“He is very protective though,” Trimas said.
“I think she thinks she’s protecting him,” Zedek said.
Daeholf and Trimas looked at the dangerous looking big man and the slim woman on the horses ahead. They looked at each other and both shrugged.
“Maybe she is,” Trimas said with no hint of irony.
“They’re an interesting pair,” Daeholf said.
*****
He was drinking in a bar near the dockside. He was too young but that didn’t matter since he was big for his age — tall and broad shouldered. Too big in fact, he reflected sadly, looking down at the big roll of fat around his middle.
He looked over at the man sat opposite. His drinking companion was a well-dressed man of medium height, with a neatly groomed beard, smoking a long-stemmed pipe.
It was nice to see his mentor again after all this time.
What was that? His mentor? Who? He didn’t have a mentor. He frowned.
“Something wrong Jonas?” the man said, looking at him, concerned.
Jonas? That might be his real name but it wasn’t one he used often. Most people knew him as Lump which, depending on who you believed, was due to his weight or what he did to people. How did this man know his real name?
“I’m fine Marlen,” he said absently.
Marlen? Is that who the man was? Of course it was. Marlen his mentor, someone he’d travelled with and trusted for years, ever since the incident at the inn.
Incident at the inn?
Jonas looked around. This place was familiar but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something felt wrong and it was making him uncomfortable.
“Your move,” Marlen said.
Jonas looked down at the table. There was an expensive looking chess set on it and judging by where the pieces were positioned, they had been playing for some time. That surprised him. Whilst he knew how to play, he did so very rarely and it wasn’t something he was much good at. Not sure what to play, almost at random he moved his bishop.
Marlen frowned. “I see you’ve learned from our last game then,” he said.
Jonas looked back at the board. It had been a good move, the sort of thing only someone who had been playing for a long time would have seen. Which was odd. He looked at the board again. Marlen was in trouble and his three-armed king had few options available to avoid the trap Jonas had been building. He leaned back with a smile.
Wait. Three-armed king? Jonas snapped back to look at the table again. Yes, Marlen’s king piece had three carefully sculpted arms tucked by its sides.
“Your king has three arms,” he said.
“Of course he has,” Marlen said. “It’s a custom set and I’ve had it for some time.”
“Custom set?” Jonas echoed.
“It was General Lath’s but it was in poor condition so I had the pieces refurbished. I’m surprised you’d forgotten.”
“Of course. But why three arms again?”
“He’s the black king, he needed something to set him apart. Besides, haven’t you ever thought it would be useful to have three arms?”
This conversation was taking a very strange turn.
“No, not really,” Jonas said.
“Just think, you could hold a torch and a bow at the same time.”
Jonas thought of the times he’d explored dark buildings. “That might be useful,” he conceded.
“It wouldn’t work though.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not as simple as just sewing it on. Need to connect it to the brain to make it work and no one knows how to do that,” Marlen replied.
“Oh right.” If anyone would know, it would be Marlen. He certainly knew a thing or two about healing.
Jonas looked around the room as he waited for Marlen to move.
The bar had filled slowly whilst they had been playing as the workers finished for the day. It wouldn’t be long now before his boss arrived.
Boss? Of course. That was why he was here. He was escaping. He looked over at Marlen. So how did he know Marlen then? Surely…
“Your move,” Marlen said, smiling.
Jonas, distracted, looked down at the board. Ah. He’d not seen that coming. Marlen had both found a way to escape the trap and launch an attack of his own. He frowned. This was going to take some thought.
There was a commotion by the door. Jonas didn’t look up. This next move was important.
“There’s a gang of young men by the door,” Marlen said. “Are they here for you or for me?”
“Me,” Jonas said distractedly, focussing on the board. He suddenly looked up.
“Lump, there you are,” a short rat-faced man said, motioning for the gang to spread out.
Jonas started to stand but Marlen put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“I’ll handle this,” Marlen said, already on his feet and holding his cane a little like a fencing sword.
Jonas suddenly felt very tired. Waves of relaxation were radiating from his shoulder where Marlen was touching him. With difficulty he shook it off and stood up. Marlen glanced at him, surprised, but didn’t try to make contact again.
Jonas felt dizzy. This was wrong. He stumbled slightly, catching himself with the table. He stayed upright but the table crashed over noisily. Almost drunkenly he grabbed hold of a stool and threw it at his old boss. It missed and crashed into another table.
The inn turned to chaos. The gang tried to barge their way to Jonas and Marlen and became embroiled in a full-on brawl.
Jonas felt sick. This was wrong. He bent down and threw up on the floor. There was blood in it.
Three men had made it to him and Marlen. Jonas watched as Marlen had engaged them seemingly without trouble, tapping the first lightly on the head with the cane and seeing him drop as if he’d been hit with a mace. The second he poked in the chest. The man dropped his knife and fell to the floor, clutching his chest, an agonised look on his face.
A crowd pressed in the chaos and there was a flash of a blade. Blood sprayed, much of it landing on Jonas. Marlen grunted but kept his feet, grabbing the knife hand. The man let out an agonised shout of pain and started convulsing wildly. The crowd backed off and there was a sudden lull. Marlen let go and the man bucked and flapped about on the floor like a fish pulled from the water.
Jonas was horrified. What had just happened? He tried to move but his body felt wrong. Clumsy and weak.
Suddenly there was shouting by the door and a group of soldiers pushed into the inn, armed with coshes. Swiftly they set about restoring order, clubbing people and dragging them off. Jonas got a knee under himself and started to push himself to his feet. The side that had been covered in Marlen’s blood was weak and as he pushed he started to tip sideways. Marlen caught him and the two of them made it to the exit in the confusion. Out in the alley, Jonas pushed himself away. This was wrong, very wrong. He stumbled, still dizzy and his body acting lopsided. Marlen moved towards him but Jonas backed off.
“What is going on?” Jonas said.
Marlen put his hand to his stomach below his bloody shirt and concentrated for a moment, strain evident on his face.
“I’m a healer, you know that,” Marlen said when he was done.
“That wasn’t healing,” Jonas said, still slowly backing away.
“In a way it was,” Marlen said. “Healing is all about manipulating the body.” He moved towards Jonas. Jonas kept backing away.
“Here, let me help you,” Marlen said, holding out a bloody hand.
He woke with a start. Where was he? He looked around and saw the camp. Right. Another dream. He looked at the others. They seemed to be sleeping so it looked like he’d not woken anyone this time. That was a relief, especially since the dreams seemed to be getting worse.
He looked in particular at Daeholf who was nearest and who certainly seemed to be sleeping, though there may have been something slightly tense about the way he was holding himself.
As he moved he noticed that his c
hest felt warm and wet. He looked down. He’d been sick on himself in his sleep. He got carefully to his feet. He’d been lucky there that he’d not choked, though it was likely he’d have attracted attention if he’d made that much noise, if he hadn’t already.
He walked quietly to the stream and washed himself off, lost in thought.
The dreams felt very real but very wrong at the same time. He wondered at that. He’d not really been all that prone to nightmares in his past — barring a couple of exceptional periods — and they were easy to explain given the circumstances at the time.
What was giving him them now?
Why were they focussed on an event in his past with Marlen and why were they becoming increasingly distorted? And if it was an event in his past with Marlen, why not the one that had caused all the trouble?
Maybe it was time he talked to someone. He shrugged. Maybe.
*****
Marlen had developed a strong nerve and cool exterior over the years, and never had it been tested quite like this moment. He had been travelling with his altered and their wagons and coaches, on the long journey to his base, when they’d been approaching a crossroads, ready to turn right. But passing perpendicular was a group of soldiers marching from over a hill. There followed an ever-lengthening group behind, and Marlen had spurred his horse down the grass to the side, crested the hill himself, and seen an entire imperial legion approaching. His own journey was ended for a few hours, because no one took wagons through a marching legion, so they sat and watched the soldiers come tramping past.
The air was already thick with dust from many boots, and Marlen felt his nose beginning to rebel. A sign of bodily weakness, and that annoyed him, and he should probably work at solving. It just seemed so insignificant compared to the major issues with human anatomy. Nonetheless, rather than sit and wait for some soldier to see if they were carrying anything valuable when no superior was looking — which would be a little problematic given the unconscious people in the wagon and the problems explaining which would surely follow — Marlen decided to go and discover who they were. It wasn’t as if entire legions passed you by every day.
This process involved waiting until you saw a suitable officer, their feathers flying, and doing your best to follow them down the road. This one, however, was on the outside of the column, and perfect for conversation. Well, if you were lucky.
“Hello,” Marlen shouted over, and was pleased to see the man turn and nod. “Who are you?”
“We’re the Eleventh,” and he paused as the soldiers around him cheered the number, presumably because it had been whipped into them.
Marlen paused, and fished for information in his mind. Then he recalled, “You were in the south, fighting the war?”
The officer smiled. “I’m pleased to find someone who follows our efforts!”
“Yes,” and Marlen lied smoothly, “every citizen should.” A little too much perhaps? But the military did like to be thought of, even if your reason for following their movements wasn’t exactly out of loyalty to the emperor.
“We’re being withdrawn and rested, it’s been a hellish five years. We need to recruit, retrain, so it’s pacification for us.”
Marlen smiled. “You almost make it sound like a holiday!”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be after what we’ve seen!”
Marlen pulled his horse up and let them go. A new legion, taking over the area. Hmm.
He turned and began to ride up, but he left his ears open, catching snippets of soldiers’ conversations. Most were about the women they’d find, or how to spend their pay, but something stood out.
“They say he’s bringing his wife and kid along.”
“Well I’d bring my wife along!”
“No one’ll give you dispensation to bring your whores here, but it’s his son, they’re bringing him for the air.”
“I could find a fucking sick son if it meant getting a regular fuck.”
Marlen carried on riding, and mulled this over. A sick son? Right, what he needed to recall was the name of the General. Eleventh legion… Eleventh legion… That was General Garrow? An able man, which was exactly what he wanted. But how sick?
Marlen looked at the passing soldiers, found a couple who looked likely, and rode alongside them. “What’s this about Garrow’s son?” he asked.
They looked up at him and his horse and shook their heads. “A fine day for riding.”
“I heal people, I have a draught which would put iron back into your legs, in return for some information.”
The soldiers passing by laughed. “Worth a try,” one said, holding a hand up.
Marlen didn’t have a draught, but he did have a water bottle, and as he passed this down he made sure his staff was in hand, and as the soldier took a swig the staff just happened to touch the man.
“Gods, I feel better already!”
“Good, good. Now, Garrow’s son?”
“He’s sick, always been sick. Bleeds heavily, can’t walk far, blinding headaches. No one’s been able to cure him. They say Garrow sends him a letter every week, even when marching, and the boy wastes parchment writing back.”
“Wastes parchment?”
“They reckon he never has anything to say. Just the blossom is nice, I haven’t been allowed out. Yunno.”
“They?”
“Us.” Ah, rumour.
“What’s this about coming here?”
“They’re shipping him over. Hoping the change of air helps. Won’t though. I’ll tell you what we never can work out, do the gods love him or hate him? Have they kept him alive or punished him? Twelve years of what?”
“An interesting question,” Marlen agreed. A god was such a balm to men’s minds, apart from the many occasions it confused you to death. “Thank you,” and he turned and rode off, back to his party. He was soon lost in thought and no one was able to disturb him.
So, General Garrow was coming here with a child that needed the best healing the empire could offer. Which, Marlen knew, must be him. A man who wrote often to his son, a man in possible thrall to him, a man who’d petition to have him posted with the army. That offered many interesting possibilities, and opportunities. What a healer could do…
Marlen looked up at the road, at the passing legion. He would follow this group, he would find Garrow, and he would cure the boy, as he knew perhaps only he could. And then… Well, it would be an asset. All he needed was some way in.
*****
Alia tilted her head and strained her ears. She was sure there was a sound coming from inside this farmhouse, a sound she was dimly familiar with. But what was it… Get this wrong, and she might get attacked by an altered, which would disappoint Jonas and, somewhat less problematically, put her life in danger. They were searching another empty farmstead after all. But that sound, it was somehow homely and … from those evenings late in inns, when everyone else had gone drunkenly to bed, came the sound: someone sweeping.
Altered wouldn’t sweep, would they, so Alia knocked on the door and waited. As she did so Trimas’ head stuck round. “Knocking?”
“Shhh.”
The door opened, and an elderly man stood there, broom in hand. “Yes, young lady?”
“Are you okay?”
He looked confused. “Yes? Shouldn’t I be?”
“We were worried, we’re pursuing some nasty people and farms like yours have been targets.”
“Oh, nice of you to check on me, thank you, but no outlaws here. I suspect they’d all be in the village anyway, that’s where everyone else is today.”
“What for?”
“Our attempt at a market! I’m just here in case the Nalvos come for our oxen again. I still have my legionary’s sword and can use it.” He smiled. He had no teeth.
Alia smiled. That explained why this place was oddly farmer free. “Keep alert,” she said.
She thought for a moment. “I don’t suppose there is a shrine of some sort nearby?”
“Why do you as
k?”
“One of my friends could do with some … guidance.”
“The village has one, an old mariners’ shrine.”
“Mariners’ shrine? Really?”
“The village was apparently founded by ex-sailors.”
Amazing coincidence Alia thought to herself.
“Great, thanks,” she said, deciding not to press him with any more questions.
The message was soon passed on to the rest of the group, who’d managed to sneak around the whole farm without arousing the attention of the farmer. Alia was bemused that, having delivered a report, Trimas and Zedek began discussing whether the oxen were still here or whether he’d slept through that too. Finally focus prevailed.
“A market. That will be useful,” Jonas concluded.
“How so?” Alia asked.
“We’ll ride in and ask if anyone’s missing. We’ll soon know if anyone’s been taken.”
It was a simple matter to remount and ride round a few hills to the village, which wasn’t the smallest they’d ever seen but certainly wasn’t on a list of the largest.
“I guess that must be the shrine,” Daeholf said, indicating the rundown building off to one side. There was a bent and rusty sign outside which might have depicted a harpoon and a net, if you had a little imagination.
“How do you want to play this?” Jonas said.
“We probably can’t just march up with a body and ask for a burial, can we?” Daeholf said.
“Not without a lot of suspicion, no. Okay, leave this to me, I’ve done it before,” Jonas said.
Daeholf gave him a searching look.
“I get enough of that from Alia,” Jonas said. “Give me the body and wait here.”
Daeholf dismounted and shifted the corpse across to the back of Jonas’s horse without complaint. Jonas rode on ahead to the shrine.
Alia moved her horse over to Daeholf’s as he remounted. “Annoying, isn’t it?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“He gives you a hint of something interesting and likely dodgy he’s done in the past then leaves it hanging.”
“We all have our stories.”
Dark Healer (An Empire Falls Book 1) Page 26