Broken Stone 02 - Warlock's Sun Rising

by Damien Black

  Adhelina sized him up, trying to work out if he was being sincere or not. She found herself thinking of Sir Agravine, the bachelor at her father’s keep who used to flirt with her. The Thraxian was certainly handsome, after the fashion of his people, and obviously had a flair for dress: even his travelling clothes were richly seamed, the green woollen breeches and tunic matching the colour of the canopy she had just been admiring. Both were embroidered delicately with silver thread depicting vines and leaves.

  ‘In truth I know not what to say either,’ she confessed in a low voice. ‘Half these poor souls are probably too far along to survive in any case, and as for the others, I doubt if they’ll ever be whole in mind or body again.’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing,’ said Braxus, turning to gaze at the landscape. ‘If half of them survive to enjoy but half the fruits of life, that will be better than the alternative.’

  Adhelina glanced at him sidelong. He did sound sincere, and he was saying all the right things. Even his body language, turning away from her so as not to pressure her with his gaze, seemed well mannered. Perhaps too well mannered. Knights did not just stroll up to noblewomen they barely knew to make idle conversation, she knew that much.

  ‘Where will you go next?’ she asked, trying to get him on the back foot. ‘You’re on some kind of mission with the Northlendings connected to those beastly creatures, I’ve gathered that much.’

  ‘I’d expect a woman of your perspicacity to gather that much and more,’ he said, turning to look at her again. His eyes were the colour of his clothes and sparkled. Adhelina had mixed feelings. On the one hand his persistent compliments were starting to feel a little contrived, annoying even. On the other it was nice to be complimented on her intellect rather than just her looks, as was usually the case with knights who approached her.

  She met his gaze, pointedly waiting for an answer to her question.

  ‘I’ll be pressing on with the Northlendings,’ he said. ‘I’m bound to them by oath until we root out the warlock responsible for the beastmen.’

  She looked at him quizzically. Her thoughts returned instantly to the theft at her ancestral home weeks ago. ‘A warlock you say? Tell me more, I want to know.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he sighed. ‘You’re clearly a well-educated woman, Adhelina of Dulsinor, so you know how these quests tend to go – sworn to secrecy until done. Especially when there’s an Argolian leading it!’ He suddenly became agitated. ‘I like not these mountains – the sooner we’re done with this business the better I shall like it.’

  Adhelina was about to say something when she heard a cry. It was Hettie. Dashing over she saw her friend had awoken from a nightmare, he face drenched with sweat.

  ‘There Hettie, nothing to be afraid of!’ she said. ‘You’re here, safe with me.’

  ‘Their white faces…’ was all Hettie managed to say. She was staring ahead, looking for all the world as though a Wadwo were standing right in front of her.

  ‘… are gone for good,’ supplied Adhelina, hoping that wasn’t a lie. ‘Men from the woods led by knights fought them and won. We’re safe Hettie! Here, lie back and I’ll fix you something.’

  She was already reaching for her medicine bag. She had given her tincture of St Elenya’s Node; it was good for treating those suffering from shock and deep trauma, but it hadn’t seemed to do much so far. She resolved to double the dose.

  ‘May I be of any assistance, my lady?’ inquired Sir Braxus. She had almost forgotten he was there.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you can,’ she said. ‘I need to boil a preparation for my lady-in-waiting. Can you get that fire over there lit please?’

  ‘Certainly,’ replied Braxus, before putting his fingers in his mouth and whistling. ‘Vaskrian! Over here!’ he cried, switching to Northlending. ‘Stop showing off with your new sword, there’s a fire that needs lighting.’

  The Thraxian’s wiry squire came over to see to it. Strange that a Thraxian should take a foreigner into service, but Adhelina had little time or inclination to pry into the matter.

  Braxus was staring across the plateau at the woodlanders’ camp now. Glancing up from her preparations she saw that they were gathered in a circle, debating something furiously. The Northlendings were involved too, and the argument appeared to be getting quite heated.

  ‘What’s that all about?’ Sir Braxus asked his squire. Her Northlending was good enough to follow their conversation; they didn’t write much that was worth reading, but in her youth she had insisted on learning the tongue spoken by their closest neighbours.

  ‘Search me,’ replied Vaskrian, not looking up from the fire. ‘Something to do with that outlander who joined us for the fighting. Apparently she killed two woodlanders last night.’

  Adhelina turned to look at him. ‘Anupe, you mean? What on earth happened?’

  ‘Don’t know, my lady,’ said the squire, acknowledging her with a courteous nod as befitted her station. ‘They’re accusing her of killing another fellow, during the battle yesterday. One of the other woodlanders is involved too – Kyra her name is, she guided us here. Not really my business to interfere.’

  She didn’t care for the squire’s sullen tone. Nor did his master by the looks of things, for just then Sir Braxus said something angrily in Northlending. It was too quick for her to follow, but she gathered his meaning when Vaskrian favoured her with a half bow and said: ‘My apologies for any insolence offered, I meant no offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ replied Adhelina tersely.

  ‘Your fire is ready,’ he added, before stalking off.

  ‘Please forgive my squire,’ said Sir Braxus. ‘He’s an angry young man, unused to being around his betters. I’m doing my best to gentle him, but such things take time.’

  She nodded absently. She didn’t really care about his squire. Right now she was fixated on getting Hettie’s medicine down her, and heading straight over to see what kind of trouble her erstwhile bodyguard had got herself into.

  ‘I say they should hang!’ cried one woodlander, to a chorus of angry approval.

  ‘There’ll be no hanging without a trial,’ said Madogan firmly, raising his good arm for silence. He barely got it. The blood of the woodfolk was up.

  ‘Never mind a hanging, we should burn ‘em!’ cried one woman. ‘They were ruttin’ on each other, it’s a sin! I say they’re witches!’

  ‘Witches?’ cried Madogan, rounding on her fiercely. ‘An’ who are you te sey that, Ulla?’ He gestured towards where Horskram stood frowning, rubbing his beard and deep in thought. ‘Perhaps the Argolian would like to give ‘is professional opinion on the matter?’

  Horskram cleared his throat. ‘They are certainly not witches,’ he said. ‘And the venal sins of mortal men – and women – are of no concern to my Order. Likewise, I have no judicial authority in murder trials. This is your business, I’m afraid.’

  Sir Torgun had held his peace for long enough. The two women were doubtless strange, and he didn’t approve of their behaviour in the slightest, but they had fought alongside him nonetheless.

  ‘I say these women deserve a fair trial,’ he ventured. ‘They may have broken your laws, but they also fought bravely against yon Wadwos. To condemn them to the judgment of a mob would be a grave injustice.’

  That brought another chorus of ‘ayes’ and ‘nays’. Several of the women who were not being treated by Adhelina and strong enough to join the counsel were getting involved. The foremost among them, a lass of five and twenty summers, spoke up.

  ‘These two,’ – she gestured to where Anupe and Kyra stood, closely guarded by a dozen woodfolk – ‘saved our lives. I’ll not sit by and watch them condemned to hang. I say there should be no trial!’

  More uproar followed.

  ‘Who are you t’sey that, Gilda?’ cried the woman who had called for a burning. ‘They killed Baldo – Kenna saw it wi’ her own eyes!’

  ‘Baldo was askin’ fer it!’ yelled another woodlander. ‘Kenna says
she saw ‘im attack Kyra.’

  ‘And what about Robbo an’ Derek?’ asked the woman, quickly changing tack. ‘Did they ask fer bein’ killed by that foreign bitch too?’

  ‘They were up fer rapin’ ‘em, not triallin’ ‘em,’ retorted the other woodlander. ‘Bad enough we’ve just seen dozens o’ our fowk dishonoured by Woses, now our own menfowk are at it!’

  The woodlanders fell back to ugly bickering. Madogan called again for silence but got none.

  Adhelina pushed through the throng with Braxus at her side. Twin knives stabbed Torgun’s heart: one of painful longing for the Lady Markward, the other of jealousy at seeing the Thraxian by her side.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ the Vorstlending damsel shouted above the din. ‘Why this talk of hanging?’

  Anupe glanced sidelong at Adhelina. She had barely reacted throughout the counsel, though Kyra looked scared. Adhelina’s question was rewarded with a chorus of angry responses.

  ‘Enough!’ she cried. Something in her clear high voice got their attention. But then who wouldn’t pay attention when someone like that was speaking to them? The damsel was marvellous, simply marvellous. Torgun felt hot blood coursing through his veins as she addressed the group.

  ‘These lands,’ – she stamped a booted foot on the rocky plateau for emphasis – ‘stand on the Hyrkrainians south of the rivers Lyr and Hyr. That makes them property of the Eorl of Dulsinor, whose sole living heir I am! As such, I hold authority here!’

  She swept the group with a stern gaze, daring anyone to gainsay her. None did.

  ‘And I say there will be no trial!’ she continued. ‘There have been enough killings here, no more bloodshed! I have agreed to stay here and tend your sick – when they are fit to travel you shall take them back with you to the Argael. If these two women should elect to return with you, then what you do with them is your business – otherwise they are free to go. Is that understood?’

  The angry shouting had subsided into discontented muttering.

  Sir Braxus chose that moment to step forwards. ‘I like you am a foreigner here,’ he said, speaking slowly so the woodfolk could understand his accented Northlending. ‘But I think you can see the justice in the Lady Markward’s words. Heed them now as you heed your reason! We have just won a remarkable victory – why ruin it by fighting one another?’

  The next rush of noise sounded generally approving. Adhelina glanced at him gratefully. Sir Torgun felt his cheeks flush. He was not given to intrigue, but even he could see he was in danger of being sidelined in a contest before it had begun.

  And whilst he wasn’t given to intrigue, he wasn’t accustomed to losing either.

  ‘If I might make a suggestion, my lady,’ he said, stepping forwards and nodding courteously. He felt all eyes on him, but only noticed those of Adhelina and his rival.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, though she looked a little hesitant.

  ‘Clearly these two women will not be safe if we leave them here with the woodfolk alone. With all due respect, my lady, after we leave you will be bereft of arms to enforce your word should something unfortunate occur.’

  He hesitated. The dark mutterings from the woodfolk told him he had not spoken amiss.

  ‘Go on,’ pressed Adhelina. Feeling her eyes on him was like drinking a delicious Mercadian wine after days spent wandering the wilderness.

  ‘In that case I suggest that yon ladies accompany us on our… venture. Though I disapprove of women taking up arms, they have both proved their valour and may be useful. And that way we can keep them safe from any harm.’

  Anupe chose that moment to speak up. ‘A Harijan needs no man to keep her safe.’ She rested her hand on the pommel of her falchion meaningfully. No one had dared try to disarm her.

  ‘Nonetheless,’ persisted Sir Torgun. ‘I think it would be better for all concerned if you both came with us. As the Lady Markward so rightly says, there has been enough bloodshed here. It will be best avoided if you join us, though I cannot promise our road is a safe one.’

  Anupe glanced at Kyra before looking back at him and shrugging. ‘I am not happy about this delay to my plans. What is in it for me?’

  ‘Your safety,’ replied Sir Torgun. ‘Not even you can expect to defeat a hundred foes.’ He wasn’t used to acknowledging a woman’s battle prowess. These were strange times indeed.

  ‘If it helps to persuade you, I’ll give you another reward when you get back,’ sighed Adhelina.

  ‘And my new business partner?’ said Anupe, motioning towards Kyra.

  Adhelina rolled her eyes. ‘She’ll get her share too.’

  Anupe looked at Kyra. The huntress nodded, though now she looked terrified. Torgun could hardly fault her for that – she had just been taken out of a melee and thrust into a duel.

  ‘Well that settles it then,’ said Adhelina. Torgun’s heart beat faster as she favoured him with a gracious smile. ‘My thanks for your help in this matter, sir knight.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, my lady,’ he replied sincerely, bowing again. He caught Sir Braxus looking at him. The handsome knight was still smiling, but ingenuous as he was even Sir Torgun could see that his eyes told a different story. Only his devotion to the Code of Chivalry stopped him indulging a feeling of pure, unbridled triumph. If this damned Thraxian wanted a war of wooing, he was going to get one.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  The Witch Hunter’s Quarry

  Adelko watched as the rain hardened, grateful for the shelter afforded by the shallow cave. The leaden skies rumbled as they released their burden; somewhere far off in the distance he heard a Gygant cry out. It put him in mind of his childhood when he used to climb the slopes of the Highlands, questing for a glimpse of the gargantuan race that still called the neighbouring mountains home.

  He had reached the Hyrkrainians at last, though he was hundreds of miles south of Narvik, the village of his childhood. Back then it had seemed like an impossible dream; now it felt quotidian, another milestone on the adventurous path that events of the past year had set him on. Truly he was caught up in the grip of an immutable wyrd, a destiny he could neither completely fathom nor control: he prayed that whatever say in his future the Almighty had seen fit to grant him, it would be enough to preserve his life for a time, and his soul forever in the hereafter.

  The kindling crackled as Vaskrian struck flint and tinder over it, the sparks giving birth to inchoate flames. After all he had seen in the past fortnight, Adelko would not have been surprised to see a Saraphus spring up out of it. On his seat by the entrance Horskram was muttering the Psalm of Abjuration, his eyes half closed as he softly mouthed the sacred words. Adelko hoped that would be enough to keep the fire natural.

  The cave they had stopped in for the night was roughly shaped like a horseshoe. Running its length was a rocky bench jutting out of the wrinkled walls; some said it was a natural phenomenon that had made the cave popular with wayfarers, others claimed it had been chiselled out for use by such long ago.

  Adelko huddled towards the fire, grateful for its growing warmth. The rain had started falling halfway through their day’s journey up the pass, and his cloak and habit were thoroughly soaked. He stifled a sneeze, feeling suddenly conscious of his physical frailty next to the hard men and women who shared the road with him.

  Peering down at his copy of the Holy Book, he stared at the lines of the Psalm of Gramarye’s Quenching. He was a quick study by anyone’s standards, and confident of committing the words to memory by the time they reached the Warlock’s Crown tomorrow at dusk. What he was less confident of was mustering anything like the necessary conviction to make those words of any use. But then he had always surpassed himself on such occasions: the demon Belaach in Rykken, the winged devil they had fought on the Brenning Wold and at Staerkvit, the spirits of air and fire they had tussled with more recently…

  He was marked out for great things, or so the Earth Witch seemed to think. His own mentor, Horskram of Vilno, the most celebrated adept of
his chapter, had hinted at as much. So what was there to fear?

  He knew the answer to that question even as he asked it of himself. Immodesty, complacency, pride and vanity – young as he was, he knew that those notions would quickly get the best of him if he let them. It had already begun to dawn on him that it was precisely his lack of certitude that had got him this far.

  Never take any victory for granted, he thought to himself. Or it won’t stay around for the taking.

  He shut his eyes tightly and refocused on the page, reciting the words in his head and opening his heart to the grace of the Redeemer.

  Another hour or two slid by and the rain showed no signs of softening, even after dark had stolen across the broken teeth of the land they now traversed. Vaskrian had built up the fire, filling the cave with warmth as the company sharpened swords, prepared bedrolls, and broke out rations. Adelko had taken his share of hard cheeses, honey, biscuit and goats milk and was just about to pick up the Holy Book again when Horskram cleared his voice and spoke.

  ‘I think now would be a good time for me to tell you what I know about our foe,’ he said. His voice was neutral, gentle almost, but Adelko’s sixth sense told him his mentor was a roil of nervous emotion. ‘I will also outline what powers we have at our disposal to counter his, and then a brief discussion of battle tactics would not go amiss before we go to bed.’

  Adelko almost laughed. His mentor made it sound as if they were planning a tournament melee or hunting expedition, not an impending clash with a maniacal warlock holed up in a sorcerous ruin left by the most powerful race of wizards the world had ever known.

  He knew better than to indulge the urge. The adept was scared, very scared, and doing his best to hide it so as not to dishearten the others.

  ‘What kind of tactics does one employ against a pagan sorcerer?’ asked Sir Aronn, his face screwing up as he looked askance at Horskram. Adhelina had reset his bandage, and he looked like an invalid with half his head swaddled in linen. Adelko hoped he was fitter for combat than that.