Warlords and Wastrels

by Julia Knight

  “By killing them?”

  A shrug. “Why not? We’re doing this for us.”

  “For him.” Petri nodded at Morro, who only sat, cat-like and smiling.

  “No, Petri. For us, it was always for us.”

  He opened his mouth to say no, it wasn’t, but a subtle twitch of Morro’s hand and the waft of cooking blood stopped him.

  “No doubt your fine brave man here will help me to search for her,” Morro said. “I’m sure he wants to find her as much as we do, Scar. Though I think perhaps his reasons, and his wants, have changed.”

  Petri’s mouth dried up as Scar’s look pierced him, like she could see all the doubt inside.

  “Have they, Petri?” she asked, suspicion in her voice, in the way her eyes narrowed, and her hand hovered over her sword hilt. I won’t have a man in my camp who might turn on me or any of the people here. A man like that is as good as dead. She’d warned him once, and he didn’t doubt her or that warning.

  “My reasons haven’t changed, nor my wants,” he lied.

  Her face cleared as quickly as it had clouded, and she gifted him with a smile while Morro sat back, mouth pursed.

  “Good,” he said. “Then you can prove it by helping me search, and I’ll let you be the one to take her head and bring it back to your beloved Scar. A romantic gift, don’t you think? To prove to Scar how much you love her. How much you believe in what she’s doing.”

  Petri didn’t trust himself to speak so only inclined his head. He was dead–or would deserve to be–whatever he did. Unless he killed Morro with no blame attaching to him. Yet that seemed an impossible task. Morro was never alone, and Petri couldn’t trust any of the others, who seemed as under his sway as Scar was. Petri would be dead before his stroke fell.

  “Excellent.” Morro stood up and dusted down his thick robes. “Now then, to see about that snow. Can you spare Petri for a few moments?” When Scar nodded, seeming happy that the two men in her life were friends, Morro led the way and Petri trailed after.

  The night outside was clear, the sky a close blackness, the stars hardened points against it. Clear, and so cold it took Petri’s breath. Morro moved away from the two men standing guard outside Scar’s hut, out of earshot though not out of sight or gunshot range. If Petri stabbed him now, and he could, he’d be dead as soon as Morro.

  “You forget yourself, and me,” Morro murmured. “You forget I can see inside your head. Oh, not every thought but enough. Enough to know you want me dead. Want Kass too, don’t you? No, don’t deny it. I see it even if you don’t. You want everything that you can’t have.”

  “I could kill you and have everything I want,” Petri said.

  Morro laughed at that, long and loud, bringing curious heads from doorways to see what the fuss was about. “Empty threats are all you have. You cannot kill me and live–you’re at least sensible enough to realise that. I cannot kill you openly and keep Scar’s trust, but there are means at my disposal. Men here who would die for me, kill for me, if I just show them the right markings, whisper the right words, spill the right blood.”

  Petri opened his mouth to argue, but Morro waved a lazy hand that seemed to sap his will.

  “Currently you are somewhat useful to me,” he went on. “Keeping Scar’s attention where I want it. Much as having Vocho alive is useful to draw Kass in. Useful for now. At some point he will no longer be useful and we’ll kill him.” A casual shrug that was more chilling than the weather. “If you stop being useful, then the same will happen. Now, shall we see about some snow?”

  Morro pulled some paper from the sleeve of his robe, a brush from some inner pocket and a vial that ran thick and black with blood. It was the work of moments for him to paint some symbols that squirmed under the brush. The temperature fell even further, and the light dimmed as clouds boiled up from nothing to cover the moon. A last brushstroke, and wind scoured down from the mountain top, driving snow before it in great waves. The force of it staggered Petri, and it sounded to him as though the wind had voices in it, screams of the dying.

  “Screams indeed,” Morro said above the noise. “How I imagine you will sound if you try to harm me in any way.”

  Kass slumped down in the snow and massaged her aching head. The jollop had long since worn off, leaving her feeling twice as weak as before, with shooting pains in her wound that robbed her of breath and an accompanying throb in her head with every heartbeat.

  Cospel and Danel sat in a loose huddle next to her. Danel had managed to find a crevice that he reckoned “no bloody lowlander” would spot in years. It was a squeeze for three, but at least it was warmer than outside, which had turned on a coin from cold but bearable to a howling storm.

  “We’ve got to get to Voch,” she said, again. “We’ve hardly managed any distance yet.”

  “We’ve got to avoid being killed as well,” Cospel said, again. “They’re bound to be looking for whoever shot up their little camp. We got to be careful.”

  “So’s Voch, and that’s the problem.”

  Cospel let out a long and heartfelt sigh. “Ain’t it always? Look, it’s dark; snow’s coming down, and Danel reckons it’ll get worse afore it gets better. What do you want, to flounder about in that, getting lost or, even better, freezing to death while getting lost? What good will that do Vocho?”

  Kass didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps he was right.

  “So what happened with you and Eder in that crevasse, then?” Danel asked Kass. “I thought Eder—”

  “Was an arse? Didn’t we all?” Cospel said.

  “What in hell was Bakar thinking, sending him out with us?” Kass said.

  “Who knows, with the way his mind is? Maybe he’s still a bit screwy. Anyway, all the more reason to find Vocho and get the hell out of here. You said three days to the lads back in Kastroa, right? They’ll be on their way soon.”

  “They won’t know where we are though,” Danel said. “And we know where Scar is now. We could go back to them, get reinforcements in Kastroa?”

  “Scar won’t be here by the time we get back. Not if she’s got any sense. Whatever needs doing, we have to do it. But,” Kass said, “perhaps not this second. Maybe you’re right, Cospel.”

  She peered out into the darkness. Snow filled her vision. Snow on the ground, in the air, making the darkness behind even blacker. As she watched, a howl of wind came up from the valley, a shriek that had the sound of human screams in it, bringing a mountain’s worth of snow behind it.

  “What in—”

  “Magician,” Danel said over the howl. “Seen him melting snow down in the camp just by looking at it. Maybe if he can melt it, he can make it snow harder too.”

  Snow fell, not in dribs and drabs or veils, but in great billowing clouds that seemed to cut off their hiding place from the rest of the world. It wasn’t long before the entrance was almost blocked, and Cospel worked to clear it so they could at least have fresh air to breathe. The snow, so deadly outside, in here kept them snug–that and their closeness. Danel soon nodded off, closely followed by Cospel, rolled into a ball like a very large dormouse.

  Kass tried to get comfortable, but it was impossible. Cospel had taken the only comfy spot, she was sure, and besides, every time she shifted even slightly great throbs of pain pulsed through her. She delved past all the layers of fur, tunic and shirt, peeled off the by now drying and crusted dressing and took a look.

  It was a mess. Although she had to be grateful that the bullet had not gone any deeper. Pain was something she could deal with, to an extent–in her line of work it was a weekly occurrence near enough, something to be lived through, endured up to a point. The pain would fade, after time. Until then she’d live with it as best she could. Blood loss was her major worry, along with infection.

  Cospel always had something in his pack for emergencies. Kass tried not to look too hard at everything else as she rooted around for the salve she came up with, finally. She opened the little tub and smeared what looked very mu
ch like goose grease onto one finger. Cospel’s all-round miracle cure for everything. She sniffed at it. She supposed it couldn’t hurt. Which was belied about two seconds later when she put some on the outside edge of the wound, where it looked puffy and a bit too pink. It hurt, quite a bloody lot. No wonder her horse always tried to kick Cospel every time he walked past.

  When she’d finished, and finished trying unsuccessfully to hold in the whimpers and swear words, she put the tub back into Cospel’s pack and sat silent for a while, watching the snow fall in almost solid waves, hearing the shriek of the voices on the wind. A magician. Typical. Magicians had started all this, had brought them all to this lonely and desolate spot. To do what? Save Petri, or Vocho, or both?

  Maybe she could, maybe she couldn’t, but she was going to try. She had to. She shut her eyes but didn’t sleep for a long time.

  When Kass opened her eyes, grey light was filtering into the crevice that Danel had found for them and she was alone. She sat up, regretted the swiftness of the action immediately as a stab of pain lanced through her breast, and got up more slowly. Once upright, she almost fell back down again–her head felt too light for her body. A few deep if painful breaths, and the world came back into focus. She made her way outside. It seemed to take a lot longer to climb out than it should have done–there was a tunnel where last night there’d been an opening.

  Cospel sat with his back to a drift of snow, scanning their surroundings warily, but she couldn’t see Danel anywhere.

  “There you are, miss,” Cospel said when he spotted her. “Just about to come and wake you up.” He frowned at her as she stumbled over, feet sinking up to her knees in fresh snow. “Miss, if you don’t mind me asking, when did you last eat?”

  “Not sure. What day is it?”

  “Huh. Too long then. Here, let me find you something.”

  He rummaged around in his pack and finally came up with a lump of something wrapped in oiled paper. “Not much, miss. We lost most of the food with the horses. But I always have a bit of this, in case of emergencies.”

  He unwrapped the parcel to reveal something dark brown and squidgy. It didn’t look very appetising to Kass.

  “What is it?”

  “Cake, good solid fruit cake. Keeps for weeks and full of energy. My old granny used to swear by this recipe.” He broke off a chunk and handed it to her.

  She bit in, chewed with effort and swallowed. Barely. “Your granny, Cospel—”

  “A better con artist than a cook, to be sure. But food is food.” He bit off a lump, grimaced at the taste but managed to get it down. “And we’re going to need all the energy we can get.”

  They sat chewing stolidly until Kass’s jaw muscles couldn’t take any more.

  “Danel’s off having a little look-see,” Cospel said, “but looks like we had about a year’s worth of snow overnight. Up here anyway. It stops a bit further down.”

  True enough. When she looked where he pointed, she could see a wall of snow that dropped like a cliff onto the lower mountain in an entirely unnatural way. “Magician?”

  “Reckon so. He wants us on this mountain whether we like it or not.”

  Danel floundered back over a ridge from where he’d been scouting. By the time he reached them he was red faced and panting.

  “It’d take us days to get back down,” he said when he’d got his breath back. “There’s a point up there you can see most of the passes. Scar had a scout up there herself before, but looks like he’s gone. Maybe buried under the snow. Anyway, thing is, every one of those passes is choked with snow. And I mean choked–they’s full to the brim. No getting through in less than a week without a dozen good men and some shovels.”

  “I wasn’t planning on going back down just yet,” Kass said.

  “I didn’t think so,” Cospel said. “Only how we going to get through all this? There’s drifts here higher than my head, even if I was on my pony.”

  “However we can. Look, we’re stuck up here with no food. And we came here to do a job–sort out the Skull and the Scar, stop the killing. The only food is going to be in that camp. So whatever we do, we’re going to have to get to it, along with Vocho and the rest.”

  “If we’re clever, we could get to it while they’re out looking for us,” Cospel said distractedly. “We came to do a job, but things have changed, haven’t they?”

  Kass looked down along a narrow valley strangled with snow at the near end which widened out in the distance. If she looked hard she could see the puff of chimney smoke against the white of the mountainside. Things had changed, but the job was the same. She had to stop the raids by Scar and Skull. But maybe she could stop them in a different way to how they’d planned. She’d been too late to save Petri last time, but she was here now, and it wasn’t going to be too late if she could help it.

  “Things have changed. Not the job but . . yes, I suppose they have. One thing hasn’t changed though.”

  “Oh yes, what’s that then, miss?”

  “We came to pick a fight. About time we got on with it, wouldn’t you say?”

  Cospel grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Petri kept silent and watched as Scar handed out her orders while Morro stood at her shoulder. He wasn’t even trying to hide his hands now, the markings on them. Every few seconds Scar would look his way, glance at his hands and smile to herself before she gave another crew member their orders. She thought she was doing what she wanted, but from bitter experience Petri knew better.

  Finally everything was to her satisfaction, and Morro left Petri and Scar alone. She wouldn’t meet his eye, kept moving in an attempt to forestall what he was going to say perhaps.

  “Scar, are you sure about this?” He grabbed her shoulder as she bustled past and turned her to face him.

  “Of course I’m sure.” She wriggled out of his grip and put some distance between them. “This is our chance to show them all. What we both wanted.” The tiniest of creases marred her forehead. “Isn’t it?”

  “It didn’t use to be. Once you just cared about us surviving, looking after the waifs and strays. How long has he been showing you the markings on his hands?”

  “He…” She broke off, looking confused before she shook her head firmly. “I know what you’re trying to say, but you’re wrong. All he’s done is show me the possibilities. Think about it, Petri! With a magician on our side, one who can control the weather, and you training our crew, me at their head, no one can stand against us. No one. Before, yes, I thought about survival, but think of what more we could be, Petri, if our reach goes further. This mountain, all the mountains could be ours; we could hold Reyes and Ikaras to ransom for the coal and iron they both desperately need. King and queen of our own little realm.”

  She was closer now, the heat of her ambition burning behind her eyes, burning through her skin when she reached out a soft hand to his ruined cheek. “We show them we aren’t to be trifled with, that they can’t beat us on our own ground. That we can beat even their best. We show everyone.”

  “Us? Against whole countries?”

  The smile was unfamiliar–sly and earnest at the same time. “We don’t need to beat whole countries, Petri. The guild has won wars, fought in every major battle for the last hundred–thousand–years and always on the winning side. If we show we can beat them, half the battle is won. And we beat them by finding and killing your precious Kacha, if she’s not dead already.”

  A grimace at that he couldn’t hide. “You’ll bring the whole guild down on us,” he said weakly to cover it. “We can’t—”

  “With them dead, and with Morro, yes, we can. Hells, we can kill half of them with frostbite before they even reach here. We’ll have taken their head, and then destroyed the body.”

  “Scar—”

  “Unless you’ve changed your mind about her? Morro said you would, that you’re a coward who’d lose his nerve, that you still want her. I said you wouldn’t, after everything she’s done to you.” Her f
ingers crossed the bone of his ruined cheek and stroked it. “I believe in my man. She tried to ruin you and almost succeeded. Time to return the favour.”

  He couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. He became aware that Scar was whispering to him. “It was because of her that Bakar found you out. Because of her you were sent to that cell. Because of her you lost your face, your hand, your dignity. She cost you everything.”

  Another voice behind him, soft and sibilant, commanding. When he turned, he was caught by Morro’s hands, by the markings that writhed there. He tried to fight, but old rage and new pride welled up inside.

  “I can’t do this without you, Petri,” Scar said.

  He wrenched his mind away from the markings. Scar was looking at him like she used to, like she believed in him. Hadn’t that been what had saved him? Did it matter now what her plans were as long as she looked at him like that, kept thoughts of Kass’s dishevelled hair and mocking grin out of his head? A wary glance at Morro and back again. The magician had made it all go wrong. Without him Petri could have stayed here and been happy, could have lived with friends no matter how they earned a living. Morro wanted to destroy all that because he wanted to go home. But Petri’d had practice at resisting magicians, at ignoring what the markings were saying. He’d been caught that way before.

  Scar though, she had no such experience. Her eyes glowed with the thought of whatever plan Morro had put in her head, lost to it. They were all lost unless Petri did something, and he could do nothing if he was dead.

  A flash of an old lesson from Eneko–whatever he’d been, he’d been a tough and canny fighter. Don’t go fighting when you can’t win. Wait, bide your time, think, and fight when you can win. “All right,” he said, and toyed with a rare smile that didn’t seem to sit right on his ragged lips.

  Scar grinned at him, clapped her hands and made for where the horses were tied up. Petri moved to follow her and hesitated only half a heartbeat before he passed Morro. He was never comfortable with a magician behind him, especially now when a muffled snicker trailed him.