The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  Denn laughed at her expression. “Not bad is it?” He nodded at a man sat across the fire. “Trent knows what he’s doing. He was a cook with Rentrew’s men before he came north.”

  “Rentrew?” she asked, before she thought better of it.

  “Baron Rentrew,” Denn clarified. “Most of us are from Freyton’s men. Trent just ran farther and faster than us is all.”

  “Good thing for you I did,” Trent muttered. “You lot can’t cook for shit.”

  Rough laughter filled the circle around the fire and the stilted atmosphere was gone.

  “So you’re soldiers then?” Miriam asked.

  “Well, some of us were. Nothing stops those bastards though, and damned if I was going to get cut to shreds for a handful of coppers.” Redan gave her an odd look. “What did you think we were?”

  The question left her flustered and grasping for words as Denn and Redan laughed at her reaction.

  “She thought we was all bandits, didn’t you, love?” The big man laughed. “Truth be told we’re not far from it. I don’t expect many here would cry foul at lifting a crown or two from a fat merchant if it came down to it. With the bastard Bjornmen though, there’s nothing on the road but you an’ a handful of stragglers running west.”

  The conversation was cut short as a short blonde-haired man emerged from a hut with a wooden bowl and a worried look. “He still won’t take anything,” he told Denn.

  Denn shook his head. “It’s been too long. A body needs to eat.”

  “Dravit,” Redan explain, speaking to her in a low voice. “He came down with sickness. It looked like he’d licked it but he got worse again. He’s not eaten in three days now.”

  “It’s time we did something, Denn,” the short man said in a low voice. “If it’s catchin’ it could take us all.”

  “It’s not like that.” Denn scowled down at his plate. “We’d all be sick already.”

  “You don’t know that, Denn,” the short man spat. “You’re just guessing. Red fever took half my village when I were a lad. I saw men fine one day, and then pissing blood two days later. It’d cut through here like a new scythe through wheat.”

  “It’s not the red fever, Bret,” Denn said again, his voice rising.

  “An’ how would you know?” Bret demanded, his own voice rising to match Denn’s.

  “What have you given him?” Miriam asked, her calm voice cutting through the argument.

  “Nothin’,” Brett said, glaring at her. “He won’t take nothing.”

  She looked over at the hut. “I could take a look at him.”

  “Do you know what you're doing?” Denn asked. “About tending the sick, I mean.”

  Miriam shrugged. “I know some. It won’t hurt to look.”

  Denn looked at her for a minute as he chewed. Finally he shrugged. “He’s not going to get worse for you poking at him.”

  The hut stank, stale sweat mingled with a musty smell and the faint smell of rot. Miriam sucked air in through her teeth, trying not to breathe through her nose as she knelt beside the low cot. The man lay still, on one side, his face covered in a sheen of sweat that shone in the light from the doorway. The heat poured off him in waves and she could feel it even without reaching to touch his head. She leaned in closer, peering at his face and the exposed skin of his neck before she nodded once and stood to step out.

  Redan was waiting for her outside the hut. He peered past her through the doorway. “Is it…?”

  “The red fever?” she finished for him. “No.”

  “You’re sure? Brett has been on about it for days.”

  She snorted. “I doubt Brett has even seen red fever. The clue is in the name. If this man had red fever the skin on his face and neck would be covered in a red rash. Not only that but he’d be screaming the place down. The rash is supposed to feel like your skin is burning. There’s no way he’d be laying quiet like that.” She shook her head. “It’s not red fever.” Her words left no room for doubt.

  Redan nodded, peering past her into the hut. “Can you help him?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I can help with the fever at least. Do you know the yarrow plant? Get me some leaves and flower heads. Failing that, bring me some birch or willow bark but I’d rather have the yarrow.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.” He paused, frowning at her. “You’re a strange person, Miriam. There aren’t many who’d go out of their way to help a man, especially after what Frast did to you.”

  She scowled at him. “You don’t know me, Redan. You don’t know anything about me. But someone who leaves a man suffering when they know how to help they’re not worth knowing.”

  He grunted at that and looked like he was about say more.

  “Talk to me when you get back, Redan.” She pointed at the trees. “Go and get me that yarrow.”

  He smiled at her tone. “Yes, Mother.”

  She scowled at his back as he loped into the trees before she turned back to the hut. It was well made but rough. Light came in through the open door and an attempt at a window, which wasn’t much more than a hole in the side of the hut with a piece of fabric tacked over it. She tugged it loose and wedged the door to the hut open, feeling the air stir inside.

  “Should help with the stink if nothing else,” she muttered.

  Five minutes and a terse conversation with Denn produced a bowl of water and a rag. She knelt beside Dravit, and wiped at his face with the cloth. He grimaced at the first touch and then lay still, apparently unable to muster the energy to care what she did to him.

  “Can you hear me, Dravit?” she asked gently. “We need to get this fever down and get some water into you, do you understand?”

  If he did he gave no answer.

  She sighed and went to the door. “Denn!” she called out. As faces turned towards her she realised it was a barmaid’s shout that she hadn’t used in years.

  “Get me someone to help get this shirt off him,” she told him in a no-nonsense tone, as he approached.

  He nodded. “I expect I can manage to give you a hand.” Between the two of them they managed to strip the shirt away, tugging it over Dravit’s head. The fabric was thick with his sweat and Miriam tried hard to ignore the greasy texture as she tossed it out through the doorway.

  Denn hovered outside the doorway, watching her as she considered what to do next. “I hope you weren’t planning to strip him entirely,” he said with a smile that worked hard to turn the words into a joke.

  It didn’t work and her tone was flat as she spoke. “If it comes to it.” She dipped the rag back into the bowl and set about wiping Dravit’s chest and throat down, letting the water leech the heat away from him.

  “At least he’s getting a bath,” Denn muttered. “He stinks!”

  Miriam knelt up and fixed the big man with a stern gaze. “Don’t you have anything you should be doing?”

  He shrugged, unconcerned, and then shook his head. “Not really, no.”

  “Well then make yourself useful and put a pot on to boil,” she said, looking back at Dravit and laying the wet cloth over his forehead. He reached weakly for it, trying to wipe it away but she stopped him with no real effort, shushing him absently.

  With Denn gone she sat back, watching the man on the cot in silence. What was she doing here? She should be gone already. This man was not her problem. She knew the answer, of course. She’d already told Redan that. She wondered briefly what the reaction from Denn and the others would be if this man were to die whilst she tended him. She’d already killed Denn’s brother.

  The enormity of it hit her suddenly, as if she’d kept that truth locked away from herself, and her hands shook in the silence of the hut as she stared at the man laying on the rough cot.

  Redan appeared then, rushing across the camp and thrusting a handful of yellow flowers at her. “Is this enough? I can get more if you need me to.”

  She picked over the yarrow and nodded approvingly. “It’s more than I need for now.�
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  “I got willow bark too,” he said, glancing at her already full hands, and laying it down by the doorway.

  “We’ll start with the yarrow first,” Miriam told him.

  There was nothing like a pestle and mortar to be had so she settled for crushing up the leaves and flowers on a flat stone.

  “Fetch me a cup of boiling water,” she told Redan as she scraped the pulpy mess onto a square of sack-cloth and tied it up into a loose bundle.

  “This isn’t really ideal,” she told him as he handed her the steaming cup and stirred the bundle around it in with a spoon. “This cloth isn’t especially clean. Dried yarrow might have worked better too but we haven’t time for that.” She stood, arching her aching back as the tea steeped, and looked at him. “We’ll let this cool for a bit, then try and get some into him.”

  “Brett hasn’t had any luck getting him to drink,” Redan warned her.

  Miriam grunted. “Fetch me a thick stick. We’ll have to force him if need be.”

  Brett’s word proved prophetic as Dravit waved the offered spoonful away weakly, turning his head away from her.

  “Get in behind him and hold him up, keep his head still,” she told Redan.

  Dravit moaned as she pulled him into a seated position, pushing at Redan’s arms.

  “Gerroff,” he managed in a hoarse whisper. And then, “piss off!” when Redan wouldn’t let go.

  He managed to dash the first spoonful of the tea away, splashing it over the wall as he twisted and spat. The listlessness fell away from him as he fought and he clamped his lips tight when he wasn’t screaming at them.

  Miriam cursed under her breath and started as she realised the dim light was caused by the crowd outside the hut blocking the sun.

  “You might as well get in here and help hold him then,” she told them. It took three men in the end as she wedged the stick between with teeth and spooned the tea into his mouth.

  Dravit screamed and roared at them to start with but the anger was hot and quick to burn out. Tears came as he coughed and choked on the steaming brew. Eventually she judged it enough and the men stepped out as Dravit collapsed down to the cot.

  “He’ll be easier to manage the next time,” she told Denn, though she was far from as sure as she sounded. “Most of that was the fever. He should be able to reason with more in an hour or two.”

  “Is that it then?” Denn asked her. “Just some boiled leaves?”

  “Where do you think healers get their medicines from?” she laughed, though the sound was tired and weak. “No, he’s not out of danger yet. He’s very weak and dry as hay that’s sat out in the field all summer. The yarrow will make him sweat the fever out, so we’ll need to force some water into him. It will help but most of this is down to him, and to luck. You could try some willowbark on him come morning but he’ll need the yarrow probably three more times if it’s to do any good.”

  “You’re going then,” Denn asked, prompting a confused look. “You said I could try the willowbark,” he explained.

  “I need to get moving, yes,” she told him.

  He walked her over to the fire and joined her on a log that had been set in place as a row of seats. “You should stay the night at least.” He nodded at the sun, already touching the tree tops. “Not much point in blundering along in the dark.”

  She smiled her thanks. “That makes sense, thank you.”

  He snorted. “I should be thanking you! Brett means well but I don’t think Dravit had long left. If you hadn’t come along—”

  She waved his words aside. “I didn’t do all that much. After what happened with, well…”

  “With Frast?” His gaze fell and he reached for a log to toss into the fire before he looked back at her with a sigh. “It wasn’t the end I’d have chosen for him but,” he sighed again, “he wasn’t well. Anyone could see that. He didn’t used to be this bad. He could look after himself. He’d help with hunting an' logging when we needed it. He was almost like an overgrown child a lot of the time.”

  “When…?” she left the rest unsaid.

  “…Did it happen?” Denn asked, picking up the sentence. “Almost as soon as we left Freyton’s men. We were posted at Tibbet’s Shore. It’s about as far east as Anlan gets,” he explained in response to her blank look. “There was a watch beacon there. We were sent as a garrison to help defend it and light the beacon if any Bjornmen raiders came. Fat load of good we did.” He spat into the fire. “They went through us like a child kicking at an anthill. Our corporal, useless piece of shit, was all for holding the line. Even after they’d smashed the tower down and were raining burning pitch down on us he wanted a slow retreat back to the tree line.”

  He met her eyes as he spoke. “I said, ‘fuck that’. Grabbed Frast an’ we was off.” He paused, waiting for a comment that didn’t come. “We headed west, fast as we could. Frast was a good hunter and that kept us fed. We settled in a few times, making camps a bit like this, but the Bjornmen kept pushing west. I couldn’t tell you how many villages I’ve seem ‘em torch.

  “We met up with some others on the road. There’s more men will chance the rope and run rather than face those savage bastard Bjornmen than you’d think.”

  “Face the rope?” she frowned.

  “I’m a deserter,” Denn said it with a simple honesty. “I know what that means. It’s a hanging if I’m caught. I s’pose that’s why we weren’t bothered about robbing a fat merchant or two if it came down to it. Nothing to lose, see?”

  He shifted over, making room for Redan as he knelt beside the fire and started chopping vegetable on a large wooden board. Hacking carrots, which looked like they were a couple of weeks past their best, into rough chunks.

  Miriam watched for almost a full minute before she closed her eyes and shook her head. “For the love of all that’s good and right, Redan. What did those carrots ever do to you?”

  He glanced back in surprise and frowned. “What?”

  “Oh, just shift over. Let me do it.” She took the knife and began slicing the carrots, nodding at Denn who stifled a laugh. “Carry on.”

  “Hmm?” he grunted. “Oh, well, there’s not much more to tell really. Frast got caught by the branch about two months before we got here. Damnedest thing really, just a dead tree. That branch could have fallen anytime but seems it just waited there for him. Caught him right on the top of the head too. Dropped him like a sack of wheat. We pulled him out from under it and patched him up as best we could. It didn’t look that bad but he didn’t wake up for three days. When he did he was, well, like how you saw him. Some days were worse than others. There were days when he didn’t know anyone, thought we were all strangers. He went three whole weeks thinking Brett were his dad.” He snorted a laugh at the memory but the smile faded quickly.

  “Then there were days when he’d spend the whole time sat close to the road, just watching.” He stood and went to a rain barrel, dipping out a cupful of water and drinking deeply. “He’d get this look on him, like his eyes couldn’t sit still in his head. You’d look at him and he’d never meet your eyes for long, they’d just slip away. Almost like he was guilty about something.” He shrugged and took his seat again. “Anyhow, you weren’t the first woman he took a try with. We had to pull him back from a merchant’s once.” He glanced over at Redan. “Remember that one? They must’ve been running west. Had everything you can imagine packed into five big wagons, an’ enough guards round it that we’d have never thought of going near it. He caught sight of a girl driving the third wagon, an’ he was off. We got to him before he made it out of the trees, took three of us to hold him down though.”

  “He’s my brother, an’ I’ll miss him, but I don’t blame you, Mother.” Denn looked up and met her eyes. “He’s not been Frast for a long time now. Like I said, maybe it’s better like this. I’m just sorry you had to get hurt as well.”

  Miriam reached up for the bruise on her cheek, without thinking. She brushed her fingertips over it, probing th
e pain, and let her hand fall. “You’re not like…” she stopped, unsure how to finish.

  “Like what you’d expect bandits to be?” Redan offered.

  Miriam shrugged and nodded.

  “We’re all just people,” Denn told her. “I've never met a bandit that I spoke to. Killed one or two when I was a caravan guard but only if I didn’t have a choice. I suspect there’s always something bad that drives a man to take to the woods. It’s not the easiest of lives but it beats fighting those Bjornmen. I don’t have many regrets.”

  Miriam busied herself preparing the meal, letting the conversation die. Denn’s story had given her a lot to think about and she found herself drifting back to the spearman and the bandits who’d attacked Garret’s caravan all those years ago. She’d spent years hating the man. Now, for the first time, she wondered what had driven him to that life.

  She worked to fashion a thin stew. The boar was beautifully cooked but there was a limit she could do with the supplies that were on hand. As the sun sank behind the trees, and the smell from the pot drew others to the fire, she sank into a half-doze. Twice she tried to rouse herself to feed more yarrow to Dravit, and twice Redan pushed her gently back to her seat, telling her he’d see to it.

  Conversation washed around her. She was the stone to its surf and though it touched her and swept past, she was never caught up in it. More than once she heard her name mentioned but she was too tired to care. Eventually Denn roused her. “You look done in, Mother. Take my hut for the night, there’s a spare tent I can use.” He waved off her protests, and, if the truth be told, she didn’t argue too hard. He guided her through the camp, moving through the murk and shadows that danced in the firelight until he pointed her at his hut. She sank down onto the cot, not even minding the stale odour from the blankets, and slept.

  A scream woke her. A cry of fear and pain that cut off with a despairing sob. Miriam rolled out of bed and crouched beside the door until the shouting and the sound of running feet drew her out into the moonlight. The fire was all but gone and the coals and tiny flames cast a ruddy glow over the centre of the camp as shadowy figures raced past with swords drawn. Fire flared as others thrust torches into the embers to light them and rushed past.