“There were more than six of us.”
“Indeed there were.” He gestured to a slight girl who looked very unhappy to be there. She kept staring at Laram and it wasn’t hard to guess her name or position. “The scryer says that she can find all of your associates.”
Brogan took the time to look around and felt his spirits falter. There were a great number of them. Worse, there were dogs. Dogs came in low enough to maim horses. They could tear the belly from a man with ease, especially if they were trained well, and if he knew one thing without having to consider it, it was that the Dog of Kinnett would know how to do so. The king allegedly had a love of training the damned beasts.
“We cannot go with you.” Brogan held his arms wide and then settled them at his sides, where his weapons were waiting. “We will not go willingly to our deaths.”
Ulster nodded.
“Take them. Bring them in alive.”
“Alive?” Harper smiled.
Ulster smiled back, a reptilian grin if ever there had been one. “Alive does not mean intact. I will sacrifice as much of you as I need to in order to bring you to King Bron.”
“It was a nice thought, at least.”
Anna stepped from her house and glared at the men outside. “We’re leaving here. You will not stop us this day.”
“Won’t we though?” Ulster shook his head, amused more than angered by her claim.
“Not in the least.”
“And what would you do to stop us?” He leaned over his saddle as he stared at her.
“Oh, not me.” She shook her head. “Them.” Anna pointed to a spot behind the soldiers and they looked. Almost everyone looked, but Brogan kept his eyes on the woman. She was up to something.
Sure enough, the powder she pulled from under her shawl and cast into the air gave her away. No one else noticed, they were looking for whatever she’d pointed to.
The black powder defied the winds and whipped toward each of the soldiers. The dust struck the closest ones, started them blinking and in the case of one horse sneezing. Then, as the stuff made contact, it changed form. From small granules each piece transformed, grew larger and angular and buzzed violently. The sound was one Brogan knew well from his more curious adventures as a child. Wasps. They were the very image of hell on earth as far as he was concerned. For a moment Brogan felt pity for his enemies.
Only a moment.
He tapped the sides of his horse and called, “Ride, lads!”
The soldiers of King Bron might have tried to stop them, but they were far too busy with the wasps attacking them, their dogs and their horses alike. Brogan had no notion of how Anna had summoned or created the wasps, but he was delighted.
Somewhere in that mix, Laram’s woman was screaming just as loudly. Brogan felt no pity for the creature that had shown the soldiers how to find them.
He rode hard from the corral and the others followed, heading south as fast as they could, while all around them horses and men and hounds let out screams of pain and thrashed, trying to escape the wasps.
Men were thrown from their saddles. Horses kicked and bucked and bolted. Dogs ran.
Brogan smiled and rode harder still, taking full advantage of the chaos. Harper rode near him, laughing so hard Brogan thought he might fall. The others were not far behind.
The soldiers did not pursue.
When Harper had finished laughing he looked over his shoulder at Anna and shook his head. “They’re going to be very, very angry.”
“I find I can live with that notion better than with a sword through my heart.”
“Aye. True enough.”
After twenty minutes of hard riding they slowed down and came to a halt. The horses needed a moment to rest and they needed, as a group, to assess their situation.
Brogan smiled at Anna. “Thank you. I’ve no idea how you did that, but it was all that saved us, I think.”
Anna nodded her head.
“There is a scryer among them. Can you hide us from her eyes?”
Laram looked back, frowning. “I should have gone after her.”
Anna shook her head and frowned. “No. She gets her visions from the gods. They have a bit more power than me. A very large bit, actually. Nearly infinite. But I might have a few more tactics to keep them from getting too close.”
“Where are we heading, Brogan?” Laram looked down at his saddle, his face was stormy. Brogan understood why.
“You’d have gotten yourself stung senseless if you’d gone after her, Laram. Besides which, she is where she wants to be and I’m done with hostages and prisoners.” He sighed and continued. “We’re heading south. We need the warmer temperatures, because that’s where most of our lot has headed. Most if not all of the sad bastards we run with are down in Torema, if I had to guess.”
“Why Torema?” Anna’s brows knitted as she spoke.
Desmond said, “Because that’s where a lot of people traveling are going to need guards, and that’s what we’ve been doing on the road. Guarding.”
“Aye,” Harper agreed.
Brogan shook his head. “No. Mostly because the damned fools have more money than they’ve ever had in their lifetimes and a number of them will be determined to satisfy their curiosities on things they could never afford before.”
“Aye,” Harper said again. “That too.”
They started moving again and Brogan stared to the east, where the wall of black storm clouds was still crawling forward. They were high enough from the ground that they could see the silvery streams and rivers building along the plains.
“Have any of you ever heard of ‘Marked Men?’” Anna’s tone was soft.
Mosely answered, “Yes. I’ve heard they work for the Mentath. Dangerous men, hard to kill.”
Anna nodded. “While I was talking to others last night, the name came up several times. They might well be on the lookout for the lot of you.”
Harper slid his eyes her way. “Marked Men? Are you certain of that?”
“My talents aren’t like those of scryers. The words I hear come directly from the sources and those sources are people I know and have met. I’m certain.”
“Well then. We should ride faster.”
Brogan looked toward Harper and shook his head. “And what have you heard that you’re not sharing this time, my friend?”
Harper shrugged. “Not much to hear, really. The Marked Men are supposed to be the best the king has and made stronger by sorcery.”
Brogan almost said he didn’t believe in sorcery, but he’d just seen it happen. That sank in as he contemplated Harper’s words.
“Where did you hide the wasps?”
Anna brushed her hair back with her hands, her body swaying with the horse’s movements. Brogan made himself look away. “You liked that, did you? Took three nests to perfect that trick and one gesture later they are all gone. I won’t be doing that one again any time soon.”
Brogan nodded. “Well, we’ll need to find more tricks. I don’t think this is going to get easier.”
“Absolutely not, Brogan McTyre. You are the most wanted man in the world right now. And any that follow you will be wanted, too.”
“Then why are you here, Anna?”
She did not speak with harsh tones, but her words cut just the same. “I have my magic. They have a scryer. My best spells only delayed the girl finding us. Anyone other than a scryer would have spent years looking and never found us. The gods favor that girl. Because of you, my Desmond is in danger, too. So is the world. So where else would I be but making sure my husband lives through what you started?”
“It wasn’t my intention.” Brogan’s voice was hoarse. “I only wanted–”
“Aye. I know.” Anna looked to the southern horizon. There were mountains on one side and plains on the other, and between them the distant hints of other things. Cities, and places where people lived.
Places where the people living were doomed, unless Brogan either found a way to fight the gods or surren
dered himself to their desires.
He would not be surrendering.
“So find it, Anna.”
“Find what?” When he looked her way her eyes were wide and guileless.
“Whatever it takes to help me stop the gods from ending the world. I’ll not lie down for them and I’ll not sacrifice my friends. The fuckers have taken enough from me.”
Anna rode on, her eyes toward the south. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Nine
In Dark Places
Scodd died in his sleep four days after his wife was buried. Doria was not forgotten. Scodd and Doug were not forgotten. Still, they were dead and that left Temmi on her own. The girl who laughed and smiled and made bawdy jokes at Niall’s expense was as good as dead. In her place was a young woman who stared too often at her hands, and who scowled deeply in thought when she was not crying.
Niall and Tully took care of driving the wagon. The rains kept hammering down and the waters cut trenches wherever they could and rushed around whatever obstacles refused to get out of their way. The horses were wet and cold and Niall knew exactly how they felt.
He wore a cloak made of oilcloth – likely it once belonged to Scodd – and a large floppy hat with it, but they were necessary in order to travel. They were almost to Hollum, but it was still too far for comfort.
As far as stormy moods went, Niall had them all. He wavered between pouty at his unfortunate position in life to angry that everything seemed to have gone sour.
Almost everything. Tully, though silent a lot of the time, still managed an occasional smile for him. He returned the favor whenever he saw her lost in her own brooding thoughts.
The rains were relentless and there was little time for talking. When they did find safe places, they stopped long enough to let the horses rest and Niall for that matter. He led the horses through the rough areas and seldom had a chance to rest his legs. The only saving grace was that they were moving slightly downhill most times and so the waters crept past instead of rising.
The seventh day was black and bleak. There was no other way to put it. The skies behind them cracked and roared and cast lights that left them half-blinded when they were foolish enough to look directly at them. The horses were not at all happy about being where they were and keeping them calm became a challenge. More than once Niall had to throw himself in front of them and calm them as best he could while they threatened to rear up and make a run for it.
The horses seemed to calm, but there was always the chance they’d take it personally and stomp him into paste.
When they finally found a spot with a large enough collection of stones, they stopped for the evening and Niall hitched the horses and the wagon both to the heavy outcroppings.
Tully had kept a lantern burning. It was the only reason they managed to start a small fire.
“This will never end. I’m certain of it.” Niall shook his head. He meant the words to come out as a jest, but he failed and he knew it.
Tully carefully set a pot above the fire and started the water inside it to boiling. There was no fresh meat, but they had plenty of dried rations and with a little work it would make a fine stew.
Temmi did not join them. She remained in the depths of the wagon. He knew Tully would coax her out in time. Tully was good at that sort of thing.
Another barrage to the north of them made night into day for a moment and left them both blinking. The horses made noises, but seemed to know they weren’t going to get anywhere with the extra ropes Niall had lashed in place.
“I don’t know about this.” Tully squatted near the small fire, moving her legs a little to keep them from settling into sleep.
“Know about what?”
“Going to Hollum. It’s not a good city.”
“You know it well, do you?”
“It’s where I’ve lived all my life before those things took me.”
“Then you have a home there?”
“No. I have a place where I stayed. I didn’t like it and I don’t want to go back.” The winds shifted and water slipped past the rocks, wetting the side of Tully’s face, but she barely blinked the droplets aside or noticed them. She was focused on something that Niall couldn’t see.
“Listen. We’ll go in, and we’ll get out, quick as you please. If you can tell me where to buy a map, I’ll go in and leave you with the wagon. Might take a little longer that way, but I understand it. There’s a few places I would rather not revisit from my earlier days.”
She smiled her gratitude. “I appreciate that more than you know. I have a history there and I’ve no desire to ever return to it.”
Did he want to know more? Of course. Did she sound like she wanted to tell him? No. So he left it be.
“This is all madness. I just wanted to be a gardener. I like trees.” He looked toward Tully as he spoke. “What about you? Any big plans?”
“No. Surviving, I suppose.”
“No, I meant before we were taken.”
She stared at him and shook her head. “So did I.”
The stew was starting to boil and Niall’s stomach to rumble when the waters came down the hillside with enough force to wash over the top of their stone barrier. The sudden cascade of cold waters was shocking to say the least and it extinguished the fire and knocked the stew pot aside as well.
“The bloody hell?” Niall stood, half expecting to see someone standing above them on the outcropping with a bucket. Instead he saw more water coming. Somewhere above them the storm must have raged harder than ever and broken through a natural dam.
To prove that point the lightning flashed again and let him clearly see that the ground above them was dissolving, collapsing under the constant barrage of rain.
“We’ve got to move!” His voice was almost lost in the sounds from above. The mud came hard and fast and he grabbed Tully, pulling her closer to him in what little shelter the rocks provided. They’d hardly held off the wind and he doubted they’d stop the mud, but perhaps they’d part the wave coming.
The lightning left and the thunder came shattering down along with a sea of muck and debris. Rocks and mud and plants and even a few small critters came hammering down and Niall leaned close to the wall and waited as best he could.
He did not wait long before the mud hit, flopping over the rock and slapping down on the both of them with enough force to drive Niall to his knees. He kept his death grip on Tully, refusing to let her go, though the torrent did its best to pull her away. Niall felt her hands clinging to his shirt and neck, nails clawing desperately for purchase.
How long did the wave last? He couldn’t say. He only dared breathe in three times for fear of inhaling the filth. It did not stop, but eventually it slowed to a trickle.
When he looked up the wagon was farther down the hill, on its side and spilling everything it had previously held.
There was nothing for it. He let go of Tully and charged down the slope, looking for Temmi amidst the remaining slough.
“Temmi!”
She stood up as he came along, and he reached for her, to pull her to him.
She shook her head and pointed back the way he’d come.
It wasn’t mud this time. It was something else. The very ground shook above the rock outcropping they’d tried to use for shelter. The debris and water and mud there danced and shimmied and ran faster down the hill.
“Tully!” His voice broke. “Hold on to something!”
When the wave hit this time it wasn’t mud. It was vibration. The ground split itself to their left and to their right, ripping apart and opening like fresh wounds. Muck slipped into the newly forming gashes in the ground and surged back out, vomited forth by the force of the world trying to shatter itself.
The ground under Niall’s feet shivered itself apart and he felt himself falling backward. There was no time to breathe.
The world fell away..
He would have died right then, but Temmi was faster and stronger than she looked. He’d thought
her soft when he first met her, but her arms were powerful and caught him at his waist even as he started to fall. Her feet were wide apart, braced on the shaking earth, and she spun at her hips and threw him away from the opening chasm. Niall landed badly and grunted, but even as he hit, he was trying to stand, to make sure that Temmi did not meet the fate she’d just saved him from.
He needn’t have bothered. She stepped back from the edge and shook her head, looking uphill toward Tully.
Tully moved down the hill, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. “Run! There’s more coming!”
They listened.
They ran.
Still the rains came and the ground roared and split itself asunder.
* * *
Ulster Dunnaly looked across the plains and shook his head.
“They’ve a proper head start.” The words came from his second, Owen Wortham. Owen was a hard man. He was thick with muscle, solid around the middle, and tended to keep his tongue. He looked little enough like a competent man but that never stopped him from being a cold-blooded killer when the need arose.
Currently, Owen’s face was still swollen in a dozen places because of the wasps. None of them fully understood how that’d happened, but it had and the bastard McTyre had taken full advantage to escape.
“We’ve dogs. We’ve also got Mearhan Slattery to keep us informed.” Ulster’s left eye was swollen half shut. He could feel the lump where the insect had stung him every time he blinked. His left ear was swollen. Most of his exposed skin felt like it had been run through by thorns. He supposed in a way it had.
Owen scratched at his thick red hair then winced when his fingernail caught one of the stings on his forehead.
Ulster said, “We’ll find them, Owen. And when we do, we’ll bring them back to Bron as he ordered.”
He let his gaze move to the north and the clouds coming closer. They did not look like clouds. They looked like a great funeral shroud stretching along the horizon.
“I hope you’re right.”
Ulster looked back to Owen. “No choice, my friend. We get them or we die.”
The Last Sacrifice Page 17