaper camp, he bought cheese and ale from a traveling merchant, and a sizzling rack of lamb from a soldier too terrified to refuse.

  More questions followed them. The slack-jacked, wide-eyed amazement.

  “Looks like the Legion is officially resurrected,” Harun said.

  Argus grunted. The grease from a lamb rib exploded in his mouth. His old brother was right. The Legion of the Wind was back—and growing in infamy.

  They passed out the food and ale and ate by the fire Nasira had made. No one said a word while they ate. When their meal was finished, all Argus could do was lounge on the grass and hold his belly. The ale buzzed in his head. He watched Nasira hammer her copper and lead mixture into thin sheets and trim it carefully with a pair of sci
ssors. Forging dragons of her own.

  “Bugger off!” Brenn yelled, sending the men who lurked at the edge of their camp scurrying away. “Well then,” he said. “I suppose the word is out.”

  Argus nodded. It was a miracle that the tent cities were still standing. With so much enmity between the mercenary companies—echos carried over from old battles—getting them to work together seemed next to impossible.

  Willow stood up and paced around the fire. “I can't tarry here any longer. We have to do something.”

  Just then, they got their opportunity. A slender, brown-eyed woman strode into their camp. Her dress was simple, the color of swirling sand, but the gems in her sandals and ears gave her away as a wealthy guild member.

  “Stop,” Brenn said. He puffed up his chest and was probably about to tell her to bugger off when Willow said, “Wait. She's from Sorbas.”

  The woman gave them a slight bow. “That is correct.” She tapped the stack of coins emblem on her breast. “You are the Legion of the Wind? The ones who saw the Calladonian fleet?”

  They nodded.

  “I am Serena,” she said, motioning them closer to the fire. “I come to you with a message from the premiere of defense. Premiere Tovar passed along your message in our chamber this evening…”

  “And?” Argus said.

  Serena checked the edges of their camp to make sure no one else was watching. “Come close,” she said. “This is of the utmost importance.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  They left that night, once the fires died down and the mercenary city slept.

  The defense guild, responsible for patrolling Sorbas's walls, nodded at them as they passed out into the open fields. Argus's body ached in the saddle. They'd given them horses to accomplish their task, but not even the wealthiest masters of Sorbas could buy them the lost sleep they needed.

  Willow led them away from the coast, heading northeast. The moon was full, but the path ahead was anything but level. The horses picked their way through hills and vales, climbing, climbing into the foothills where the Luskan Mountains loomed.

  “Where is the bastard?” Nasira asked.

  “Not far,” Willow said. “If he plans to march south for Sorbas, he'll have to come down that pass.” She pointed to a dark sliver that wound its way into the jagged peaks, all the way up the mountains until it disappeared in the snow. She stopped her horse, hopped off, and laid her hands on the ground.

  Harun shook his head and tried to calm his neighing horse. “What are you—”

  “Shh,” said Argus. “She's listening.”

  Willow closed her eyes and pressed her palms into the dirt. The night fell silent except for the gurgle of a faraway stream.

  Finally she opened her eyes. “I hear him. Approaching the north side of those mountains.”

  Argus dropped to the ground and tried to hear it too. He ran through the passages again and again, tortuous. There was nothing there but the cold earth beneath his fingertips.

  “Can you hear them?” Willow asked. “Can you hear the thundering hooves?”

  He shook his head.

  “It will come to you in time.”

  Time, he thought. The one thing we don't have.

  “Are you sure it's them?” Siggi asked.

  “I'm sure. I'm very accurate at this distance.”

  “Good,” said Nasira. “So we don't need to go any farther. The guild sent us to scout, and that's exactly what we've done. Now it's just a matter of going back to Sorbas and readying the defenses.”

  “No,” Willow said.

  “What do you mean? We've been riding for hours. We don't have that much time before dawn.”

  “We aren't going back to Sorbas,” said Willow. “Now's our opportunity to end this once and for all.”

  Argus shrugged. “What better place for an ambush than a mountain pass?”

  “Exactly. We have to hurry, though. Eamon is no fool. He'll proceed through that pass carefully. We need to hide before his vanguard arrives.”

  Willow kicked her horse and rode off into the night. The others followed her down the worn road, which was littered with weeds and rocks. Argus felt his horse grow warm against his legs as she panted to keep up.

  Willow didn't slow down until they were high in the foothills. Argus glanced up and saw nothing but jagged peaks and a few scattered stars. They were almost there. If they kept following the road, soon it would widen into the pass which cut through the mountains.

  Nasira called for water, and Siggi called for rest.

  Willow granted them neither. “Hurry.” She whirled around and her fiery hair flew in every direction. Not daring to slow down, she spurred her horse uphill into the wind. They climbed and climbed, switching back so many times Argus lost track of the edge.

  When they reached a sharp bend in the pass, Willow tugged her reins and stopped. “This is far enough.” She dismounted and laid a hand on the ground again. Gasped. She jerked her head around and winced. “They're at the other side of the pass.”

  “What now?” Nasira asked. “We can't just let them find us like this.”

  Brenn studied the pass and fingered his battle ax. “I don't see why not.”

  “They already know you're strong,” Willow said. “Now's the chance to show them you're smart as well. Get down from that poor horse, cousin.”

  Brenn did, and when he slid out of the saddle his horse let out a sigh of relief. The others dismounted and followed Willow toward a tiny gap in the high cliffs.

  “What's she doing?” Harun asked.

  Argus shrugged. He hadn't the slightest clue—until Willow pulled her horse through a slit in the rocks. She told them to do the same; one by one, they hid the horses in the mountain crevice.

  “What about us?” Argus asked.

  Willow smiled. “We go back into the pass. Scale the walls and when Eamon comes through—”

  “We end him.”

  “That's right.” She squeezed through the crevice back into the pass, and the others followed without question. They stared up at the cliffs looming on both sides, which formed a narrow canyon. Those walls were steep, and aside from a few scrub trees clinging for dear life, barren.

  They started to climb.

  Argus didn't look down. He hardly breathed. He knew they were getting high by how much stronger the wind blew. The only other sounds were grunts and the occasional curses when one of the Legion of the Wind stumbled.

  He looked left, then right. The others scaled the wall beside him. Some, like Harun and Willow, moved effortlessly. Others strained with every step. Siggi clutched his handholds stronger than he clutched a tankard of ale.

  Somehow they made it to a rocky shelf. Willow dragged herself over the edge and lay there, waiting for the others. They pulled themselves up one by one. The ones who'd finished the climb helped the others make the final, perilous scramble. Finally they were all up there, rubbing their forearms and catching their breaths.

  “I. Thought. You… were making us… climb all the way… to the top,” said Brenn.

  Willow shook her head, staring into the empty pass. “This is high enough. They won't be able to see us as long as we don't stray too far from the cliff.”

  Yeah, Argus thought. But how are we supposed to get down? The lack of an escape route had never bothered him before, yet now he had plenty of reasons to worry. Five of them, in fact. Five books in his pack.

  Willow turned to Nasira. “Are you good with a bow?”

  The Comet Tailer nodded. “I've been practicing since I was five. We artificers use archery as meditation to quiet our minds.”

  “Good. Anyone else?”

  Harun slung a crossbow off his back and laid a quiver of bolts on the ledge.

  “The three of us, then.” She turned to Brenn. “I know you'd prefer to get your hands dirty, but there's no need if this all goes well.”

  Brenn's lips disappeared into his beard. “There are always more people to kill.” He joined Argus and Sigg
i on the edge of the shelf closest to the mountain, where they watched the archers prepare.

  Willow laid out a brief plan. Emperor Eamon traveled in a simple carriage. There was no roof, no doors. “He likes to be among his common soldiers,” she said. All they had to do was wait for that palanquin to appear in the section of the pass beneath them, between the two bends.

  “We'll fire all at once,” she said. “To maximize our chances of killing him. On my signal.” She raised an arm then let it fall, showing them.

  “What then?” Argus asked. “How are we supposed to get off this bloody rock?”

  “Do you remember how we first met, Argus of Leith?”

  “Aye.” He thought of the electric kiss and flushed, retreating into the shadows of the mountain. She had sat on an earthen bench she'd created, from a magical prowess he couldn't fathom…

  “Let me worry about the escape.” With that, she found the longbow she'd brought and held it, testing the string. She laid her arrows beside her. All except for one, which she nocked.

  Harun and Nasira followed suit. Soon there were a pair of arrows and a crossbow bolt angled down into the canyon. They waited for what felt like forever like that. Argus watched the moon, prayed for it to stay out for just a little longer.

  If dawn beats them down that pass, they'll see us.

  He grabbed Reaver by the hilt and held her.

  Willow fell to her knees and shivered. “Here they come…”

  The archers crept to the edge of the shelf and readied their weapons, though for the moment the pass was still empty. Brenn and Siggi held their weapons too. An old habit. Even up here—where their ax and mace were useless.

  “Where are they?” Harun whispered.

  “Quiet,” said Willow, watching, pointing, hearing what they couldn't. For a moment Argus considered that she wasn't as stable as she let on. Maybe pursuing thought magic had gotten to her. He'd met countless others ravaged by delusions…

  Until he heard them.

  A wave of hooves pounding the rocky path.

  He scooted toward the edge, but couldn't see them until they rounded the bend. Row after row of horses filled the pass. Armor gleamed in the moonlight from the men who rode them. They looked identical from up here—nothing more than a sea of replaceable spears and helmets.