“Funny,” I sputtered, panting, breathless with pain. Blood ran warm and sticky down my chin. “You make a pretty poor man.”
His rage was a cold, poisonous thing. He lit more candles and held their flames to the ends of the needle. The steel began to glow red, making my flesh hiss and smoke from the inside. I screamed, I howled at the top of my lungs like an animal.
“Such sweet music...” Penn's voice was detached, sing-song. He reached for another needle, this one cold, and slid it into my breast from top to bottom. Red droplets began to pour down it, onto the floor.
Almost at the same time, out of the corner of my agony-fogged eye, I noticed another spurt of blood. A triangular blade of flawless bronze grew from the chest of the man to my left. Its movement was smooth, clean, beautiful. I only had a moment to appreciate it before I sagged down alongside the dead soldier. The man on my right still kept his grip, until the blade spun sideways and bit into his neck. I could sense its sharpness without seeing or touching it. That last cut came within a hair's breadth of scalping me.
Unsupported, I landed on my hands and knees, looking up. Adar stepped over the bodies. Blood soaked his clothes and covered his skin. He moved with a jerky, unnerving gait, like a puppet dancing on strings. Smiling, giggling, he lunged for Penn.
It didn't make sense. How had the boy gotten hold of his sword? I knew they'd taken it away from him, had watched them do it... Hell, until this moment, I thought they'd stuck him in one of the oubliettes with me!
I would've helped him fight if I'd had the strength, but he didn't need it. He lashed out like a snake, with all the speed and skill of a trained swordsman. The spy staggered backwards to avoid being sliced in two.
In the background, Sergeant Arravis took off like a shot, shouting for reinforcements. It didn't matter. Even if they brought Adar down, it would be too late for Penn. I knew it in my heart of hearts. It was pure, poetic justice.
Adar brought his sword down in a quick overhead sweep. Dodging it, Penn stumbled and landed on his arse. It would be the end of him. I watched, hungry for his blood, as the farmboy turned his point down for the killing blow.
Penn reached behind him. His fingers searched for something, anything to save his hide. In their desperation, they closed around the barbed torturer's knife. He threw it underhand into Adar's throat.
The boy toppled over backwards. He hit the floor with a gurgle, his eyes wide, lost to panic. The sword tumbled out of his grasp. Instead he clutched at the barbed steel lodged in his windpipe, but pulling at it only made the wound bigger. He thrashed and thrashed, slowing by the second, until he settled down for eternity.
Battlefield instinct came down over me like a suit of armour, crushing any horror or sympathy. Right now I couldn't afford to think of him as a young boy snuffed out too soon, but just another fallen soldier. I wouldn't get another chance to act. A warm bronze hilt touched my palm. I took it, clenched it so tight my knuckles turned white.
The feel of a weapon in my hand changed me. My weak limbs stiffened. Throbbing, razor-edged pain softened to something I could push out of my mind. Bellowing out a primal roar, I leaped in to finish the job Adar had started. I had a mental bead drawn on Penn Saldette's throat. He saw his death coming for him.
At the last second, I veered away, and dove through the doorway where Arravis had vanished.
Bitter disappointment burned in my chest, but duty had to come before revenge. I could kill Penn another day, but I'd only have one chance to escape this Hell-hole before Arravis came back. Seconds counted. I could already hear footsteps thundering towards me.
I looked left, right, saw a chapel at the end of the hall dominated by a fine stained-glass window. One lonely soldier stood between me and it. I ran the distance and, in two quick strokes, cut him and his spear in half. I barely stopped to loot his purse, his boots, and what remained of his cloak. Bare feet and empty hands wouldn't take me far.
Arravis and his reinforcements arrived just in time to watch me climb the altar and dive through a priceless work of art. The glass fell away around me. The cloak protected me from the thin, brittle shards until I found solid ground again.
I landed on the steep angle of the motte outside and rolled head over heels down the slope, where I bumped and scraped against pebbles and packed earth. I arrived dizzy at the bottom. The soft, orange light of a Northern afternoon greeted me. After so long inside the keep, it seemed blinding bright.
Faint shouts echoed through the window. I didn't stick around to listen. One look around to get my bearings, then I ran like Hell.
Armed, alive, and leaving a trail of chaos in my wake.
I ran for hours, past nightfall. Pushed or fought my way past anyone who tried to stop me. Climbed over the palisade and sprinted for the wooded hillsides that made up the other end of the valley. There I rested for, oh, maybe ten minutes, shoving my face full of wild pears and figs and blackberries. I hadn't eaten in so long that I didn't care how ripe they were.
I bolted at the first sound of pursuit. Bugles and hoofbeats, far off, but closing fast.
They came after me with men, horses, and dogs, as I knew they would. They couldn't just let me go. They probably had the Dargha with them too, just to make my life more difficult, but I had to stay ahead of them somehow.
An old friend in the Angian Guard, one of my Sergeants, once told me about escaping from dogs. Humber was his name. A living legend of a tracker. The only thing more impressive than his hunting skills had been the size of his mighty black beard. I flogged my brain trying to remember what he said.
Never stop, Karl. Run, don't hide.
The trees were thin, and although the slope would slow riders, I needed to head for rougher terrain. I passed a farmstead on my mad dash up the hill. A small barn next to the cottage stored their hay and firewood, dry and ever so tempting. I imagined Humber clucking and shaking his head at me. I settled for stealing a thin blanket which covered the wood against the autumn damp. I slit three holes in it for my arms and my head, then slipped it on as if it were a tunic. The rough cloth caught at the needles sticking out of me, which hurt like hot coals shoved under my skin, but I needed its warmth like I needed to breathe.
Whatever you do, move fast. Steal the first thing you can ride.
I spotted an animal shed. It smelled of farmyard, hay and manure and wet fur. I saw pigs, goats, and one starveling ox next to a ploughing yoke. No horse. Swallowing my disappointment, I threw some filthy straw around to confuse my scent and continued to scramble upwards.
I tried to stay on hard rock and grass, rather than leave footprints in the omnipresent sucking mud.
I crested the hill moments before the last light of day faded to black. Stretched out below me was another rolling valley, deeper than the town's, almost V-shaped. Thick forest blanketed most of it, and here and there, wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys of logger cabins. Joyfully, a babbling stream ran smack through the valley's heart. A beautiful, life-saving body of water ‒ this far northwest, I guessed it to be a finger of the Tallfarn ‒ which could lead me south to the Six Rivers and salvation.
Heavy brush stops horses, said Humber. Running water fouls dogs. Try to find both at once.
I couldn't ask for more of a fighting chance.
I committed the lay of the land to memory before the sun dipped below the horizon. Behind me, I could still hear dogs barking, the occasional brassy shouts of a bugle. I had to get as far ahead of them as I could. I'd collapse before long, but the sword in my hand strengthened my resolve. Even if Penn and his bloody Duke got hold of everything else, they would not have this.
The going got tougher as I reached the heavier woods. The undergrowth was perfect for what I wanted, but each laboured step took more out of me than I would've liked. Thorns and brambles tore at my arms and caught my improvised clothing. I had to bind the deeper cuts so I wouldn't leave a blood trail. Hard roots constantly threatened to trip me up. They did, more than once.
I prided mys
elf on my stamina. I'd been through a lot of hard travel in my life. This, though, in the state I was in... It took every ounce of willpower I could muster to keep pushing through the vicious greenery. I'd never felt so weak.
How long I walked, I couldn't say. I lost all sense of time in the inky night. The only things on my mind were the flickering lights and sounds of my pursuers. They were getting closer. Suddenly, my legs went out from under me, again. I expected a face full of dirt and root. Not this time. I splashed into soft water, coughing, sputtering.
The river! Humber crowed. You're doing well, mate. Keep it up or you're dead!
Past exhaustion, I began to trudge upstream. The current tugged at my ankles and the ground on the banks was soft and muddy, useless to walk on. For a fleeting moment I wished I could ride the little river to its end. If only. I knew where it let out, and I didn't feel like swimming in the Salt Sea a second time.
I battled on until I could no longer lift my feet. With the last of my strength, I dragged myself onto the bank and passed out, shivering under my stolen, glass-torn cloak.
The sky turned from pitch to indigo, from indigo to royal blue. At one point I woke up long enough to find a softer patch of ground, laying my head on the soggy grass. Sleep took me again in a heartbeat.
The next thing I knew, a heavy splash brought me back to consciousness. A man's voice, swearing, stumbling in the river. My eyes shot open. I rolled my groggy body away just in time time. Two heavy crossbow-quarrels slopped into the mud where I'd been.
I was in a small forest clearing. The creek had turned rocky, widening out into shallow, churning rapids and tiny waterfalls. Cold morning mist touched my exposed arms, heavy enough to create a thin haze between me and the far bank.
I tried to crawl away from my attackers and made a blind slash behind me. It took the hand off a Harari warrior, which still held a wicked curved mace in the shape of a human thigh-bone as it fell away. He screamed and dropped to his knees. A lightly-armoured Ducal soldier was pushing him out of the way, trying to impale me on his spear. In the background, two more men worked frantically to rewind their crossbows.
Humber sang in my ear. If they find you, fight like a devil. Don't leave anyone to follow you.
I swallowed, summoned up all the courage I had left, and turned to attack. That caught the spearman by surprise. He hesitated, which let me grab the haft in my free hand while I gutted him with the other. I took the spear as he let go. Tested its weight in my hand while I plunged through the water.
The first archer squealed as I reached him. His ratchet clicked, his bow fully drawn, but too late to save him. I ran him through and left the blade in his chest as he fell. The second archer was bringing his bow up to aim.
My captured spear beat him to it. It sailed through the air, straight and true, and buried itself full in his belly. It knocked him over backwards, and he lay flailing in the stream, hands wrapped around the wooden shaft that couldn't be pulled out.
Humber would've been proud. I was glad to see I still had some of the old Guard touch.
I'd forgotten the Harari survivor. When I saw him, he was jumping awkwardly onto the back of a milling horse, took the reins one-handed, and kicked the beast viciously in the sides. It whinnied and galloped away at a breakneck pace.
I swore. He would be the group's tracker, and they hadn't left a horse for me to steal. More running, then.
The spearman was wearing a belt with a scabbard. I took it and shoved the bronze sword inside. The top of the sheath wasn't quite wide enough for the blade, which slit the sides of it and left me to wrap it in place with cord. It still rattled with every step. I also picked up one of the crossbows. Even wet, it might save my life.
I left the bodies spilling their blood upstream. In a few minutes that spot would be crawling with Penn's pets. I had no choice but to abandon the creek. The heavy forest swallowed me up again, and I pushed in a direction which I guessed was south. Rustling blindly through the veil of leaves.
I made myself gnaw a strip of cured meat I'd looted from the dead men. I wasn't hungry, my guts felt like water, but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to eat. Twice I had to stop to relieve myself. Cramping, sneezing, coughing and miserable. My mind spun and wavered like hot air in the desert. I was sure I had a fever. Things were beginning to look bleak. Bleaker. More bleak.
But if I could make it to friendly lines, at least somebody would know. They could send help for the others. That'd be an honourable way to go out.
Never give up hope, lad, said Humber. He walked beside me, and his long-legged stride set a brisk marching pace. Hold fast.
“I can't take much more, Sarn't,” I argued. “I'm sick. Hurt.”
All I ever asked of you was to hold fast. You only had to do that one little thing, and I promised I'd see you through.
“You come and do it if you think it's that easy.”
I never said anything would be easy, Karl. Besides, I know you too well. You'll refuse to die until you get a chance to crawl under her skirts.
My pale cheeks flushed. I couldn't deny it. “Bastard.”
Not at all! No one in their right mind would blame you. She is a fine little filly, and we both know you can't resist temptation. The more forbidden the fruit, the harder you want it.
“It'll never happen. She's the King's sister, for God's sake.”
Never? Is that why she plays you like a harp with a cock? Wake up, man. She knows you've got a thing for blue-bloods. It's written all over you, plain as day.
“Piss off! Royals don't dally with commoners.”
Tell that to King Cumber. And Anderling. And Lauric, too, probably. They've sired more'n a dozen bastards between them. With great power comes an unquenchable appetite for whores and trysts.
“Maybe...” I gritted my teeth at the admission. “Maybe I want more than a tryst.”
Good man! Set your sights high, I always say. But in the meantime you'll take what you can get, eh?
I panted, trying to find the breath to reply. “I know what you're trying to do. Distract me. Keep me going. I did it for you once.”
It worked, no?
“Oh aye,” I said. “Until you snuffed it.”
I looked up from my feet. I'd been going up another slope without paying attention. Now I came out on a rocky hilltop which dominated the land around me. The familiar stream ran far off to my right, only a lot bigger. It split into a dizzying number of tributaries over the course of only two or three miles, some shallow, some deep, all of them fast and frothy. It could only be the Tallfarn. Somewhere in the distance, maybe five leagues away, maybe ten, it would join the other five rivers in their intricate snaking dance through the landscape.
I had to cross them one way or another. Then... Somewhere. That'd depend on just how badly the war was going.
A crack sounded from my left. The drop of a pebble, or the breaking of a dead branch. I raised my bow as fast as I could in tired, trembling arms. I was met by a scattered formation of longbowmen in rain-streaked grey cloaks, six of them spread out among the rocks, arrows nocked and ready to draw. Their leader wagged a finger at me as if I'd made a terrible mistake.
Defeated, I let the crossbow fall from my arms. My knees buckled. I found myself on the ground, rolled over on my back, and just let the rest happen.
Another bugle sounded. Hoofbeats pounded up the other side of the hill. I raised my head to watch the one-handed Dargha appear on the hilltop, pale and drawn. He was accompanied by a meaner, healthier-looking chap in a coat of scales and an antlered leather helm and two Ducal cavalry in shiny maille. They looked at me, then waved a greeting to the longbowmen.
Soft as a whisper, a volley of arrows pierced the air. The wounded Harari tumbled from his saddle, shot deep in the thigh. The other one made a throaty sound as he wrestled with the shaft stuck in his windpipe. In moments, he sagged against his horse's neck, dead.
The cavalrymen got much the same. At this range, with longbows, maille and gambeson didn't
count for much. The first few arrows took them in the chest and belly but failed to kill. They panicked and fought to turn their horses, until the bowmen fired again, mechanical in their grace. The fight ended as quickly as it had begun.
I stared dumbstruck at the leader. I didn't comprehend what happened.
“Clean up, lads,” he ordered. “Arrows, horses, loot, bodies, in that order. I'll see to the... survivors.”
He drew a long knife, stepped past me and grabbed the one-handed man by his hair. I heard a babble of quick, high-pitched Harari. Pleading. Desperate. It sounded like a surrender. The leader nodded, smiled, and cut his throat.
In a flash of sudden inspiration, I figured it out. I understood. I began to laugh as the leader came for me. It sounded manic even to my own ears. He stopped and cocked his head, bloodied knife ready to finish the job.
“What's so damn funny?” he demanded.
I saluted him where I lay and replied in Southern, “Sergeant Karl Byren, King's Own Angian Guard. At your service, Ranger.”
The look of utter shock on his face was something I would treasure for the rest of my life.
We didn't exchange another word until they got me back to camp. The leader put his knife away, hauled me up to my feet, and marched me along. His men finished hiding all evidence of the skirmish. They sprinkled acrid-smelling black powder to throw off any dogs, and covered our trail so well that even the best tracker would think we'd gone up in smoke.
I swallowed my surprise when we arrived. The place was... big, for what I was expecting. A cookfire and dozens of field packs, made invisible by a patch of thick greenery until you were right on top of it. It looked like half the Household Rangers were camped out here. At least fifty men.
The leader made a friend for life when he handed me a flask of wine. I gulped and gulped, spilling much of it down my chin. I didn't care. I would've drunk a leper's bathwater if it had alcohol in it. Then I sat down on the ground, mainly because I couldn't stand.
Written in Blood Page 25