by D. M. Murray
The young soldier walked behind the large captain, a man close to twice his mass and a head taller. Thaskil’s mind then flashed back to what the captain had just said. “I wasn’t aware you were kin, sir.”
“He’s my cousin.” Broden’s voice was quiet as they walked briskly along the stone hallway. “Spent much of our lives together, one way or another.” They approached Kalfinar’s room. “Boy, what’s your name?”
“Officer Cadet Thaskil, sir.”
“Well, Cadet Thaskil, don’t just stand there. Open the door.” Broden offered the lad a half-hearted smile and entered.
*
Kalfinar watched groggily as Olmat tied off a sling and reviewed his handiwork. The old physician had stemmed the bleeding and stitched Kalfinar’s wound. The arm was hung in a sling across his stomach and then bound mid-arm around his chest.
“You’ll not have much use of that arm for some time yet, but you’ll live,” Olmat said. “Lucky that the blade cut through flesh alone, and there’s no poison immediately obvious. Nevertheless, there could be a problem with the wound turning bad. We’ll need to be careful with it.”
“How do you feel, Captain?” asked Thaskil.
“Tremendous, lad,” croaked Kalfinar. With a grimace, he spluttered and tried to raise himself onto his elbow. “I’ll need something for this pain.” Kalfinar noticed Olmat and Broden exchange a worried look. Nothing new in that regard. “Is the garrison secure?”
“The Night Command has been alerted. It doesn’t appear this was an assault on the whole garrison. I’m awaiting Sergeant Subath’s report,” said Broden. “Good to see you!”
Kalfinar nodded and tried to sit up. His eyes screwed up in a tight wince and his teeth clenched as stabs of pain shot through him. “Got to get something for this pain.”
“It’s best you stay lying down for now,” Olmat urged. “I can give you a tonic for the pain, if you wish it, though it will probably lay you out for most of the night and morning.”
“Ah, thank you, but in that case I’ll hold off for the meantime.” Tonic, what use is a damn tonic. That’s not what I want, not what I need. “I think we may have a lot to talk about tonight.” Give me some of my poison. Yes, my old smoke and blood, good old whores and mud. He shook his head and looked at the grimly damaged body on the floor surrounded by the pool of dark, sticky blood.
“That we do, but wait one moment,” said Broden. “Cadet Thaskil, it’s time to put you to use again. Go into my chambers and bring in that mess on my floor.”
“At once, Captain.” The young soldier hurried out of the chamber.
“Helpful young man,” Olmat said.
“That he is,” Broden replied. “He's quite handy on the practice field, too. Maybe a good one there.”
“Captain Broden, sir.” Sergeant Subath, a bald and scarred veteran, walked into Kalfinar’s chambers. The sergeant saluted crisply. “I’ve carried out your orders. We found nothing. No breach, no tracks. Not even as much as a mouse shit out of place.” He glanced at Kalfinar as he lay on the bed. “Captain, glad to see you made it.” His thatch of a grey beard split and revealed a wild smile. The loss of several teeth adding to the animal-like grin. “Another scar to add to your collection? If you’re not careful, you’ll end up as pretty as me.”
“If the hells will it.” Kalfinar rubbed the crescent-shaped scar that split his right brow and rounded his eye socket. It almost mirrored the scar on Subath’s face, though the old sergeant’s was received in battle. The origin of Kalfinar’s was not quite as honourable, if he even remembered correctly, which itself was not entirely guaranteed. Smoke and blood, whores and mud. Kalfinar coughed out some humourless laughter. “Thanks, Sergeant. I think I’d endure a thousand of your sword drills rather than feel like this right now.” His wound burned as it continued to swell.
“Well, my good captain, my drills made you the swordsman you are today.” Subath glanced at the body on the floor and noticed the knife and sword embedded in the assassin. “Although, judging by the state of this.” He reached over and stood on the chest of the corpse and, with great effort, freed the sword with a grunt. “You could be doing with a few hours of drill.” The sergeant shook his head at the wounded captain. “Don’t ever overcommit! I’m guessing that hole in you wouldn’t be there if you’d listened to me.”
Kalfinar rolled his eyes. He felt like he was a cadet again, learning from the old dog of war. “Anyway, moving on from my failings with the blade, you were saying there are no further signs o—”
As he spoke, Thaskil came huffing backwards into the chambers. He dragged behind him a masked body clothed from head to toe in black. He dropped the lifeless form next to its very dead comrade. He turned and stared at the floor, his face sheet white.
“Ah, make that two.” Olmat looked at Broden and poked his heavy shoulder. “Any holes in you?”
“Of course not. You know I never overcommit.” Broden grinned.
Kalfinar looked at the young soldier who remained staring at the floor, his pale gaze unflinching. “Thaskil, what’s wrong?” The young soldier was distant. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s the body, sir. I wanted to take a look at his face so I lifted the mask and it grabbed my wrist. I manged to knife it a couple of times.” At that moment, the young soldier raised his hand. It was slick with blood.
Kalfinar remembered the first time he had taken a life. “You did what you've been trained to do. I’m sorry to say it does get easier.”
“It’s not the killing, sir.” The colour was returning to his face. “It’s the face. It’s not like yours or mine.” The young man knelt and pulled off the mask that concealed one of the dead assassins.
The three seasoned warriors stared at the corpse before them. Olmat knelt and inspected the body. The skin of the assassin had a blue-grey, almost clay-like hue. The lifeless pupils were surrounded with irises of red and yellow flame. It appeared that the eyes blazed, even in death. Through the open mouth, Kalfinar could see a top row of triangular teeth, seemingly filed to savage points. Behind the creature’s teeth lay the shrivelled remains of a tongue, its function long since burned out. Upon the head was plated white hair. Coarse and oiled, it appeared to grow from beyond the nape of the skull and down the back of the neck.
Looking around at his colleagues, Kalfinar muttered, “We may have a problem here.” He coughed through his words, wincing with pain. “I think I’m going to need a tonic, but make sure it doesn’t dull my wits. We’re in for a long night.”
*
Kalfinar swept away the strands of brown and grey-streaked hair stuck down the side of his face and tangled with his beard. He watched Olmat as the garrison’s officers filed into the infirmary and passed the covered bodies of the assassins. The old man appeared troubled.
What are you thinking, old friend?
“Sergeant, as chief constable of the Night Command, you have the floor.” Broden’s voice tore Kalfinar from his thoughts, and he regarded the old warrior, Subath, as he stepped forward from the side of the room. Experience and knowledge like his was rare among many of the officers and, as such, his rather lowly rank was largely irrelevant. Kalfinar knew the rest of the officers would defer to the grizzled veteran, for he had beaten and moulded many of them as cadets. With history on his side, he commanded their respect, and, in this moment, their silence.
Broden took his seat around the examining table, and leaned in close to Kalfinar. “Kal, you look terrible.”
“I’m fine.” I’m awful. I’m wretched. “If I look terrible, it’s because I have just had a hole ripped in me.” There’s been a hole in me for so long now. He glared at Broden. The moment was bitten off by the booming voice of the sergeant.
“Sirs, it appears we have a slight problem here. I’ve served in army of the Free Provinces since I left my old Mam’s tit, but in all of my long days—”
Two of the younger officers laughed.
“I am not joking, sirs!” Subath roared, slammin
g his large fist into the table. The humour evaporated from the young officers and their faces flushed red at the rebuke. Subath continued. “In all of my long days, I have never seen anything like this.” He pulled off the linen sheet covering the two bodies.
*
Thunder growled angrily in the night sky. Wind-driven rain lashed against the windows like the tapping of claws. The officers within the infirmary had been inspecting the corpses for several minutes. A look of shock and confusion remained upon many faces. Kalfinar watched as Subath tired of the murmuring. The crescent scar on the old sergeant’s face, a legacy from one of his many past conflicts, caused his eyelid to twitch. The nerve had been damaged, and famously betrayed his irritation.
“Enough goggling!” Subath barked. “You’d bring a monk to murder!” His temper cracked, and he thumped his fist into the table. “You, sirs, are the commanding outfit of this garrison, and, as such, must act like it. As chief of the Night Command, and with the blessed moon still in the sky, I have jurisdiction here. So stop saying nothing, and start acting like officers. I want to know what in the sweet, suffering hells we’re supposed to do about these things.” Eyelid flickering, the old warrior puffed his cheeks and heaved out his breath as he finished his rebuke.
The slightest of grins crept onto Kalfinar’s face. You would have been general by now, old Subath. If you hadn’t been so damned stubborn.
He was pulled from his thoughts as Broden leaned in and whispered, “Think he gets more frightening with age. Did you see his eye?”
“Aye. He’s no book of secrets, that’s for sure,” Kalfinar sighed. “Well, I suppose I’d better back him up.” Kalfinar shakily raised himself to stand by the table. Looking his colleagues in the eyes, he spoke, his voice strong despite his body’s weakness, “Thank you, Sergeant. I couldn’t have put that better myself. Brothers, we have before us two corpses. They appear somewhat fearsome to us, and of their nature, we do not truly know. But their features are of no moment. It is their presence and motive that offers concern. They came here to kill, of that there is no doubt. With two alone, and the Night Command’s reports of nothing further, should we rule out an attack on the garrison as a whole? Could this be a scouting party or is this, perhaps, simply what it appears to be: an assassination attempt on Captain Broden and myself?” He looked questioningly at his fellow officers, prompting them to rise above their silence. He sat down and waited for the hush to break.
It was one of the laughing officers who spoke first, “This garrison has not seen bloodshed for over two hundred years. We lie at the heart of the Free Provinces. We offer virtually nothing in terms of strategic value here. Why would we be the target of an attack?”
Broden stood, and as he did so his massive frame blocked the oil lamps and cast a large shadow over the bodies on the examining table. “Brothers, see this for what it is. There appear only to have been two. With that number surely this does not constitute an attack on the garrison. We appear to have been targeted by no more than assassins. It is clear that these two things were sent here for one purpose, to kill Kalfinar and myself.”
The officers paused and discussed amongst themselves before finally voicing their agreement with the big man’s summary. Broden eased his large frame into his seat as Captain Merkham rose to address those gathered.
Kalfinar regarded Merkham for a moment as the thin officer waited for silence. Merkham was a studious officer, better suited for the libraries and classrooms than the blood and shit of war. However, he was patient and well respected.
“The question now remaining, brothers, is twofold. What are these beings, and why have they tried to kill our own?” Merkham paused a moment, his slender fingers woven together on his stomach. “Olmat, you have examined them. Few would profess to know more of the people and creatures of our world than you do. What do you say of this?”
The old physician’s face appeared lost in deep thought. His bushy white brows hung over his brooding, somewhat rheumy blue eyes.
Kalfinar reached out and rested his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Olmat.” He inclined his head towards the thin figure of Captain Merkham as he stood awaiting an answer.
Broken from thought, the old physician acknowledged the question. “My friends, I believe these assassins to be men. Although certainly not men we have seen before. I fear not an attack on our garrison here, but I suggest we keep our wits keen. I’m sorry I cannot give you an answer as to what we have here in any greater detail, but I do believe they are men.” He remained seated as he spoke. It was obvious to Kalfinar that the passing night was tiring him.
Discussions carried on for a short while longer. It was agreed that the garrison would remain on alert and that a dispatch party would be sent to the Noehmian capital, Terna, before travelling onwards to the Ilsinian capital Carte to inform the High Command. Reluctantly, the officers also agreed that it might be about time to inform the imperious commander of the night’s developments.
*
Kalfinar sat in Olmat’s chambers as the old physician cleaned his wound and replaced his dressing. The sun would have been on the rise, though the depth of the early winter storm would not permit its light to shine. The wind passed through the smallest of gaps between the stonework of the building. The fire in the chambers was weak, and so the wind chilled him to his core.
“The tonic is working.” He looked up at Olmat as he busied himself with the wound. “How’s it looking?” He shivered and goose bumps prickled over him. Damn it’s cold.
“You heal quickly, Kal. You always have done.”
Some wounds never heal, do they, old friend?
Olmat touched Kalfinar’s nose. Once straight, it was now slightly crooked after having met with a Solansian buckler. “This took just days to heal.” The old man turned Kalfinar’s chin into the light, inspecting another scar. This time it was a ragged mark from the side of his chin to the dimple. Partially obscured by his grey-shot beard, partially peeking out, bald and pink. It was all that remained of where a deflected arrow had caught him, breaking his jaw. “That was a lucky one. An inch lower and you’d have been beyond my skill to heal.”
Kalfinar grunted, “Fortunate, indeed.”
Olmat shook away the comment. “You’re not going to die from this wound. I don’t think so anyway.” Kalfinar glanced up as the old man and forced a troubled grin. “But it would be best for you to head to Terna. You can receive some more advanced treatment there. I’m afraid my supplies are limited.”
He tensed and frowned. “You’ve tended my ills all my life. You brought me into this world, and you’ve kept me in it more than once. I trust you, old friend, but you know I’ve no wish to return.” He gripped the old man’s arm.
“I understand you have fears, lad.” Olmat’s voice sounded weary. “But you must seek treatment in Terna. Trust me now. Go with the dispatches, and onwards to Carte. It may be that it is time for you to return home.”
Kalfinar knew Olmat was looking at him, but he avoided the old physician’s gaze and focused his on the stone wall. Carte. I can’t. There’s nothing there but memories for me. Memories and pain. “You know I can’t go back. My home is in these mountains now.” All there is in Carte is pain and the cold fog of a life I used to know. And shame, so much shame. And smoke. Kalfinar’s tone was low, his voice heavy with burden. Although it had been over two years since he had lost his wife and daughter, Kalfinar had found a kind of peace, if he could even call it that, high within the mountains and their damp, earthy woods.
“You must go. Please heed me this morning, you must.” Olmat released Kalfinar’s grip from his arm, old hands trembling. Olmat looked at him with wet eyes. “Someone came here to kill you. And your wound needs aid that I cannot give you here. Heed me. You must go.”
Kalfinar looked into his old friend’s eyes, and knew he was right. Maybe it would be best for all if the monster had finished me, or even if I had died back in Carte. Should’ve finished myself. Didn’t have the stones. “Aye.�
� He sighed under his decision. His mouth was dry and his heart thundered. “I’ll go. Someone has to make sure the message gets back to the High Command. I suppose it may as well be me.” Back into the fires for me, into the smoke and back to my own empty nightmare. Smoke and blood, whores and mud. Kalfinar stood, and with the help of Olmat, pulled on his shirts and fastened his leather vest. He began to leave the chambers.
“Kalfinar, come and see me before you leave. I'll need to give you some correspondences.”
“Of course.” He shivered as the cold touched him yet again.
The old man sat himself at his desk and removed his parchment and quill. “And do take Broden with you. He’d be lost on his own, and he’d just get under my feet.” He smiled at the injured captain as he left his chambers.
*
When the latch fell upon the door the old physician’s smile evaporated and his head fell into his hands. “And so it finds us at last,” he mumbled through dry lips. “Now comes our sorrow.” Tears crept between his fingers, and fell heavy upon his desk.
CHAPTER TWO
The storm clouds had not lifted by midmorning, and the garrison remained in darkness still. Although the violent wind had eased, a thick and chilling mist took its place. The torches lining the battlements appeared as glowing nimbuses, and offered scant light. The soldiers of the Night Command peered at shadows amidst the fog and muttered curses under their breath.
Kalfinar and Broden hurried across the central courtyard towards the quartermaster’s store. As they strode through the muddied court, Commander Lucius’s aide scurried towards them. His long black robe was smeared along the bottom with mud.
“This’ll be trouble,” Broden muttered under his breath as they approached the man. The two captains continued their steady pace and bypassed the clerk. Broden smiled to himself and glanced to Kalfinar, but his face showed no such pleasure.