by Adam Carter
“Defiance is a virtue,” Kastra told him. “But you can still die.”
“We can all die, Kastra. Bare your neck and I’ll prove it.”
Kastra thought a moment, trying to imagine another means of torture for the old soldier. It did not take long, which led Crenshaw to suspect Kastra already had a plethora of punishments just waiting to be used against him.
Stones spikes rose from the ground about Crenshaw, great pillars upsetting his balance and toppling, sending great boulders to crash at his feet. A spire rose directly beneath him, almost skewering him, and Crenshaw cursed the frantic speed with which the things rose and fell, like the rotating teeth of a shark.
He thought then about the nature of Kastra’s magic, at how he had only just reminded himself that it was mainly illusion. If illusions were being set upon him, Crenshaw could not defeat them; but then nor did he have to face them at all. If there was nothing substantial about the attacks, his defence should be equally so.
Kastra stood ahead of him, raising Moya’s arms, thrusting them to the side in some grand display of magic. And that was all it was: a display. Kastra would have Crenshaw believe there was more going on here than there was, but by seeing through the tricks Crenshaw could focus on what was real. So far as Crenshaw cared, there was only one real thing before him.
Ignoring the rising and falling spires, Crenshaw surged forward, spinning his axe and bringing it down upon Kastra’s face.
The faerie opened Moya’s mouth in silent shock and Crenshaw’s entire world exploded.
*
Karina Moya was in a field. The wind gently swayed the tall grass, the birds were singing on the wing and, as the sun beat down upon her upturned face, everything was happy. She did not recall when last she had been so content, so at peace with herself. She knew she needed to be somewhere, knew there was something important she had to be doing, but for that moment Moya did not care. She hoped the moment could last an eternity.
A leaf blew through the air like a stray thought on the breeze. It was a dreary thing, crumpled by autumn and brittle in death. It fell in the grass someway ahead of her and Moya sighed a sad and meaningful sigh. The field was perfect, but there were dead things here, just as there were dead things everywhere. The leaf would rot into the soil and help a new generation of grass flourish, but the image was not a happy one for Moya. In a garden of paradise there should never be death, even though without death there could be no life.
“Karina.”
She turned, having heard her name whispered on the breeze. It had been a long time since Moya had heard her name, yet she had never forgotten it. Before her, several paces away and standing ramrod straight in the grass, was a soldier. He was aged somewhere in his sixties, she knew, although he looked much older. His right arm hung limply at his side, but she did not pity him, for pity should be reserved solely for the pitiful. He looked both miserable and elated, which made her laugh and cry at once.
“Karina, it’s me.”
“Should I know you, sir?”
“Jobek Crenshaw. Joe.”
Moya sought her memories, which were few. It was as though she began each day anew, and ever with a smaller amount of remembrance. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said at last, “but I don’t recall a soldier in my life.”
“No soldiers at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Then at least you don’t remember when you were taken from your home.”
She tittered like a sparrow. “Dear sir, my home is here.”
“Now, yes. There’s not much left of you, is there?”
“Sir, I don’t know what you mean. I have my field, I have my birds. I used to have the woods in which to frolic, but I can’t seem to find the trees any more.”
“Your world is shrinking as Kastra steals more and more from you. But you’re alive. I didn’t expect that.”
“Have you come for lunch, sir?”
“I wish I could, but I fear my time here is short.”
“Oh.” She was genuinely disappointed. Something in the back of her mind was telling her to keep this man here as long as possible. “Will you sit with me, then? We can watch the sunset.”
“The sunset?”
“Yes. It comes at the end of each day, although it does appear to be falling a little early today. Sunsets are wondrous, beautiful things, sir. They come every day and no two are exactly the same.”
“I would very much love to sit and watch the sunset with you, Karina.”
“Splendid. I have the strangest feeling tonight’s shall be the most stunning of all.”
They sat upon the grass and looked skyward. The evening was strange this night, she noticed, for the edges of the sky had turned a strange shade she could not explain. They were almost colourless, although they were neither black nor white. It was as though there was no longer anything there at all.
It took her a few minutes to realise the soldier was not staring at the sky but at her.
“Good sir,” she said, a mite embarrassed, “you shall miss the most beautiful display.”
“I have indeed missed you for so very long.”
“Then we do know one another? My apologies, sir, but I do not recall our acquaintance.”
“What do you remember?”
“Asphodels.” She thought some more. “I love the smell of asphodels.”
“The flower of forgetfulness as Kastra devours your mind.”
That was the second time the soldier had spoken that name and while Moya did not know it she knew she did not like it.
“Can we just watch the sunset together, in silence?” she asked.
It seemed the soldier was about to refuse, but then he lay back and said, “Of course. Anything for my little wizard.”
The sunset came quickly, a riotous display of reds and oranges. Moya had never before seen one so spectacular. Her eyes would not blink, for she did not wish to miss a single moment of this glorious occasion, and the very thought that she had someone with which to share it sent her little heart racing.
“Goodbye, Karina.”
“You are going, my soldier? Oh, please don’t leave me.”
“I don’t think I can stay. I shouldn’t be here, I don’t even know how I am. I guess you’ve let me in, without even knowing you’ve done so.”
“I don’t understand your words, sir, but I fear you leaving.”
He took her hand in his and she was surprised by its warmth. Looking into his eyes, she felt herself become lost as memories returned. Memories of a snake creature, a naked man who was not a man, torture, the death of someone she loved and respected, a dark, bleak room with bars and too many bodies pressed into one.
Recoiling, she withdrew her hands and the memories faded, along with many others.
“Sir,” she said, for there was a soldier suddenly lying on the grass beside her, watching the sunset. She instantly became embarrassed. “Sir, who are you?”
“Jobek Crenshaw.”
She thought hard. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said at last, “but I don’t recall a soldier in my life. Should I know you?”
The soldier smiled a sad smile. “No. I don’t think we ever knew one another, Karina. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
The sunset was amazing and Karina Moya lay on her back watching it. She was certain there had only moments earlier been someone else with her, which was ridiculous since there was no one else.
The wind whispered her name, which she reasoned it was sometimes wont to do, but she ignored it. The sun lowered for the final time as the edges of non-colour closed in.
Karina Moya smiled and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The party was dull, but then Canlin had never much liked parties. They were a haven for diplomats, hangers-on and yes men. Soldiers should be out in the field, either protecting the borders or looting someone who probably didn’t deserve it. Things would not have been so bad had he not been forced to wear formal dress uniform instead of hi
s armour. He had just spent half an hour discussing border politics with two extremely boring individuals who were so stiff they could have taught his soldiers a thing or two about standing straight. Extricating himself from them as cordially as possible, Canlin moved across to the canapés and popped something into his mouth which looked disgusting and tasted foul.
“Having fun?” Crenshaw asked.
“Don’t start. Tell me, are those two looking my way?”
“Yes, but not with pleasant gazes. I think telling them you had to go powder your horse may have confused them somewhat.”
It was a funny old world in which these two old soldiers were on speaking terms. Once the battle with Moya was ended, Canlin suspected he would have to fight Crenshaw over the death of the shade Canlin and Valok had killed a while back, but Crenshaw didn’t seem to care much about her. Canlin was slowly getting the impression that Crenshaw didn’t care about anything any more. Whether killing the shade would have a lasting effect on the soul, Canlin had no idea, but he had never put much faith in souls.
“Anyway,” Crenshaw said, “I should congratulate you, Captain. A regiment all of your own.”
“And you a knighthood. Which you turned down.”
“I don’t own any land, so a knighthood would have been a bit of a waste.”
Canlin considered trying another canapé but resisted. “What will you do now? I have my regiment to take out, towns to protect, that sort of thing. What about you?”
“Protect?”
“Serita liked protecting people. Maybe I can try it for a change. If it doesn’t work out, I could always go back to my old ways. And I have a brand new regiment. Mannin and Valok are dead, so I have a load of fresh recruits and my pick of sorcerers. I’m told I have to have one. But you’re evading the question. Where will you go now?”
Crenshaw looked suddenly as though he was far away already. “I don’t know. A farm, maybe. A mill. I might try to find what’s left of Karina’s home. If no one’s started up her business, I could retire to that.”
“You’re beloved now, Crenshaw. You don’t have to work. You could travel the land telling everyone your name and you can have whatever you want for free.”
“I tried that.”
Crenshaw had started talking cryptically like that, ever since they had lost Asperathes. It was like a bug or something. Whatever he was talking about, Canlin did not want to know. If Crenshaw had his secrets, after everything they had been through he was entitled to them.
“I’m surprised the baroness let you live,” Canlin said honestly. After the death of Moya the two men had been summoned to the baroness’s presence by a battalion of her finest guard. She had thanked them both for the emancipation of her kingdom. Canlin’s promotion was gratefully received, but Crenshaw’s full pardon came as something of a shock to them both. Canlin had never known for the baroness to have a kind streak, but maybe she was developing a conscience in her old age.
“I’m just sorry we’re not all here,” Crenshaw said. “A toast, Captain?”
Canlin was always up for a toast and found a glass to raise. “To Captain Wren.”
“And to Asperathes. And Mannin, I guess. The true heroes from all of this.”
Canlin drained his glass and considered that word. He knew Crenshaw hated it, but when attached to a captain of his own regiment it held a certain ring. Hero. All girls loved a hero. It was a term he would definitely look into adopting.
“Goodbye, Serita,” he said, not even meaning to have spoken aloud, “but a man must move on.”
Yes, hero was a word which would suit him very well indeed.
*
It was a new day and Crenshaw was already on the move. He had found the party uncomfortable. Some guests loudly thanked him for all he had done, while others had snidely told him he would always be regarded as a criminal. Crenshaw was not affected by either, for all he cared about was the pardon tucked away in his shirt. It would make his life a lot easier, even though there was no longer anything to live for.
Taking the road to the nearest town, Crenshaw wandered alone with his thoughts until a wagon trundled past, heading for the castle. At the reins was a young woman of perhaps five and twenty years, wearing a dark green robe and a visage of glee. Upon seeing Crenshaw she halted her horses and greeted him with a cheery good day.
“I’m heading for the castle,” she said. “Would you be able to tell me whether Jobek Crenshaw’s left yet?”
Crenshaw turned so he was angled with his left side facing her. That way she would not recognise him by his arm. She was in such high spirits, though, he doubted she would even have made the connexion. “I think he’s still there, yes,” he said. “If you hurry you should catch him.”
“Great stuff. Thank you, stranger.”
“What business have you with Crenshaw?” he asked as she went to crack her reins.
“I wanted to meet the legend, everyone’s talking about him.”
“You’re going all the way to the castle just to meet Crenshaw?”
“Oh no, sir. I’ve been summoned. I’m a recent graduate of the local sorcerers’ academy and my name’s been put forward to join the new regiment Captain Canlin’s putting together. I’m hoping I might be able to impress him.”
“Try losing your robe and undoing a few top strings on your shirt.”
“Sir?”
“Just my little joke. I’m sure Captain Canlin is a pillar of the community. Why are you so eager to join his regiment?”
“Who wouldn’t want to join it? Think of it, to travel with a hero, perhaps even to become one.”
Crenshaw grunted at the word. “Heroes aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, you know.”
She raised her chin slightly. “No offense, sir, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. In a few years’ time I could be as great a sorceress as any this land has ever seen. I could become my own legend, sir, with Crenshaw giving me his blessing to follow in his footsteps.”
“Crenshaw treads a lonely path, girl. He’s also an idiot who lost everything he ever had.”
“The man is a hero.”
Crenshaw shrugged. “Suit yourself. Go ahead and ruin your life, see if I care.”
“Sir, I should incinerate you for that.”
Crenshaw resumed walking. “You should. But if you did you’d need to make up lost time and you wouldn’t want to miss your hero.”
“By Asp, you’re right!” She trundled off, her little wagon rocking as she coaxed more speed from it. Crenshaw’s eyes followed her for some minutes until he turned away and resumed his walk to nowhere.
Reaching inside his shirt, he gently removed his signed pardon and threw it in the mud.
He fully intended to never stop walking.
*
It had been a bad month, or year, or decade. It was impossible to mark the passage of time in the dungeon, so crowded with bodies. Hundreds of people were crammed into the same large cell, walled on three sides with columns of iron bars on the fourth. During her time in the dungeon – however long it had been – she had been attacked so many times, but she had given as good as she had got. Her boots had been taken from her on the first day, but as she had grown stronger she had simply gone over and taken them back. Some of her injuries had healed well, some badly, and her body was a mass of scars and scabs. She had killed countless fellow prisoners, fought with so many more, had even stood up for some of the weaker ones.
Ten minutes ago the guards had come for her, had dragged her out of the cell to the jeers of the crowd. She knew where she was headed, for prisoners were taken frequently to something everyone referred to as the death chamber. There they would be tortured until dead, and the inmates who were forced to listen to their wails of death took bets on how long they would last.
As the guards threw her into a dark room and departed, she knew the process was beginning. Her body was screaming out for help, but she forced herself to her feet, regardless of the pain. She had fought so hard a
nd so long on her feet, she would not face death on her knees.
Her eyes slowly adjusted and she became aware of a woman sitting in a chair only a few paces from her. The woman was elderly, but not old, and held a regal bearing which suggested she would survive many years yet to come.
“Serita Wren,” the old woman said. “You do remember your name, don’t you?”
It took Wren a few moments to recognise her host. “Baroness Thade. I don’t know whether to warn you about Moya or throttle you.”
“Moya is gone, has been for a while now. Your man Crenshaw got rid of that particular problem for me.”
“Crenshaw’s alive?”
“And Canlin. In fact, Captain Canlin is quite the regiment leader now.”
Wren’s anger burned, but she would gain nothing by attacking the baroness here. If Thade was in the room alone with her, she would have taken precautions. “Then you know Moya was using you?” she asked instead.
“Moya is dead and no longer matters. I think you mean to say Kastra was using me.”
“That you know about Kastra shows you’re in your right mind.” She paused. “You’re either here to release me or to gloat about something.”
The baroness shrugged. “What’s that you have at your belt?”
Wren tightened a hand about them. “Bootlaces. I take them from the newcomers.”
“To intimidate them?”
“To collect them. When I have enough I’m going to strangle you with them.”
“How uncouth.”
“You want to talk about something?”
“I wanted to tell you something, actually. I can’t tell another living soul, you see, and I’m so dying to share this.”
“Hate to break this to you, but I’m a living soul.”
“Trapped down here in my dungeon and you still believe that? Good for you.”
“What do you want to tell me?”