by Jon Sprunk
As he turned away, someone muttered, “What if we already do?”
Caim kept walking, down into the valley to be alone.
Arion dropped the empty tin cup and looked across the fire. Stiv sat on his cloak, scraping the last forkful of beans from his cup. The sergeant had never been what the ladies considered a handsome man, but now his face was truly a horror to behold, a mass of black gouges left by the sorcery of the man in black, the one Sybelle called the scion. It was difficult to look the sergeant in the face, but Arion did it without flinching. He owed the man that much, at least.
A driving snowstorm pummeled the army four days out of the city. They stayed in camp while the drovers cleared a path. Arion didn’t like the idea of riding south. He had no love for the Nimeans, but he knew the true enemy of his country was back in Liovard, sitting at his father’s side.
Stiv put aside his dinner with a curt nod. Arion stood up to stretch. Unfamiliar soldiers sat around the camp. The only men he knew by name were the members of his bodyguard, which was now down to three. Sybelle had made sure his regular company remained behind and had attached him to another unit. And she’d sent a handler to keep watch over him as well.
“Lord Eviskine.”
Arion turned toward the voice. The priest wore a long robe the color of dried blood under a deep black cowl, an overdramatic touch that only served to make Arion hate him more, as if he needed another reason. A burly Uthenorian mercenary halted a few steps behind the priest and crossed his arms. His gaze settled on Stiv. It amused Arion to watch the big men measure each other. Stiv hawked and spat a mouthful of phlegm into the snow.
“What do you want, Volmer?”
The priest held out his bony hands to the campfire. His fingernails were like chips of white chalk.
“Our mistress sends word. The Queen of the Night wishes you to devise a plan of invasion into central Nimea before we reach the border.”
Stiv grunted.
Volmer glared down at the soldier, apparently unfazed by the sergeant’s disfiguration. “You find our mistress’s commands amusing, dog?”
Stiv shrugged and went back to looking into the fire.
“We’re eager to be on our way,” Arion said. “I’ll have the plans ready by morning.”
The priest nodded. “That will do.”
A shout broke above the camp noises. Arion looked across the tops of the tents to a space where several men squared off. Sunlight reflected off bared blades. He couldn’t make out the words being exchanged, but their tone was driven by hot tempers. Nearby soldiers started to gather around the noise.
“Miserable curs.” Volmer took a step toward the disturbance. “They will learn discipline at the end of a lash!”
The priest jerked to a halt as Arion’s sword slid between his ribs. As Volmer fell, his Uthenorian protector swore and reached for his blade, and was jerked upright as a massive forearm whipped around his throat. Stiv yanked twice, until there was a soft pop, and then dropped the mercenary’s limp body to the ground.
Arion pulled his blade free and glanced around, but everyone’s attention was focused on Brustus and Davom as they pretended to pick a fight with each other.
“Put them in my tent.” Arion ducked into his shelter and pulled out their packs.
He whistled loud as he trotted across the snow. Brustus and Davom gave up their game and dipped into the disappointed crowd. They all met at the road. Okin rode up on a courier horse with four steeds in tow.
“Back to Liovard?” Davom asked.
Arion jumped into the saddle. “That’s right. And we don’t stop until we reach the palace gates. Not for any reason.”
Receiving a nod from each man, he took off down the snowy road like the Lords of the Dark were on his tail.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Caim winced as someone’s misplaced foot stepped on a branch hidden under the snow. The resulting snap echoed through the trees. The troop leader, Malig, turned around and scowled at the score of men strung out behind him. Caim thought Malig was going to bark at them, but the outlaw held his tongue. With a wave, he motioned for them to keep after him. He was learning. Finally.
From atop a small tor between two sturdy asper trees, Caim watched the column of outlaws march through the woods below. He had been drilling them for six days straight in close combat, ambush tactics, infiltration, and reconnaissance—all the things they needed if they were going to have any chance against the duke’s forces. So far, the results were slow. Each night, exhausted, he fell into a dreamless sleep that was never long enough before dawn arrived, and all the while one unavoidable truth refused to be ignored. He was the leader of a rebellion. If Hubert could see me now, he’d laugh good and hard. Caim the Knife, leader of rebels and insurrectionists.
He’d had his chance to skip out, and not taken it. That alone was enough, in his mind at least, to condemn him. But what did he hope to achieve? What would victory look like, and would any of them know if they managed to achieve it? He didn’t have the answers.
The daylight was fading. The nights were getting darker as they approached the new moon. In the old days, this would have been his preferred time to strike. The old days … Caim took a deep breath of the bracing air. His need to see Kit was bordering on desperation, not for her talents, but just to see her and talk to her again. He’d wrestled with the question of how to find her, and come up empty. Why didn’t she come back? Didn’t she see how much he needed her? Kit, if you can hear me, I need you. I’m sorry for whatever I did. Dammit, just come back.
Caim exhaled a long sigh that turned to mist in the cold air. He didn’t know what he felt about her. She was his friend. Wasn’t that enough? Things had been simpler once, though he could hardly remember when. But she wasn’t the only source of advice. He’d gone to see Caedman one night after a frustrating session with the men. The outlaw leader sat up in his bed, looking paler and thinner than the day they rescued him. When Caim laid out his problems, Caedman shook his head.
“They aren’t soldiers, Caim. They’re loggers and trappers.” Candlelight flickered across Caedman’s face, hiding some of the scars. “You can’t beat them over the heads with drills and instruction about tactics.”
Caim threw back the last of the crude mead in his cup. “They don’t listen. I spend half my time breaking up fights.”
“You have to show them what you want, Caim.”
“How do I do that?”
“Start at the beginning.”
Then, as he had made his way back to Keegan’s hut, he found Hagan sitting on the same stone as before, looking up at the moon. “You figure out what you’re doing yet, son?”
Caim stopped not far from him. “I’m not sure. Feels like I’ve been running for days, but not getting anywhere.”
“It’s not you they’re fighting.” The old man took a puff from his pipe. “It’s the witch. Our people hold to the old ways. They believe stories that the southlands pass off as myth and legend.”
When Caim didn’t understand, Hagan explained. “A long time ago, before there was a land called Eregoth, or even Nimea for that matter, another empire ruled over the land. An empire of darkness.”
Caim had heard tales of old empires before. They were all evil in the stories. But Hagan told of a dominion that spread its wickedness to every corner of the world, until there were few places of light left.
“And what happened to this dark empire?’ Caim asked.
Hagan pulled the stem of the pipe from his mouth. “Some few found the courage to fight back. And after a long struggle, the few prevailed against the many, and the Dark was pushed back. But now some think it’s come back, that the witch and her spawn are the harbingers of a new dominion.”
Caim had walked away shaking his head, but the old man’s story had lingered in the back of his mind ever since.
A ragged yell erupted below as a flight of arrows flew from the trees. Some of the padded missiles found targets among Malig’s company, but the men hit didn’t lie down
like they were supposed to do in these war games. Instead, they charged at Keegan’s unit descending on them from above.
If Caim hadn’t insisted on using sticks instead of real weapons, most of the men would be dead or maimed already. Although he’d showed them again and again how to defend against attacks by employing different angles of approach and a simple system of blocks, but the woodsmen still swung their ersatz swords like wild men, bashing each other over the head, arms, legs, or any part that stuck out.
At least the fights were entertaining. Children perched in the trees to watch; women found reasons to pass by the practice area as they went about their work. Amid the trees, the skirmish had devolved into a brawl with men flinging each other into the snow and falling over each other. Caim nodded to Killian. While the older man hustled down into the melee, separating combatants and shouting for everyone to stand down, snow crunched behind Caim as Liana walked up to him.
She was another problem. He noticed the lingering gazes cast in his direction. Even her father had taken notice. A year ago he would have bedded her and enjoyed it, but with Josey in his head and Kit gone …
She handed Caim a steaming mug and watched the fracas below. “I thought you might be cold.”
“Thank you.”
Liana crossed her arms. She wasn’t wearing her heavy coat, just a leather vest over a long-sleeved gambeson and loose leggings. The bandage around her head was gone, the cut now scabbed over.
“Keegan says you talk to yourself.”
Caim swallowed a mouthful of cha and spilled a little down his chin. “What are you talking about?”
“He says at the prison, you called out to someone. Says it sounded like ‘Cat.’ Is that a Nimean god?”
Caim thought back to that chaotic night. He and Keegan had been in the atrium when Kit spoke in his head with a warning. Had he responded out loud? “Something like that,” he said.
She smiled. “I didn’t take you for a pious man, Caim.”
He shook his head. “I’m not, usually. But the gods know you and your brother have given me reason to pray.”
“I want to ask you something.”
“What’s that?”
“We want to train, too,” she said.
“We?”
“Yes. The other women and I. We want you to teach us how to fight so we can stand with the men.”
He looked at her again. She wore heavy boots. Her vest was too big—probably borrowed from Keegan—and her leggings were overly bulky, as if she’d pulled one pair over another for extra padding. She’s serious.
“No.”
She stood with her hands on her hips, looking too much like Kit in a snit for his comfort. “Why not? This is our fight as much as theirs.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Because we’re women?”
“In a way of speaking, yes.”
“But—”
A loud yelp snatched his attention back to the scene below. Most of the outlaws were wrestling in the snow now, and more than a little blood stained the ground. Caim handed Liana the mug. He had seen enough.
As he trotted down the hill, Caim shouted at Hoon, who held a melon-sized rock above his head as he stood over his foe.
“Put that down. Gently! Everyone else take a step back.”
The outlaws backed away from each other, trading barbs and insults. Caim found Keegan in the crowd, the youth sporting a new bruise over one eye. The scratches they’d found on his arms were disturbing, but Caim saw promise in the young man.
“Good job with your group. You kept the element of surprise and conducted an effective ambush.”
He looked around for Malig. “You! You started in a good position, but failed to keep control of your squad. As a result—”
“These sods can’t fight worth a damn!” the burly outlaw complained, glaring at everyone. He had a bloody lip and snot running from his nose.
“As a result,” Caim continued, “your group fell apart when the attack came. If this had been a real battle, you’d all be dead.”
That evoked a chorus of contention from Malig’s unit.
“They didn’t fight fair!” a skinny outlaw grumbled.
Caim walked over and jabbed the man in his bony chest. “You think the duke’s soldiers are going to fight fair?” He looked around. “You all better wake up, and soon, or your families are going to be digging a lot of graves.”
Caim held out his hand. “Give me your weapon. Everyone form a circle. Malig inside.”
The outlaws jeered as they made a ring around Malig. The outlaw swung the stout tree branch he had been using as a sword back and forth. Caim looked up to the hilltop. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to put this notion out of Liana’s head before she did something foolhardy.
He pointed. “And Liana. Get down here.”
The crowd quieted as she descended the slope. Caim handed her the stick, which she accepted with a nod.
Keegan pushed through the crowd. “Caim!”
He held up a hand. “Not now.”
“But she’s—”
Caim glared at the boy. “Take your place and watch, or get out of my sight.”
Keegan shut his mouth, but his hands gripped his wooden sword with white knuckles. Caim understood how he felt. He didn’t want to see Liana get hurt either, but this had to be done.
Liana and Malig took up places in the middle of the circle. He was a full foot taller and probably outweighed her by four or five stone. She held her weapon like a carpet-beater, hands gripped too close together, wrists bent at an awkward angle. Caim almost stopped the bout before it began. No, she needs to see this isn’t a game.
Caim lifted his hand. When Liana nodded, he dropped it.
It was over almost as fast as he anticipated. Malig came out swinging his wooden sword like he was mowing wheat. Liana backed away from his rush and couldn’t keep her feet. In a matter of heartbeats she was driven out of the circle and into a snowbank. Malig brandished his weapon to the hoots of the onlookers as he trotted around the ring.
As Liana extricated herself from the embankment, Caim wanted to ask if she was all right, but held back. He owed her the real deal. Amused chuckles arose as she stepped back into the ring.
When both fighters were in position, Caim raised his hand. This time, he didn’t wait for Liana to give the okay before he started the bout. His hands balled up into fists as Malig made a side-armed swing that would have ripped off half of Liana’s face if she hadn’t ducked away. He thought this fight was going to end the same way as the last, but to her credit, Liana darted back in and jabbed her wooden sword at Malig. The tip of her weapon touched his stomach. Then his backhanded swing caught her flush in the shoulder with a loud smack and drove her to the ground.
Keegan launched himself into the circle. Malig barely had time to turn before the youth tackled him. Caim ran over. He and Killian pulled them apart, both a little bloodied and breathing hard, but nothing serious. Caim disarmed Keegan and shoved him toward the sideline. Malig clutched his neck and shot dark glares over his shoulder as Killian walked him in the other direction.
Caim knelt down beside Liana. He expected tears in her eyes. Instead, she grinned as she sat up and rubbed her shoulder.
“Not broken, I take it,” he said.
She lifted her arm to show it wasn’t. “I want another go.”
Caim shook his head. This woman would be the death of him. “That’s not necessary.”
Liana brushed off her leggings as she stood up. “I can do better.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Damn right,” Malig growled. “I’ll knock her fool head off next time!”
Caim looked over at him. “There’s no need to go again because she won.”
“What? You must be blind. I knocked the tar out of her.”
“Yes. Right after she stabbed you through the gut.”
“That fly swat? I hardly felt it.”
“A gut wound is a slow and painful
way to go. If those had been real swords, you’d be holding your insides on your lap.”
There were a few laughs from the crowd. Malig scowled at them, but Killian’s hand on his shoulder kept him in line.
“He was sloppy, the same as many of you.” Caim faced the outlaws. “You haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve tried to teach you. You think fighting is about beating down the other man with sheer strength and you’re missing the point. It’s about staying alive, about killing more of them than they kill of us. I can show you how, but only if you listen.”
They looked around at each other. A few were still frowning, but no one was arguing with him. That was a good start. I’ll take what I can get.
“All right,” he said. “Head farther down the trail and try it again, but this time Malig’s crew sets the ambush. Killian, get them set up.”
Groans echoed off the valley walls as the men marched off through the brush. Caim suppressed a sigh. It’s going to be a long day. And a long night, too. I’ll have Killian set up some night-fighting exercises.
Liana waited until the men were out of earshot. “You were trying to embarrass him. I didn’t win.”
“You won.”
“I could do better if you gave me another chance.”
Caim sighed and ran a hand over his forehead. He didn’t want to get into this with her. But she deserves to know the truth.
“Liana, you’re brave and you’ve got more brains than most of these oafs put together, but the men we’ll be facing will be bigger, stronger, and crueler than you. What’s more, they’ll have superior arms and numbers.”
“Yes, but—”
“It takes more than a few days of drills in the woods. It takes years of training and conditioning, and years more experience to know when to fight and when to run. Years we don’t have. Teaching you a few tricks and sending you off against the duke’s soldiers would mean certain death.”
“What about the men? They don’t have years of training.”
He leveled with her. “Many of them are going to die. Maybe all of them, before this is over.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. “So what can we do?”