As they travelled, the hills got higher and the trees more regular until they were trudging up densely forested slopes and over high ridges. The air became close and humid.
The company moved fast, rising with the sun to continue their journey. Mist rose up the slopes beneath them as the sun’s rays gradually turned the morning due to vapour. The lush vegetation around them glistened in the dull morning light. Colken had sent Pick and a handful of men to scout ahead with Blue leading the way, the dog’s ears and nose twitching in all directions.
Yesterday preferred Colken’s company to anyone else’s and walked alongside him. The old soldier had been the Grey Man’s unofficial lieutenant, and Colken was happy to let him continue in the role, valuing the man’s experience and good humour.
“I’ve never come this far north in my life,” Yesterday said with a wistful expression on his battered face, “not in all my years of soldiering. My life has been a blur, one war blending into another. The only clear memories I have are painful ones. But I don’t know what I would have done different if I had my time again. I don’t see that I would have had a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” replied Colken, without looking up.
Yesterday snorted with laughter. “One day you will realise that all the choices you think you made were not choices at all, but decisions you were manipulated into making by fate. You are young and headstrong. I was the same when I was your age, but you’ll find life easier if you just accept it and try to ride the wave. Fight against it for too long, and you might drown.”
“And what if fate wants me to be different? What if I am a catalyst?” asked Colken.
“Fate wants you to do as you’re told and that’s all,” Yesterday said firmly. “When your story is as long as mine, you may think differently.”
“My story may not get that long,” said Colken, feeling the steel plate that covered his empty chest. He hadn’t thought about his stolen heart for some time, and the sudden memory of it stung him like a wasp. “My death may be but a heartbeat away.”
“Then you’ll have proved my point.”
“On the contrary.” Colken looked up at the old soldier. “I will have proven mine.”
Yesterday frowned back at Colken, seeing something in his eyes which almost made him reconsider his philosophy on life. Then he looked ahead, and his face softened. They had reached a high ridge. Yesterday looked out at distant peaks, their summits shrouded in mist, lower slopes carpeted with forest. He nodded towards the mountains.
“The High Places,” he said, awe in his face as he gazed up at the beginnings of the great plateau. “I have seen them in dreams, and now with my waking eyes.”
Colken followed his gaze and took in the view. The mountains that gave the area its name loomed like icebergs in the sun-dappled morning mist. The ridges and valleys they had traversed for days had got steadily higher. He could see the forest thinned out at a certain altitude on the distant slopes to give way to rocky passes and treacherous precipices.
Their silence was disturbed by a commotion behind them as the rest of the men caught up. Dickon was tormenting his nephew again, the burned man’s laughter growing louder the more the boy screamed. The men had spread out to give him room and to make sure Dickon didn’t turn on one of them and put them through the same humiliation.
“Let go, you bastard!” Follie’s face was red with anger and embarrassment. Dickon had him pinned to the floor with his foot on his neck and was bending his leg the wrong way at the knee. Dickon continued to laugh.
“You’re my nephew. I’ll do as I please. I’ve a good mind to sell you to some slave-trader when we get to the High Places. See if you get treated any better.”
“You wouldn’t! You promised my mother you would look after me!”
“Your mother’s dead. Now there’s no-one else to stop me. I’m all you’ve got, boy!”
Dickon grabbed Follie’s ankle as he frantically tried to crawl away, flipped him onto his stomach, and sat on his back. Follie strained to take a breath as the big man’s weight pressed against his lungs, and then Dickon took hold of the boy’s feet and pulled them upwards, squeezing the air from him. Most of the men watching had fallen silent, their laughs and cheers dying away as Dickon continued to torture his nephew. Follie’s red face began to turn blue. He had stopped screaming in pain and now just fought in vain to breathe.
A loud crack echoed as Colken’s spear connected with Dickon’s skull, and the shocked mercenary rolled down the slope. Follie rolled onto his back, gasping for breath, his face streaked with tears and snot. Colken strode forward, following the tumbling Dickon.
The shock of Colken’s actions silenced the rest of the men, the closest taking a step back in anticipation of Dickon’s fury. Dickon finally rolled to a halt and immediately shot to his feet, his eyes dilated with rage. He glared at Colken as he put his hand to the back of his head then glanced down at his bloody fingers. The sight of his own blood incensed him.
“You’re going to fucking pay for that, jungle rat!” Dickon drew his sword and rushed at the Djanki.
Colken calmly ducked his wild swing and took his legs out with his spear. Dickon crashed to the floor and immediately rolled onto his back to find the blade of Colken’s spear resting against his throat. The burned warrior grinned up at Colken, showing a jumble of chipped brown teeth, the rage cooling in him as quickly as it had flared up.
“Well,” said Dickon, “are you going to kill me then?”
“Maybe, one day.” Colken’s face showed no emotion as he gazed down into Dickon’s eyes. The prone man’s smile faded slightly and then turned into a frown as the Djanki held his gaze.
Suddenly, Pick came running down the slope with Blue trotting beside him.
“Colken,” Pick wheezed, bending down with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “There is an army camped in the valley beyond the ridge. Most wear General Saqr’s livery. Why they have marched here from Hasan I cannot say, unless they plan to make war on the High Bloods. If they do march on the clans it can mean only one thing. Saqr has united Temeria, which means we have an emperor once again.”
Colken stared at Dickon for an instant and then turned and walked back towards the top of the ridge, pushing through the crowd of men.
“Show me,” he ordered.
From the ridge, Colken strained to see movement down in the valley, for the sun’s rays were edging down the slope on the far side but had not yet reached the encampment at the bottom. Pick stood next to him and explained the layout of the camp below.
“There are guards at the foot of this hill,” he said. “The main encampment runs along either side a shallow river running through this valley. Its widest section lies there.” He pointed a little to the right. “I’m pretty sure that’s where the major’s tent is pitched. General Saqr himself will be stationed farther back in the main column.” He waved his arm, indicating farther up the valley.
Colken thought for a moment. He had little doubt this army was marching to the High Places to make war on the High Blood clans. If what Colken had been told were true, General Saqr was another runner in the race to acquire the child called Sorrow. If Saqr had indeed united Temeria, he would have a tenuous grip on his new found power. What better way to bolster his position than to take possession of this supposedly powerful infant?
Either way, avoiding such a vast army travelling in the same direction would be nigh on impossible. The only choice Colken could see was to join them. After all, he was now in charge of a band of mercenaries. He took a deep breath and turned to Pick.
“Wait here with the rest of the men until I come back. Where is Yesterday?”
“Here.” Yesterday appeared next to Pick.
“Good news,” said Colken. “You get to be a soldier once again. We’re going to go down into the valley and sign up, if they will have us.”
Pick nodded, showing no sign of surprise. Yesterday scratched his head and looked doubtfully down into
the valley.
“If this is Saqr’s army, I’m not sure if I am keen on the idea of walking up to the guard wearing General Anma’s livery.”
Colken looked down at Yesterday’s filthy, faded, and torn uniform. “You could be from any army, your uniform is so worn it is no longer possible to tell. Come, I need someone who can relate better to these people than I can. I am too obviously an outlander, too much of a threat. They’re more likely to trust you.”
Yesterday puffed his cheeks out and, after a short pause, nodded his agreement.
“We’ll be back by sunset.” Colken handed his spear to Pick. “Look after this until I get back.”
14.
Colken was unused to proper army discipline and a trifle disturbed by the statue-like sentries guarding the major’s encampment. They were perfectly still, almost unblinking, and their bright tunics and mail looked immaculate compared to Colken’s bedraggled band of misfits. The sentries gazed unswervingly into the middle distance as flies buzzed around their perspiring heads. The sun was high now, and the valley was warm and humid.
Colken and Yesterday had made their way down from the ridge as silently as they could, ghosting between trees and speaking in whispers when necessary. They had avoided one patrol on the hillside with relative ease, hiding in the dense undergrowth, but Yesterday was nervous now they were close enough to the main camp to hear voices and the jingle of war-harness.
Yesterday steeled himself, put on his friendliest face, which was a painfully lop-sided grimace, and stepped out of the thicket in which he and Colken were crouched. As agreed, Colken remained hidden.
Yesterday put his hands up in submission and grinned at the two sentries. One nearly dropped his spear in surprise, but the other was more alert and quickly lowered the bladed tip so it pointed towards the scarred stranger.
“Good day, gentlemen,” said Yesterday, smiling amiably.
“State your business,” the taller of the two guards growled in a deep bass tone.
“They call me Yesterday, and this is my friend Colken,” the mercenary replied, indicating the Djanki as he emerged slowly from of his hiding place. “We are mercenaries and seek employment. We would like to speak to your commanding officer.”
The guard eyed Colken suspiciously. “He is no Temerian. How do we know he is not an agent of the High Bloods?”
“Have you never seen a High Blood? They are a tall rangy people.” Yesterday was going half on what he had heard and making the rest up, as he had never laid eyes on any of the mountain people either. “They wear no armour; their weapons are primitive. Colken is from far to the east, across the ocean.”
The two guards glanced at each other and then back at the two mercenaries. Finally, one of them spoke.
“Are you here alone?”
“We have a small band waiting nearby. I see you wear General Saqr’s livery. Are the wars over, is Temeria united once again?” Yesterday tried to look as calm as possible, hoping that making a little conversation might relax the situation a little, and it seemed to be working. The guard remained suspicious but was at least willing to talk.
“It is. The death of General Anma and the rout of her army saw to that. Now the Protector leads us to the High Places to bring the mountain savages to heel and demand their allegiance.”
Reference to a “Protector” rather than General Saqr perplexed Yesterday, but he was careful not to let it show. “A noble mission, brother, and we have thirty good men, all experienced soldiers and eager to fight for, ah, whatever cause.”
The taller one seemed to think for a moment. Then he turned his head and gave a loud whistle. Moments later, six more heavily armed men wearing the same livery appeared from a tent farther down the line.
“You will be taken to Major Kiresh. He will decide if you speak the truth. But you must go unarmed. We will take care of your weapons. If the Major decides we have need of more spear fodder, you can have them back after you’ve signed the indentures.”
Yesterday removed his sword belt and produced a couple of knives from his person before handing them to the guard. Colken did likewise and reluctantly gave up his weapons.
The other guards, all with long spears, escorted Colken and Yesterday into the camp, forming a semi-circle behind them as they marched them towards Major Kiresh’s tent.
* * * *
The army had felled many trees, clearing away the forest on either side of the river. Their progress had clearly been slow. Colken considered this hardly surprising, since the sun hung high in the sky and the army still did not march. When the Djanki went to war, they carried the bare necessities and marched from dawn to dusk, travelling the same way they fought—quickly, efficiently, and relentlessly. Clearly, warfare in Temeria was a more leisurely pursuit.
They approached a tent that stood twice as high as any other. A single guard stood outside, scratching his greasy black beard against the blade on his pike, an expression of ecstasy on his face, like a dog having its belly rubbed. On seeing the guards approach, he stood up straight and saluted. He frowned at the sight of Yesterday, then raised his eyebrows at Colken and took a half-step back as though they had brought a live bear to the major’s tent.
The officer of the escort, a stunted barrel of a man with a nose that appeared to have been broken several times, stepped forward and returned the salute.
“More conscripts. I thought we had seen the last, but they’re still coming out of the woodwork.” The guard nodded, and the officer led Colken and Yesterday into the tent.
A young man with a fuzzy covering of downy brown stubble failing to conceal his youth sat at a desk at the rear of the tent, a great map spread out before him. He looked sulkily at the map as three commanders, all much older and sporting the well-groomed beards and moustaches that were the mark of Temerian nobility, stood around the desk explaining the army’s route to the High Places.
“I know our route, Zennor.” The young man frowned moodily at one of the commanders, a tall man with sharp cheek-bones and a glass eye. “We have been over this a thousand times. My question was, why do we wait here? Why are we not marching?”
Zennor glanced at his fellow officers and sighed. “Our orders are to clear the way thoroughly, Major Kiresh. If we rush our approach we will be ill prepared and bogged down in mud and the High Bloods will slaughter us.
“Just as they did to our predecessors, many years ago,” put in another of the officers.
“Damn it, we are soldiers, not labourers.” Major Kiresh banged his fist on the table. “All we have done so far is cut down trees and build forts.”
“The High Places are but a couple of days march, sir.” Zennor tried to placate him. “Soon the hard work will be done. We will be slaughtering savages and basking in the glory of a united Temeria.”
Unconvinced, the young man scowled and glanced up at the new arrivals.
“What is it, Skully?” he demanded.
“Major Kiresh,” said the short officer, “apologies for the interruption. I have volunteers for the—”
“Not volunteers,” Yesterday barked, “conscripts. Mercenaries. Professional soldiers. I never volunteered for anything in my life.”
Kiresh sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, his mood appearing to lighten, and waved a hand at Skully.
“Thank you, dismissed.” Skully saluted, gave Yesterday a dark look that the squinting mercenary gladly returned, then turned on his heel and stalked from the tent.
Major Kiresh studied Colken and Yesterday. “So you wish to join up?”
Yesterday nodded.
“Why?”
“We’re soldiers, sir,” Yesterday replied. “The civil war is over, and we need employment. Your army needs more men, so I reckon that makes us a good match.”
“What makes you think The Protector needs you?”
Yesterday still had no idea who The Protector was, but hazarded his best guess. “Because of the casualties you suffered at the White Bull and the siege of Ha
san. I’m amazed there is any army left at all. But whatever masterstroke The Protector pulled, General Anma is dead and Temeria is united, or so I hear. So here we are. We’ve come to join up and fight the High Bloods.”
“How many men do you have?”
“Thirty. They are waiting nearby. All good crow bait, sir, and some experienced lads among them.”
“You lead these men?”
“I lead them,” Colken interjected.
The young Major studied Colken for a moment. He saw a big well-muscled young man, certainly a foreigner, but what did that matter these days? Foreign flesh could stop a blade as well as native-born.
“Commander Zennor,” he said, “swear in our new recruits.”
* * * *
In his wildest dreams, Bail had sometimes imagined himself as a great lord, presiding over his own hall and a table groaning with the best food and wine. Naturally, he would abuse his position. Lord Bail would rut a torrid path through the pick of the local women, grind the faces of his peasants even farther into the dirt, and generally stuff, booze, and debauch himself into an early grave.
Now, it seemed, he was about to become a king. Thanks to the discovery of the Heartstones and, though it pained him to admit it, the influence of Sorrow.
“Thou shalt be King of Ghor.” The aged clan chief Amkur Beg had bowed, climbing stiffly onto his ancient knees and bowing his head until it touched the ground. The sight of the Heartstones in Bail’s hands had reduced the proud, fierce old man to this state of cringing subjection.
Amkur’s son, Sadaf, and his warriors had reacted in a similar way when they saw Bail and Sorrow come down from the mountain with the precious tablets. They escorted the pair back to the tower with all the wide-eyed reverence normally reserved for gods.
“What is Ghor?” asked Bail, somewhat embarrassed. He had rather enjoyed the sudden respect paid to him by the previously aloof and contemptuous likes of Sadaf, but it seemed unnatural coming from Amkur.
The Path of Sorrow Page 25