The Long War 01 - The Black Guard

by A. J. Smith

  Randall was shocked at this. Shocked that the creatures had names, and equally shocked that one would deign to help a cleric of the One. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The Purple clerics have long believed, much as you do, that the risen are undead monsters deserving of nothing but death. It’s not a lie or a deception, because they genuinely believe it. The One decreed it, the clerics maintain it and no one questions it.

  ‘Dokkalfar is their name for themselves… and I only know that because I lived for a short time in a village of the creatures in the Fell,’ he said, as if divulging a dark secret. ‘I was dying. The wound down my back… you may have seen it.’ He pointed vaguely towards the vicious scar that Randall had seen when he first met the Black cleric. ‘A Karesian Hound attacked me from behind and nearly split me in two with his scimitar. I was left for dead on the edges of the Fell until Weera dragged me into the woods.’

  Randall considered it. The risen were the stuff of myths and stories, rarely encountered, but always feared as if they were the remnants of some ancient evil. Even when he was a boy, Randall had only half believed the stories he’d heard about them living in the Darkwald. Now, not only was he faced with the reality of their existence, but also with their status as more than simple monsters.

  ‘I don’t know what to ask,’ he said bluntly to Utha. ‘It seems that a lot of people have the wrong idea. But why would this mean your disgrace? Surely the Purple should be told so that they stop ordering them to be killed.’

  Utha opened his eyes and laughed. ‘That’s a little naive, don’t you think? Try convincing a Purple cleric of anything other than the word of the One and you’ll go mad before they yield. I tried to tell them… really I did. I even found an old Black cleric who thought as I did, but he was quickly ushered out of Arnon and given some spurious task to keep him quiet.’ He bowed his head. ‘And now they’ll do the same to me. Torian’s death just gives them one more justification for hiding me in a shit-stained village somewhere.’

  ‘And Rham Jas, what does he know of them?’

  Utha shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can guess, but I don’t know. He’s likely from the Kirin woods far to the south and I was told that many Kirin down there still live side by side with the risen and could even claim friendship with them. It’s another reason why the Purple clerics occasionally cross the Kirin Ridge and clear the villages.

  ‘Randall, I appreciate all you’ve done, but I need to rest. Soon enough I’ll return to the Black cathedral in Tiris and I’ll be given robes and told to leave my axe in the care of a more worthy man.’ He slid down the bed to lie on his back.

  ‘And what of me?’ Randall asked, instantly feeling selfish as he did so.

  ‘We’ll see, young squire… we’ll see,’ Utha said, before drifting off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  RHAM JAS RAMI IN THE WILDS OF TOR FUNWEIR

  Rham Jas Rami was tired. He’d pulled a concussed Brom across the saddle of a stolen horse and ridden out of Cozz several hours before. His own horse was a cantankerous old bastard, chosen primarily because it had belonged to a city official and it pleased the Kirin to steal from those in authority. The bound men who’d come looking for them after the fight had done a rather poor job of securing the town and Rham Jas had easily managed to lead Brom out of a horse merchant’s private yard. Cozz was not a secure walled city like Tiris or Weir and there were dozens of ways to leave quietly if a man was sufficiently motivated.

  Brom rode behind him over uneven terrain to the north and west of the merchant enclave. The young lord had said little and Rham Jas decided to let him process the death of his father in peace. Rham Jas knew that in any case Brom’s pathetic attempts at navigating in the wilds would be of no assistance. Brom had many gifts – he was clever, tough and ruthless – but survival in the wilderness was not one of his skills.

  ‘I don’t mind handling the navigation, but if you’re going to ride behind me you could at least say something now and then,’ Rham Jas said in a slight huff.

  They were approaching a low, forested gully that led between hills away from Cozz. Two days ahead of them were the Walls of Ro, the mountains that led north and signalled part of the Kirin run. Rham Jas knew the route well and estimated that they’d be approaching Ro Tiris within a week.

  ‘I don’t feel like talking.’ Brom had taken a nasty blow to the jaw and his words were muffled. He’d recover quickly, but the Black cleric was a strong brute and had knocked out one of his teeth.

  ‘Well, it’ll be a long and lonely journey if you keep saying that.’ The Kirin was grumpy and let it show as he spoke.

  ‘Just ride, Rham Jas… just ride.’ Brom sounded tired and his words were indistinct.

  Rham Jas let it drop and looked ahead to the darkening sky above the Walls of Ro. He didn’t think they were being followed and the way ahead was clear, with only a few big Gorlan spiders and the odd bandit to worry about.

  As he replayed the fight in his head, Rham Jas regretted not killing the Black cleric. He felt no compunction whatsoever about taking down the Purple man, but he had broken his own rules by leaving a witness. Killing a Purple cleric was no small thing in Tor Funweir and he silently lamented the fact that his face would be adorning wanted posters within a few days.

  As he rode quietly down the gully towards the thinly spaced trees, he rolled up his right sleeve and surveyed the twenty or so cuts along his forearm – each a Purple cleric’s death mark – cut into his flesh so that he would never forget whom he had killed and why. Grasping his horse’s reins in his teeth, he unsheathed a small hunting knife and drew it slowly across an empty piece of skin near his wrist. He was running out of space and wondered how many more of the bastards there were for him to kill. He mused that placing the death marks on his legs might be a solution, or maybe even his chest, though that idea was less appealing.

  Rubbing the new wound to relieve the slight pain it caused, he retrieved the reins and rolled down his sleeve. The cut would heal within a few minutes and the slight scar would be the only testament to the death of Brother Torian of Arnon – which Rham Jas thought was a stupid name. The men of Ro were obsessed with lengthening their names by adding titles, locations, job descriptions and all manner of unnecessary appendages. Even Brom had a tendency towards extravagance where his name was concerned. Lord Bromvy of Canarn, protector of the northern mark and scion of the duchy of Canarn went, in the Kirin’s estimation, far beyond the information necessary in a name. The only appendage to his own was the addition of the word Rami, meaning archer in old Karesian.

  ‘Why didn’t you kill the Black cleric?’ asked Brom, echoing Rham Jas’s own doubts.

  ‘Decided to talk, have we?’

  ‘He’s likely to cause us trouble, not to mention that we didn’t get the clay for passage to Canarn.’

  The blacksmith had still been arguing over the details when Rham Jas had gone for some food, and then had come back to find Brom being questioned by the clerics. They were without the necessary documents and the Kirin knew that getting out of Tiris by sea would be difficult without them.

  ‘I didn’t kill him because we… share some of the same friends,’ Rham Jas said, immediately realizing how foolish it must sound.

  Brom laughed for the first time since leaving Cozz. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize you were a regular at the Black churchmen’s annual parties.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Rham Jas muttered, again letting his petulance show. ‘I’ve heard of him is all.’

  ‘So have I, though I would still have killed him.’

  ‘Then maybe you should practise a bit more so he doesn’t beat the snot out of you next time you meet.’ Rham Jas spoke with more venom than he had intended.

  Brom reined in his horse and stopped a few feet behind his friend. ‘I know I’m being quiet, but keep that shit to yourself.’

  Brom was more than physically wounded by his encounter with Utha the Ghost. Rham Jas didn’t stop, but spoke over his shoulder
as he led the horse further into the secluded gully. ‘I’m just pointing out that, if you want to decide who gets to live and who gets to die, maybe you should get better with that shiny sword. I beat him, so I get to decide whether he lives or not.’

  Rham Jas heard Brom grunt, a sound that was equal parts anger and agreement. The sound that followed, as Brom kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks, was pure anger and the Kirin turned just in time to see Brom jump from his horse to tackle him to the ground.

  The friends landed in a heap on the grassy track, with Brom positioned on top of Rham Jas. ‘I can still pummel a little shit like you, Kirin,’ the young lord shouted as he smashed his fist into Rham Jas’s face.

  The blow was solid and unexpected, and Rham Jas had to roll to the side to avoid further punches. He raised his leg sharply and kicked Brom in the back before shoving him roughly off to the side.

  ‘Is that the best you’ve got, Ro?’ Rham Jas shouted back, as he got to his feet and kicked Brom in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

  Brom growled in anger and dived at the Kirin’s legs, again tackling him to the ground.

  ‘It takes a brave man to shoot a longbow, you horse-fucker.’

  Brom punched and kicked wildly at Rham Jas. Most of the blows landed, but they caused minimal damage. The Kirin held his hands up to protect his face, but got a nasty knee to the side which made him wince with pain. He grabbed out at the Ro’s neck, causing Brom to pull his punches and try to wrestle free from the choke hold. A solid palm strike from Rham Jas sent Brom backwards and allowed the two men to get to their feet, panting.

  They stood looking at each other. Both men were bleeding from various minor wounds.

  ‘Are you finished?’ he asked the young lord of Canarn. ‘Because this isn’t terribly helpful.’

  Brom was scowling and touching his jaw. Rham Jas had deliberately struck him on his existing wound and made it worse. Blood was visible at the corners of his mouth and his beard was stained red. He stood, scowling for a further moment, before straightening up and spitting out a globule of blood.

  ‘Do you have anything to drink?’ he asked.

  The Kirin turned to where their horses stood grazing next to a copse of trees, oblivious to the fight. ‘There’s a bottle of Darkwald red in my saddle pack,’ Rham Jas replied, letting his customary grin return, ‘but I stole it, so I get more than you.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit, I just want something that’ll make me drunk.’ Brom sat down heavily on the side of the track.

  Rham Jas shook his head and walked away from Brom to fetch their horses. He led them off the track and a short way into the trees, making sure they were out of the sight of any other travellers who might be using the Kirin run. He then turned to Brom, who hadn’t moved from his position on the ground and was still spitting out blood.

  ‘Get off the track, Brom. If we’re going to get drunk, we should maybe take some sort of cover.’

  Rham Jas tied the horses’ reins to a thick tree trunk and Brom stood up. He was rubbing his back where Rham Jas had kicked him and his jaw was possibly now broken. Rham Jas knew that the bumps and bruises Brom had given him would disappear quickly and he’d be able to tease his friend about his weak constitution.

  They settled down quickly and Rham Jas sensed his friend would much rather drink than talk.

  ‘One bottle of wine isn’t enough to forget anything of note, Rham Jas,’ Brom stated.

  ‘True, but the kindly old gentleman I stole it from had other interests too.’ The Kirin retrieved a small leather pouch from his saddlebag. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  Brom looked at the pouch and shook his head. ‘Is it a very small bottle of Volk whisky?’

  Rham Jas opened the pouch and produced a bronze pipe and a circular container. ‘This, my dear boy, is rainbow smoke. It seems that drugs are rife in your country, whether the clerics want to admit it or not.’

  Brom laughed, shifting his position to lean more easily against a tree. ‘So, if we get caught, we’ll be babbling like fools? I like it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re in no real danger of getting caught,’ Rham Jas replied as he unscrewed the container. ‘Cozz has no clerics and the bound men there would never chase us up here. The Black churchman will have to get back to Tiris before they can seriously start looking for us again.’

  Brom considered this and didn’t look especially reassured. ‘That’s where we’re heading too. We’re walking into the troll’s mouth, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Rham Jas liked Brom a great deal, but the young lord could be terribly dim-witted sometimes. ‘We’ll get there days ahead of them and, as far as I remember, you didn’t explain your plan to them. They’ll just assume we’ll go into the wilds and lie low. The idea of us going to Tiris is so stupid it won’t occur to them.’

  ‘So, our stupidity is what’s going to keep us alive?’ Brom raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Precisely… I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  Rham Jas realized Brom must be in turmoil now that he knew his father was dead, but if his friend could take away some of the burden with humour, drugs and alcohol, then he would.

  Rham Jas carefully loaded the pipe with a pinch of brightly coloured powder and sat back next to Brom.

  ‘We’re going to die, you know,’ the Kirin said, with no real build-up.

  Brom looked at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, there are only two of us… your father is dead, which means the city has likely been sacked and, by the time we get there, there may not be anyone to save.’

  Brom bowed his head. ‘It means something else as well.’ His words were quiet and solemn. ‘It means that I’m now the duke of Canarn.’

  Rham Jas offered his friend the bronze pipe. ‘Dukes first, my lord,’ he said with a grin.

  Brom took the pipe and, using a flint and steel from the pouch, touched a small flame to the bowl. He drew in a deep breath and Rham Jas sensed the familiar smell of high-quality Karesian rainbow smoke. Brom held his breath in for a moment and nearly coughed. Then he slowly breathed out a plume of sweet-smelling smoke and let his head fall back against the tree trunk.

  ‘Do you think Bronwyn…?’ Rham Jas began, only to be cut off by Brom.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘As things stand, I can imagine she’s still alive, hiding somewhere in the secret tunnels. Maybe she even got out of the city.’

  Rham Jas took the pipe. ‘Whereas my customary brand of optimism would paint a rather grimmer picture of things?’ He tapped the pipe against his boot to remove the burnt crust of powder.

  ‘Exactly… just let me think happy thoughts for a moment.’

  Rham Jas took a deep pull on the pipe and let the effects wash over him.

  * * *

  Karesian rainbow smoke was considered a decadent pleasure in Tor Funweir, illegal and possible to obtain only from mobsters and other shady characters. Rham Jas liked it as an aid to relaxation and found the Ro objection to it bizarre – probably just another example of the clerics disliking something simply because it was foreign and they didn’t understand it.

  The effects were mild. A feeling of comfortable lethargy made thinking happen slowly and an elevated mood usually followed within a few minutes. The stronger stuff produced more of a mellow high that enabled long periods of sitting around with few cares and a tendency to babble.

  Rham Jas and Brom had emptied the pouch within the hour and, with breaks to pass round the bottle of wine, had successfully achieved a degree of calm.

  They’d tied the horses securely and retreated deeper into the trees to lie across a grassy hillock well off the track. They’d ridden away from Cozz through the night and now, as they lay looking up at the cloudy sky, Rham Jas estimated that it was nearly midday. Neither man had said much as they let the rainbow smoke flow through their bodies and, with the exception of the occasional contented exhalation, they lay in silence.

  Rham Jas was still worried about his friend. When Brom had ar
rived in Ro Weir, several weeks ago, his intention had been to return home as a liberator. Now, with the knowledge that Duke Hector had been executed, the young lord would have to reassess his plan. Rham Jas thought that getting into Ro Canarn would not be too tricky – finding a ship from Tiris would be possible and it should be fairly easy to stay hidden while they did so. The uncomfortable truth that informed the Kirin’s thinking, however, was that the two of them would need help to make any impact when they reached Canarn. Rham Jas was a killer with few equals and Brom was a dangerous swordsman, but an army they were not.

  ‘What did you mean?’ Brom broke the silence.

  ‘What did I mean about what?’ replied Rham Jas vaguely, rubbing his eyes to focus through the drug-induced haze.

  ‘The Black cleric… Utha the Ghost. You said you knew him.’

  ‘Actually, I said that we have some friends in common,’ corrected Rham Jas, ‘but I get what you’re saying.’

  Brom half turned and rested his head on his hand. ‘So?’

  ‘It’s quite a long story… and I may not be in the best condition to do it justice,’ Rham Jas answered with a dopey grin.

  Brom lay back down and breathed out, letting a manic chuckle escape his lips. ‘Hasim always said you were no good to anyone after rainbow smoke.’

  ‘I wouldn’t listen to Hasim about… well, anything, really.’ Rham Jas didn’t lose his grin, but sat up, immediately feeling light-headed.

  ‘I didn’t kill Utha because some people I respect think well of him.’ The Kirin knew that the risen could be found in the Deep Wood of Canarn, but he doubted Brom would ever have had contact with them. ‘Do you remember that tree I told you about?’ he asked.

  ‘The black heartwood tree,’ replied Brom

  ‘Well, it was… sort of sacred to my people… and to some other people that lived in Oslan.’

  ‘Other people? Make sense, man.’ Brom was becoming irritable.

  Rham Jas had long thought the trees extinct in Tor Funweir, that the Purple clerics had cut down or burned every one they could find. They could still be found in some places in Ranen, but the main concentration was in the Kirin woods.