by Adrian Selby
I smile to see him sweating and cursing as he hobbles. I choose to wait for his own brew to work, stop the bleeding.
“Did you know,” I shout out, “that Gruma and Khiese killed their own brothers? Know also that their father Finn killed their mother, then their second mother. Nobody cuts rope like a Khiedsen. You stopped cussing now, Gruma? Your crew are quiet, you might ask them to cheer you on a bit.”
“They are silent because Samma Khiese comes. They want you to hear his horns sound on the wind. These people are just waiting for you to die; they’re loyal to those who give them justice in hard times. Not merchants whose loyalty is only to their coffers. We rule the Circle, the Sedgeway, the rest of Hillfast will fall to us. Nobody here is standing with you. You’re on your own.”
“She isn’t. I’ll stand with her.” It’s Skershe. She gets to her feet. “She’s my sister-ken. She isn’t here for coin, she’s here to stand for her blood.”
“Skershe no. Gruma! I beg you!” shouts Thruun, fearful of what they’ll do.
Gruma nods to the idiot standing over her. “Cut her open slow.”
The whiteboy’s eyes widen with delight and he reaches for his knife, dropping his spear so he can get hold of her head with his other hand. I’m about to move on them, force Gruma to focus on me, stop it from happening maybe, when Thruun stands and jumps at the whiteboy holding Skershe. Hands bound he can do nothing but put him off balance. Drun jumps back, screams. The whiteboy that was standing over Thruun wastes no time, puts his spear in my brother’s back as he falls. Me and Gruma lock eyes. Act. I run at him. He sees Salia over my shoulder, shooting from the longhouse, and he stumbles back. An arrow whips past my ear. Another takes the guard standing over Skershe, two more follow, each finding a whiteboy. Then Cherry, up in the trees, takes her cue from Salia, and shoots down on the bowmen in the fort as they raise their own bows to reply. My people run for their houses, ignoring the whiteboys now confused by the arrows coming in from behind them, up on the ridge.
“Kill them all! Burn this fort!” screams Gruma. He raises his sword and runs at me. I’m forced back towards the longhouse as he swings at me. I read his movement, though he’s hampered by the wound in his thigh, lost some balance. I see the moment to move in and attack, forcing him onto his weak leg. We bind close to the hilts but he can’t meet it properly, his leg giving way with the poison. I roll it easily and slice through his neck. Blood spits out as he staggers back. His hand’s at his throat looking at me, eyes wild. He thrusts at me. I pat his sword away and watch him fall. Might have been different if he’d had poison on his blade. The others near us, his woman included, come at me screaming, for their fate is sealed either way. Salia shoots her mid-stride, arrow knocking her askew. I put up a guard and move to the spears next to Thruun, lying on the ground with the two idiots that are dead there. I take one of the spears up, leave Salia’s sword on the ground.
I know my brew is waning, the pain is beginning. I go after the spearmen who are attacking those running from them, men and women being run through and cut open as the whiteboys screech, frenzied, panicking. They too have not been taught well, some not at all. One freezes as I approach, no brew in him, pushes his spear out to fend me off, but I win the centre, thrust into his face. Another smacks at my spear as I come at him. I skip the shaft off his and thrust to his face and throat, far quicker than him. I hear leathers creak behind me, thrust my spear backwards but it’s parried.
“It’s me,” says Salia, flicking the thrust aside. “I’ll take the rest. You’re hurt, see to your brother.”
She sprints off, signing to Ru and the others in the trees.
He’s on his side, a woman with him, next to Skershe, who’s pressing cloth to the hole in his back. Drun stands quietly, unsure what this means, fearful of being in the way.
I fall on my knees before Thruun.
“Skershe, take this cotton, soak it in this.” We learn our belts so we don’t have to think, to open pockets and pouches, ties and buckles blind. I soak some bark in alka and jam it into the hole the spear’s made. He swears.
“Who told you to be brave, little brother, eh?” Skershe hands me the cotton. I squeeze gum from a pouch onto it and press it into the bark and the wound there, keep my hand on it though he’s hissing and crying with how it hurts.
“I’m sorry, Teyr.”
“No, no, don’t say it. You kept these people alive.”
“I tried to tell Kerrig. I should have stood with him, Gruma was right.” He gasps then.
“Skershe. Drun!” His voice rises, he’s dying and he knows it. I take Drun’s hand and draw him down to his knees.
“Hold your da’s hand, Drun, give him your strength.”
Skershe leans over him, kisses him. “I’m proud of you, my keep. You are Amondsen.”
I hiss with the pain of the colour demanding its price. I’m coming down off the brew. My head begins pounding, the backlash of my body as it sheds what has taken it over. I weep, for I cannot be still, cannot say anything to my brother. I can think of little more than a drudha, a mouthful of something to take me out of it.
“Teyr,” says Thruun. He’s looking between Drun and Skershe, looking up at me, but death takes whatever it was he wanted to say.
I ease myself to the ground, muscles twitching, sharp and burning. A sliver of betony perhaps, just a little for this pain, to ease the paying, calm me down. I fumble for it, my hands shaking badly, as Salia walks up, panting, soaked in sweat and blood.
“The others are coming, Teyr. Let me get to your side.”
I can’t see Drun or Skershe. I submit to Salia as she rolls me to get at the buckles of my leathers.
“She all right?” says Ru.
“She’s fine, a cut just needs treating, no poison.”
“Horns are closing. Do we make a stand?” says Cherry somewhere behind me, drawing deep ragged breaths.
“The Almet. The seed,” I says. Salia has to repeat it for them.
“We’re all paying the colour,” says Yame. “We can’t do shit here.”
“How far’s the Almet?” says Cherry.
“Two days’ hard ride.”
The betony glows in me, makes me smile, sleepy. “Send them after Nazz.” I point about me but know it won’t make sense to them and I chuckle.
“She’s taken some betony, bit more than she should have,” says Salia, cussing.
“You take their horses and ride then. You might be safe in the Almet, safer than here.” This is Skershe’s voice, rough like shale from her crying.
“Nazz. Talley. They’re about.” No, no point in speaking, I just need to sleep.
Salia shushes me.
“She’s got a seed, Flower of the Fates,” says Ru. “Might be the Oskoro in the Almet will help us in exchange for it. She told me they’ve saved her life, helped her in exchange for the last one she gave them.”
“The Oskoro, Ru?” says Cherry. “That’s a story, they’re just crazy bandits.”
“Monsters more like, child eaters,” says Salia.
“It’s all bullshit. This seed, they’ll help us for it, if we can get to the Offering Stone. We can’t get Khiese now, like we are. The Oskoro might do it for us, or help us at least,” says Ru.
“These people will be killed—Khiese won’t leave anyone alive,” says Cherry, not helping.
“We’ll hide in the caves. You’re the only chance for the Circle now,” says Skershe, who looks down at me then. “Take her, find the Oskoro.”
I realise, as the wave of honey, the golden-brown river, runs across my skin, through my bones, that I have Nazz’s fightbrew. I pull Salia’s hand to my satchel. She does the rest as I fall away into troubled dreams.
The Almet
“She’s waking up.”
Thruun, take my hand. No, it won’t wash you away, you’ve seen Da swimming in spring, even when it’s strong like this. Might be the girl in the river is waiting for you today. Nearly fourteen summers you are, she’ll take your
childish fear for a single kiss and you’ll be a man. Da will be proud.
“Teyr?”
“He said she was there, in the river,” I says.
“Fuck. Ru, give her some vadse, we’re going too slow.”
I frown. “Did we tell Da she come for him?”
“I think she recognised your voice, Caryd,” says Ru. “I’m sure she won’t kill you when she comes to.”
“Funny old man, in’t you,” says Caryd.
“You know how the betony goes, Caryd,” he says. She don’t say anything. “She’s dreaming about her brother, I think.”
“Wake her, we have to move.” Salia.
“Why can’t I see?”
“It’s dark, Teyr,” says Cherry.
Horns of the whiteboys. The horses are skittering. I can hear them, unhappy, nervous.
“Only advantage we got is that they can’t push their horses like we can, or it’s a long hard way to wherever they might go once they’ve killed us.”
“That’s the spirit, Caryd,” says Yame.
“Chew these, Teyr,” says Ru.
I blink, try to move quickly, to sit up, but I’m hurting all over. The colour. Every muscle’s been fried, every bone dried out and sore, it seems. Soon enough I’m awake and looking about, checking my belt bags without thinking, inventory of what’s there.
“You have a bag of Gaddy’s Mash, the fightbrew,” says Salia.
I nod. “Couldn’t get the recipe. I think Nazz and Talley got out.”
We’re in the plains. A strong wind up here whipping our furs. It’s been snowing, but little’s settled.
“Yesterday was bad,” says Ru. “Had to tie you to that horse to get you over the river and through the woods about Amondell. We saw them last light yesterday, clearing the trees behind us. I think Khiese thinks he’s putting a fear in us, just following, not aiming to give chase.”
“Might be his horses have had little or no rest getting to Amondell, he can’t push them,” says Caryd.
“I don’t believe that,” says Salia.
“Caryd?” I feel a flash of rage but it melts to confusion. “How are you with us and not Nazz then?” I says.
“There. I told you she’d recognise it was you.”
I put my hand out for Ru to help me up. He pulls me up onto dead legs, holds my arm while I shake them out.
“Take this,” says Salia. She puts a vadse stick in my mouth and some bilt in my other hand along with a few caffin beans.
“It was wrong, stupid and all out here,” says Caryd, “splitting off and trying to run for it across the Circle east. He had no idea where to go, and when we came across a theit we couldn’t speak their lingo either and they sent us up to Amondell, we got on the wrong trail. Your lands are fucking impossible to work out—cliffs, bluffs, curacs, as bad as Hope. Foothills is always a problem ’less you know them. Saw Ruifsen and Yame coming at me as I was going at some whiteboys. They showed me mercy.”
I hobble forward. Need to get myself moving about, and it’ll shake off the colour that much quicker. I walk up to her, put my hand on her shoulder. “You might have lived if you’d stayed with Nazz, but I’m glad you’re here now.”
“How much of that Mash she got in there?” says Yame. She’s sitting at the moment, going through her belt checks and freshening her scabbards with poison.
“Those bags can do four,” says Salia. “We’ll have an edge, those of us gets a dose, but not on seventy horse.”
“What?”
“That’s the count, Teyr, he’s got a good number with him.”
“More reason to find this Offering Stone and even up the numbers,” says Ru.
I don’t say anything to this. Maybe I’d like to think it’s true.
We ride hard for hours. These horses aren’t going on, even if we live. We get to the Almet. After that we don’t have a plan.
The horns don’t let up of course, and they’re gaining over the wind. Khiese must have thought it was time to run us down.
We come across a stream and stop for a few minutes, give the horses a drink. Caryd and Salia are better with them than me, talking to them. Salia has a mouthpiece, a strange instrument carved with channels she puts in her mouth and breaths into. Makes a sort of whistle, a call, somehow gets her horse to settle. With the aggravation we’re getting from the other horses it’s clear only those two stand a chance of fighting on horseback if it comes to us going at Khiese in the open.
We run out of the caffin beans we got from Caryd’s belt after Amondell, use them and some luta to keep on. Nobody’s speaking, we’re just looking for the treeline in this ocean of grass swelling and falling like green waves. The tall grasses are as hard for Khiese’s horse as ours at least.
The sun’s high when Cherry spots it, a faint purple smudge, could be low cloud, strengthening and defining itself as we ride. We all holler at each other and look to finish the horses. Salia comes across to me as we gallop.
“Need a rise, a hill of some sort, something that’ll unsight us from their bowmen but give us elevation should we need it over the grasses.” She looks behind. “We’re not getting into the trees, Teyr, we won’t make it.”
I look behind me. Two, eight, twenty horse crest a swell in the land, more, scritching and shouting and blowing. They might well be killing themselves for his cause. He demands no less.
“They’re getting close!” shouts Cherry. It’s clear now that their horses are fresher, better fed and watered.
“No more than a few miles now!” I shout at the others, the trees becoming distinct in the afternoon. I’m whispering to the trees now, hoping we’ve been seen, but how will they know that I am here for them, to give them the most prized of gifts. Would they wait until I’m dead and take it then?
Ruifsen’s horse rears up then, nearly throwing him. It’s done, eyes wild, shaking. It’s the oldest of them, but the other horses stop as well, like they’ve drawn their own line. I look desperately on at the trees but I can’t leave Ru, not now.
“Teyr, here’s a hill of sorts we can use,” says Salia, accepting that we now need to make our stand.
I stand up in the stirrups, take the seed pouch and slit it with my knife. I hold the seed up, high as I can.
“An offering!” I yell. The others, themselves flinty and worn, join in, shouting and bellowing. Caryd gives a fierce whistle then, like a knife in the ears, which skitters her horse and she has to jump from her.
“Teyr, we need to prep, they’ll be on us,” says Ru.
“All of you, off horses, get behind the ridge of this slope,” I says.
I jump down into the long grass. As I do there’s a movement, a rustle, thirty or so feet to my left.
“Someone’s there,” says Cherry. She points, but we see nothing. Then bird calls. Close. We freeze, for there are no nests here. Salia’s drawn her sword. I hold my hand out, asking her to keep still. I feel a hot rush of joy, hope even, for the Oskoro are near, might have seen us all coming at them such is their sight if their eyes are better than mine.
“I have another seed, a Flower of Fates, that you might birth another drudha.” I hold it up again. “Help us!”
Silence.
“Where the fuck are they?” says Caryd.
She gets a cuff from Salia. They’re all looking at me like I know what’s going to happen.
I lower my arm, walk a few steps onto the rise and look over the plain to the woods. Grasses move against the wind, like eddies in a current. All I see with the black eye are vapours of a sort, shapes of smoke. It is as though I’m seeing only movement, not that which is moving. When it stops, there seems to be nothing there. There are numbers of Oskoro about us, I just cannot tell how many, or few.
Hooves in the distance. I turn to Salia.
“It’s me he needs to see. If I show him we’ve stopped here, they might stop themselves, and we’ll have a bit of time to prep.” I walk up the rise to its crest, the length of a few horses, enough for us all to stand there if w
e chose.
I look back at where we’ve come from. I see Khiese, it must be him, as the whiteboys slow to a canter, a mile or so off, fanning out, wider and wider as more of them are revealed from the line they was running to help the horses behind follow those that flattened the grasses. I turn my back on him, look down at my crew, a captain again.
“Good, they’ve stopped. Let the horses go, all but Salia and Caryd’s. Four shots of the Mash, shared as follows: one for me, he’ll come for me. One each for Salia and Cherry, lastly for Ruifsen. Caryd, your bowmanship will be sufficient on Talley’s other brew, Yame, you prefer a bow and your powders in a fight as well, so you’ll take Talley’s brew. Give the horses a good measure of their own brew. It’ll kill them once the fighting’s done, but we need all they have.
“Talley went through their belts, those we killed back at Faldon Ridge. Our fightbrew’s good for cuts and the poisons, but prep the alum and waterdock skin rub. Damn that fucking noise!”
They was lifting their horns to blast, seventy horns filling the sky.
“Caryd, tell me about the Mash, how hard does it hit, how fast and how long?”
“Captain. Better in all ways than the other. Rise is cleaner, fierce fast. Might get another hour out of it and all.”
“Won’t need an hour to—”
“Silence, Yame. I don’t know what the Oskoro will or won’t do. It’s just us. We take the brew the moment they ride, can’t chance taking it and they just wait there for whatever fucking reason Khiese’s got in his head. If the Oskoro start something, anything that sets Khiese off, we also drop the brew and we go. Salia ride left, Caryd right, bring them back towards Cherry and Yame, in range of our bows if you can. Caryd, bow only, then lead them back in range of us if you can. We hold here, me and Ru. He’s going to come for me.”