The Long War 01 - The Black Guard

by A. J. Smith

‘Brom… I don’t know what to say to you,’ he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. ‘Your father, your sister, your people… I wouldn’t know what to say to them either… that’s why I’m here and not taking part in glorious battles and hopeless defences. I’m just a lone man with a bow and a bad attitude. I kill for money… I’d kill you if I was paid enough.’

  Brom raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d try,’ he said, patting the hilt of his sword. ‘Rham Jas, I’m not leaving until you agree to help me. Now, I’m prepared to follow you around Weir for a few days if that’s what it takes, but I’d rather you just gave in now.’

  Rham Jas considered it. His friend had not told him what he wanted and the Kirin really didn’t want to know. Brom was brave, clever and impulsive, a mixture of traits that Rham Jas knew well and heartily disliked. He let the moment stretch and thought about the faces of his few living friends. Magnus might be dead, Al-Hasim was probably on his back in Fredericksand, and Brom was sitting next to him. One couldn’t be helped, the other didn’t need help, and the third was asking for help. Much as Rham Jas would have liked to believe that he was a cold, heartless killer, it simply wasn’t the truth.

  ‘Tell me what you want,’ he said quietly.

  Brom nodded and his eyes softened slightly before he spoke. ‘I need to know how you managed to kill one of the Seven Sisters.’

  Rham Jas raised his eyebrows. ‘Er… I put an arrow in her forehead… that was… maybe four years ago, not long before I met you,’ he replied.

  ‘I know you shot her in the head, but how did you manage to do it? As far as I know, no one has ever succeeded in killing one before or after you. Anyone who swings a blade or pulls back on a bow string misses. Jaa gives them some way of avoiding death,’ Brom said angrily.

  Rham Jas was a little confused by this. He’d thought that Brom would want his help in exacting revenge, or something similar. To hear that he was trying to kill a Karesian enchantress was a little concerning.

  ‘Look, I’ve been asked about this before, you know I have. All I can tell you is that I stood… maybe… ten feet from her. She smiled at me for some reason, perhaps thinking I would be bewitched and be unable to let the arrow go… then I just shot her in the forehead and she died,’ he said. ‘Brom, what do the Seven Sisters have to do with you?’

  ‘That’s why I wasn’t in Canarn during the battle. I saw the Lady of Spiders in the town and went to Tiris looking for you or Al-Hasim.’ He looked down at his feet and shielded his face from the heat of the sun. ‘When I saw the Red fleet launch I saw another Karesian witch at the king’s left shoulder,’ he said. ‘That makes two of the Seven Sisters somehow involved in the attack on my homeland.’

  Rham Jas considered it. Not much solid information was known about the enchantresses or their designs, but Rham Jas and Hasim had got on the wrong side of one in Kessia. She had been a beautiful woman, despite her facial tattoos, and Al-Hasim had made an inappropriate suggestion to her. Neither of them had known who she was, and they were surprised when she spoke some words and made blood appear from Hasim’s mouth and eyes. Rham Jas had warned her and, when she’d refused to release his friend, he’d shot her. It was only afterwards that they had learned of who she was and the enormity of her death. It meant little to Rham Jas, except that he could never safely return to Karesia. Al-Hasim, however, had never accepted the fact that he could not return to his homeland for fear of reprisals from the Sisters. The Karesian’s father had been tasked with executing Al-Hasim and, in an uncharacteristic show of paternal affection, had let him flee to Tor Funweir instead.

  ‘Which one did you see in Tiris?’ he asked Brom.

  The Seven Sisters recycled the same few names, using them as an honorific. The one Rham Jas had killed was called Lillian the Lady of Death and he’d heard of another since with the same name.

  ‘I didn’t get close enough to introduce myself, I just recognized the tattoo on her face and the dumb grin she put on the king’s face,’ he replied.

  ‘I don’t understand why the Seven Sisters would give a peasant’s piss for Ro Canarn. It’s a very long way from Kessia,’ Rham Jas said, shaking his head.

  ‘True, but they are less bothered by the cold than the knights of the Red. I didn’t know why Ameira was in Canarn. It never occurred to me that the city would be destroyed while I was away. Magnus was there, I thought… I don’t know what I thought.’ He rubbed his eyes and panted heavily, showing the exhaustion he’d been hiding. ‘I should have told someone…’

  ‘Brom, don’t have an emotional breakdown now. You were doing so well at being all cold and uncaring. I like the crying Brom so much less,’ Rham Jas said with a broad grin. ‘If you’d told someone, and they’d approached her, she’d have bewitched them. If you’d approached her yourself, she’d have bewitched you. As far as I know, they’ve never been involved in this kind of thing before. You had no way of knowing what was going to happen.’ He thought for a second. ‘If anything, you were sensible to remain free. That way you can maybe get help.’

  Brom turned to his friend and nodded, making Rham Jas realize that he had backed himself into a corner and was now obliged to help. ‘It’s me, isn’t it, I’m the help you sought?’ he asked with resignation.

  Brom continued to nod. ‘We’re an army of two, Rham Jas.’

  ‘This is so much horseshit I can barely talk because of the smell,’ Rham Jas replied, ‘but okay, an army of two we are.’ He held out his hand and they shared a firm handshake. ‘So, what do we do now, my lord?’

  ‘My land has been taken, my house has fallen and my family are imprisoned… we do what my father wanted, we gain freedom for the people of Canarn,’ he said grandly.

  ‘And after that?’ Rham Jas asked with a smile. ‘Can we at least spend a few days in the bottom of a bottle or between a woman’s legs in celebration?’

  ‘Get me back into Canarn and help me kill the witch and we can do whatever you like,’ he answered.

  ‘We’ll have to go back via Cozz,’ Rham Jas said, deep in thought, ‘there’s a blacksmith there who does a nice sideline in fraudulent travel documents. Unless you want to use Glenwood, but I don’t trust that little snake.’

  Brom chuckled. ‘He got me out of Tiris,’ he said, reaching into his tunic and producing the forged Red church seal he’d used to leave the capital. On closer inspection, the clay tablet was of poor quality and Glenwood had left out two of the six church banners that official seals usually contained.

  ‘That streak of Ro shit couldn’t forge my arse if I shoved it in his face and gave him a really close look,’ Rham Jas said, shaking his head at the forged seal. ‘You were lucky, the gate guards in Tiris were probably drunk. No, if we’re planning a sea voyage, I’d rather get clay that doesn’t turn to mud within twenty minutes.’ As if to emphasize the point, he pulled off a corner of Glenwood’s forgery and crumbled it into reddish mud between his fingers.

  ‘Okay, so we take the Kirin run to Cozz,’ Brom replied.

  ‘And, just so I’m clear, we’re killing anyone that tries to stop us, right?’ Rham Jas knew his friend was a cold bastard but Brom could also be kind-hearted and, if they were being hunted by Purple clerics, it was unlikely they would be able to talk their way out of trouble. The churchmen of the One God were determined, and Rham Jas shook his head as he thought of killing another Purple cleric or two.

  ‘Hopefully, they won’t find us and we won’t have to decide whether to kill them or not,’ replied Brom.

  Rham Jas nodded and reconciled himself to the fact that he would always have helped his friend; he just needed a little time to realize he wasn’t a cold, heartless assassin.

  Something occurred to him and he leant forward and said conspiratorially, ‘Do you think they know who Magnus’s brother is?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Brom, ‘but, from what I remember of Algenon, he’s not someone to trifle with.’

  Rham Jas had only met the high thain of Ranen once before and was certain th
at Algenon Teardrop did not like him, but he was a fearsome man to be on the wrong side of and a devoted elder brother to Magnus.

  PART 2

  CHAPTER 6

  ALGENON TEARDROP RAGNARSSON IN THE CITY OF FREDERICKSAND

  The Ranen assembly sat on the coast of the Fjorlan Sea. It was one of only two stone buildings in Fredericksand, the other being a chapel to Rowanoco, the Ice Giant. Algenon stood in the heavy wooden doorway and wrapped his bearskin cloak around him. The ice had come early this year and the wooden houses of his city were covered with a layer of snow, broken only by chimneys and plumes of smoke. The city rose from the low fjords and spread out as it crept up the rocky coast of Fjorlan.

  Algenon held the title of thain. He was the chieftain of the realm of Teardrop, high thain of Ranen, and bearer of his father’s name. A man of over seven feet tall, he hunched often and, due to an old shoulder wound, found it difficult to stand fully upright. His hair was black, as had been his father’s, and well groomed, long and tied back in a braid. The men of Ranen wore beards to guard against the cold and Algenon’s was thick and plaited and flecked with grey.

  His younger brother, Magnus Forkbeard, had inherited the golden hair of his mother, Ragnar Teardrop’s third wife and a woman only a little older than Algenon. The brothers looked little alike aside from their height and size, but nonetheless the thain loved his younger brother dearly.

  Their paths in life had been radically different, too, with Magnus accepting the voice of Rowanoco from a young age and joining the Order of the Hammer. Algenon had stayed at his father’s side and had known that he would rule when the time came. Magnus had been a precocious child, fighting and arguing at every turn. Algenon had tried to look after the boy, but after their father died he’d been more concerned with his duties as thain and had largely ignored the boy. As a result, Magnus had become strong and independent. He was widely travelled for a Ranen and had spent little time in the Freelands after he had first visited Canarn some eight years ago.

  In contrast, Algenon had always been a quiet man, considering his words carefully and not being given to the violence for which his people were known. When he fought he did so to kill, and he had never felt the need to brag or impress with deeds or skill. With an axe in his hand he was still the most dangerous man in Fredericksand, but the older he had become the less combat had filled his mind and the more likely he was to try to talk his way past obstacles.

  ‘My lord thain.’ The words came from behind him and Algenon recognized the speaker as Wulfrick, one of his battle-brothers and a trusted friend.

  The thain did not turn, but kept his steely gaze on the icy seas of Fjorlan, deep in thought and letting images of his brother’s stern face play on his mind. He had not seen Magnus for nearly a year, but had received frequent messages regarding his foolish endeavours in the south, and Algenon wished that he’d forbidden him from leaving Fredericksand all those years ago.

  ‘Algenon,’ Wulfrick spoke again, more insistent this time.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked without turning.

  ‘The assembly awaits you, my thain.’ Wulfrick bowed his head as he spoke.

  Algenon took one last long look out to sea and turned, marching forcefully through the huge wooden doors of the Ranen assembly. His chain shirt was covered with moulded leather armour, containing steel plates, and the sound of metal on metal was loud as he entered the hall.

  The Ranen assembly was a high-ceilinged building of white stone that rose in a circle to a skylight fifty feet above the floor. The lords of Ranen sat on stone benches rising from an open floor and on a raised platform was the single chair reserved for the thain of Fredericksand.

  They sat in fur and hide clothing, bearded and battle-hardened; the thains and battle lords of Fjorlan were an intimidating presence for most men. Algenon had called them here for two reasons, one of which was unlikely to win much support. As he approached his chair he hoped that the news of Magnus’s imprisonment would be enough to convince the lords to launch the dragon fleet.

  In unison the two hundred Ranen lords stood and held their fists high in a gesture of respect. The only man who remained seated was Thorfan, the lore-master, a man in his eightieth year of life who was bound to hold the books of the Earth Shaker, the few texts that chronicled the will of Rowanoco.

  Wulfrick moved past Algenon to sit at the front of the raised auditorium. As axe-master he was the only man permitted to face the lords rather than the thain. His position rendered his honour unquestionable.

  The lords remained standing as Algenon reached into his cloak and removed two small throwing-axes, one from each hip, and placed them on the floor in front of his chair. In response, each of the assembled lords held aloft a single axe and placed it on the white stone floor of the assembly. The sound was clear and drove all other noise from the hall, with only the whistling cold wind echoing around the building.

  This opening ritual complete, Algenon took his seat at the front of the auditorium and looked up at the semicircle of Ranen lords seated before him. Wulfrick unslung his huge two-handed axe and banged the haft twice on the stone floor. He was the biggest man in the assembly and his job was to maintain the rituals and laws of Rowanoco.

  ‘My lords,’ Wulfrick began, ‘our thain has called for this assembly.’ He spoke clearly in the archaic Ranen language reserved only for official business. ‘We will hear his words in reach of our axes and in sight of our god.’ A third bang of his axe accompanied his closing words. ‘Rowanoco, look on your people with pride and let us not disappoint you.’

  Algenon rested one leg across the arm of his wooden chair and, with cold eyes, looked over the faces before him. He let the silence linger and the cold wind swirl around the hall before he spoke.

  ‘Brothers, far to the south lies the city of Ro Canarn.’ Recognition on many faces showed that these men knew of the city. ‘The ruler of that city, an honourable man of Ro called Hector, has asked my brother for sanctuary.’

  Algenon paused as the lords gasped and whispered comments of incredulity at the news. Another strike on the floor from Wulfrick’s axe and silence returned to the hall.

  Algenon glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the figure of Lord Aleph Summer Wolf, an old and respected thain from the ancient city of Tiergarten. Aleph was not gasping or whispering, but looked with interest at his lord. Algenon knew the man well and smiled at the expression on his face. If he could interest all present in the same way, he knew his words would carry enough weight to persuade the assembly.

  Aleph maintained eye contact with the thain and, after a second of thought, returned his thin smile. Then he stood and reached for his hand-axe. With his head held high, he banged the haft of his axe on the white stone in front of him. Wulfrick looked up and nodded.

  ‘My lords, you know me…’ Aleph spoke loudly and with a gravelly voice. ‘Lord Algenon is wise, but given to theatre when the mood takes him. I ask that he tell the entire story and not pause for dramatic effect more than twice more.’ He smiled and a thin laugh echoed around the assembly.

  Algenon chuckled as Wulfrick once again called for silence. The assembled lords of Ranen turned back to the high thain and awaited his words.

  ‘Well,’ Algenon smiled and straightened in his chair as he spoke, ‘Aleph makes his point with the elegance of an axe to the face, but he is wiser than I.’ He stood and began to pace in front of the assembly, stepping over his two throwing-axes. ‘Magnus is a young man with the exuberance of a mountain wolf, but he is not stupid, nor is he given to lending his hammer to dishonourable men.’ Algenon paused for a second to judge the reaction of those before him. He saw a sea of nodding heads as all present signified their acceptance that Magnus was a man of honour.

  ‘That makes what has happened all the more disturbing.’ This caused the lords to look intently at the thain. ‘Magnus offered the blessing of Rowanoco to Duke Hector and he called him brother.’ Algenon returned to his chair and almost growled the next
sentence. ‘The Knights of the One God then descended on the city and massacred the men of Canarn.’

  The reaction was instantaneous. The assembled lords stood and began to shout curses and challenges at the god of the south-men. The Freelands of Ranen had once been under the control of the One God and his clerics. All the assembled lords knew the stories – how the Purple had torn down the shrines to Rowanoco, how the Black had desecrated their funeral mounds, and how the Red had enslaved any able-bodied Ranen man. It had been two hundred years since the Free Companies had formed and bought back their lands with blood and death, but the men of Ranen still felt as much hate for the clerics and knights now as they had done then.

  Aleph held out his hands. ‘Brothers, I call for silence,’ he bellowed. ‘Do not let anger displace wisdom. These halls do not curse without reason and we should follow their example. Lord Teardrop has more to tell us, I am sure. We should take our seats and listen; maybe we will hear why this tragedy has taken place.’ He spoke with wisdom, but Algenon knew that he was a potential rival in the assembly.

  He picked up one of his axes and looked intently at the floor. ‘My brother stands in a cell. This makes me angry. This makes Rowanoco angry. Magnus is of the Order of the Hammer and is worthy of more than a stone room and a locked door.’

  The lords again showed their displeasure. A cage was the most insulting thing to a Ranen and a priest in a cage was the gravest insult imaginable. Death was a thing to be celebrated and sung about, whereas to be defeated and imprisoned was to be without honour in the sight of Rowanoco. The men of Ro knew little of true honour and had unknowingly committed one of the most heinous crimes.

  ‘My lords, there is more…’ Algenon had thought a great deal about how to approach the issue of the Seven Sisters and he was still unsure as to the best way to explain it. Al-Hasim, his spy and his brother’s dear friend, had told him little in his last message save that the witch had enchanted at least one of the senior knights. ‘The Red knights have amongst them a Karesian witch, one of the Sisters of Jaa, and her hand touches the weak minds of the men of Ro. Her designs are at work here,’ he said, just loud enough to be heard.