by Evren, S. K.
“Seven years ago, during the invasion, my Lord Ythel sent out a scouting party, much like this one. I was a sergeant then, and I was given command of the detachment. We rode several days ahead of the main force. We heard stories from refugees moving west, but we hadn’t seen any signs of the invasion ourselves.
“One afternoon, some distance west of Æostemark, we saw columns of smoke rising into the sky. I passed word along the line for my riders to remain alert as we rode toward the smoke.” Kelton stared down at the ground and chewed on his lips. It took several moments before he spoke again.
“We found a farm,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “It was just west of one of my Lord Ythel’s smaller estates. It was the farmstead that was smoking. The buildings were spitting fire, and those that weren’t were smoking.” Kelton paused and looked seriously at Drothspar and the other listening soldiers. “I’ve seen war,” he said as if he were relating his deepest feelings to a dear friend over a pint of ale. “I’ve seen death, I’ve seen looting, and I’ve seen good men lose their minds and commit acts that haunt them for the remainder of their days.” He paused, his eyes focusing on a distant past. “What we found on that farm,” he continued, “what we found could never be washed away, not by any amount of shame.
“The crops were burning, along with the buildings. The place was a nightmare of smoke and flame. Dry air caught at the throat and burned the eyes. We rode careful into that nightmare, our hands near our weapons. The horses were nervous; I remember my mount quivering beneath me.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand, wiping away remembered sweat. “The sunset came weak through the smoke turning everything a bloody, ugly red.”
“I thought,” he started to say, pausing again to chew on his lips, “I thought I’d seen a side of beef hanging from a smoking wall. I remember thinking that, somehow, it didn’t look quite right. I looked more closely at the pale flesh that was covered with fresh red blood. The mass was dripping something, water, I think, mixed with the blood. The shape was just wrong. Something told me it was wrong. I walked my horse up to it. It was hung several feet up the wall. As I stared at it, its eyes opened. It was a man.
“That skinless head lifted from his chest with a sickening sound, and his eyes just stared hard into mine. Horror, hatred, pain, sorrow, everything just flowed from those eyes. The flesh around the mouth slithered as it tried to speak or scowl or cry. One of the man’s arms jerked like he was trying to raise it. I could barely see the nail that pinned it to the wall.
“The man’s body convulsed, hung there on the wall. It just began to quiver, and then shake, and finally spasm like a fish dying out of water. His bloody head began to pound against the wall, hard, as if he were trying to knock himself unconscious. His right arm jerked so badly that it tore free of the nail that had pinned it. Blood sprayed from that arm as it swung about.” Kelton paused and wiped at his face with his hand. “The blood,” he continued, showing them his hand, “I can remember it spraying into my eyes. It was hot.
“I watched that man die, but I wasn’t alone. Bodies were festooned over the farmstead, hung like decorations in that smoking nightmare. Men’s bowels were strung about the buildings like garlands and severed heads and limbs were scattered about the yard.” Kelton grimaced painfully and hatred filled his eyes.
“One,” he started, “one smoking scarecrow was draped with the skin of a man like it was some kind of cloak.” Kelton clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. His knuckles turned white in the ball of his fists and his breathing was hoarse and erratic. The soldiers stood listening to him with widened eyes and not even Vae moved.
“I heard some of my men shout that they had found the owners of the farm, parents and children, murdered in the cellar of the main house. Maybe it was the shout, maybe they just hadn’t seen us through the dense smoke, but we heard another shout off to the east. It was a call. Someone was shouting for us to ‘quit having fun and get a move on.’” Kelton’s eyes narrowed and his teeth bared. “My men formed on me without a single command. We knew that those raiders who had defiled the farm were still nearby. As one man, we drew our swords. I looked back into the watering eyes of my men, watched their tears streaking lines down their sooty faces, and I knew that I was looking at the faces of justice.
“We burst out of the smoke as if our horses themselves were on fire. I slapped my horse’s flank with the flat of my blade, but he didn’t need no encouragement. I would swear to you that our horses were as furious as we were. Foam flecked from his mouth as we galloped and I thrust my sword forward over his head. My men rode alongside me. We weren’t in formation,” Kelton explained, “we were in a race to be the first to kill those bastards.
“Whoever they thought they were calling to,” Kelton continued, “it certainly weren’t us. Surprise covered the faces of those men who had been calling—for a moment, anyway. I remember watching one of those faces drop from its body and roll to the ground as one of my men got the first kill. I hit the next one so hard that head, body, and all came up over his horse’s neck to be trampled by his own mount.
“The woods were coming up fast and we were riding like the wind. I had a fleeting memory of my orders, but they didn’t matter… Not there. Not then.” Kelton paused and looked at Drothspar. “I’m sorry, my Lord. My orders were to get to you, to get to Lady Li, and to get you to safety. After what I saw, I just, I lost my mind.” Kelton closed his eyes and pressed his hand into his face.
“I thought that we were chasing raiders, maybe an advance scouting party like ourselves. I didn’t care; I just wanted to wipe them all from the face of the Maker’s Creation. It wasn’t until I saw a man in a burnished set of armor that I remembered my orders. He was in the distance riding toward a man on foot in the woods. The armor looked familiar and I watched the man sheath his sword and pull a dagger from his waist. I was closing quick, but they were still some distance away. I watched the armored rider stab his dagger into the man’s neck and try to pull away. The man seemed to be holding on to the rider’s blade, almost pulling him from the saddle. By then, I was close enough to see it all. The rider was our former captain, that traitor Troseth.
“My orders, I remember thinking about them, but that man had to die. Here I’d just watched him kill some lone soul in the woods and not been able to stop him. He had to die. He looked to be leading that band of Maker-forsaken scum. He had to die!
“A sound rose from my throat that I ain’t never heard before and ain’t never heard since. I roared at Troseth, it’s the only word for it. My men had killed a number of his and formed on me when they heard that roar. I could see the surprise on Troseth’s face as he let go of that dagger. He drew his sword and crashed his horse through the trees as if all the Fallen were on their tails. And right about that time, we were…
“My men and I fought a running battle with Troseth and his. Riders were falling on both sides, together more often than not. My men were determined that none of Troseth’s would escape. More than once I saw my own men, dying, leap at some bandit and drag him from his horse to wrestle and die on the forest floor. I called out to Troseth through the trees. I called him such things as I won’t repeat in the company of those whose souls may yet be saved. I urged my horse with my body, my words, my very spirit, and he responded. Slowly, we made up the distance to that fleeing bastard. As I caught up to his flank, I lifted my sword overhead. ‘I should have let them kill you, you son of a thrice-damned bitch!’ I shouted at him. I let my anger get the best of me. He turned in his saddle and hit me in the side of the head with his sword. I remember my eyes going black for a moment. He hit me again with his return swing, but I stayed on him. I steadied my hand and prepared to deliver my blow.
“That’s when I felt something cold sliding through my chest. I looked down and saw a saber slide out of my body below my chin. I tried to hold on to my sword, but suddenly, I wasn’t strong enough. I was having a hard time breathing. I wanted to cough, but I couldn’t. There was a strange empti
ness when the sword came outta me. I felt weak, tired of a sudden. I felt another hard blow on my shoulder and I fell from the saddle. I remember hitting the ground and watching my horse ride away as I tumbled through the branches and dead leaves. I think rain started to fall, I seem to remember something cool falling on my face.”
Kelton paused, breathing heavily. Everyone stood stock still and no one spoke. Drothspar gazed hollowly at the man before him. He thought he heard Chance crying softly behind him. Captain Cardalan looked at Kelton with awe and a respectful reverence. Kelton looked directly into Drothspar’s vacant eyes.
“It’s my fault,” he told Drothspar. “If we had pushed ourselves harder,” he said, “if we hadn’t taken so much time at the farm, we might have been in time to save you.” Tears ran openly down Kelton’s scars and his shoulders racked with sobs.
“It’s not your fault,” Drothspar said, putting his hand on Kelton’s shoulder. “You didn’t kill me,” Drothspar told the sobbing man, “and you didn’t fail me.” Drothspar put his other hand on Kelton’s shoulder and held the man solidly at arm’s length. “Look at me, Kelton,” Drothspar commanded. Kelton raised his red-rimmed eyes and looked again at Drothspar.
“Troseth failed himself, Kelton,” Drothspar said. “Troseth made the choice to become what he became. He made the choice to join that invasion of the West. He made the choice to kill those people at the Ferns’ farm. He made the choice to kill me.” Drothspar shook Kelton slightly. “Do you understand, Kelton? Troseth is the failure, not you.”
Kelton looked at Drothspar and simply broke down. He grabbed Drothspar’s skeletal frame in strong arms and roughly embraced him. Drothspar was surprised by the man’s embrace, but patted Kelton on the back. Drothspar was keenly aware that he was probably not the best being in the world to embrace, but he comforted Kelton as best he could. He knew that Kelton had been looking for forgiveness for all of these years. Drothspar hoped sincerely that he had finally found it.
Cardalan and the other soldiers looked on as their comrade embraced the robed apparition in their midst. After a moment, most of the soldiers looked away and began to shift about uncomfortably. Cardalan approached the men holding Vae. Chance joined him.
“And what are we going to do with you, Madam?” Cardalan asked.
“Let me go,” Vae insisted, struggling against the men holding her.
“And if I let you go,” Cardalan said, “what will you do?”
Vae stared at him defiantly but remained silent.
“I won’t have you disrupting this mission,” Cardalan said firmly. “If I have these men release you, I want your word that you will leave Drothspar in peace.”
“Would you accept my word if I gave it to you?” Vae asked in her thick accent. She looked at Cardalan with disbelief plainly written on her face.
“I would, Lady. Do you give it?”
Vae looked sharply at Cardalan, uncertainty still playing about her eyes. She looked over his shoulder at Drothspar who had released Kelton.
“No,” she said honestly, “I do not.”
Cardalan nodded and Chance began to protest.
“Take her weapons,” Cardalan ordered. “Bind her hands behind her.” He looked at his sergeant who was still as shocked as the rest of his men. “Sergeant!” Cardalan called. “Now, Sergeant!” The sergeant shook his men and had them disarm and bind Vae. She struggled against the process and spit curses at Cardalan.
“You haven’t seen what they’ve done!” she screamed. “You don’t understand what kind of monsters you’re dealing with!”
Cardalan grabbed her chin with his hand and held her eyes opposite his own.
“You don’t seem to understand me, Madam,” he said in a deadly soft voice. “I will carry out my orders. I do understand what you’re saying. You will not disrupt this mission.” He released her chin and dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “If you try, Madam, I will kill you myself. Do you understand me?”
Vae struggled against her captors and spit in Cardalan’s face.
Chapter 33 – Offspring
Troseth approached the skeleton, his hands shaking. He stared at the gold necklace. The red gemstone which had once been set in the pendant was now missing. The pendant seemed empty, like a socket missing a tooth—or an eye. Aside from that, he was certain it was Li’s necklace. Through all the chaos, through all the death, through all the disappointment, he had found her. He had found Li!
The skeletal figure held an infant in one arm. The child was silent, but breathing. Troseth glanced down from the pendant to the baby. He needed to get Li to Poson. He reached out to take the child.
The lifeless hand that grasped his neck was hard and unrelenting. He could feel his throat close in that grasp. He stared at the corporal who stumbled away in shock. He released the child to strike at the arm that held him. In that same instant, he fell to the ground, released by the skeleton. He coughed and sputtered, wondering what the skeleton would do next. The hollow eyes stared off into the distance.
“I see,” he said carefully. “Don’t touch the child. I get the point.” He turned to the soldier that had brought him to the skeleton and child. “Corporal!”
“Yes, Sir?” The soldier approached warily, as afraid of his captain as he was of the skeleton. Troseth ignored the man’s timidity.
“Go to Lord Poson. Tell him… tell him I have found what I was looking for.” He glanced at his mount. “Take my horse with you, I’ll be walking back.”
“Yes, Sir. At once, Sir.” The corporal glanced from his captain to the skeleton, his eyes wild and his hair standing on end. He saluted smartly and rode off to the army’s encampment with Troseth’s horse in tow.
Troseth turned his attention back to the strange pairing of life and death.
“I understand that you don’t want me to take the child,” he told the skeleton. Slowly, as if he were offering his hand for an unknown dog to sniff, he reached toward the remains before him.
“Would you mind, my Lady, if I escorted you somewhere?”
Troseth reached out and gingerly touched the skeleton’s free hand. The skeleton stood stock still, its gaze far away. Troseth closed his hand around hard, dry fingers and pulled the arm toward him. The skeleton did not resist. He led the skeleton and child away from the broken wall and down toward the camp.
He had done it! He had found her! He had found the golden needle in the stack of rusted needles! Excitement threatened to overwhelm him, an excitement sweeter, more profound than any other he had ever experienced. He had won battles, had tasted from the chalice of victory more times than he could remember… This emotion, this excitement was more than he could contain! His breathing was erratic, vacillating between breaths of relief and ratcheting inhalations of anxiety. Sweat poured down his forehead, his eyes darted everywhere. His hand unconsciously clamped down on the skeleton’s fingers like a vise. Had those fingers been surrounded by flesh and blood, they would have been bruised, if not bleeding.
Troseth pulled on the skeleton’s arm, urging it on, dragging it through the rubble toward the camp. He broke into a quick-time march, forcing the skeleton to stumble as it tried to follow. It was the weight of the skeleton jerking against his hand that finally reminded him that he was not alone.
Troseth slowed his pace and helped the skeleton to regain its balance.
“I’m sorry!” he told the skeleton, out of breath from his anxiety. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Are you… are you… can I help you?” He reached out to steady the bones. He was careful to keep his hands away from the child. Child, he thought to himself, what would he do with the child?
He shook his head to clear it of an unwanted thought. The child didn’t matter, nothing else mattered. He had to get her to Poson!
“Come, my Lady,” he urged the skeleton, “Please! It’s not much farther!”
As Troseth approached the tents and wagons of the camp, he spotted his goal. Poson stood next to a soldier. Probably the corporal, Troseth thought
to himself. There was no doubt, however, that he was fast approaching Poson. Even at a distance, the man’s undulating stance stood out. Poson presented a serpentine figure, constantly moving, writhing. The only steady portion of the man seemed to be his eyes—those eyes.
Nearing the encampment, Troseth slowed his pace and scanned the area. The last thing he needed was for someone to take too much of an interest in the skeleton he had with him. He was so close, so close to his desire he could taste it—touch it.
“Ah, Captain Troseth!” Poson called out. “I hear you are bringing us something special!” Troseth wanted to kill him. What was the man thinking?
“My Lord Poson,” Troseth greeted the man quietly, rushing the last few steps to stand before him. “I found her,” he said, his voice a gruff whisper.
“Excellent, Captain! Excellent!” Poson replied, his voice booming. Black hair hung lank from his pale head to drop below his shoulders. Groups of greasy strands had banded together, giving the appearance that a multitude of glossy black snakes had burst from the man’s skull. He eyed Troseth intently, sending a shudder down the captain’s spine. Poson’s eyes were entirely devoid of white or color, reflecting the world in utter blackness.
“My Lord Poson,” Troseth began, trying to contain his anxiety, “what shall I do with—”
“Poson, I thought I heard you,” the Necromancer said, stepping around a tent. He was flanked by several of his underpriests. “When did you arrive?”
“This past night, Master,” Poson replied, bowing.
“You should have presented yourself on arrival,” the Necromancer said brusquely.
“I did not wish to disturb your rest, Master.”
“I see.” The Necromancer paused, pointedly. “Now, Captain, what shall you do with what?”
“My Lord,” Troseth stammered. For a moment, he thought to hide the skeleton behind his own body, but he knew that would be futile. Obscenities flashed through his thoughts like so many arrows seeking targets.