The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “Not as of yet, my lady.” Rhenkin cast an embarrassed glance in the direction of the formal dining room.

  She sighed. Her idiot husband was simply too much for her to cope with right now. Drawing herself up, she looked Rhenkin squarely in the eyes. “What do you suggest?” He seemed surprised by the question, as if he didn't expect her to ask for an opinion.

  “We need to understand their forces and their intentions, my lady. For this, we will need to send scouts into the area. We will also need troops.” He gestured towards Stefan, who seemed to have calmed a little and was listening attentively. “If half of what Stefan says is true, then we simply do not have the troops or resources required to meet this threat alone.”

  She nodded and turned to Hanris. “I want you to draft an urgent message to the King advising him of the situation. Send it by the fastest possible means.” She looked back to Rhenkin, as Hanris walked swiftly to the door without stopping to bow. “What of the villages?”

  “Tebbits Shore and the next closest village to the tower are almost certainly in enemy hands,” the captain said, frankly. “I cannot predict the condition of the others.”

  “Are you proposing we simply leave them to their own devices?”

  “I propose nothing, my lady.” His retort was curt, the first sign of his fraying nerves. “Whatever course of action we take places them in danger. Evacuation is possible but who could take them in? It also places them at considerable risk of attack during the process.”

  “I refuse to just leave them to these savages, Rhenkin,” she burst out, slamming her hand down upon the table.

  “I am afraid we have little choice at this point, my lady. By the time any evacuation order reached them, they would most likely have already been overrun.” Rhenkin stepped closer. “May I speak frankly, my lady?”

  “I wish somebody would!” she complained.

  “We were not prepared for this. We planned for raiders and we've been met with an invasion. The best we can do is send word to the King and seek information ourselves.”

  “Fine,” she snapped. “Send word to our garrisons to withdraw to a central location, whichever you see fit. We may as well establish a forward staging post.”

  Rhenkin nodded, approvingly. “A very good idea, my lady. We can make further decisions when we hear back from the scouts.”

  Hanris returned and gave a small bow. “I've drafted the note, Ma'am, and had it sent by bird and messenger. The birds will probably arrive first, but I thought it best to send a messenger too.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “I don't believe there is anything further for the moment, Rhenkin?” He shook his head, his eyes distant as his mind worked through the problems of troop positions and supplies. “I trust you will reward this guardsman for his exemplary service,” she continued. “For now, Hanris and I have other matters to discuss.” She waved Hanris back into the chair, and nodded in response to Rhenkin's bow as Rhenkin and Stefan withdrew.

  “Now,” Selena drew herself up in the chair. “As to the matter of these donations, and indeed my husband in general, Hanris, something must be done.”

  “I quite understand, my lady, though it is a somewhat delicate situation,” the chamberlain replied.

  “It occurs that over these past few years, I have made somewhat of a fool of myself,” she said as she stared up at a point on the ceiling.

  “I'm not quite sure what you refer to, my lady.” Hanris spoke cautiously, as if looking for the trap.

  “I've avoided thinking of myself as a duchess,” she explained. “I've even made a point of avoiding the title.”

  “You have been, quite clear, about your feelings on the matter,” Hanris offered.

  Selena gave a small smile at that. Perhaps the bookish little man wasn't entirely devoid of humour. “In doing so however, I have neglected to note that the title carries its own authority. Not so much as that of my husband's perhaps, but authority nonetheless. Certainly over my own household.”

  “I would have to agree, my lady, but I am not quite sure…”

  She smiled broadly. “It's quite simple, Hanris. Since my husband has seen fit to squander the contents of our coffers on donations and his own gluttonous excesses, we will simply have to tighten our belts. You will inform the Master of the Kitchens that we will no longer be needing to restock the wine cellar.” She carried on as Hanris's eyes grew wide behind his spectacles. “I would also like to liquidate our holdings in this area, and so perhaps you can inform the owners of the local hostelries and dining rooms that we would be open to receiving offers for the contents of cellars.”

  “my lady, the duke will be incensed!” Hanris appeared genuinely dismayed at the notion.

  “Are you denying that, as duchess, I have this authority?” She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him sternly.

  “No, my lady.” Hanris shook his head vigorously. “No, the running of the household has traditionally always fallen within the remit of the duchess. But…”

  “Good, so then it's settled,” she said. “Now, as to this priest and these donations. I am afraid, Hanris, that you are simply going to have to try and reclaim them.”

  “my lady, that is highly irregular!” Hanris seemed to be fluctuating between being genuinely appalled and shocked to his core.

  “I think we'll dispense with the 'my lady' as well, Hanris. I am Selena Freyton, Duchess of Druel, The Wash, and the Eastern Reaches, and I will be obeyed.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Hanris stuttered.

  ***

  Erinn clucked the horses on through the wooden gates, smiling at the guards in their bright new uniforms as she passed out onto the road. The cart was heavily loaded with supplies and moved sluggishly through the soft mud, giving her the chance to take in the changes made to her little village.

  A tall wall, fashioned from sharpened wooden stakes, now surrounded the village, with only the mill and a few scattered cottages left outside. The thick gates were the only way in or out, and these were guarded day and night by village boys who'd jumped at the chance to wear uniform and play with swords, though most were armed with long cudgels instead. The long shadow cast by one of the four watchtowers spread over the road as she trundled on in the early morning light, and she almost missed the shouting from behind her, due to the creaking of the wagon. She glanced over one shoulder and smiled as she saw Kainen running after her.

  “The inn's back the other way,” she teased, as she pulled back on the reins. The cart slowed to a halt. He wheezed as he caught up to it, holding onto the side and blowing like a bellows. “Thought you...might like...some company” he managed, with two words between each gasped breath.

  “Well, I can't very well send you back in this state, can I?” She looked him up and down. “Seriously Kainen, you look like you've run a day solid. Look at the state of you!” He ignored her and clambered up into the seat beside her, still breathing hard.

  She fixed him with a suspicious look, narrowing her eyes as a thought occurred to her. “Did my father put you up to this?”

  Kainen squirmed for a moment, before nodding.

  “Honestly!” She raised her eyes heavenward. “I'm going to bring supplies to Artor and two other men, and he thinks I need a chaperone? What does he think is going to happen?”

  Kainen shrugged, clearly uncomfortable, and looked back over his shoulder at the village. “It hardly looks the same at all, does it?”

  She smiled at his obvious attempt to change the subject. He'd never managed confrontation well. “I know what you mean,” she replied, looking back herself. “It's changed so much in such a short time.”

  The beacon was only about three hours away with a good horse, but the cart was well loaded with supplies and would take the better part of the day to make it there. Truthfully, Erinn was glad of the company, as she hadn't relished the thought of travelling back alone in the dark.

  “Kainen? Umm, you know how Artor can be about me sometimes?” she said.

  �
�A complete jealous fool with less sense than a stag in rut? Yes.” He laughed as she glared at him.

  “Would you mind, waiting, when we arrive. You know...” She could feel her cheeks burning as she struggled to force the words out.

  “Out of sight? So Artor doesn't get the wrong idea?” Kainen finished for her. “Fine, but only if you tell me that you know you shouldn't have to do things like this.”

  “I know,” she said, her eyes downcast.

  “Right, then. Good enough.” He looked around at the budding trees and then gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Did you hear that Father Trallen got so drunk at Midwinter that he asked three men to dance?” She laughed and the mood brightened. Widdengate might have changed, but she could always rely on Kainen to bring a smile to her lips and salacious gossip to her ears.

  It was quite a bit past the noon hour when they finally arrived at the small track that led to the hilltop. The track was new and had been cut by the workers when they built the tower. Despite the efforts of the spring sunshine, the ground was still wet and the roads still soft. The cart made slow progress towards the summit.

  “I'll go for a wander in the woods while you two canoodle then, shall I?” Kainen said, with a leer, as he hopped off the side of the cart. Erinn gave him a withering look and clucked the horses onwards.

  It took less than fifteen minutes to reach the top of the hill. As she turned the last corner, her fingers went limp and the reins fell into her lap. She fumbled for them, and reined in the horses with one hand whilst the other flew to her mouth. The tower was in pieces. It had fallen across the hilltop, narrowly missing the cottage and shattering as it fell, by the looks of things. She clambered down from the cart and began to run, her legs trembling, towards the cottage, but then stopped dead before she'd travelled ten steps.

  “Stupid, Erinn,” she whispered to herself. “Very, very stupid.” She hunched down without thinking and scanned the clearing. Seeing no movement, she turned and ran past the cart, back to the trail.

  Kainen was not hard to find and the two of them soon stood at the top of the trail, peering past a stand of birch towards the cottage and the wreckage of the tower.

  “Did you hear anything?” Kainen asked, his gaze still fixed on the cottage.

  “No,” she replied. “But then, I wasn't listening for anything, either.”

  “There's no smoke or anything. I don't think anyone's here.” He turned to look at her. “I think maybe we should just get the cart and go back,” he said. “If there is still anyone here, we really don't want to run into them.”

  She shook her head violently, her red hair flying free of her green, hooded cloak. “No. No, I won't just go. Artor could be in there, wounded, for all we know. He could have been taken. Anything could have happened. We can't just leave.”

  Kainen put his hands on her shoulders and held her facing him. “Erinn, this tower didn't just fall down on its own. It's a beacon tower. You know what must have happened here…”

  “No!” She shook her head again, her dark green eyes serious and intent. “No, I won't just go. We need to go and look, Kainen.”

  “This is not a good idea, Erinn,” he said.

  “Well, I'm going to look. Are you going to come with me or are you going to hide in the woods?” Her eyes flashed with anger and hurt. She pulled back away from him as he reached for her, and pushed out of the woods to the hilltop. Kainen cursed in a loud whisper and followed her.

  They made their way over the rock-strewn ground in silence, crouching low in the long grasses, although it would help them little if anyone happened to look their way. The clouds were scudding across the sky before the stiff breeze, and the hilltop alternated between being bathed in sunlight and cast into deep shade every few moments.

  The cottage stood about four hundred yards from the end of the trail. The debris from the tower obscured their view, and they were more than halfway there before Kainen saw the bodies. He reached out and pulled Erinn to a stop. She shot him a cross look, thinking he wanted her to leave again, but then she saw the expression on his face.

  “What is it?” she said, in a hoarse whisper.

  “Why don't you stay here and let me check ahead?” he said, thinking out loud. “If there is someone here, one of us needs to be able to run and get word out.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you saying this now?”

  He gave up and tossed his hands in the air in frustration. Sometimes there was simply no point in being subtle. “Because there might be things in there you won't want to see, Erinn,” he said. “Just let me check ahead, then I'll come and get you, okay?”

  “Oh!” Her eyes grew wide as she considered it, but then she saw the tangle of bodies beside the cottage. “Artor!” she cried and ran, jerking her arm away from Kainen as he grabbed at her. She lifted her plain, grey skirts and sprinted towards the pile of men, her green cloak billowing behind her as the wind caught it. She was dimly aware of Kainen shouting for her to stop, but she was past hearing him. She came to a stop as she drew close. The men were caught in a tangle of arms, legs and armour. Swords lay on the ground and flies were thick on the bodies, buzzing this way and that. The wind shifted and then the smell found her. It wasn't the stench of rotten meat or something decomposing, but the iron-rich smell of blood. It was a smell she'd always associated with violence. She covered her mouth and nose with the end of her cloak and turned away.

  Kainen stepped past her and moved closer to the bodies. “He's not here,” he said simply, as he looked back over one shoulder. She drew up to his arm. “Who are they?” Her voice was muffled by the cloak.

  “Soldiers, by the looks of them.” He pointed. “These two anyway. This one looks different though.” The man was dark-haired and wearing close-fitting, leather armour. “They don't look like they've been here that long, though.” He glanced at her. Her skin, pale enough at the best of times, looked paper-white and her eyes were huge over the cloak she held pressed to her mouth and nose.

  “I'm going into the cottage. Stay here.” For once, she didn't argue.

  The cottage was silent and Kainen felt his heart pounding as he took in the broken door hanging on one hinge. He pushed it and the bottom corner dug into the floor, jamming after an inch or two. Grabbing the top corner, he lifted and walked it open.

  The cottage was dark and thick with flies. The smell of blood filled the air. Kainen pulled his own cloak to his mouth and worked his way around the door. Only the fact that he was still clinging onto it saved him, as he tripped over the leg. There was blood everywhere, and he gagged as he took in the headless corpse at his feet. Then he saw Artor.

  The man sat in the wooden chair, his face frozen in a grimace of pain and shock. The swords looked to have been driven through him, pinning him to the wall. Kainen gagged again and stepped backwards. The scream that flew from his throat, as the hand grabbed his ankle, was high-pitched and girlish, not the manly cry of surprise he might later claim it to have been. He jerked away, spinning around to face the body.

  The man lay in a pool of congealed blood, his face and robes covered in gore. He looked up at Kainen with pain-filled eyes. “Help me.” His voice was little more than a whispered gasp, but it carried a depth of pain that brought Kainen to his senses.

  Erinn jumped as the scream came from the cottage, and she moved cautiously closer, ignoring Kainen's implied instruction to run. The door scraped as someone dragged it inwards and she flinched. Kainen's back filled the doorway as he dragged a body out of the cottage. She prepared herself for it to be Artor, but instead it was an old man she'd never seen before. He was dressed in robes that might once have been grey, but which were now stained a rust colour and half-covered with blood.

  Kainen turned and caught her eye. “Don't go inside, Erinn.”

  “Is he...?”

  “Yes,” he said. “There are others too. You don't want to see it, trust me. Can you give me a hand, here?” He lay the old man down on the grass. She knelt dow
n beside him and took a closer look. The man looked dead, but his wispy, grey beard was moving where the whiskers hung over his lips. A darker stain on his robes led her to the gash in his side.

  “Oh, Lords and Ladies,” she swore, as she took in the wound. “Get me a knife,” she ordered Kainen, suddenly all business.

  “From where?” he demanded, looking about.

  “Get me a sword, if you have to.” She leaned in peering closely at the wound. He ran to the pile of bodies and returned quickly with a bloody knife. She took it without comment and cut away the dirty robe around the wound. Whoever he was, he'd put a bandage of sorts over it, but he'd almost have been better off leaving it open. The rag he'd bound over it was soaked in blood and the few areas that weren't were filthy.

  “There's not much we can do for him here. We'll have to get him onto the cart and back to the village. Can you go and bring it closer, while I try and clean this up?” She cut strips of material from the bottom of the man's robe and wadded one up, pressing it over the bloody bandage already in place, before binding another over the top.

  It took both of them to clear enough of the supplies from the cart and lift him onto it. For a thin man, he was shockingly heavy. He gasped in pain once as they hauled him up, but then his eyelids fluttered and he lay still.

  “You drive. I'll stay with him,” Erinn said, as she knelt down with the man.

  “What about them?” Kainen nodded towards the cottage.

  “We can't do anything for them. This man needs our help now,” she said, biting her lip as her eyes flicked to the cottage.

  Kainen knew when to stop talking and shook the reins lightly to get the horses moving. They were eager to get away from scent of blood and the cart fairly bounded down the track. He reined them in as they reached the bottom of the trail.

  “Why've you stopped?” Erinn asked, speaking back over her shoulder. She turned at the lack of response and her jaw dropped. The road was filled with people. Some were lucky enough to have carts and they were piled high with salvaged possessions, their families curled up in what little space remained. Others trudged wearily through the mud. Mothers carried crying babies and pulled young children along. They all had same expression in their eyes, a look of fear and exhaustion.