Thorn glanced at Keir. ‘I only need one or two. Kill the rest.’
He nodded, lifted a hand, and snapped his fingers. The ring of fire surged inwards, hitting the tightly packed warriors from all sides in an inferno of flames and screams. In a few seconds it was over, the fuel from the second wagon exhausted. Keir peered through the thick, dark smoke drifting up from the smouldering heap of bodies on the valley floor. In the centre huddled a small group of survivors, their hair and skin scorched and blistered, and their clothes hanging in burnt strips around them.
Thorn dismounted.
She walked into the dark circle of burnt earth, her cavalry boots avoiding the piles of blackened bodies. The Sanang in the centre began wailing, falling to their knees, and crying out in their own tongue as she approached them. She reached out with a hand and touched one of them, her fingers grazing his peeled and scalded skin. The warrior shrieked, his cry ringing through the valley as his eyes rolled up into his head. His body withered before their eyes, and a dry husk collapsed to the ground, from which smoke drifted up in wisps. The other survivors panicked, scrambling and climbing over the heaps of bodies piled around them. Keir and the guards kicked their mounts, moving round the circle to block off any escape, while Thorn continued, touching another, and another, draining their life force from them as they begged and wept before her.
Keir said nothing as he watched, unable to wrench his eyes from the soulwitch. When the last survivor had been reduced to a dead shell, Thorn stopped, and glanced up at Keir. He leaned over in his saddle and helped her back up onto her stallion. He felt the warmth of her hand in his for a moment, and as he did so, he realised that with a single touch she could do to him what she had just done to the warriors.
‘To Anamindhari,’ she said, her eyes shining.
Keir, Thorn and the guards returned to the road and urged their mounts towards the town. Ahead of them, the squadrons of cavalry were formed up facing the settlement outskirts, and units moved aside to allow them through. Beyond their lines the valley floor was littered with Sanang bodies and abandoned wagons, with a few cavalry troopers and horses also lying dead on the ground. In a courtyard close to the road sat a large group of unarmed warriors, hemmed in by the cavalry on one side, and the approaching squads of marines of the other, who were marching more prisoners from the town.
Officers from the cavalry and marines had assembled by a farmhouse on the edge of the courtyard, and Thorn spurred her stallion over to them.
‘Greetings, my lady,’ said Captain Greenhold, raising a hand to help her dismount. ‘The battle is won and the town is ours.’
She gave a brief nod, her eyes scanning the marine officers present. She broke into a smile at the sight of a tall Kellach woman.
‘General Dowan,’ she said, striding over to the commander of the marines, ‘so good to see you.’
The general bowed. ‘Ma’am. I trust these Holdings horse-lovers have been treating you well?’
‘Indeed they have, but I missed you all. I’m so happy to be among my marines again.’ She nodded over to Keir as he climbed down from Monty. ‘This is Keir Holdfast, the stormwitch.’
‘Aye?’ said the Kellach general. ‘We could see his handiwork up on the hillside.’
Keir stuck his hand out and the general squeezed it.
Thorn turned to the cavalry officers. ‘And this is Colonel Falstead and Captains Greenhold and Holdsmith.’
The cavalry and marines nodded to each other.
‘I trust the town has been cleared of the enemy?’ said Captain Greenhold.
‘Aye,’ said Dowan. ‘I’d guess a hundred or so escaped to the north-east before we could secure the entire front, but we managed to herd the rest of them here. Most were killed trying to cross the river, but at least a thousand surrendered.’
Thorn nodded. ‘Captain,’ she said to Barnaby, ‘take a few squadrons and circle up to the north-east; ride down any who managed to flee the town.’
‘At once, my lady,’ the officer said, bowing low. He strode back to the cavalry lines, shouting out orders to his lieutenants.
‘And the prisoners?’ said Colonel Falstead.
The group of officers turned to watch the marines shepherd more unarmed warriors out of the town, depositing them with the others in the farm’s large courtyard.
‘Bring them all here,’ said Thorn. ‘I wish to speak to them.’
‘Aye, ma’am,’ said General Dowan.
‘While that’s being done, I wish to see the wounded. There is time to heal them before I address the prisoners.’
Dowan and the Colonel bowed, and led Thorn off through the press of officers and marines.
Keir lit a cigarette as he waited. Streams of captives were fed into the courtyard, which was ringed by a wall of shields and crossbows. There was a wagon close by, and marines positioned it by the side of the yard. The stream from the town slowed to a trickle, and the last of the captives was squeezed in.
Thorn re-emerged from the crowd and strode towards the wagon. She gestured to Keir. ‘Join me.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Kill them.’
‘Then why do you need me up there?’
‘What we do, we do together.’
She held out her hand and he took it, the marines and cavalry watching from every side. They climbed up onto the back of the wagon, and gazed out over the mass of captives; and a thousand Sanang faces stared back in hatred and terror.
Thorn glanced at Keir, their hands still entwined. ‘I’m going to speak to them in my language, but the words will be simple. Justice. Revenge. Death.’
She slipped her hand from his and raised her arms. A surge of power buffeted Keir’s vision sense, and he almost staggered backwards. He knew Kelsey could hear when others used their powers, but he had never felt if before. The power Thorn was using was a magnitude greater than anything he had experienced. The crowd of captives froze; their bodies motionless, and the whole courtyard fell into silence.
Thorn cried out to them in words beyond Keir’s comprehension, and the crowd of captives fell to their knees as if forced down by a power.
‘And now,’ Thorn said in Holdings, her voice filling the areas where the marines and cavalry were watching, ‘it is time to put an end to the plague that has beset these lands for years. Here, today, in Anamindhari, the Sons of Sanang face justice. For the suffering they put my country through before they were expelled, and for the destruction they have wrought in the Plateau; the only remedy is death.’
She paused for a moment of pure stillness and silence, as no one in the courtyard moved or spoke, every eye upon her.
She lowered her hands, and the Sanang captives screamed out with one voice, a roar of anguish and pain that thundered against Keir’s ears. Then they fell, toppling over from where they knelt on the flagstones, and the screams ceased. Keir blinked. A thousand corpses lay carpeting the courtyard; a thousand pairs of lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, their faces fixed in the contortions of their final agony.
Thorn staggered and Keir took her hand.
‘Take a bit from me,’ he whispered, ‘if you need it.’
She glanced at him, her eyes wide with surprise. She shook her head, then turned to face the marines and cavalry. For a moment they stood in stunned silence, then a marine began to shout out Thorn’s name and within seconds the others joined in, cheering and chanting in unison.
She raised the hand that was clutching Keir’s and smiled amid the swell of noise.
‘We are revenged.’
Chapter 18
Winter’s Day in Domm
Severton, Domm – Winter’s Day 525
Karalyn strode into the large chamber, its walls smooth and painted, and its ceiling high. Beyond a double-sized bed, her mother was sitting in a chair by an open window, smoking.
‘What is it?’ Karalyn said.
Her mother turned to face her, then frowned. ‘Why aren’t you ready?’
‘I was
thinking of not going.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re all going.’
‘But I was there for hours last night,’ Karalyn said. ‘It was exhausting. I had to do a tour of the entire field and see all the workers, then I had to make rounds of the pavilions all evening, answering questions and speaking to everyone about father.’
‘And that’s why we’re all going today, now that part’s out of the way. Thanks for going last night and doing it; I don’t think I would have had the patience. But today we can just go and relax; eat and smoke and you know how much I hate being stuck in this house.’
‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t go. You should. But I’m staying here.’
Her mother frowned. ‘Karalyn Holdfast, you can defy me over the matter of our return to civilisation, and keep me here on this windy rock against my will; but you’re still my daughter and we are guests in this town. Daughters of the Holdings nobility have standards to maintain; and being an ungrateful guest is an unspeakable crime, behaviour unworthy of the lowliest peasant, let alone a Holdfast. You shall not let the family down, my girl; you are coming. Now, get ready; we’re leaving in ten minutes.’
Karalyn opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and walked from her mother’s bedroom. In the apartment’s hallway, Jemma was standing, dressed in a thick coat with hat and gloves, with Cole wrapped up warmly in a sling hung over her shoulder.
‘Happy Winter’s Day,’ she said. ‘It’ll be so good to get out and have a chance to think of something other than the attack. I’ve not eaten all morning, and.. wait, you are coming, aren’t you? Please say you’re coming.’
‘Aye,’ Karalyn sighed. ‘Let me just get some warmer clothes on and I’ll be back in a minute.’
She went into her own bedroom at the end of the hall, and glanced around at the untidy piles of clothes. A thrum of battle-vision exploded to her left and she was sent flying as Corthie charged her.
She landed on the floor. ‘What the fuck, you little bastard?’ she yelled as he collapsed in laughter.
‘Got you again!’ he cried.
‘One of these times you’re going to give me a heart attack,’ she said, pulling herself upright. ‘You’re too strong for me. That hurt.’
‘Come on, sis; you’re six years older than me.’ His face fell. ‘I didn’t really hurt you, did I?’
‘No,’ she laughed, even though it was a lie; ‘but you are strong; like an ox, or a bull; aye, like a wee bull.’
He grinned. ‘Mother said that when she starts training to get fit again, she’s going to train me too. I’m going to be a fighter like her and father.’
‘Oh?’ said Karalyn, raking through a heap of clothes. ‘Well, battle-vision is a powerful skill.’
‘It’s not as good as your power, of course,’ he said, sitting on the bed as she pulled on a thick woollen jumper; ‘or Keir’s.’
‘But Keir doesn’t have battle-vision. That’s yours alone.’
‘I know you don’t like killing people,’ Corthie said. ‘Neither do I.’ He paused for a moment, and Karalyn glanced at him as she laced up her boots. ‘I’m going to use my power to protect people,’ he went on; ‘the people I love, and the people who are too weak to fight back for themselves.’
She smiled. ‘Sounds noble.’
‘We are Holdfasts, as mother keeps reminding us.’
‘You heard that, did you?’ she said, standing and putting on her long, black coat. ‘Right, I think I’m ready to brave the wind and rain.’
Brady was waiting for the Holdfasts at the entrance to the apartment block. Karalyn had met his twin brother the previous evening when they had toured the festival field. As sons of the Master Distiller, the young men were among the richest in the Kellach Brigdomin lands. Behind him stood two burly servants, one at either end of a large wooden chair with horizontal poles attached to it.
‘Good afternoon,’ said Brady. He gestured to the chair. ‘This is for Lady Holdfast. We’ll carry her right into a pavilion and drop her off there. These two will be at her beck and call all day.’
‘Thank you,’ said Karalyn. She went back inside and helped her mother out. The wound in her side was healing, but she had trouble walking; using a crutch to hobble around the apartment. She and Corthie assisted their mother into the chair.
‘I feel like an invalid,’ she muttered.
‘That’s because you are, mother,’ said Karalyn.
‘Only temporarily, I assure you.’
The two servants lifted the poles and they set off down the wide street towards the field where the festival was taking place. Brady strolled alongside Karalyn as they approached the bridge. The road grew busier, with traffic in both directions. A few revellers had passed out in the street, while others were staggering from the direction of the bridge.
‘Not many make it through the whole thing,’ said Brady, as they avoided a swaying old woman, a bottle of whisky grasped in her hand.
‘Do many try?’ she said.
‘Och aye,’ he said. ‘This is the biggest drinking festival in Kellach Brigdomin; folk come from all parts to attempt to stay up for the whole thing. It’s thirty-six hours in all; not too long; what really makes it difficult is the cask-strength whisky that my da gives away. Nothing’s diluted. Folk forget, think they’re pacing themselves, then wonder why they can’t stand up by the first dawn. But don’t worry, we’ve reserved you a place in one of the quieter pavilions. It’ll fill up later on, but, once it gets busy for the last night. Will ye be staying long, do you think?’
‘Yes,’ called Daphne from the chair, ‘we’re getting well and truly drunk.’
Karalyn frowned at her. ‘We’re bringing the baby,’ she said to Brady, ‘and Corthie’s only thirteen. We’ll probably stay until the evening meal, then head home.’
‘It’s entirely up to you,’ said Brady. ‘I heard you had to speak to dozens of folk last night about yer da. For today, we’ve asked that you be left alone. Let the chair-guys know if anyone’s hassling you and they’ll step in.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Bollocks,’ he muttered, sticking his hand out. ‘That’s the rain on.’
Karalyn glanced up at the dark clouds overhead and felt the first drops land on her cheek. They picked up their pace, joining the thick queues of folk crossing the bridge over the river and into the festival field. Workers were laying down planks and beams to create pathways over the ground, which had been churned into mud by thousands of boots. Brady led them to the right, away from a cluster of large pavilions where a raucous noise of drunken revelry was emerging.
‘Bit rough, those ones,’ he said as Karalyn glanced at them.
‘I don’t mind rough,’ said Daphne as she swayed on the raised chair.
‘Ignore my mother,’ Karalyn whispered as Brady laughed.
They followed him to a smaller pavilion close to the rear of the field and got out of the rain. Inside a few dozen tables had been arranged, alongside a bar and a kitchen with an open fire, the smoke channelled away via an iron flue poking through the ceiling. It was quiet, with less than half of the seats occupied, and Brady took them to an empty corner. He gestured for Daphne’s chair to be lowered next to a table, while Karalyn, Jemma and Corthie sat.
‘I’ll leave you to enjoy lunch,’ Brady said. ‘My da should be arriving soon, so I’ll need to be in the main pavilion, at least for a while. I’ll come round and check yer all doing fine a wee bit later.’
‘Pass on my greetings to him,’ said Daphne.
‘I’ll do that,’ he said, giving a short bow.
Karalyn watched the young man turn and leave, then noticed her mother take a packet of cigarettes out of her bag. ‘Where did you get those? I thought we ran out days ago.’
‘We did,’ said her mother, passing one across the table to her daughter. ‘It’s lucky that one of us is resourceful.’ She caught Karalyn’s glance. ‘I heard some Rakanese merchants had arrived in town for the Winter’s Day festival, and prevaile
d upon them for some of their stock.’
‘I thought we didn’t have any spare money for that sort of thing?’
‘We’re Holdfasts,’ her mother said; ‘our name and reputation are known. I wrote them a credit note.’
‘They took a note?’
‘They’re businessmen. They drove a hard bargain, but the banks in Plateau City will honour my word when they get back to civilisation.’
‘But,’ said Jemma, ‘won’t people find out where we are?’
Daphne shook her head. ‘It’ll be thirds before they get anywhere near the imperial capital.’ She turned to Karalyn. ‘I trust, daughter, that we will not be here that long?’
Karalyn frowned. ‘Not now that you’ve as good as advertised our presence.’
‘I’ll take that cigarette back if you don’t want it?’
‘A bit late now,’ she said, lighting it with a match.
Her mother smiled. ‘Lunch? And some ale, and perhaps a little gin.’ She signalled to a serving boy. ‘Young man,’ she said as he came over, a long apron trailing along the canvas and straw floor, ‘do you have a menu?’
‘Eh, no, ma’am,’ he said, his eyes darting around the occupants of the table.
‘Tell us then, what is there for lunch?’
‘You can have small, medium or large.’
‘Small, medium or large what?’
‘Portions,’ he said, squinting at Daphne like she was stupid. ‘How many, and what size?’
‘I see. Well then, three mediums and a large, please; and ale, plenty of ale; and a gin for me. A small one.’
He shrugged. ‘We don’t do gin.’
‘Come on,’ Daphne said, ‘I drink the stuff made right here in this town. Severton gin is very popular in the Holdings.’
‘Aye, but no one round these parts drinks it. It’s all sent north.’
Daphne frowned. ‘I shall be speaking to the Master Distiller about this.’
‘Fine, he’s around somewhere. In the meantime, you want some whisky?’
The Magelands Epic: Soulwitch Rises (Book 7) Page 27