Sons of Plague: Tales of Kartha Book One

by Kade Derricks

  A mist, dark and swirling like a summer storm, leaked out of the dagger’s handle. It grew and thickened and finally coalesced into a man-shaped beast with a head, shoulders, and chest; its lower half remained shadowed mist. Its eyes glowed gold and frightening.

  “Kill her,” the hunchback said. He pointed a grubby finger at Olinia. “Kill her now.”

  The Shade laughed, a deep, booming sound echoing off the walls and ceiling. “If that is your wish,” it said. Then the laughter returned.

  It started for Olinia. Hands formed out of the mist, stretching for her.

  Light suddenly filled the room. A beam of white, brighter than the hottest sun, shot from the door and struck the Shade. Its laughter turned to a high-pitched whine. For a moment, the darkness seemed to hold, then the light prevailed. Long swirls of black scattered and spread out in a thousand thin wisps. The light split into a hundred narrow beams, flaring out across them, devouring each, and the whine twisted into a thousand shrill voices. Many of the tiny threads of dark escaped, slithering away through cracks in the ceiling or floor or walls.

  Finally, the light flared once over the whole room, then faded.

  Cagle blinked. He could see, barely; his eyes stung with purple spots. He wasn’t sure how, but he was sitting upright on one of the benches.

  I must have fallen.

  “Is everyone all right?” a woman said.

  Cagle felt a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, unable to see whose it was.

  “I think so,” he croaked. His mouth felt parched. He ached with thirst. It was as if the light had somehow driven all the water right out of him.

  He blinked again and could make out a face. One he recognized.

  Meagera. Somehow, she drove the Shade away.

  There were others with her. Zethul, a few other dwarves, several mages.

  “See to Olinia,” he said. Zethul and one of the others walked to her.

  “She’s alive,” Zethul said.

  Cagle tried to rise. Meagera’s hand held him down.

  “Don’t. You’re in no shape to walk.”

  He decided she was right and remained sitting.

  “Zethul, there’s another dagger there. The hunchback stabbed the boy with it. Make sure you get it,” Cagle said.

  “What hunchback?” the dwarf asked.

  In a temple window, high up on the fourth floor of the Citadel, Cagle gazed out over his conquest. Washougle was quiet. Though almost noon, the streets were sparsely populated. Men and women—those forced to go out—rushed to and from their destinations, hooded and hoping not to draw any unnecessary attention. Cagle hated it. He felt like some wrathful god-king holding the power of life and death over mortal minions below.

  There were whispers in the streets. They called him Warlord, the same name Bevin and his friends had given him in the Academy what seemed so long ago.

  They fear me. They’ve all heard the stories. It holds them in their homes for now, peaceful, but how long until they decide to act on that fear? How long until rebellion starts?

  Men weren’t meant to have so much power. In Kartha, they had a King, true enough, but they also had the Senate, elected to represent the people. Then there were laws and limits on what their rulers could do. Here, there was only him now. For the moment, at least.

  “Did you find them? Either one?” he asked. He kept his back to the room, afraid to show the others just how angry he was with the whole situation.

  “No,” Felnasen said, shaking his graying head. “I’m afraid they are out of the city by now. There was a report from Huir that he saw a hunchback and a big, armored man that sounded like Krona riding north as fast as their horses would carry them. He tried to stop them, but his men were slowed by the last of the city’s resistance.”

  “No doubt both will return to haunt us another day.” Cagle flexed the muscles in his shoulders. Krona had been impossibly strong—not the kind of man who’d give up easily. His kind won’t stop until they are dead. “And the daggers?”

  “Secured,” Zethul said.

  “They couldn’t be destroyed?”

  “Not by any means of ours.” The dwarf cleared his throat. In the window’s reflection, Cagle saw him look to Meagera for help.

  “Nor mine,” she said.

  There had been much discussion about what to do with the vile things. Some wanted to keep them. Though the price of using them was high, they made a formidable weapon and could no doubt prove useful in the future. Meagera had insisted that the Shade was an embodiment of evil. Cagle agreed. He wouldn’t be party to human sacrifice—not even of his enemies—no matter the cause. To the mage’s clear relief, he’d ordered the weapons destroyed at once.

  Except we haven’t yet determined how to do it.

  Melios, his sister’s lost friend, had been buried on the grounds of an old estate in the Grind. Agare, the young girl Olinia had rescued, insisted it was where he would have wanted to be. Cagle and a Fist of soldiers attended the ceremony, as did Agare and her brothers. Olinia had been too upset to go.

  Odd that a boy she’d barely met meant so much to her. Olinia wasn’t one to form attachments.

  Construction of a new estate for the children was underway. He’d offered them their choice of location, but the girl had insisted on rebuilding her family’s home. The dwarves were seeing to it, and they were building one of the new guard stations next door. Soon, the gangs would be pushed out, and they’d reclaim the Grind.

  “How is progress removing the Line?”

  “Slow. There’s a lot of rubble to clear away,” Zethul said. “We’re less than a third of the way.”

  “Still good. And the warehouses and granaries?”

  “Short of expectations,” Paln said. After leaving Creighten in Crow’s Bay along with Fist Avitas to manage the shipments back to Kartha, Cagle had conscripted the Iridin clerk into his army to manage their logistics. “Still, there is enough to send another load to Crow’s Bay.”

  “Will that leave enough for the people here?”

  “Yes, I’ve surveyed the valley beyond the city. The late harvest is expected to be modest, but if we distribute the food equally, not favoring the wealthy, we will have more than enough left to feed the city and still get through the winter with leftover seed for planting, of course,” Paln finished.

  So far, the man had proven himself an able administrator, managing the city’s distribution of food and the repair efforts in the Grind. Moreover, he lacked the animosity most of the men from Crow’s Bay held for their neighbors. He also seemed loyal or at least fearful enough to grow anxious whenever Cagle looked at him.

  Still afraid I might kill him for sending me into the spelltrap no doubt.

  “If I may,” Jorle said. He paused and licked his lips.

  The crippled man had been brought in on Olinia’s word, and he too was a welcome addition. As the only man from Washougle on the council—something Cagle intended to soon correct—he spoke for the city’s concerns.

  The people need more than one voice. I’ve already selected one other. Perhaps three representatives? An odd number would prevent a tie once I leave.

  “Go on, Jorle. Please,” Cagle said. He turned away from the window.

  “I’d like to put some of the guards back to work. I know it’s a touchy subject, but having so many trained men without honest work around might lead to trouble.” Jorle swallowed. He looked like he’d rather be somewhere—anywhere—else. The others stared at him in stony silence.

  “You are right, Jorle. We do need to get them working again. The city has to function properly, and at some point, my soldiers and I will leave.” Cagle paused. He walked from the window to the table’s center. He flexed his arm. The wounds had healed swiftly and he’d regained full use of it without the benefits o
f a healer or potions of any kind. A miracle, some said. He thought about the Aumenthane once more.

  Miracle or curse, only time will tell.

  “Felnasen, work with Jorle and select some of the best soldiers from the city. I don’t want them patrolling on their own, but work them in alongside your men. The Grind is theirs. They can help retake it.”

  Felnasen nodded. “As you command.” Cagle knew he didn’t agree with the order. They’d already discussed it, though, and Jorle was right; it was high time Washougle started to return to normal. Past time, in fact.

  “Anything else, Jorle?”

  The former soldier’s eyes darted around. “Well, there have been a few…complaints,” he started.

  “About?”

  “The men from Crow’s Bay.” Jorle licked his lips again. He glanced around for support and found none. “Last week, one of the farmers had an incident. He said they were stealing his cattle.”

  “I want Huir’s men further away from the city,” Cagle said. He felt his face warm. He ground his teeth until his jaw hurt. “I have warned him about this.”

  “I’ll see that he moves further out,” Felnasen volunteered. The room fell silent once more.

  “Does anyone have other business to discuss?” Cagle asked. No one spoke. The meeting had gone for an hour already, and most had a great deal of work to do. “Dismissed, then. Jorle, please remain. Please have this Commander Sygen brought here at once,” he told Felnasen. “When we leave, I’m taking part of Washougle’s army with us, and I’ll need him.”

  The others shuffled out to see to their respective tasks. There was much to be done before day’s end. With the food from Washougle, they now had enough to make a real dent in his people’s growing hunger. They just needed to get the ships back. He didn’t allow himself to consider the possibly Pal Turas and his sailors might not return.

  Captain Pal Turas is capable. Sea monsters and pirates or no, he will find a way through.

  Cagle stared out the window again. The trader’s caravans were camped in the old courtyard below. Sansaba and Bothar were arguing again; she jammed a finger into her brother’s pudgy chest and then pointed up at the Citadel.

  While Cagle looked at her, his hand reached for the tattoo. It felt warmer than the rest of his skin again. His breathing sped up and his heart raced. He didn’t like the effect she had on him, didn’t like how he seemed to lose control whenever she was near.

  It has to be the Aumenthane. Somehow, it’s influencing my thoughts. My desires.

  Foolishly, he’d agreed to go riding with her later today out into the green, rolling farmlands behind Washougle. It would be good to get out of the city. That’s why he’d agreed. He hated the stench of so many people.

  Jorle coughed and shuffled his feet. Cagle had forgotten the man was still there. I can’t let her distract me. I pledged myself to Nuren, and it’s Nuren I’ll wed. Cagle broke away from the window and paced across the room. He paused near the dais, the spot where Melios had died. He scraped the toe of his boot over the floor. The maids had done their best, but the mortar here would always be stained red.

  A hard lesson for Olinia. Don’t let the guilt consume you, big sister.

  “Jorle, what do you know about this Sygen?”

  “I served with his father. He’s a good man, steadfast, dutiful, loyal...”

  Cagle gave him a look. “Loyal to his city?”

  “Yes.” Jorle grinned apologetically.

  The door opened, and Felnasen escorted a big man inside.

  “That will be all, Felnasen, thank you,” Cagle said.

  Sygen was dressed simply in plain, loose clothing. His hands were free, and he looked around the former temple as the door closed behind him.

  “Commander. Do you know Jorle here?” Cagle asked.

  “I thought I did,” Sygen said. He gave Jorle a venomous look and the older man hung his head.

  “Sit, if you will,” Cagle said.

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “I’m going to come straight to the point, Sygen.” Hoping to put the man at ease, Cagle took a seat on a stool. “I need you. I need your leadership in the city.”

  “I am no traitor.” Sygen shot Jorle a look of disgust. “I will suffer no invaders in my city.”

  “You were eager enough to surrender when your cause proved hopeless,” Cagle said. He steepled his fingers together. “You saved the lives of many then. My soldiers as well as your own.”

  “It was my duty to save my men,” Sygen said.

  “Good,” Cagle said. “My purpose here isn’t conquest. I admit that I will be taking a portion of your grain and livestock for my people, but I intend to leave as soon as my army is able, and I’ll be taking a number of Washougle’s soldiers with me.”

  “You’re merely thieves, then, not conquerors,” Sygen said. This time, he turned the disgust in his eyes on Cagle.

  “You can see it like that if you so choose. Were you not aware of what your own men were doing to Crow’s Bay every year? Raiding them. Stealing their food. Keeping them trapped inside their city.” Cagle paused, letting the words sink in. “As the highest-ranking member of the army, you’ve been a prisoner in the Citadel. Tomorrow, I’m allowing you to go free through the city with an escort. You can go where you wish. Walk the city. Talk to the people. I am trying to rebuild Washougle before I leave. My men are working to tear out the Line and rebuild the Grind.”

  “The Line holds out the gangs that control the Grind. Without it we’ll be overrun with criminals.”

  “We’ve already removed most of the criminal elements. Those we’ve been able to find. No doubt there will be more, but we’ll get them, as well. I have also imposed a curfew and started nighttime patrols. Harsh measures, though necessary to remove the gangs. Accept my offer and you can lift or continue them as you see fit.”

  “And after I walk the city? What happens if I still refuse?”

  “You’re an honorable man. Give me your word that you won’t take up arms against me or whomever I leave in charge, and you can go free.”

  Sygen gave him a flat look.

  Cagle guessed it was the best he could hope for. He doesn’t believe a word of it. Well, maybe that will change after he sees it.

  Jorle nodded. “It’s true. They’ve made a real difference.”

  “You said you needed my leadership. Just what is it you’re asking of me?”

  “I need two things from you,” Cagle said. “First, I need the name of an able-bodied commander to lead the soldiers of Washougle I take with me. Someone trustworthy. Someone who can keep a level head.” Someone not like Huir. “A man the soldiers will rally behind.”

  “You want me to lead my men to war for you?” Sygen’s face was incredulous.

  “No. I want you to give me the name of someone who will,” Cagle said. “I want you, along with Jorle here, and a few others whom I’ve yet to choose to govern this city after I’m gone. That’s the second thing.”

  “Why should I do that? Why wouldn’t we turn on you the minute you’re out the gates?” Sygen’s eyes narrowed.

  “First, it wouldn’t be very smart. If I choose to, I can retake the city easily enough,” Cagle started. He didn’t want to threaten the man. Threatened people often made poor decisions out of desperation. “Second, there’s no need. I don’t plan on returning here. Jorle tells me there’s another city further inland, Bremerton, a rich city on the plains near the old capital that should have what I need. It is my hope that I can trade with them to secure the supplies I need to keep my people alive.”

  “Why didn’t you offer trade with us? I’m sure we could have reached a bargain,” Sygen said.

  “You think so?” Cagle asked. “Because when I broke in here, a priest was holding a young boy to offer him t
o the Shade so that he could send it to assassinate me. It doesn’t sound like your leader, this Krona, was apt to make a trade.”

  “And after you have what you want? You’ll just leave us?”

  “Yes. I have no quarrel with you or your city. Nor do I with Bremerton or Crow’s Bay. We came to Iridia to trade for food and to find out what happened here. Due to a plague, my homeland beyond the mountains is starving. Once I have enough for my people to survive, I’ll depart, and you can go back to how things were. I only have one condition.”

  “One condition?”

  “No more raiding of Crow’s Bay. I want to forge a lasting peace and robust trade between the two of you. This endless raiding serves no one.” Cagle paused.

  “Nothing else?” Sygen asked.

  “A question,” Cagle said. He held up his index finger. “What do you know of the Man of Iron?”

  CHAPTER 18

  Into the Fire

  Olinia looked over the road ahead to the towering city walls. Bremerton.

  Jorle had called it the gateway to Iridia’s plains. She hoped its granaries and warehouses held enough to feed her people. Even from a distance, she could see that Bremerton was far larger than both Crow’s Bay and Washougle. Its curtain walls were thick and high and in good repair. She hoped her brother could conquer it. Talking to the Iridin and trying to trade with them—hadn’t worked so far.

  The trail swooped through rolling hills and clusters of stately pines. Dozens of soaring spires stretched above Bremerton’s wall, reaching skyward into the heavens. Sunlight glinted off their gold and silver crowns. This wouldn’t be like Washougle. This was no fallen city. The land was rich here, still tamed for farming, unlike what they’d seen around Crow’s Bay. There were scattered farms ringing the countryside. She’d ridden by a number of bustling small villages. This time of year, the farmers were deep in their harvests. Men worked the fields with scythes, gathering their grain, and farmwives picked corn and fat yellow squash from their gardens. Even the children worked. She’d seen a pair of laughing boys trying to roll a huge, green-striped melon up to their house.