Blood Lust

by Garrett Robinson

  My shoulders sagged. “Sten.”

  She had cleaned him already. I helped her wrap him in cloth. But when I moved to lift him, she shook her head.

  “I will take him,” she said, and her expression brooked no argument.

  She lifted him into her arms. Now, Mag had always been strong and well-muscled, but Sten was a large man. She was breathing hard before she reached the southern gate, and her steps began to falter before we were a span away from the walls. But she did not stop, not even once, and despite her staggering, she never seemed close to dropping him.

  Close to the bottom of the Reeve, she laid him down at last. She had prepared the place in advance, and a neat pile of wood lay there to receive him. His final resting place. I could not help but think of how Loren and I had buried Jordel in the mountains. I had not known him nearly as long as Sten, and I had loved him less well—but not by much.

  “Too many,” I said quietly.

  “Too many,” agreed Mag.

  She struck flint and steel upon the heaps of dry branches, and they caught with little effort. We stood back, watching as the flames licked higher. The wood burned bright, and soon it caught upon the cloth we had wrapped Sten in.

  I sang, then. I have been told I have a fair enough voice, though I did not think it sounded well in that moment, for my words were thick with tears. But I had learned a number of songs in my travels, and many of them were songs of mourning, for this was not the first time I had lost a friend.

  To all of you, come all of you

  No tarrying, I call to you

  The darkness calls, the fall of you

  It bids you come to rest

  It welcomes you, and all of us

  The years will pass, the fall of us

  And you below, will call to us

  And bid us go to rest

  The wind is cold, and hollow too

  All joy has passed, and sorrow too

  The children weep, and follow too

  They bid you come to rest

  Now mourn no more, and we as well

  Sit by the fire, and heed as well

  One day they call for me as well

  And bid me go to rest

  “Will he truly rest, do you think?” said Mag.

  “No one knows the darkness,” I told her.

  “I asked what you think.”

  “I hope so. He deserved it. More than either of us, at least.”

  “Truly said.”

  Her frame was steady, but I could see her hands shaking. I put my hand on her shoulder for a moment and then took it away. We stood a long, silent vigil, watching as the fires burned away the last evidence of my friend and her husband.

  When the flames were only coals and the last of the drifting smoke was nearly out of sight over the trees, Mag turned to me.

  “Will you come with me?”

  I looked at her in surprise. “Where?”

  “Atop the Reeve.”

  A thrill coursed through my heart. “Mag …”

  “Something has weighed on me ever since the battle,” she said. “I did not know exactly what it was. It was like a sense that I should be doing something, but I do not know what. Do you feel the same?”

  “I do,” I said. “What would you do, if you could?”

  “Only one thing,” she said. “Kill the weremage.”

  The words hit me like lightning. I straightened, balling my hands to fists at my sides.

  “Yes.”

  Mag’s eyes blazed with fire. “I want to find her. Wherever she may have run to. Wherever she may be hiding. And I want to end her.”

  “As do I.”

  Mag balled her right hand into a fist and slammed it into her hand. “Then let us do it. Come with me. Let us have vengeance for Sten.”

  “She will be nearly impossible to track down,” I pointed out. “We do not know where she has gone.”

  “I have nothing better to do with my time,” said Mag.

  “Even when we find her, she could very well have an army at her back.”

  “Let them try to stand before us,” said Mag. “Will you come?”

  I grinned and thrust out my hand. “Even if we must ride into the darkness below.”

  Mag seized my wrist and pulled me into an embrace. My head, still tender, swam for a moment, but I held her. Finally, I gently pushed her back to hold her at arm’s length.

  “We will need horses.”

  “There are some in my stables,” she said. “Come with me to the top of the Reeve, and then we will fetch them.”

  “And then into the Birchwood.”

  It was as if a cold snap rushed through the air, piercing us both in an instant. I felt the thrill inside me vanish even as I saw it disappear from Mag’s eyes.

  “The Birchwood?” said Mag. “Why the Birchwood?”

  “To go after Loren, of course,” I said. “Wherever this weremage has gone, she will come into conflict with Loren in the end. And she and the others will need our help, in any case.”

  “The weremage went west,” said Mag.

  “And who knows where she turned, after she entered the mountains?” I said.

  “I do not know, but the mountains are the best place to start.”

  “But Loren—”

  “The way she and the children rode from here, I doubt we could catch them even if we wanted to.”

  “We could try.”

  Mag frowned for a moment—but then her expression softened. “Latrine duty,” she said. She pulled a copper sliver from a pouch at her waist. “I say heads.”

  “We are not new recruits,” I told her. “This is not—”

  “I say heads, Albern.”

  I sighed. Half a chance was better than none—better, indeed, than an argument I knew might not end. Any soldier knows the virtue of a firm, clean decision—even if it is a poor one. “Very well.”

  Mag flipped the coin. I think I knew, even as it flashed in the air, what the result would be. She flipped it onto the back of her other hand, looked at it, and smiled.

  “West.”

  MAG LED ME UNSWERVINGLY UP the Reeve. I had to take its sloping path carefully, for I was still tender. But it was not long before we stood on the flat top. The boulders around us now loomed like old, wizened councilors, bearing witness to some grim business of their king.

  Mag went to one of them and crawled underneath it. She emerged with an old spade and pickaxe. They looked as though they had been there for many years, untouched. Part of the wood had rotted, but for the most part they were still solid. She took the spade and dug into the ground—the flat patch of earth that I had watched so closely last time, that Sten had tried to avoid completely. The soil was hard, but Mag attacked it with fury, and it broke before her onslaught. I wanted to take the pickaxe and help her, but I did not move. Something told me that Mag had to do this alone.

  A pace below the surface, Mag’s spade struck hard rock. She dug the hole wider until it was big enough for her to stand in, and then she fetched the pickaxe. She made no remarks about the fact that I did not aid her. As when she had carried Sten to his pyre, there was an unspoken agreement that this was something she had to do alone.

  Mag attacked the stone, and it shattered before her. Shards of rock flew from each blow, but Mag hardly seemed to notice.

  At last she broke through. Beneath the stone were two bundles, wrapped in oiled leather to protect them from the elements. One was long and thin, the other wide and flat. Mag lifted them out and placed them on the ground outside the hole, then climbed out after them. With steady hands and a reverent bearing, she unwrapped them.

  A spear, a shield, and a shirt of scale mail came out. Without pausing for even a heartbeat, Mag took them up and began to clean from them any traces of dirt.

  I had not seen that spear in years. Sten had made her bury it here. It was part of the promises she had made to him when the two of them wed.

  These were not the heirlooms of Mag, tavern owner and brewmaster.
These were the arms of Mag, the Uncut Lady, the most feared warrior in the nine lands. These were for a quest where only death waited at the end. But not Mag’s death, I was certain.

  I was certain of so much, back then.

  Mag had been fierce from the day we met. With any blade in her hand, she was a living weapon. But with that spear and a good shield, she was a walking incarnation of death.

  Still I said nothing. I only waited. When she had finished her task, she rose to her feet and donned the mail. She gripped the straps of the shield and hefted the spear, giving it a few experimental thrusts.

  As though she needs to practice, I thought. As though she does not remember how it feels in her hands. As though she and the spear are not two parts of a whole.

  It was not often that my fear of Mag eclipsed my love of her, but I feared her then, for just a moment.

  And then she looked at me. “Time for the horses,” she said.

  We walked back to Northwood, Mag now clad in her armor. When we reached the Lee Shore, I fetched my bow, my sword, and my travel pack before meeting Mag in the stables. They had remained largely untouched during the battle, and the masters of several of the horses had perished in the fighting. Mag went to one of them, a large mare of light grey, and began to saddle her. My horse had died in the battle, so I went to one of the other stalls, where a tall roan gelding snorted at me.

  “That one has something of a temper,” said Mag.

  “Coming from you, that says something,” I replied. But I ignored her warning and fetched a saddle from the wall. The gelding stamped a hoof when I stepped up beside him, but I clicked my tongue at him.

  “Easy, fool,” I told him in gentle tones. “If you throw me, I will butcher you for the townspeople to eat.”

  He gave me no more trouble as I made him ready to ride, almost as if he understood the words. Mag led the way out of the stable, where we mounted. The gelding shied at once, shaking himself lightly as he felt my weight on his back. But I kept my balance. My family had owned many horses, and I had learned to deal with all sorts of them.

  “I am not going anywhere,” I said, as the horse began to calm. “You had best get used to it.”

  “Indeed, it is hardly possible to get rid of him,” Mag told the horse. “I have tried.” Our gazes met, and I smiled.

  As if it understood her, the gelding settled down, though he gave a disgruntled snort. Mag’s mare nickered, and I was reminded of one of Elsie’s disapproving harrumphs.

  “Lead on,” I told Mag.

  She guided her horse over next to mine, holding my gaze. “Thank you, Albern,” she said quietly. “For all your many years of friendship, and for your company on this road. It is going to be a long one, and it will grow dark before the end. Yet I would have no one else beside me.”

  “Nor I.”

  She nodded, and then she nudged her horse. We rode west out of Northwood, breaking into a canter as soon as we passed the western gate.

  High above, far too high to hear, a harsh croak sounded as a raven circled and flew towards the mountains.

  The raven sped on, far faster than our steeds. It rode the warm currents of air, drifting through the lazy smoke of the last fires in Northwood, fires soon to be extinguished as the people left their homes forever. Before too long, it winged its way over the peaks of the eastern Greatrocks.

  In the valley on the other side, a small party of riders waited, clothed in blue and grey. The raven descended towards them in wide, sweeping circles. When it was less than a span above them, one of the riders took notice of it. He was a large man, with shoulders like cornerstones and a thick, bristling beard. His name was Ertu.

  The raven landed on the ground before the man, and its eyes glowed. Kaita emerged from its form and stepped forwards. The man handed her the reins of her horse.

  “They are coming,” she said.

  “I am glad to hear it,” said Ertu. “All this waiting grates upon me.”

  Kaita frowned sharply at him as she climbed into the saddle. “You serve at our father’s pleasure.”

  “Of course,” said Ertu. “I will always obey him. But I am free to wish I was with the rest of our siblings.”

  “So long as it is only a wish,” said Kaita. “Their march north went as planned?”

  “As far as we know, yes,” said Ertu. Then, curiously, he nudged his horse, walking it closer to hers, and he held her gaze as he went on in a quieter voice. “Some of our furred friends have been watching us for the past few days.”

  Kaita almost looked over her shoulder, but she restrained herself at the last moment. She knew he meant the satyrs. “Have they caused trouble?”

  “They have not. I think they want to know why the six of us have been left behind when all the rest of our force has ridden on.”

  “They will find out soon,” said Kaita. “We are to ride west. I am going to Lan Shui—and so are the rest of you, but after a stop along the way. The satyr elders have not heard from us since Trisken’s fall. Father wishes for you to visit them and deliver his … displeasure.”

  Ertu’s beard jumped as his lips twisted in disgust. “I have visited the satyrs once. I do not relish the idea of repeating the experience. They are foul-smelling creatures.”

  “Father has—”

  He shook his head to cut her off. “Sky above, Kaita, I have not refused your orders. I am only grousing. Father deserves our obedience, but you act as though we are supposed to be his unquestioning slaves.”

  Kaita steeled herself. Even after so many years, she was unused to the way the Shades conducted themselves, the way they treated each other. But then, Kaita had been raised in far different circumstances.

  “Of course not,” she said at last. “Forgive me. The changing … it tires me.”

  “I imagine,” said Ertu graciously. “Fear not. You will be able to rest well, now—or at least, as well as one can when on the road. Let us set out, for the glory of our father.”

  He turned in his saddle and motioned for the riders to set off. They went west at an easy walk, and Kaita fell into line with the rest of them, her thoughts uneasy.

  “SO SHE WAS FOLLOWING YOU,” said Sun.

  “Leading us,” said Albern. “But you have the idea.”

  “Why did she wait? I am certain the people of Northwood guarded against another attack, but you left Northwood. Did she not think to wait until you were sleeping, and creep into your camp, and kill you in the night?”

  “I am certain she thought of it,” said Albern. “But we always set a watch. And I think she well remembered the injuries Mag had given her. But I could not tell you for certain. Many things I know about what Kaita thought in those days, but not everything.”

  “And how do you know this, again?” said Sun.

  Albern smiled at her. “That is another story entirely, and not one I intend to tell you tonight.”

  “What about the two of you?” said Sun. “You knew you were after a weremage. Were you not frightened? I would suspect every shadow. Any beast could have been the weremage, or anyone you met on the road.”

  “They could have been,” said Albern. “But remember that we thought we were chasing the weremage—we did not know her name, then—and that she was fleeing with the Shades across the kingdom. We did not know we were being led. Not until much later.”

  Albern stared into his mug of beer for a long moment, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. Sun studied him. The tale had thrilled her, she had to admit. When he had spoken of riding off from the Reeve, she had felt a sudden desire to rise to her feet and start a journey at once—though she knew not where. Yet the same words that had excited her were obviously disturbing to Albern. She waited in respectful silence, not wanting to agitate him further.

  And then, all of a sudden, he drained the rest of his mug and rose to his feet. “Well, I have to be taking care of something.”

  Sun drew back, blinking. But before she could answer, Albern took up his bow and climbed rapidly down fro
m the rooftop. He reached the ground and passed around the corner of the tavern without so much as a backwards glance.

  It was another long moment before Sun thought of standing up. She stood there, staring stupidly down at the empty alley behind the building, until she realized he was not coming back.

  Not knowing what else to do, Sun clambered down after him and ran around to the front of the building. Albern stood by a horse that had been tethered to a pole. It was already saddled, and he was checking its straps.

  Anxiously, Sun approached the old man from behind. “Albern?”

  “Hm? Yes?” said Albern. He glanced back at her and gave a brief smile before raising one foot to the stirrup. With impressive grace considering his age and his single arm, he vaulted into the saddle and took up the reins.

  “Where … where are you going?” said Sun. The question seemed too obvious to need to be put into words, but she felt as driftless as an unmoored ship.

  “I have an errand to take care of,” said Albern, looking down at her. Then he seemed to notice her expression for the first time, and he smiled. “Forgive me for not mentioning it sooner, but I had rather hoped you would come with me.”

  “But … but where?” said Sun.

  “Oh, this errand is not too far away,” said Albern.

  This errand? The wording was not lost on her. Nervously, Sun glanced both ways down the street. Two of her family’s guards were searching for her even now. She thought of her mother and father, of their caravan beyond the bounds of the town.

  “But I need to be getting back soon,” whispered Sun. She had meant to say it aloud, to say it to Albern. But she spoke quietly, as if to herself, and Albern did not answer.

  She did need to get back. Her family expected her. She was supposed to ride on with them tomorrow. On to their final destination, there to remain for a time before returning home. And before long, they would take her somewhere else, and then somewhere else. All part of a plan, a great dance that had always been determined for her, the steps laid out before she had first set foot on the floor.